#bonsai carving

[rannibonsai]

It's official I have a love hate dealy with my camera. I must have spent just as much time fiddling with the camera as I did styling this little Kishu. On the plus side, my cobbled together studio is coming together. My fiance wasn't too happy I commandeered their desk, but i think it worked out pretty well.

I'm debating going the DIY route, and making myself a nice barber chair work table, or just getting a motorcycle lift table. Either way, it'll run me about $200. A painful amount totaling higher than I'm making in a week as I pursue this American style apprenticeship. I'm really wanting to order some trees this week, so I think I'll hold off for now. At least I can try to sell the trees, yknow?

In unrelated news, my webstore is stocked with topdressing for show season, and plenty of aroid mix for any other plant people who stumble across it. I've got a minor feud with etsy going, but I'm confident the shopify will take off soon. It's had over 100 visits this week just.. no sales. I'm trying not to give in to the nagging fear that turning all of savings into topdressing and a camera wasn't the smartest move, but I've always been the trial by fire sort.

[wildbeautifuldamned]

Vintage Japanese Banko Ware Intricately Carved Pottery Miniature Bonsai Vase ebay gmpelican

[genshin-impact-updates]

Happy Birthday, Kaedehara Kazuha!

Seeing as I'm free today, I'm planning to follow in the footsteps of my ancestors by carving some rocks into decorations for the family bonsai.

When I come to think of it, since my wanderings began, I've seen many wonderful things throughout my travels.

A day must come when crimson leaves will wither and journeys end, yet through these carvings shall such happy memories live on.

Well, given your equal passion for traveling, might you care to join me?

[amjustagirl]

chapter 4

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 5k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

When you blink open your eyes, you find yourself back in the Hoshina family estate. 

The garden is exactly as you remember it. Bonsai trees, neatly manicured. The white gravel ocean raked with ripple lines. Heat shimmers off the ground, harsh summer sun bearing down on the tiled roof. A young man with dark hair and sad, violet eyes sits across you. 

“Soshiro”, you cry, fumbling to your feet. 

He looks right through you even when you’re standing right before him. 

He’s wearing the navy hakama he reserves for formal occasions, the family crest embroidered in gold thread on the back, a ceremonial katana strapped to his hip. Something’s about to happen, you realise, the compound bustling with servants carrying paper lanterns. No one pays you any notice as you float behind him down the familiar corridors of the house, a ghost. 

His father approaches, severe lines running through his forehead. “You know your duty”, he claps his son’s shoulder with a heavy hand. 

Soshiro’s shoulders slump, an invisible weight bearing down on him. 

His duty awaits outside the estate’s gates. 

A young woman, clearly noble born, waits for them to greet her with her chin in the air, dolled up in matrimonial white, surrounded by a retinue of servants. She tilts her chin higher to assess her groom as he offers her his arm before bowing her head demurely, letting him help her up the stairs. 

The sun in your eyes forces you to turn away. Another woman catches your gaze, the profile of her face backlit in the blue-grey dusk. Rough hands, a cheap, cotton yukata, she hides in the shade. Her anguish is apparent in the defeated curve of her mouth. 

She’s you, you realise, with even sadder eyes. 

This is a dream, you tell yourself. A shitty, crappy excuse of a dream that you probably caused by drinking one too many cans of beer. You really should take better to maintain a healthy REM cycle, maybe pick up some meditation or exercise, because heaven knows your psyche will suffer if your subconsciousness decides to torture you in your sleep too.  

You close your eyes. 

You still don’t find yourself back in your bed. Instead, the stench of manure hits you, then the scratch of straw under your feet. That sad girl - you, in another life perhaps, kneels before the same dark haired boy, Soshiro, still as a statue.  

“The horse is saddled. We can ride somewhere, far away where no one knows either of our names, leave all of this behind. You don’t have to get married to a woman you don’t love -” 

He’s carved of marble in the moonlight, doesn’t move to meet her gaze, not even when she tugs at his sleeve. “I am but a second son, but even I know my duty to my clan.” 

“And what about love?” she asks. “What about me?” 

Neither of them notice you when you tumble out of the stable into the night. But there’s nothing but darkness looming before you, the moon nowhere to be seen, and when you turn back, the stable has disappeared. In its place, a familiar, wooden hut, where a fire grows. The heat of the forge stings your face, ash flying, the smell of burning steel in the air. 

This time, Soshiro’s in the lacquered leather of a samurai warrior from centuries past. “Is it ready?” he directs his question at the woman in the forge. 

Wordlessly, she hands him the sword in her hand, red hot from hammer and tongs. He weighs it in his hand, swings it once, twice, flashing quicksilver in the dim light of the blacksmith’s forge. You recognise the blade. You’ve seen it hung up in one of many sitting rooms in the Hoshina estate, captioned as belonging to a Hoshina ancestor who never returned home. 

You understand why her voice quivers when she calls out to him before he leaves. “My lord”, she says. “Will you ever lay down your sword?” 

“Perhaps in another life”, he replies. 

In the shadow of the forge, the violets in his eyes wither and die. 

You cannot bear to watch this play out before you again and again, a twisted loop you’re powerless to stop. There is nothing you can do to shock yourself awake, a ghost in every lifetime you freefall through, so bone weary, you stop running, sink to your knees. Wherever you are, the nightmares stop once you close your eyes. The damp grass is cool against your back, the darkness becomes soothing. It’s easy to lose yourself to a deep, undisturbed sleep. 

(wake up) 

The thrum of your heartbeat starts to still. You think you hear a faint echo. It sounds like Soshiro.

For the first time in your life, you hesitate to answer. 

(please, wake up)

“But it’s comfortable here”, you say to no one at all. “I’m so tired.” 

The neverending grind of work, of long hours spent hunched over glowering flames and complicated weapon blueprints. The dull ache of heartbreak, the painful lesson of learning to be okay alone. 

“Let me sleep”, you whisper. 

The darkness holds you close, blankets you. It’s too easy to let yourself just be, no one to disappoint, no one who disappoints. You let yourself be pulled beneath the tide, the endless ebb and flow lulling you into a dreamless slumber. 

Perhaps you could be content like this. 

Perhaps not. You think of the menagerie of plants you’ve gathered, they depend on you for food and water. There’s a pottery class on Sunday that you’ve been excited to attend, an abstract pot that you want to attempt. You’re supposed to meet your mother for tea, you’re looking forward to feasting on peaches, in season in the dying weeks of summer. 

Your eyelids are still heavy with the weight of sleep, but you force them open. A streak of pain that shoots through your right side, but you slowly sit up anyway. A sea of hydrangeas,  shimmering violet-blue in the early morning light stretches before you.

An achingly familiar voice calls your name. You lift your face to meet the rising sun, feeling its warmth flicker through you. 

Your heart begins to hum. 

You’re not in your own bed when you crack your eyes open. 

The room is too white, too pin-neat. There are clear tubes running from your arms, bandages restricting even your slightest movement, not that you really can do much other than shift about the too-narrow bed you’ve found yourself in, the sudden brightness disorienting you. 

“Oh!”, an unfamiliar voice exclaims. “Call the doctor, she’s awake!” 

Your head threatens to split open. It hurts too much to stay awake. 

You fall back into a dreamless sleep.

You drift in and out of consciousness after that, the pull of sleep still irresistible, but you stay awake for longer periods of time. Doctors poke and prod at you, nurses fuss over you. It’s hard to recall any conversations you have during this time, your memories melding almost into your dreams. 

People ask you questions about your name, your age, where you’re from. It feels as if you’re stuck underwater, it’s a struggle to gasp for enough air at times to answer them, but you think you find enough brain cells to rub together in the cotton wool jumble in your head, mumble the right answers so they go away. 

Your parents show up to visit you. 

‘’Llo”, you mutter. Your father looks strangely old, your mother tired. 

