#color prompt: viridian green

[hpcottagecorefest]

HP COTTAGECORE 2023 - WEEK FOUR

Prompts

Colors: Viridian Green (Hex #009C9D), Brass (Hex #B5A03D) Word: Foraging Picture: forest pathways

Prompts - Week One, Week Two, Week Three Rules & Guidelines - here or here AO3 - here

If you want the blog to reblog your work, please tag @hpcottagecorefest and #hpcottagecorefest2023

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hello! Recently read your latest Rin piece and fell in love with your writing style :)

If you’re up for it, could I request childhood friends with Hiori? Sorry it’s a little vague, but I love the direction you’ve taken other pieces and wanted to leave the details up to you! My only suggestion on a detail would be maybe sprinkling in some light angst about his parents/backstory.

Thank you for considering!

── WHITE BUTTERFLY

Synopsis: You spend the years of your youth with Yo Hiori, in a field that’s almost lonely as the two of you.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Hiori x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k

Content Warnings: childhood friends, hiori is vaguely suicidal and also vaguely homicidal, uhh i feel like i know nothing about him as a character so popping that sexy little ooc warning in there jic, open ending, lots of #nature, almost the entire story takes place in a field so idk, hiori is like. madly in love w reader but he’s nonchalant abt it

A/N: thank you so much anon that means a lot!! cherry tree rin and y/n are so silly (<- affectionate) i’m glad you enjoyed that fic 💖 one thing about me i love a good childhood friends to lovers trope especially with angst…hiori is another character i haven’t written a ton for so i hope i interpreted him correctly and that you like what i decided to do with your prompt!! ty for requesting 🫶🏻

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

The field across from your house was melancholic and desolate, an acre or so of rolling green that bled into trees at the edges. Although by all rights it should’ve been considered a picturesque place, no amount of beauty could take away from the abandoned atmosphere which had long ago settled over the land.

According to your parents, there had been plans for a grand mansion to be built in that location, but before drafts for its construction could be drawn up, the owner had died. The son who had inherited it had no use for the plot, but neither could he be brought to sell the place of his father’s dreams, so the land had sat empty and unused for years upon years. 

People thought the area was cursed, and the general consensus was that it ought to be avoided, but your parents did not believe in things like curses and bad luck and whatnot, so they told you it was fine if you wanted to play there. You were a lonely child, prone to wandering off on your own anyways, and you supposed they must’ve reasoned to themselves that it’d be easier if you were close enough that you could run home should something happen. 

You would sit in the middle of the field, far from any prying eyes, and you’d admire the blooming plants beneath your feet. It was not just grass — there were a million and one varieties of things growing in that wild place, and you would run your fingers along their leaves, doing your best not to frighten the animals and insects which called that field their home.

They grew accustomed to you with time, and instead of shying away, they invited you into their own world. The squirrels and chipmunks would dash out from their trees to scuttle around your feet and splayed hands, while the dormice would peek out of their burrows without fear, nibbling on whatever seeds they had gathered before settling in for the day. The larks would warble to you, and if you were in a particularly cheery mood, you’d whistle back to them, trying to imitate their melodies but always falling a little short.

The third time you went to the field, you found that someone had arrived before you. For a moment, you thought that he must be a ghost, for he stood in such stark contrast to everything you had come to know that there was no other reasonable explanation for it. He was spindly and pale like a skeleton, and his shaggy hair and eyes were the color of winter, such an unnatural shade compared to the viridian he was surrounded by.

You were contemplating running away when he turned around, his eyes widening when he saw you. In his hands was a soccer ball, and resting on the soccer ball was a large white butterfly, its lazily flapping wings shimmering like a whisper in the sunlight.

You were both silent for a moment, a soft breeze rustling through the field and sounding like a song that urged you towards him despite your misgivings. Tentatively, he held the ball out towards you, but the motion startled the butterfly, which abruptly took to the air, fluttering away before either of you could react.

“Who are you?” you said.

“Yo Hiori,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Y/N L/N,” you said. “I live in the house across the street.”