You’re pleased that your mother brings chopped peaches for you, less so when you realise you have no ability to swallow solid food just yet. They disappear for a hushed conversation with the doctors, leaving you with little distraction so you drop back off to sleep. 

The next time you wake, the room is dark. 

Even in the dim glow of machines beeping, you make out the faint outline of a boy you know too well, curled up uncomfortably in a plastic chair. “S‘ro”, you mumble, half asleep. 

A flurry of movement. He appears by your uninjured side, staring at you wide-eyed, as if he doesn’t believe you won’t disappear. You wonder if he’s another figment of your dreams because he stands so still drinking his fill of you, until he remembers to breathe again. 

“Hey”, he says hoarsely.

“Mmph”, you grunt. In your vague, rambling train of thoughts, you register surprise that he’s even here. “S’ work?”

His laugh is wet. “Are you seriously askin’ me ‘how’s work’ right now?” 

You frown. Why - why is Soshiro even here? 

“I’m here for you, silly”, a warm hand settles on your left arm. “Go back to sleep. I’ll seeya later.” 

You start to stay awake for longer stretches at a time. 

Your parents gently fill you in on your situation. You were touch and go for a while, your mother recounts tearfully, your head injury making the doctors doubt you’d ever wake. You had to be cut open to stop internal bleeding in your gut, fix a multitude of shattered bones in your right hip and leg. Burns, on your shoulder and arm which required skin grafts, extensive medication to keep infection at bay. 

Everyone treats you like you’re made out of glass even as your condition steadily improves, aided by the wonders of kaiju regenerative technology. Your parents fuss over you like a child, tucking you in too tight beneath starched hospital sheets. The nurses refuse to let you shower, only allowing you sponge baths which you detest. 

Soshiro’s the worst of the lot. 

At first it's endearing how protective and sweet he is. The doctors give him a wide berth, most of the nurses terrified of him, though he swears that he’s been utterly polite when you question him about it. He doesn’t allow you to do anything yourself, not even hold your own cup of water when you drink. Your bedside is overflowing with colourful greeting cards, half of them signed by him, and he brings you a fresh bouquet of flowers during each visit. 

“That boy is besotted with you”, one of the nurses who isn’t intimidated by Soshiro trills in with her unsolicited opinion. “It’s adorable.” 

He’s not”, you deny, frowning. “We’re just friends.”  

It’s a little too much. The only visitor who doesn’t smother you is Sochiro, who snaps back to his usual self the minute you show a little of your usual snark. “Did you break your head too?” you ask, when he arrives bearing a hamper of fruit. 

“Impertinent brat”, he snaps back. “I’ll have you know my father put me up to this.” 

You grin. “I suppose that’s where your brother got his manners from. Pity you don’t have any.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t storm out of the room. Instead, he brandishes a small, silver knife and starts peeling fruit. “I never wanted a younger sibling”, he grouses. “Should’ve dropped Soshiro in the drain the minute he was born, then I’d never have to deal with your smart mouth -.” 

“Aww”, you coo. “Hoshina Sochiro, Captain of the Sixth Division, getting soft in your old age.” 

“Shut it”, he snaps, while stuffing perfect wedges of fruit into your palm. 

It reminds you of the easy friendship you had with Soshiro, not the way he’s behaving, almost as if he feels anything more than friendship for you - which he’s confirmed to your face that he mostly does not. It confuses you, the tender way he treats you, the lingering stares when he thinks you’re asleep, and you much prefer him to go back to the way he was before. 

“Stop it!” you finally burst, when his smothering becomes too overwhelming. “Treat me like your friend - not like I’m some glass figurine you’re trying to keep safe.”

A plastic chair screeches back. He stares at you. “Do you even realise how close you were to dyin’?” 

“Sorta”, you reply, though some gaps remain empty in your memories, “but I’m okay now, and ‘sides, what happened was just bad luck -”

“No it wasn’t just luck”, he replies. “It wasn’t. It wasn’t.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Something shutters behind his eyes. “It’s my fault you’re hurt.” He angles himself away from you. “I crashed into your building.” 

“The kaiju threw you into the building”, you correct. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He lunges forward to grip your bed rail, his sudden intensity scaring you. “I could’ve been the cause of you dyin’-”

“My head’s pretty hard”, you try to diffuse the building tension with a joke. “Would take more than a fallin’ building to kill me.”

He makes a strangled sound of outrage in his throat. “Don’t. Just - don’t.” 

His tone is devoid of its usual lightness. He’s - he’s angry, scared, face twisting into a scowl, body coiling, as if preparing for an attack. “You’re upset”, you murmur. “Don’t be.” 

“You could’ve died.”

“Hey”, you beckon him forward, lifting your uninjured hand off the bed to place it on top of his. He grasps at it, a drowning man clutching at a lifeline. 

“It’s okay”, you say gently. “I’m okay.” 

“Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I’ll try my best”, you offer. 

An angry sound escapes through his clenched jaw, his face strained. You brush the skin of his wrist with your thumb until the too-quick staccato of his pulse steadies. 

“Go to sleep”, he finally says. “Just stay safe.” 

After that, something shifts. Soshiro resumes the mantle of his chaotic, goofy self. 

“I’m gonna yell at you when you’re better”, Soshiro huffs the next time he visits. “A daikaiju -it was a nine on the fortitude scale, y’know - decides to attack near you, and you not only choose to stay put, you run back into a collapsing building for whatever reason -” 

“I was trying to save some of the blades -” 

“How about you focus on savin’ your own damn skin -” 

You sniff, deliberately closing your eyes. “I’m going back to sleep.” 

“Oi”, he grounds out. “Stop pretendin’.” 

The reappearance of the playful banter you’re used to sharing with him puts you back at ease. “Don’t you need to sleep too?” you ask, staring pointedly at the purple smudges beneath his eyes. “In a bed, not a hospital chair that’s going to give you a crooked neck.” 

“S’fine”, he always replies. “Still way more comfortable than sleepin’ out in a forest durin’ kaiju hunts.” 

“Still”, you insist. “You don’t have to visit me so often. I know how busy you are with work.” 

He squints at you. “Do you not want me to be here?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it -”

“Sometimes work can take a backseat.” 

You beckon him forward, place a hand against his forehead. “No fever”, you pronounce. “That’s odd -  the Hoshina Soshiro I know would never say that unless his mind is addled by illness-” 

He pulls away with a splutter, cheeks a furious pink. 

But awkward moments like this remain, no matter how much you try to keep your conversations light, breezy. There’s a tension Soshiro carries, especially apparent in the broad lines of his shoulders. He’s nervy, jumpy almost, the unguarded hitch in his breath when he draws in just a little too close. There’s something he’s keeping in, deep inside his chest that keeps trying to explode out of him whenever he’s not careful. 

There’s a glimpse of that when you tell him of your plan to move back to Osaka to continue recuperating under your parents’ roof. You’ll miss your apartment where you navigated much of your young adult life, the routines you’ve built for yourself. But you’re tired of living in the hospital, sleeping on a too-hard bed, without much privacy from nurses who pop in and out of your room at odd hours at all times. Your parents agree to ferry you to check-ups and appointments, and they even got your brother to transport your plants to make you feel more at home. 

“You’re not leavin’ for good, surely”, he frowns. 

“I’m not sure”, you shrug. “Izumo Tech does have offices in Osaka, and there isn’t much tying me to Tokyo anymore. 

There’s a sudden lull in the conversation as Soshiro falls silent, face stricken. He opens his mouth as if to speak, once, twice, before shutting it deliberately,  Then his face slackens into a childish pout. 

“Don’t go”, he whines. “Who would I hang out with when I’m off-duty?” 