“We’re neighbors, then,” he said. “My house is a few doors down from yours. Do you come here often?”

“Yes,” you said. “Do you?”

He shook his head ruefully. “This is the first time. My parents think I’m practicing soccer right now.”

“You shouldn’t do that here,” you said, frowning at the thought of him kicking up dirt and slamming a ball around carelessly through your sanctuary. “Go somewhere else if you want to play something so reckless.”

“I don’t,” he said. You furrowed your brow. “Don’t want to practice soccer, I mean.”

“I see,” you said. “Well, this is a good place to run to if that’s the case. No one will come looking for you here.”

“Is that the truth?” he said. “Really?”

“Really,” you said. “Everyone thinks it’s cursed, but in truth, I think that that just means it’s blessed.”

“Ah,” Hiori said. “But do you mind?”

“Do I mind what?” you said.

“If I keep coming here,” he said. “When I want to run away.”

“It doesn’t belong to me. I suppose you could say I belong to it, but that’s neither here nor there. No, I can’t stop you, so why would I mind?” you said.

“Are you some sort of woodland fairy?” he said. You laughed aloud.

“I wish. Are you a ghost?” you said. He shook his head.

“Nope,” he said.

“Then I guess our claims to this place are equal,” you said. “Anyways, as long as you don’t disturb it too much, I won’t be angry. I’ll do the same for you, don’t worry.”

“I don’t care what you do to it,” he said. “I just want to go somewhere that’s quiet and I can be left alone.”

This much you could understand, and you thought that perhaps Hiori would grow to be an exception to your loneliness, or an addition to it. Not a cure, because that did not exist, but a person who could relish in his own solitude and share in that inexplicable sensation which was your greatest joy.

You never saw him anywhere but in that field. You weren’t sure if he even existed outside of its context, or if he was like the dormice and the larks, a skittish creature who made his home in those grassy divots and only appeared to greet you before running back off to hide once you were gone.

At first, he was even more reserved than the animals had been. Neither of you spoke, but somehow, it happened that you were always in the same place at the same time, and eventually, little by little, the two of you became dependent on one another’s presence. Your life before meeting Hiori was pale and lifeless in comparison to your life after, and the first time you both spoke as friends instead of strangers, you thought to yourself that you could never go back to the way you had previously been.

No longer did you whistle at birds and play with squirrels; instead, you sat across from Hiori and listened to him explain things like soccer and video games. You were not particularly interested in either of these subjects, but as long as it was Hiori, you didn’t mind hearing about them. It was the cadence of his voice you were concerned with, the rise and fall of his words, the soft inflections of each syllable. 

You had never had a friend before. It was a personal choice rather than a failing; every person who tried to engage with you was met with the same disdain, for you found no appeal in any such clumsy attempts at camaraderie. In your childish mind, friendship ought to be hard-won and delicately kept, and so it remained that of all the people in the world, Hiori was the only one whose honest company you could prefer.

He was a forlorn and low-spirited boy, the winter to your bursting summer, but his coldness was the inviting sort, like a dusting of snow on a cluster of berries or frost on a forgotten bird’s nest. It did not ward you away but drew you in, your breath fogging in the air as you lay beside him and listened to him ramble on and on about whatever topics struck his fancy.

Sometimes he was prone to muteness, and on those occasions you took it upon yourself to intertwine your fingers with his, pulling him along behind you and naming every plant and tree and flower you passed by, greeting the tittering chipmunks and the cooing larks and the peeping rabbits. He would not say anything, but you knew he was listening, for he would smile slightly whenever you pointed at something he found particularly pleasing.

Every day, he would bring the soccer ball with him. He refused to put it down, but neither did he play with it or even acknowledge its existence; you sensed it vexed him, that it was the source or a symptom of the gloomy undercurrent which ran through his life, but he could not let it go, just like he could never truly be happy in any way that lasted.

“Y/N,” he said once, when you and he were lying on your backs in the grass and watching the clouds drift by. “If you could be any other creature, what would you be?”

“I don’t know,” you said, considering the question seriously. “Maybe a songbird. What about you?”

“I’d be one of those,” he said, pointing at a butterfly floating past. It was a common variety, nondescript and plain and white, but somehow made more beautiful by the ubiquity of its kind.

“Why?” you said.

“I’d live a short but carefree life, and then I would die before anyone could demand anything from me,” he said, smiling slightly and closing his eyes. “Plus, if I could be something as small and pretty as a butterfly in our meadow, then I would be able to spend my entire existence resting on your finger.”

Your meadow. You weren’t sure when it had gone from being a place you visited to a place you owned, but yes, the shift had definitely occurred. You and Hiori loved it, and so it was yours by that right alone. You reached out your hand, setting it on his heart and then closing your own eyes in a mirror of his position.

“I wouldn’t prefer that,” you said. Something cool and soft curled over your fingers; you knew without looking that it was Hiori’s own hand, which would always come to rest against yours like a magnet.

“Hm,” he said.

“I’d get used to you being there,” you explained. “And then one day you’d vanish and I’d be alone again.”

“Would you miss me?” he said.

“Very much,” you said. 

“Nobody else would,” he admitted, though he still spoke in an even monotone. “I’d be replaced quickly. Someone just as talented or even better would take my place, and then it’d be like I was never there in the first place.”

“I’d miss you,” you insisted. “I don’t care about talent. You’re someone who’s irreplaceable to me.”

“I see,” he said. “Then I guess, if not a butterfly, I would also want to be a songbird. Like you.”

“We could fly around the world together,” you said. 

“Yes,” he said. “The countries I’ve seen in my video games…we could go to them. If we were birds, we could.”

“Maybe we still can,” you said.

“We can’t,” he said. “My parents would never let me.”

“What about when we’re adults? They can’t tell you what to do then, so we can leave them behind and travel wherever we want,” you said.

“It’s a nice dream,” he said.

“Hold onto it,” you said. “That’s the only way it can ever come true.”

“Okay,” he said. “I will.”

Even as you and Hiori became older and made friends outside of one another, there was a sort of solace which only he could provide you and which in turn only you could provide him, so neither of you ever outgrew that field. The moment you got home from school, you’d drop your bag on the counter and run there as fast as you could, hoping to see him before he had to leave for soccer practice. And every time, without fail, he’d be there, waiting where he always was, his small smile widening when he saw you racing towards him.

The contents of your conversations changed, moving from games and plants to complaining about schoolwork and updating one another about your respective social lives and dramas — he went to a private academy for soccer, while you attended the public school that most kids your age went to — but the familiarity never diminished. If anything, it only increased, as any inhibitions you had had in your youths gradually fell away.

“Hiori! You’ll never believe it,” you said, moving his abandoned soccer ball aside and sitting across from him. He did not look up from the pieces of grass he was braiding together, but he nodded to indicate he was listening. “Remember those two guys I was telling you about?”

“The ones who had a crush on the same girl?” he said.

“Yup, those two,” you said. “They finally got into a fistfight over her! It was crazy.”

“Who won?” he said.

“The principal, because he broke up the brawl and suspended them both,” you said. “Thereby ruining their brief romance-novel-moment entirely.”

“That’s a pity,” he said with a snort. “I can’t imagine what possessed them to do something as stupid as beating each other up on school grounds.”

“Love makes people crazy,” you said dramatically, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead and collapsing backwards into the dirt. “You’ll understand when you feel it yourself, silly Hiori.”

“Huh?” he said.

“I mean, one day, you’ll fall madly in love with someone, and then you’ll be inclined to beat another person up for them,” you said.

“What if I already have?” he said. You shot up with a gasp.

“And you didn’t tell me? Who is it? Who, who? You can’t hide stuff like that!” you said.

“It was only a hypothetical,” he said. “There isn’t anyone. What about you? Are you madly in love with someone?”

“You’ll be the first to know when I am, but at the moment, I don’t find myself able to even tolerate any of the boys I go to school with! They’re all disgusting, immature, and insensitive. Just looking at them is enough to make me gag, so forget about falling in love!” you said.

“That sucks,” he said.