Caught off guard from this sudden change in mood, you refrain from pointing out that you’d each taken turns to studiously ignore the other before. “You’ll survive”, you pat his hand. “And, on the rare occasions you actually find the time away from work, you’re always welcome to visit me in Osaka.” 

“I will”, he replies, so seriously that your traitorous heart skips a beat. 

“I doubt you’ll get enough time off work”, you brush him off lightly before changing the subject. 

You don’t expect him to visit, not when Osaka is two and a half hours away from Tokyo on the shinkansen, but he turns up at the doorstep of your parents’ apartment with roses, dusty pink like the flush up his neck. 

“Hoshina-kun”, your mother exclaims. “Come on in!”

Something is up. Your mother bustles around, ushers him into your room, lays out before him an offering of cut fruit. Surprised at the tableau before you, you blink, looking up from your book. 

“Don’t you have to work?” 

“I do have days off, y’know.” He says, easing you into your wheelchair. 

“Thought you said killing kaijus isn’t a nine to five job”, you remind him pertly. 

He tweaks your nose. “Don’t be smart”, his eyes crinkle as he laughs, rolling you out of the confines of your parent’s house to a nearby park to enjoy the crisp cool autumn breeze, settling you down in the shade beneath a sprawling gingko tree. 

“Well, how’s work?” 

He considers you with a sideways glance. “I refuse to answer”, he says primly. “If I do, you’ll make use of it to accuse me of being obsessed with my job.”

“Aren’t you?” 

“This is exactly what I mean”, he throws his hands out dramatically. “Shouldn’t you just be happy I’m here -” 

“Actually”, you tease. “Isn’t the train fare really expensive? Can you afford that on your pay?” 

“The Defense Force’s generous enough to give me food, clothing and a roof over my head”, he replies drolly. “So I think my bank account can take the occasional hit.” Then, he shoots another mock glare your way. “Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about work or anything related to work.” 

“Then I guess there’s nothing else to talk about”, you tap your chin thoughtfully. 

“Idiot”, he wrinkles his nose. “We haven’t even talked about how you’re doing.” 

“Me?” 

Exaggeratedly, he takes a look around. “I don’t see anyone else I could be askin’ about -” 

“You wanna hear about my boring doctor appointments?” 

His eyes are wide, earnest. “I wanna hear about everything.” 

The sudden seriousness of his demeanour catches you off-kilter. Haltingly you tell him about the long check-ups that take hours, the doctors being optimistic about your progress, the physiotherapy sessions you’ve started. You’re slowly starting to walk again, a few steps at a time, giving you hope that you’ll be on your own two feet by the time of your brother’s wedding at the end of fall, even if you have to rely a little on crutches. 

“I’m talking too much”, you say, looking down at your lap. 

“Don’t stop”, he urges. “Keep talkin’.” 

A snort. “You’re gonna get sick of the sound of my voice”, 

“What a silly thing to say”, his gaze holds yours, steady, sure. 

There’s something impossibly soft in his eyes, a tenderness in the curve of his mouth. You don’t dare to put a name to it yet, don’t even dare to look too closely at it lest you lose yourself to daydreams that can’t possibly be true. Yet, in the purpling dusk, even though the seasons dictate that there be no summer flowers this late in the fall, there’s a bud of hope in your heart that starts to unfurl, petal by petal, twining itself between the ribs of your chest. 

(i like you)

(i’m sorry)

You remind yourself that your heart is not quite healed. Stitches remain, fleshy scars pink and raised. Ventricles working overtime to compensate for the damage he’s wrought just months prior. Mercilessly, you prune those hopes like unwanted weeds, chopping away at errant stems and leaves. 

“I’m tired”, you break away from his gaze. “Shall we call it a day?” 

He makes it difficult for you to safeguard your heart. 

Once a week, he makes the trek from Tokyo to Osaka without fail, appearing at your parents’ door with a bouquet of flowers and a bag bursting with fruit, whatever is in season - peaches and peonies, apples and chrysanthemums. Picnics when it’s sunny, cafes or supermarkets when it rains. Your mother has a sudden change of heart regarding him, always asking you when he’s coming to take you out next.  

“Seriously, don’t you have work?” you demand. “You can’t keep coming down here, it’s ridiculous.” 

“Is it?” he asks quietly. 

“It is”, you reply. “It’s a waste of your time and money.” 

With careful, calloused fingers, he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. “What must I do to make you believe it’s really, really not.” 

You flinch, cramming your thrumming heart back into the confines of your chest. “You’re ridiculous”, you say as calmly as you can. If your leg weren’t still broken, you’d flee in the other direction, put as much distance as you can between you and Hoshina Soshiro, for fear of losing your heart again to him. 

He’s relentless, a quality that makes him an excellent swordsman and soldier, though it does not bode well for your heart. You spend the next few weeks keeping your conversations light, unsentimental, refusing to allow that unnamed emotion budding  in his eyes flourish any further, he remains undeterred. You catch him watching you sometimes, with something you don’t dare to name that bleeds into you, spreading the seeds of hope deep in your gut.  

“I’ll be back next week to see you”, he always says. “Stay safe.”

You should tell him to leave you alone, let you replant your heart in another pot, give it a chance to learn to stop looking towards him for his light. But the words choke in your throat, and it’s all you can do to look the other way. 

You don’t get any respite even at your own brother’s wedding. 

It’s too large, too crowded an occasion, your parents booking out a banquet hall in an upscale hotel to cram in their swarms of guests. As the younger sister of the groom, you’re expected to greet each and every guest, thank them for their attendance even if you’d much rather be at home, warm and snug in bed. Instead, your head threatens to split open, your hip’s on the verge of falling apart. You curse your stubbornness in insisting against bringing your wheelchair, the crutches you lean on cutting into the tender flesh of your underarms.  

“Did anyone tell you that you look beautiful tonight?” 

As it was in your dreams, he’s in a haori, deep blue with golden thread, but this time he looks right at you. Your mouth goes dry and you can’t seem to swallow your heart back down your throat. 

“Save your flirting for my cousins”, you retort, turning away. “They’re all aflutter at meeting you tonight.” 

He doesn’t let you flee. An arm loops around your waist, sears through the silk layers of your kimono and smoulders. “You’re cranky cos you’re tired, so let me help you.” 

You blame your capitulation on the absence of your wheelchair, not because you’re light headed from the sudden surge of helpless affection in your gut, as much as you refuse to allow yourself to believe his words. You let him steer you into your seat, palm flat against your back, heat suffusing into your skin. 

“I’ll be here if you need me”, he says simply. 

You don’t need him, you want to say, you can’t, but your mouth can’t seem to form the words when he leans in, tucks a stray strand of hair behind the shell of your ear, his touch feather light. 

“Vice Captain Hoshina!?” As you foresaw, a gaggle of younger cousins goggle at him, drag him away for selfies and autographs. You don’t get a chance to speak with him again once the wedding starts, the seating plan placing him with his parents and other business associates of your parents, a few tables away.  

The sheer scale and grandeur of your brother’s wedding isn’t what you’d have chosen for yourself, the cavernous ballroom feeling too large and impersonal, speeches dragging on for too long, but your brother and your new sister seem to radiate contentment, though you suspect the champagne toasts might have helped. 

As the sister of the groom, you’re the target of your older aunts’ inquiry as to ‘when it’s your turn next’, never mind that you burrow into your seat, trying to disappear from sight, and when that fails miserably, try to divert their attention to anything, anyone but yourself. If you had full use of your legs, you’d make a hasty retreat by now, but you’re so painfully slow on your crutches that you’re sure even the oldest grandma questioning you on your dating status (or lack thereof) would be able to catch up with you. 

“Ladies”, a smooth voice cuts in. “How are you all doin’ tonight?” 

A boyish smile with a cheeky snaggletooth works wonders on elderly ladies, you learn. It gives you the chance to slip away to the bathroom, splash water on your face, shackle your heart back in place. 

This brief reprieve doesn’t last long. Soshiro emerges from the shadows, pushing off the wall to pad quietly behind you. 

“What are you doing here?” you demand. “You should be back inside -” 

“I’m here to make sure you’re safe”, he replies. “Unless you don’t want me to make sure you don’t fall and crack your pretty head open?”  

“Stop it”, you say crossly, your crutches clacking loudly on the floor as you speed up, trying to put some distance between you two. “You’re giving everyone the wrong impression.” 

He follows right on your heels. “Perhaps I’m givin’ the right impression -” 

“Just  - just stop, Soshiro.” 

You burst through glass doors to push your way onto the open rooftop in the hope that the nighttime air will cool the heat rising in your cheeks, but you miss your step, crutches sliding on marble tiles and oof - 

Warm arms wrap tightly around you. You tell yourself it’s the shock of your almost-fall that makes you sag against a broad, lean chest, compliantly allowing Soshiro to tuck your face into his shoulders, settle an arm beneath your thighs, carrying you over onto a seat. A thick, rich fabric rests on your shoulders - his haori, you realise, the warmth from his body seeping into your skin. 

“Are you hurt?” he drops to one knee in front of you. 

The intensity of his gaze flays your chest open, exposing your beating heart, its stitches frayed. The spectre of the girl with sad eyes haunts you, leaving you terrified that you’ll suffer the same fate as her in this lifetime too. 

“I need you to stop”, you shove him back, a trapped animal brandishing its claws. “I want you to leave me alone. I don’t want your pity -” 

“Pity?!” he falls back on his haunches, gaping at you, incredulous. “Is that what you think it is?” 

“What else could it be?” you demand wetly, eyes stinging. “Nevermind, I changed my mind, I don’t want to know -” 

“Haven’t I made it obvious these past few months?” he asks, and you shake your head stubbornly, no. “What I feel for you - I’ve been goin’ crazy from the moment they told me a buildin’ fell on your head, so fuckin’ terrified I was goin’ to lose you just as I realised how stupid I’ve been -” 

Your head swims. “I don’t -” 

“I’ve loved you since I was eight. I just didn’t realise it til I nearly lost you.” 

You push aside the clouds of anger and fear blurring your vision. You see Hoshina Soshiro kneeling before you, slicing his chest open with your blade to reveal his heart, pressing it bloodied and beating into your waiting hands. 

In this lifetime, in this moment, he is yours and you are his.  

There is no guarantee that this will remain. Duty will always call upon him, and he will answer without fail. That is his destiny, as much as he is yours. Realisation crashes into you, relentless waves pulling you underwater. You will have to share him with the rest of Japan, possibly the world. This too shall end, be it tomorrow or years down the road if fate smiles down on you both. 

But even if his heart belongs to you for no more than a day, it’s enough. It’s all you’ve ever wanted. 

“You love me.” 

“Yeah”, he murmurs, moving so impossibly close that you see the violets in the depths of his eyes in full bloom. “And I kinda think you love me too.” 

Instead of answering, you tug him towards you, tangle your fingers in dark hair, let your lips press against the seam of his lips. He doesn’t give you the chance to breathe, arm curling around your waist, his hand cupping your face so he can tilt your chin up to pour himself into you. You drink him in, greedy to take what you can get, mouth open against his, lost to the raging current of want, of love that pulls you beneath the waves. 

“I think I do”, you say softly.  

Hoshina Soshiro smiles at you, wider and brighter than the moon. 

a/n: i hope this chapter soothes the anxiety from last week heh :>

squeal at me pls! muacks always <3

[xxdemonicheartxx]

Flight Rising flights but as art mediums:

There are some overlaps in mediums since dragons are so tight knit and far spread

Earth: tile work/mosaics, jewelry work, ceramics, stone sculpture, chalk, clay work, plaster, leather work, rain chains

Water: plaster work, woven tapestries, shell jewelry and chimes, pearl inlays, decorative sails and flags, basket weaving, sandstone carving, watercolors, mirrors and glass sculptures

Shadow: optical illusions, black and white photography, puzzle boxes, uranium glass work, maybe iron work, mycology arrangements, shadow boxes, gouache, anything that involves glowing in the dark

Light: stone carving and gold foiled painting, sometimes tapestry weaving to depict an image or scene, impressionism, oil paint, tempera, portraiture, clothing and attire, mirrors, pigment making

Plague: hyper realism, and taxidermy, ceramics, bone carvings, tattoos, ink block prints, collage art, murals, leather work, totems and large outdoor installations

Nature: floral arrangements, dye work, wood work, candle making, hot wax painting, landscaping, rain chains, wind chimes, tapestries, needle felting, carpentry, animal cosmetics (haircuts, animal safe dye, nail and claw painting, etc), apparel/clothing, pigment making

Ice: needle felting, wood carving, quilting, ice carving and sculpture, snow sculptures, knitting, the art of tea blends, dried plant arrangements, carpentry, fabric weaving, tapestries, crochet, wood burning, blanket weaving, candle making, dye work, wood turning

Fire: welding, decorative weapon smithing, glass blowing, wood burning, wrought iron, stained glass, latticed metal, terracotta, ceramics, obsidian and basalt carving, graphite, slate, charcoal

Wind: paper mache, ribbon mediums, basket weaving, sonorous sculptures, wind chimes, feathered attire, really tall and thin structures/sculptures, jade carving, blanket weaving

Arcane: resin, stained glass, welding, intricate silver work, collaborative neon work with shadow (they need that special eye for glow in the dark), crystal carving, zen gardens, bonsai art, screen printing, photography, illuminated manuscripts, clothing and apparel, gold foil work, abstract art

Lightning: bronze cast sculptures, sand sculptures (when lightning strikes the sand and turns it to stone) aluminum casts poured into ant colonies/hills, pop art, up-cycled art, photography, art that is still capable of being utilized and interacted with because people and dragons are part of the medium, assemblage art, banners and flags

[m1d-45]

-Pari Anon

Pari!Reader gets sad when their leaf mask gets torn. Whether they were playing too rough or Wei (the cat in the inn lobby) tore it, they lost their mask. They have those sad anime eyes (the cutely exaggerated ones). They want to fix it, but no one else knew about that leaf mask.

They stay gloomy for the rest of the day until Xiao comes back.

The next day, they see a little replica of Xiao’s mask made from wood. It was sitting near their nest. When they tried it in, it was light but sturdy. Who could have gotten it for them? How was it so detailed? Who could have known? Oh well. Time to play, little Pari thinks.

Xiao didn’t have the heart to just leave them after he heard them crying when the leaf mask was ripped. He might have put a charm on this one so it wouldn’t break as easily.

[ previous post ]

xiao was better than this. the last yaksha, conqueror of demons, the bane of all evil himself.. searching the plains of liyue well into the night for a suitable piece of wood to carve. it wasn’t for an offering, it wouldn’t be turned into an incense bowl or statue, it was neither for a critical repair or somehow enchanted to be a danger. no, this wood would be used for a far more frivolous purpose: you.

you, who he’d been watching from the roof as you played on the balcony below. you with your mock spear and wei with his paws, uselessly batting at each other in a play fight. he thought it was ridiculous, really—your thin wings would surely bleed beneath any monster’s claws, better you learn to run away from danger—but had watched. it was harmless fun. you ducked behind the potted bonsai for protection, racing around the trunk and likely making the poor cat dizzy, when a harsh rip echoed into the night. you stopped, looking behind you as the two halves of your ‘mask’ fluttered to the floor, torn by one of the branches of the tree. his only thought was that you weren’t hurt, watching as wei tackled you off the pot and onto the floor, but you squirmed free quickly, floating over to the remains… sadly? wei followed, sniffing the leaves, but you didn’t seem interested in playing anymore. you sat by the leaves for far too long, not even moving when wei curled up beside you.

it was nothing. it was a leaf tied around your head with another’s stem, bound to rot and flake away anyway, but you were sulking the next day. he never thought he’d return to his makeshift room and have you not fly up to him with a cloud of chirps, and he quickly decided he didn’t like it. if you were sad you lost your mask, then he’d just have to get you a new one.

he kicked at the remains of a campfire, stomping out the remaining embers. an abandoned adventurer’s camp of some sort, the air free of any malicious warnings. besides the remains of the campfire were a few stray logs, likely spare firewood. he dug through the measly pile, pulling out a log. there was no rot, water damage, no sign of bugs or anything else that would ruin the wood. without another thought, he tucked it under his arm, turning and vanishing into the wind.

he had left when you were already asleep, so he could go straight to his room, but he made a stop first. yanxiao hardly jumped when he turned from the stove, though he did eye the log in his hands strangely.