“Maybe I’ll be single forever,” you said. “I’ll live alone, with pets and a porch swing and a backyard just like this field, somewhere faraway where no one can find me.”

“What about me?” he said, taking your wrist and tying the braided grass around it like a bracelet.

“Well, I’ll tell you where I am, of course,” you said. “You’re the only one I would want as a visitor.”

“I’ll come every day,” he said.

“At that point, you might as well just live there with me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’d save you the time spent traveling back and forth.”

“Would you like me to?” he said. “I thought the point was for you to be alone.”

“If it’s you, then it wouldn’t be so bad,” you said. “Being with you is even better than being alone.”

The sun hit Hiori at the exact moment that he grinned at you, and in the back of your mind, where things were understood but not known, you recognized that of all the beings in that lovely place, he was far and away the loveliest.

A distant and rumbling thunder portended a storm on the day you learned who Hiori really was. He never went to the field if it was raining — there was no excuse for him to escape his home, and so, though you did not much mind the weather, you tended to keep to your room on those days as well. Today, though, the rain was still only a blot on the horizon, which meant you would have a precious few minutes with him before it began to pour and you had to leave again.

“Hey, Hiori,” you said. In an uncharacteristic move, he wasn’t holding onto the soccer ball; instead, it was on the ground, his foot resting atop it, his head bowed towards it and his hands balled into fists at his sides. He glanced up at you, and you were surprised to see that there was a dead, hollow quality to his eyes, which, though always placid and still, were never this shade of dark and dreary. “Is everything okay?”

“Have you ever wanted to kill someone?” he said.

“No,” you said immediately, taken aback. “Have you?”

“No,” he said. “Yes. I’m not sure. I don’t want to do it, but somehow, I want my parents to die.”

Another crack of thunder. You approached Hiori slowly, like he was a deer that would leap away the instant you were close enough to touch him. But he was not a deer, and he stayed preternaturally immobile, his harsh panting the only signal that he was a person and not a statue.

“Do you mean that?” you said when you were near enough to him that you could’ve embraced him if you wanted. “Is that really how you feel, Hiori?”

“Yes,” he said vehemently. “Yes, I mean it more than anything. Everything would be better if they would just die and leave me alone.”

He drew his leg back and slammed it into the ball. It streaked through the field, leaving a muddy rut in its wake, tearing up the grass and the flowers before crashing into a tree with a groan. You stared at the path of devastation it had wrought, wondering how such an innocent object could create such havoc, how such a simple act could have such irreversible consequences.

“That’s what soccer is,” he said when he had caught his breath and noticed your silence. “A tiring game you play to ruin yourself.”

“I thought you liked playing soccer,” you said. “You always told me how good you were at it.”

“Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean I like it,” he said. “I hate it almost as much as I hate the people that make me play it.”

“Then why do you keep going?” you said. “Why don’t you quit?”

“Because I have to,” he said. “My parents gave birth to me so that I could play soccer and be the best at it. That’s the only role I know how to conform to, so how can I do anything but accept it?”

You wrapped one arm and then the other around his torso, leaning your temple against the dip of his collarbone, turning your back to the blight he had caused and holding onto him as lightning split the sky.

“Don’t ruin yourself,” you said. “Don’t betray who you are because other people tell you to. If you don’t want to play soccer, then don’t. Quit and leave it behind. Maybe everyone else will mock you, but would it be enough if I didn’t? If I alone swore not to think any less of you, then would you be able to do it?”

“No,” he said. Something dripped onto your head, and you thought it had started raining early until you realized that Hiori’s voice was catching on nothing, his heart beating as fast as a mouse’s. “No, it wouldn’t be enough. I have to play soccer.”

“Why?” you said.

“My parents,” he said. “If I don’t play soccer — no, if I’m not good at soccer, they’ll divorce. They’ll divorce and it’ll be my fault, so I have to keep doing it, because no matter how much I hate them, I can’t be — I can’t be the reason that they — that anything bad happens to them.”

The droplets came in quicker succession, but with a final clap of thunder, the sky opened to let the rain out, blurring the line between his tears and the natural precipitation which would’ve occurred whether or not you were there.