“what can i get you?”

“i need to borrow a knife.”

“…” he laughed, propping his hands on the table in front of him, and xiao grit his teeth. an adepti, reduced to this… “what, did you lose your spear?”

“of course i didn’t,” he snapped, “but i’m not foolish enough to think i can use a spear to carve wood.”

yanxiao nodded in understanding, reaching into his pocket for a small flip knife. it was barely as long as one of his fingers, the handle a dark wood. “this should do, i think.” he threw the knife underhand, and xiao caught it with ease. the blade flicked out easily, sharp to the touch. ���remember to cut away from you, yeah?”

his grip tightened on the knife, leaving without thanks.

safely in the shadow of his room, xiao finally relaxed. one by one, he removed his guards and charms, quietly setting them in their respective places. you were curled up in your bed as always, none the wiser as he stepped out onto the balcony. he sat facing the moon, setting his mask on the floor beside him. again drawing the small knife, he braced the wood in his lap and began to carve.

yanxiao was many things, but a fool he was not. he had heard from verr about your mask tearing yesterday, about how you sat quietly on xiao’s terrace for the rest of the day in a pout. you were a strange guest, certainly, but you were xiao’s. he kept very limited company, and those he lingered around felt his affections quietly.

when flowers had blown off their tables prior to the reception of an important guest, a mysterious bundle of qingxin had found it’s way onto the reception desk to replace them. when the eccentric xianyun had stopped by for a ‘surprise lunch,’ a small note in familiar writing on his table told him her tastes. when your small, flimsy mask tore in two… well, he couldn’t wait to find out.

he worked as usual, trading guesses with verr as he helped ferry plates back and forth. would he fetch you new leaves in perpetuity? fetch new ones from your home nation of sumeru? find a new toy to distract you? neither of them had ever met a pari before, didn’t know what you wanted or needed to thrive, but they entertained themselves with nonsense speculation nontheless.

xiao showing up in his kitchen without warning was nothing out of the ordinary. yanxiao had learned to pick out the shift in air pressure that signaled his arrival, wiping off his hands and putting the washed vegetables aside. the flat expression on his face was also routine, but the log he held most certainly wasn’t. handcarved offerings weren’t all too uncommon in liyue, especially from an adeptus, but he had a feeling it wasn’t for rex lapis or another adepti.

the next question, of course, was what he would carve. verr suggests a wooden mimic of the leaf mask and he can’t hide the way that makes him laugh, his smile wider than usual as he greets customers.

that night, if you stood just quietly enough beneath the upper balcony and the wind blew the right way, you would hear the quiet scrape of wood and metal. and the next morning, if you were anywhere near the inn, you would likely see a bright pari weaving through the levels, eager to show off their brand new mask carved by the hero of dihua marsh himself.

[crustacean-menace]

I am very intrigued by how the "Toa Tool" thing works.

Like, yeah, some are made by Arthaka or other famous universe toolsmiths, but for many matoran-turned-toa, their tools are often related to their professions or straight up are tools they had in hand that are transformed alongside them during the metamorphosis.

Vakama was a mask carver, carving masks from kanoka disks, and his tool turned out to be a launcher that could use the raw materials of his profession as projectiles (well, not a hard thing considering they already are used as projectiles by many, but still...).

Takua's Chronicler staff became Takanuva's Staff of light, a powerful weapon that, coincidentally, could also function as a rather deadly version of a Kohili Stick.

These items also seem to be strongly tied with their own wielder physical being, as the toa Hagah weapons were transformed along their users, but despite this, they can also be left behind for the sake of better equipment (Mahri Kongu) which, although understandable in some cases (Two hands), still feels weird. That's not just a weapon, that's a part of you.

Its such an interesting concept that seems so often discarded in favour of elemental powers and mask, but like... Its YOUR weapon. It is related to a matoran entire being, their life, their experiences and things they enjoy. It's a way to use one's passion in a way that lets them protect others, and often also have additional functions based on what they may need. How cool is that? Think about it.

There could be a toa of ice whose job as a matoran was janitor and their weapon is a mop that can freeze its tendrils and become a morningstar, or generate a frozen layer over what its passed over, painting ice paths in an instant.

There could be a toa of air who had a passion for botany and took care of the MU version of bonsai trees, their precision shears turned into a huge, bulky pair of scissors that can be used as a broadsword that can also manipulate air currents to cut things from distance.

There could be a toa of iron whose main job was welding, and lo and behold, the clunky, cumbersome equipment he struggled to drag around became a big flamethrower that it wears like a backpack, complete with a welding mask integrated on top of their own kanohi as a visor.

There could be a Toa of stone who enjoyed the life of a performer, juggling, somersaulting, doing precision throws and whose tool is now a set of spiky or bladed clubs that can bounce on surfaces and enemies alike and then return to them.

A toa of Psionics whose dream to write stories manifested into a strange staff, originally their writing stylus, able to manifest masterful illusions by writing words inside the enemy minds and trap them in stories through the mere strength of their narration.

[weather-phenomenon]

new bucket list attempt everything on this list at least once

Master list of creative hobbies

Art creative hobbies

1. Botanical illustration

2. Architectural drawing

3. Urban sketching

4. Comic and manga illustration

5. Children’s book illustration

6. Digital art and design

7. Figure drawing

8. Fashion illustration

9. Mapmaking

10. Doodling and zentangle

11. Sticker making

12. Coloring books (for adults)

13. Paint by numbers

14. Diamond painting

DIY creative hobbies and crafts

15. Soap making

16. Resin molding

17. Button making

18. Candle making

19. Basket weaving

20. Terrazzo

21. Sand art bottles

22. String art

23. Perler beads

24. Seed beading

25. Wreath making

Industrial creative hobbies

26. Woodworking

27. Woodturning

28. Wood burning (pyrography)

29. Glass blowing

30. Glass etching

31. Stained glass art

32. Concrete molds

33. Jewelry making

34. Leather working

35. Metalworking and welding

36. Metal embossing

37. Mosaics

Sculpting and carving hobbies

38. Sculpting

39. Ice sculpting

40. Wood carving

41. Pottery

42. Soap carving

43. Sand sculptures and sandcastle building

Printmaking creative hobbies

44. Linocut printmaking

45. Woodcut printmaking

46. Screen printing

47. Rubber stamping

Needlecraft creative hobbies

48. Sewing

49. Cosplay

50. Embroidery

51. Cross-stitching

52. Crewel

53. Needle felting

54. Quilting

55. Crochet

56. Amigurumi

57. Knitting

58. Arm knitting

59. Needlepoint

Fiber arts hobbies

60. Visible mending

61. Macrame

62. Weaving

63. Rug tufting

64. Punch needle

65. Latch hook

66. Lace making

67. Dreamcatchers

Miniature creative hobbies

68. Model building

69. Painting miniatures

70. Dollhouses

71. Fairy gardens

72. Bonkei

73. Diorama making

74. Putz houses and nativity scenes

75. Lego MOC

Stationery and lettering hobbies

76. Calligraphy

77. Hand lettering

78. Art journaling

79. Bullet journaling

80. Card making

81. Scrapbooking

Papercraft creative hobbies

82. Origami

83. Papercraft modeling

84. Paper quilling

85. Collage art

86. Paper making

87. Bookbinding

88. Pop-up making

89. Paper mache

Digital creative hobbies

90. 3D printing

91. Stop motion animation

92. Graphic design

93. Photo manipulation

94. Game development

95. Raspberry Pi

Plant-related creative hobbies

96. Bonsai

97. Tree shaping (Pooktre)

98. Terrariums

99. Aquascaping

100. Flower pressing

101. Flower arranging

102. Topiary gardening

103. Seed art

104. Rock gardening

Other creative hobbies and crafts

105. Puzzles

106. Sudoku

107. Crossword puzzles

108. Writing

109. Learning a foreign language

110. Cooking

111. Music

112. Photography

113. Dancing

114. Sports

115. Improv

116. Nail art

117. Baking

118. Magic

119. Tarot cards

120. Card stacking

121. Collecting

[daily-sloop-john-b]

Hot take: In no way is Gale a sorcerer. He is, instead, a bonsai.

Bonsai are purposefully grown as a simulacrum of nature—every twist and gnarl an echo of a wild, uncultivated tree. They're either propagated from a branch (as most store-bought ones are) or grown and shaped from seedlings to their artists' eye.

Their taproots that are meant to anchor them to the ground are grown 'til they're clipped. Their roots are wired into shallow bases, grown in formulated gravel and mixed with pelletted fertilizers. Their branches are clipped and wired to "train" them. Some artists pluck the leaves from the branches when they grow too large. If an artist wants a hollow or a knot, they will carve one with woodworking tools and encourage the bark to regrow over. The little trees are trained and sculpted for decades by sapient hands, towards the goal of appearing natural.

There is nothing natural at all about this process—it is perhaps the most unnatural way to grow a tree. And the resultant tree needs daily care and wouldn't last a month untended. But the greater the artist, the more "natural" these mechanations look. The goal of a bonsai artist is to make it look like such an unnatural process had no purposeful hands at all.

Gale isn't a sorcerer; he began his training young and grew himself around the wires. Why he was targeted in the first place, Canon never speaks to.

But I do wonder of Mystra's skill as an artist.

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

hey dude, love the writing! your characterizations are so on point for em :0 what do you reckon the merc's hobbies are in their downtime? like knitting, golfing, stuff like that.

TF2 Mercs and Their Hobbies!

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I'm glad people think I'm good because that justifies the fact that this is what I do with my spare time 😭 (kidding) Also again mandatory mutual appreciation, love ya for that 🫶🏻 and ty for loving my writing, I really appreciate it <3

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This one's definitely got me smiling and kicking my legs bc something about the idea of these guys being happy and doing normal human things makes me happy.

————————————————————

Demo knits! He also sews and crochets. This man is just a little grandma (affectionate). His mom taught him, and he just always liked it. It's calming, has definitely given the other Mercs blankets, and just claimed, "Oh well, I found it somewhere." Like it isn't in their well-known favorite color or subtly customized to them. I think he'd also be into most art. Painting and wood carving are two I think he'd fine interesting.

Engie- This man loves Legos. He has at least ten finished sets and about six unfinished ones lying around. He buys the adult sets for himself but has bought Pyro smaller sets so they can build together. Also isn't opposed to going fishing.

Heavy- Did you know he likes rock climbing? Turns out it's a lot easier to get into that hobby if you're strong. He's also a fan of hiking and swimming. Also very good at chess, he and Madic play a lot.

Medic- He loves music! He's good at it too, (I've seen others hc that he plays violin and please I love that, I love violin.) Along with the violin he kills on piano. It's actually really nice to hear piano coming from the lab and not screaming. Who knew? THIS. MAN. LOVES. TO. DANCE. He knows how to and loves to teach people. He specifically likes ballroom dancing, he can waltz, he can swing, if you can think of a dance he probably learned how to do it at some point.

Scout- Sports are probably the most obvious hobby I could pick for Scout, with video games coming in second. But I am a man who deviates from the obvious. He likes to bake and cook! Like I've seen people say this man can't boil water, and that's an insane take to me. Sure, it's funny, but this man loves his mom. Do you think he didn't bake and cook with her to help her out? He has a box of recipes that have been in the family for years. This man is killer when it comes to food, and I will die on this hill. (When he's baking, though, Pyro comes out of nowhere to "help." If any fellow bakers know how annoying it is to have a partner in the kitchen, you'll know how patient Scout has become, but he aurally doesn't mind Pyro baking with him after a while.) Don't ask him to do paintball with you! He loves it a bit too much.

Sniper- My man loves plants. He loves to garden. He has a little windowsill planter in his van. He grows little fruit plants sometimes and has a few cacti scattered around. He also has a bonsai tree, which he is meticulous with. You'd think this man would take up these hobbies to relax, but no. He is also insanely good at poker.

Spy- Really in to calligraphy, origami, and wine tasting. (Also, not really a hobby, but I hc that he can bartend if need be). He's just really into the "fancier." Hobbies that can also show off his art skills, also he likes wine so yk.

Soldier- Like Sniper, he's a really good poker player. He's definitely more into it than the other guys. He hates losing. He also does the traditional suburban while dad hobbies. He watches football and likes to grill. He's just a silly little American man.

Pyro- For the most part, they don't have a singular hobby they really do by themself. Scout and Engie just tend to include them in theirs, so they've never really had to figure out what to do in their downtime. But that doesn't mean they didn't find one eventually. They get into collecting! Specifically, bugs! They have at least two orchid praying mantis and one normal green one in a shadow box. Plus, they have a small collection on honeybees and even some scorpions and spiders (I know they aren't bugs, but I feel like most bug collectors have them too.) Engie went into Pyros room once because Pyro wanted to show off their collection and nearly fainted when Pyro showed off their favorite spider, it was a camel spider. (Look them up if you want but good God, they're so gross 😭)

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One of my favorites to write, super cute and wholesome idea. I smiled the whole time writing this.

————————————————————

[wildbeautifuldamned]

https://www.1stdibs.com

[cyberneticlagomorph]

[a POV video is posted of someone, probably Jack, walking through a forest of absolutely massive trees.

The trees' limbs have been twisted and manipulated like especially huge bonsai, decorated with fluttering ribbons and greenish-blue worm-lights. Some branches are walkways, some have been shaped into platforms or scaffolds for the numerous buildings that seem to grow from the tree like strange fruits.

There are homes, shops, hospitals, farming relays, and all manner of things either suspended from the branches or halfway grafted onto the trees' trunks. A few buildings seem to be INSIDE the trees themselves somehow, without hurting them.

Jack stops for a moment to take it all in, ignoring the crowds of excited tourists hauling ass towards the nearest nursery gardens.

An elf scuttles head first down the trunk of a nearby tree, like a squirrel. This is apparently normal behavior for them, as their feet are able to rotate almost completely backwards in order to help with this task, in addition to their long tails helping to balance them. The elf looks up, halfway down the tree, catches Jack filming and waves at the camera before continuing on their way down.

There are very clear and obvious elevators and other methods of transport up and down the trees, but it looks like that specific guy just wanted to scamper today.

Jack continues on his way towards the nursery gardens, ushered by elves in fancy clothes.

The gardens themselves don't look very special, they're just flat patches of dirt encircled by the roots of the towering trees. Rich black soil, meticulously plucked of grasses and weeds so that only an army of bright green sprouts can flourish. There are paths through the garden made of flat stones, carved with names, dates and symbols. records of those born there.