You didn’t know what to say to him, so you opted to say nothing, pressing into him for as long as you could before you both had to go, leaving one another behind as you were always forced to. Now, though, there was a proof of your existence in the shape of that ugly gash that his soccer ball had torn into the field, an alteration which was directly a consequence of your actions. In a season or two, it would be grown over, but for the time being, it cheered you to think that the world could no longer avoid acknowledging you, acknowledging that you and Hiori were real, that you were alive and belonged.

In your second year of high school, a boy in your class came up to you, stopped you in the hallway in front of everyone and thrust a bouquet of supermarket flowers into your hands. He asked you to read the attached card, and you obliged, though you had a feeling you already knew what it said.

As you had predicted, it was an invitation to have lunch with him sometime. His cheeks were red and his smile was wide as he waited for you to say yes, but all you could think of when you looked at him was Hiori. How would he feel about this turn of events? Would he be amused or jealous or unfazed entirely? Would it even matter to him? Why were you thinking of him at a time like this?

No, that last question was one you knew the answer to already. The reason why you were thinking of Hiori was the same reason you still went to that field to see him, even though you were far too old to play with mice and birds and clovers now. It was the same reason that you recoiled from any other boy who tried to talk to you — because they were not him, they could never be him. It was because — it was because —

Much to the consternation of the audience you had unwillingly gathered, you handed the card and flowers back to the boy, shaking your head as politely as you could. There was a demand for an explanation on the tip of his tongue, but you left before he could make it. The explanation was not one you wanted to share, so you covered your ears with your hands to drown out the insults he shouted after you and strode away before he could say anything worse.

Hiori was always the first to arrive and the last to leave, so it was no surprise that he was waiting for you where he always was. Today, though, you did not bother with formalities or welcomes or lighthearted questions. You paid no mind to his antsy demeanor, instead catching his hands between your own and squeezing them.

“Y/N—”

“Hiori—”

You both called out each other’s names at the same time, with the same urgency, though there was a layer of despair when he said Y/N, just as there was pleading infused into the way you murmured Hiori.

“You first,” he said, though he looked over your shoulder, staring towards the road instead of at you. “Quickly.”

“Okay,” you said. “A boy asked me out.”

“Oh,” he said, and when his gaze slid onto you, you noticed that for the first time, there was something flaring to life in the blank depths of his irises, a veritable maelstrom of unreadable emotions twisting together and blending into something entirely other than the stillness you had come to expect from him. “What did you say?”

“I refused,” you said. “I couldn’t date him, not in good conscience. Not when I like — not when there’s someone else.”

“Someone else?” he said. “Y/N, please hurry.”

“What’s the matter?” you said, letting go of his hands so that you could instead hold his face. “Hiori, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you in trouble with your soccer team? Is that stupid crow boy causing you problems?”

“What? No, no, Karasu’s not done anything worse than usual. It’s my parents, I think they’re growing suspicious of me, I’m afraid they’ll—”

“It’s you,” you said, cutting him short, his haste rubbing off on you. You weren’t sure whether it was his anxiety or your own or some sort of divine premonition, but you suddenly felt an impending doom, as if you had to speak at that exact instant or give up the chance to ever say it again. “Hiori, you’re the reason I said no. It’s because I like you.”

Hiori, who had carved his way into your heart on the very first day you met, who was fond of butterflies and songbirds, who was bashful like winter and gentle like dusk. How could you help it? Of course you liked him. That boy who had reached into the lonely chasm of your soul and ripped it out, turned it into something lighter and warmer and whole…how could you help falling for him?

“Me?” he said in disbelief. “But—”

“So this is where you go, Yo,” a stern voice said. Hiori inhaled sharply, and then he yanked away from you, shoving you behind him, though it was far too late. You knew who had finally found the two of you, and furthermore, there was no way she hadn’t seen you. “This doesn’t look like practicing soccer. How much time have you been wasting in this dump, with this fool of a girl?”

You peered around Hiori’s back, holding onto the hem of his shirt. Fear constricted your throat when you saw a woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to him standing before you, her hands on her hips, a dour expression on her face. Whatever had been sparkling in Hiori at your confession had abruptly disappeared, replaced by an even more severe version of himself.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “We just met recently.”

“Not a big deal? Think about how much better at soccer you would be if you actually spent this time practicing instead of messing around! A few minutes every day is the difference between starting for a team and being a substitute, because a few minutes every day turns to hours every week, which turns into days lost every month! You should be ashamed of yourself,” his mother said, marching over and grabbing him by the collar, wrenching him away from you. “From now on, I’ll be supervising your additional practice time. As for you, young lady…don’t even think of coming near him again. He doesn’t need distractions like you getting in the way of his ultimate goal.”

“His ultimate goal?” you said, your audacity surprising even yourself. Without Hiori’s shadow to hide you, you were entirely naked and exposed, but somehow, you found the strength in you to speak up. “What, of being the world’s best soccer player? Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe he doesn’t want that anymore, if he ever did?”

His mother scowled at you. “You are a poison of the worst sort, if you have him doubting what he’s been aiming for since he was young. Stay away from my son. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

She dragged Hiori away before either of you could manage so much as a goodbye. It was the first time since you had met him that you found yourself alone in that field, which suddenly felt so vast that you finally understood why people thought it to be cursed. It had to be, because why else would it have given you Hiori and then taken him away with such a swiftness that it left you reeling?

For a week, you continued to go to the field, just in case he would magically be there, but it was a foregone conclusion that he would not be. Still, you waited, and though the larks sang their songs and the dormice chittered at you sweetly, nothing could set your spirits right when Hiori remained missing.

On the eighth day you spent without him, you didn’t even bother with the field. Instead, you knocked on every door of every house in your small neighborhood, continuing on until the one who answered was the same woman who had stolen Hiori from you. 

She remembered you, her expression turning sour at your appearance, like you had shoved a lemon into her mouth. Shockingly, though, she did not slam the door in your face. She only cleared her throat before speaking in the most abrasive voice you had ever had the misfortune of hearing.

“What is it?” she said.

“Hiori — Yo, is he around? I just want to see him one last time. I’ll leave him alone after that if you refuse to budge, but at least let me say goodbye. I won’t ever distract him again if you give me that chance,” you said. 

“If I gave you even the slightest leeway, you’d pounce upon it, won’t you? I’m not so daft. I’m sure that, if I let you in now, you’d never leave. In the end, though, it’s irrelevant. Yo’s gone,” she said.

“Gone?” you said. “What do you mean?”

“He’s participating in a soccer training camp called Blue Lock,” his mother said. “The way they raise their players is what his father and I been trying to impress upon him from the start, so we’re glad he made the choice himself to go. Now, he can focus on his own self-improvement instead of brief dalliances that would never last.”

Hiori was gone. There was a deep ache in you, and those words were its source, yet nonetheless, for him, you could only muster up pride. He had finally done it. He had flown somewhere free of the burdens his parents placed on him; to be sure, it was defined by the soccer he despised, but nonetheless he had made the decision to do it on his own. It belonged to him, and he had spent so long without anything to his name but a deserted green that you laughed as you sobbed, leaving him behind for good.

A long time passed before you saw him again, though you watched all of his matches on TV. He had become someone different and yet still familiar while in the Blue Lock program — he was sharper now, sharper and quicker, his eyes constantly burning in the same way they had on the day he had left you. Most notably, you thought that that childish love for soccer which he had had and then lost had blossomed again, now into a stable, unshakeable passion which no one, not even his parents, could take from him.

You had probably also changed, though of course it was harder to recognize it in yourself than in another person. But you were not so sparing with your offers of friendship anymore, and neither were you harsh to every boy who approached you. With Hiori gone, the only reservations you had were feeble and pointless, so you stopped saying no quite as often.

Nothing ever came of these school-type romances. Inevitably, you’d walk home and your eyes would stray to the spot where you had spent so much of your childhood with Hiori, whereupon you would pull out your phone and send a formulaic apology message. Sorry, but it’s not working. There’s nothing wrong with you, but I don’t think we’re a good match for each other. Thanks for taking me out. I really appreciate it.