There are midwives strolling through the gardens, some plucking and pruning weeds in different parts of the gardens, some watering the sprouts, or measuring their growth. They're all dressed the same, in heavy leather gloves, wide brimmed hats with fine veils, leather knee-pads, dense looking boots, aprons, and overalls. A midwife pauses in their work to wave at the tourists, gently patting the soil around a healthy looking sprout. The sprout wiggles, and all the nearby midwives stop what they're doing to coo at it.

"Almost ripe." An elf says, leaning towards Jack with a conspiratorial grin. The elf in question is milk white with black eyes and grayish hair, her skin covered in hundreds of eye shaped tattoos that give her the appearance of a birch tree that decided to be a person. She points at another plot, this one full of healthy, wriggling sprouts. "Those are mine, with any luck they'll be picking them today."

"Mozzels!" Jack says.

A guide, dressed in bright red and holding a flag so he's easy to see, leads the tour group deeper into the gardens. "The midwives would like to remind you that non elf visitors are asked to stay on the paths at all times, both for your safety and for hygiene reasons, we don't know where you've been or what you've stepped in so please don't track it into our nursery."

The paths are very pretty anyways, so Jack doesn't mid staying on them. The stones all vary, some are natural, some are concrete or glass, all of them are carved with names and dates and family symbols.

"I feel kinda bad stepping on these, they're so pretty..." Jack says, lifting his paw so he can get a good look at a chunk of polished river stone carved with a whole LITTER of names.

"Don't be." Says the birch elf. "They're made to be stepped on." But even she pauses and points at a stepping stone, it's very old and the name on it is almost worn completely away. "This one's mine though, look it still has my teeth marks in it."

It's hard to tell with all the wear and tear and dirt, but there are several deep grooves in the rock like something had tried to eat it.

The tour stops in a section of the gardens marked with dozens of little stakes and flags, each next to a little sprout that's wiggling and writhing almost impatiently.

"This is the plot where we keep the smaller clutches and singlets, or anybody that doesn't want a big patch all to themselves." The tour guide says, keeping the tourists at a respectful distance while the soon to be parents gather near their patches.

Midwives scurry to and fro, arms full of baskets and blankets, big soft brushes, and hand scales like the kind people use to weigh fish.

A midwife kneels in the dirt, wraps their fingers around a sprout and PULLS. In a flurry of dirt and screaming, out pops a brand new elf kitten. Flailing limbs and gnashing baby teeth, the kitten hisses at the midwife who holds it at arms length by the sprout and the need for such thick gloves becomes very apparent. The kitten is brushed free of loose dirt, weighed, and wrapped in a blanket before being handed over to its parents.

It has not stopped screaming and hissing and carrying on the entire time.

This is normal.

The entire garden soon fills with the hisses and shrieks of newborn elves. Several of them crawl out of the dirt of their own accord before the midwives can pluck them and immediately try to bite something or someone with their wretched little egg teeth.

A milk white elf kitten waddles up to Jack with the utmost certainty, sniffs her paw, and immediately sits on it like they belong there.

"Ah!" Jack gently nudged the kitten towards the birch elf. "I think this one is yours maybe?"

The birch elf laughs and scoops up the kitten, nuzzling its dirty little face. "Nah, mine are back toward the front, this one IS my nephew though."

The kitten squeaks and beeps, flailing his little limbs in what might be delight.

Soon all the wandering babies are rounded up and given to the correct parents, pictures are taken, records are recorded. Someone tries to put pants on a kitten and almost loses their fingers.

Jack gets to hold a singular elf kitten, the kitten is so sleepy and little and slightly fuzzy.

Jack cries on and off for 10 minutes, with the video ending there.]

[momiji-bookhouse]

Hey there! I don't know if this is how it works but I would like to request kazuha with windwhill aster for your spring event 😍 not sure if I should add something else but yea lol

[Windwheel Aster]: "Where to?" "Anywhere, as long as it's with you."

Event Masterlist

pairing: Kaedehara Kazuha x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

Farewells are never as simple as a single goodbye.

It often signifies a transition, a step into a new phase in a person’s life that may mean having to change everything that they have known thus far. It may be something uttered in silence, carving into the person’s heart and fusing itself until it can convince them that this is how things are supposed to be. 

Kazuha is no stranger to the silence. From the moment his mother took her last breath while holding his soft weight in her arms, to the day his father joined her over that golden bank — where the bonsai leaves never wilt, where the flowers will bloom forever. The day his last name was reduced to a sharpened blade and a wandering soul, to memories of sublime lightning and pouring ash.

They settled into the blank spaces between his words, burned themselves under his silver tongue. Though people say that time heals all wounds, no healing ointment or blessed water could make it go away, or any easier.

But it was never his intention to leave without saying goodbye to you.

You deserve more than a measly written letter that could not adequately express everything he wants to say to you. You’re more important to him than a few honeyed words that could only glaze the surface.

But everything happened so fast. Crackling thunder. Blinding lightning. The smell of charred flesh and soot. The wind howling his name.

The next thing he knew, he was stowed away on a boat heading towards Watatsumi Island, where rumors of a rising resistance bubbled all the way to the Tenshukaku. The time that he spent with the resistance was not long by any means, but it was enough to build long-lasting friendships and cement his reputation as Inazuma’s most wanted fugitive.

During that time, he was hesitant to even send you a note of how he was doing, in fear that the Shogun’s army would get their hands on it and connect you to him. He would never forgive himself if even one strand of hair on your head was touched. Thus, even when the guilt ate away at him and his nightmares echoed with the sounds of your accusations, he held out.

It’s only when he was secured a spot on the Crux, implored by his friend Gorou, and reassured many times about the trustworthiness of the messenger did he finally decide to send you a letter about his situation. He knows it could never replace being able to see you in person, but a part of him was afraid that just one look at you and he would never be able to stomach leaving you behind.

But you deserve more than a life in the shadows. You deserve a life without worry, to be in the sun and not have to constantly look over your shoulder, to have someone beside you whenever you need them. Everything that he couldn’t give you.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t stop his heart from aching and his stomach from closing on itself as he stands on the deck of the Alcor, eyes fixed in the direction of the place he left behind, where he unknowingly put a part of his soul in the care of your gentle hands.

“Up-anchor in a few minutes!” One of the sailors shouts and the last of the preparation pick up speed. Kazuha reluctantly leaves his post to see if any assistance is needed from him, all the while the truth of the matter hits him harder than lightning off the shore of Yashiori. He’s leaving everything he knew behind; his homeland, his way of life, his friends, you.

You, you, you.

He wonders if you’ve gotten his letter by now. Would you be reading it under the shade of your favorite tree? Would you cry or curse his name as you read the words that he had so desperately poured his heart into?

Surrounded by all these noises, all these people, and he has never hated the silence so much.

Then...the sound of footsteps that stirs the ground, quickly pounding onto the wooden bridge that leads to the ship. It’s resilient and familiar, a sound he can recognized even in his hazy dreams. Kazuha whips his head around, crimson eyes wide with alarm and every breath of air knocked out of his lungs when he realizes that it is indeed you.

Abandoning all thought and reason, he races over to your side amidst the confused and indignant cries of the crew on board. He meets you just as you take a step onto the deck.

“(Y/N)!” Kazuha cries out. “What in the name of all that’s divine and celestial are you doing here?!” He clasps your shoulders, worry lines creasing his forehead as he sees you struggling to breathe, your knees buckling as if you just ran all the way from Narukami to Watatsumi.

“Got...your...le...letter.” You struggle with every intake of air. “Had...to see you!”

His body turns cold, like someone just dumped a bucket of seawater on him. When he sent you that letter, he never thought it could prompt you to make the journey so quickly.

“Kazuha.” The captain’s voice drops down an octave, her eyes narrowing in annoyance at the fact that a stranger just boarded her ship. “Who is this?”