The longer it became, the less frequently you thought about him. He turned into a memory, fuzzy around the edges with nostalgia and tinged with gold. He was someone you claimed to know around those with a more vested interest in soccer, but deep inside, you had accepted that your path had diverged from his a long time ago. You and Hiori weren’t meant to sit beside one another for eternity; he had been there when you needed him, but it was time for you to stand on your own, as he was clearly doing all of the way over in Blue Lock.

“I can’t believe you’ve finally graduated high school!” your mother said, sniffing as she took a million photos of you standing awkwardly, your diploma in your hands, your gown hanging loosely on your body and the pins holding up your cap jabbing into your scalp. “We’re so proud of you, dear.”

“Next stop, Tokyo!” your father said, swiping at the tears which rolled shamelessly down his cheeks.

You had been accepted into the University of Tokyo, and at the end of the summer, you would move into your own apartment, leagues away from everything you had known for your entire life. It was exciting, but it was also terrifying, because the thought of being all alone in the bustling metropolis still made you break into a cold sweat.

Now that you had officially graduated, it all seemed so much more real. Going to Tokyo, attending university, getting a job and supporting yourself…these were not dreams of a distant future but immediate and pressing concerns that weighed on you.

Once you became a university student and then an adult proper, you visited home less and less. You hardly had the time, and anyways there wasn’t much to do in that town, so instead your parents would take trips up to visit you when they missed you terribly — which was often. They would update you on the happenings of your neighbors, and you would take them to your favorite restaurants and attractions, like they were foreign tourists coming to the country for the first time. 

“You know, they finally finished construction on that plot across from our house,” your mother said to you on one such visit, taking a sip of bubble tea to punctuate the outrageous statement. There were streaks of gray in her hair now, and far more lines on her face than there had been when you were younger, but she wore the signs of age with grace and dignity, so that they were weapons instead of faults. 

“You never told me someone bought it,” you said. So that was that, then; the last remnants of your tender friendship with a boy you had not spoken to in years was all but destroyed now. It belonged to another person, who would make their own memories on the land, and the thought of two other people standing where you and Hiori once had caused a lump to arise in your throat. It was as much grief for the idyllic days of your childhood as it was for your former best friend. Both were lost to you now, and both you mourned in equal measure, though you knew no amount of crying would ever bring them back.

Perhaps there had been a window of time in which you might’ve been able to reconnect with Hiori, but the idea hadn’t crossed your mind until it was far too late, and you supposed it must’ve been the same for him. Or maybe he had, upon joining Blue Lock and becoming an international celebrity, forgotten about you entirely. It was a possibility, and no matter how much it stung, it was one you did not resent him for.

“Yes, it was a while ago. Apparently, he lived in the area when he was younger, but he left to pursue some athletic career? Anyways, now that he’s rich, he wanted to invest in some property close to home, so as soon as the previous owner died, he swooped in and bought the entire field up. You know, considering how much money he has, the house is downright quaint in its design,” your mother said, shaking her head. She had a penchant for gossip, and you could not count on two hands the amount of days you both had spent giggling with each other about silly, inconsequential matters. This, though, crossed the line — it wasn’t dumb gossip but legitimate news.

“Athletic career? Do you…do you happen to remember what sport?” you said. 

“No idea,” your mother said. “Why?”

“Was it soccer?” you said. She choked on a pearl of boba. Absently, you leaned over and slapped her on the back to help dislodge it. She coughed and dabbed at her face with a napkin before nodding.

“Ah, yes, that sounds familiar!” she said. “I think that might be it.”

“I’m going to take the next few days off and visit you guys,” you said. It was a spur of the moment decision, but you could afford it, and something told you that what you would find would be far more valuable than another day at your boring, if not well-paying, job.

“Really? That’s wonderful! You’ll love how things have changed. The place has really come to life in the past couple of years,” she said.