“Captain Beidou. This is (Y/N), a very dear person to me.” He softly takes your hand in his and squeezes it as a sign of comfort.

“I’m sorry for barging like this, Captain.” You speak up. “But there’s something that I absolutely must say to Kazuha. It’ll be only for a moment.”

Her ruby gaze roams over the both of you and the air seems to be charged with electricity. It’s enough to make even the toughest squirm, and he quickly understands her reputation to be true.

“Go towards the bow of the ship,” she finally says after what feels like forever. “And be quick about it.”

“Yes, captain.”

He gently tugs you to the front of the ship, where thankfully there’s barely anyone to disrupt the private moment. Kazuha has so many things he wants to say to you, things he buried in the dark, but when face-to-face with you in the silence, his tongue suddenly feels like lead.

“Were you really planning to leave without saying goodbye?” You say in a tiny voice, hurt interwoven into every syllable.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I know the letter wasn’t enough. But I couldn’t risk the army connecting me to you.”

You sigh, the sound weary and tired. “For days I agonized over questions I have no answers to. Where did you go? What happened that day? Are you safe? Or are you...” You choke on your thoughts, the remains of it like poison on your tongue. “I was so confused and scared. So scared that the next time I walk the streets, there would be terrible news waiting for me. I know why you had to leave, but still, you're a terrible, terrible man for making me worried like that."

"I'm sorry. Believe me when I say that I wanted nothing more than to let you know where I was and how I was doing. But I would never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you if they happened to intercept my letter.”

“I get it, I do,” you say. The quiet stretch like a suffocating blanket. “...Are you...really going to leave?”

He nods, slowly and heavily. “I have to. It’s too dangerous for me to stay here. Not with this in my possession.” His hand goes to the lifeless thing tucked in his kimono, its coldness like dead weight. 

Your eyes glaze over as you look at the object, no doubt remembering it when it was pulsing with life. “Then...I’ll go with you.”

He snaps his head up at your statement, eyes becoming so impossibly wide that you fear it might pop out of his head. “W-what?”

“I’ll go with you,” you stand up straighter and say with more resolution.

“(Y/N), you can’t!” He hurriedly takes a hold of your shoulders. “I can’t let you do that.”

“And why not? Less you forget, Kazuha, I’m also a traveler.”

“But this is different! This...” How could he make you understand? “You’ll be uprooting your entire life, you’ll be leaving everything behind. You may never see Inazuma again.”

One of your hands reaches up to cover the one holding your right shoulder, your eyes lowering as you look at him. “Kazuha, I wouldn’t travel all the way from Narukami to here, risking questioning by the army, if I wasn’t ready to do all that? I’ve said all of my goodbyes, even to those who aren’t here anymore. But saying goodbye to you would surely break my heart.”

He swallows, heat prickling at the corner of his eyes. “What if something happens? What if you come to regret your decision?”

“I would rather endure all the waves and storms by your side, than look at the moon and wondering if you’re looking, too.”

The next breath that he exhales is heavy, like it holds everything his heart has hidden. “Okay.” His forehead gently connects with yours, the tendrils of his white hair caressing your cheek. “Okay.”

Of course, that’s not the end of things. The next step to do is to convince Captain Beidou to accept another person on board.

The aforementioned captain stares at you meticulously, causing a cold shiver to travel down your spine, after hearing your request.

“I can vouch for (Y/N)–” Kazuha speaks up, but he is quickly cut off by a wave of her hand.

“Have you sailed before?”

“Yes, multiple times when I travel with Kazuha. I have never been on a ship this size before, but I’m a quick learner!”

“Can you clean after yourself?”

“Yes!”

“Are you willing to take any orders and risk yourself in any situation?”

“Yes!”

“Do you like to party?”

“...yes?”

“Then welcome aboard, (Y/N).” Beidou finally gives you a smile, and you feel like something was lifted off your shoulders. “But I must warn you, if at any point I feel like you can’t handle a life at sea, you will be asked to disembark at the nearest port, got it?”

“Yes captain!”

When it was finally time to raise the anchor and set sail, you and Kazuha find yourself peering over the deck, the sound of crashing waves like a song as you watch the only place that you’ve ever known become farther and farther away from you.

Kazuha intertwines his fingers with yours, and though perhaps you should be a bundle of nerves right now at the prospect of leaving everything you have known behind, your heart is as tranquil as the clouds floating above.

“Hey,” Kazuha turns around to admire the way the wind caresses your hair. “Where do you think we’ll go from here?”

“Oh Kazuha. Anywhere.” You rest your head on his shoulder, a content smile blossoming on your face. “Simply anywhere.”

[momijiba]

it  was  a  special  day.  maybe  that's  not  how  his  fiance  would  see  it  but  it  was  how  kazuha  would  see  it.  as  it  was  the  day  that  they  would  ''celebrate''  ren's  birthday  and  kazuha  got  to  pamper  the  love  of  his  life  with  affection  and  appreciation  for  his  existence.

kazuha  has  been  working  on  making  decorations  out  of  rocks  for  his  family  bonsai  and  as  ren's  hobby  is  collecting  rocks,  kazuha  thought  it  would  be  nice  to  give  him  a  little  thing  that  he  carved  out  a  piece  of  noctilucous  jade.   it  was  the  shape  of  a  cat,  it  reminded  kazuha  of  his  to-be-husband  when  he  was  making  it. 

wrapped  with  a  little  blue  bow  around  its  neck  kazuha  presented  it  to  him  with  an  expression  that  said  nothing  more  than  how  much  he  loves  ren.

                ❝   happy  birthday  my  aoi  hasu   ❞

[happy-hokkyokugitsune]

Went plant shopping yesterday and-

😂💛☀️

Instant thought: Farmer's market AU

Goshiki's a florist and has a little plant stall. He sells lots of plants, hydrangeas, japanese maple, and bamboo. Primarily focuses on flowers. Most people come for his flowering bonsai trees. He also has tea leaves available, matcha, gyokuro, sencha, and others.

Tendou still makes chocolate but also several other sweets. He always has a new flavor every two weeks. Some people travel far for his goodies, like that cute blonde teacher who always comes and buys out all his spicy chocolates.

Ushijima runs a farm, are you surprised? He has a bunch of animals but at the market, he sells fruits, vegetables, herbs, spices, and jerky. Sometimes he brings fish and fermented foods. His kimchi and pickled daikons are amazing.

Kawanishi has a saké stall, he's known for his plethora of different flavors, yuzu, apple, peach, raspberry, and pear. He actually makes the best plum saké in Miyagi and has been slowly introducing mead to his customers.

Semi is that musician always playing close to the market, he's a staple at this point and it's a great way for him to get his music out there and make connections. The guys all help by talking about Semi's music and encouraging people to book Semi for events.

Shirabu is a papermaker, it's a family business, but he adds his own twist by folding origami animals and boxes. He also makes interesting paper color combinations and personalized stamps. He is known for his custom bookbinding.

Hayato is the local woodworker, it's also his family's business and has been for years, but something about his furniture is just beyond beautiful. He specializes in making intricate carvings and secret compartments.

Reon has a bakery, donuts and hand pies are his focus, but he makes several other baked goodies and even jam. His goods are always made with ingredients from local folks. He collaborates with Tendou to make chocolate bread, it's a huge hit. I need this. Let me have this.

[katalyna-rose]

Coming along nicely!! I continue to be Obsessed(tm) with mushroom carvings from @bekkathyst and I adore the tiny planet upon which I can play god. The azurite malachite cluster I got as my gift on my last purchase is such a lovely pop of bright color. I am genuinely so grateful to have gotten the exact colors of the bunny carvings that I wanted, I squealed when I pulled a green one out!

Now that I have this pretty corner I actually want to use my standing desk lol. Also the copper bonsai was made by my mother!