The train ride home from Tokyo was just over two hours, and it ran through a familiar countryside, which you watched for the entire journey, smiling slightly whenever you rushed by a landmark you recognized. By the end, however, it seemed every sight was a landmark of some sort — not the nationally important ones, but the type that was personally significant. The many little places you had visited when you were young…even now, you recollected them with startling clarity.

Your father was delighted that you had returned home with your mother, and the whole house smelled like his cooking when you walked in through the front door. He must’ve begun preparing as soon as you had mentioned that you were coming back for a bit, and the grumble of your stomach warned you that you would regret it if you did not hold off on your investigation until after dinner.

You sat in the same chair you had once sat in and ate the same food you had once eaten. It was your favorite as a little girl, and your father served it to you personally, his lower lip trembling as he ladled two portions onto your plate instead of one. Hardly even a month had passed since he had seen you last, but he had always been an emotional man, bawling like a child at every reunion and separation alike.

The sun was setting when you excused yourself, placing your dishes in the sink and ducking outside under the pretense of needing a walk to digest your food. Well, it was only half a pretense — your father truly had fed you until you thought your stomach might split open, as was characteristic of his affection. You really did need to walk around so that your insides could settle, but more importantly than that, you wanted to confirm the theory which had been brewing in your mind since your mother had brought it up.

As she had said, there was a brand new house across from yours. It was nothing like the grand mansion that the original owner must’ve intended to sit on the land; it had a winsome yet unassuming charm to it, and it only took up about half of the field, while the rest of it had been left entirely alone, still green and wild like you recalled it to be. You were sure that if you looked close enough, you would find the dormice and the squirrels and the chipmunks and the larks exactly where you had left them as well, but you did not have the time nor the patience for that at present.

When you climbed the porch steps, you noticed that to the left of the door was a cushioned swing, atop which a tortoiseshell cat was dozing. At the sound of your footsteps, she opened one champagne-colored eye, but she did not seem to regard you as worthy of her attention, for she promptly closed it and returned to her rest.

Your fingers hesitated on the doorbell, resting on the button, too scared to press down. You didn’t know what you had to be afraid of, but for some reason, you were nervous, a pit forming in your stomach as you deliberated over what to do. Before you could make up your mind, the cat meowed at someone in greeting, jumping off of the swing with a light thud.

Spinning around, you saw that the owner of the house was standing at the bottom of the steps, the cat rubbing against his legs as he beamed up at you. Any lingering doubts of yours dissipated into nothingness at the instant you once again made eye contact with Yo Hiori; like a reflex, the corners of your mouth curved upwards in a fond greeting.

Like always, in his hands was a soccer ball, though more prominent than the ball itself was the butterfly which lay on it in repose. Its white wings were thin and quivering, but curiously, when Hiori held the ball out to you, it did not fly off, instead remaining stationary, waiting for you to reach out and take it.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

700 Follower Prompt Game!

700 FOLLOWERS?!?!? 

Wow. I am humbled. Thank you all so much! To show my appreciation I thought I'd do another fun little prompt event! Select a color (character) and an animal (trope/kink) or maybe even more than one but you’d have to specify, and send it to my inbox! I’ll write a fun little one-shot based on your suggestion. I will try my best to get to as many as I can, but of course I apologize in advance if I don’t get to yours soon! (Also if I don’t have your favorite character please feel free to suggest them!)

I unfort only write fem reader, sorry in advance! Posts will be smut unless you specify fluff only. I encourage being specific and weird in the recs!

*Choices under the cut*

——

Characters

*Red* - Luffy

*Blue* - Sanji

*Green* - Zoro *Yellow* - Usopp

*Orange* - Nami

*Purple* - Robin

*Cerulean* - Franky

*Pink* - Doflamingo

*Maroon* - Mihawk

*Teal* - Buggy

*Indigo* - Sabo

*Sunburst* - Ace

*Chartreuse* - Crocodile

*Crimson* - Kid

*Eggshell* - Killer

*Navy* - Law

*Magenta* - Corazon 

*Emerald* - Hancock 

*Vermillion* - Shanks

*Viridian* - Barto

— —

Tropes/Kinks

*Lion* - Only One Bed

*Bear* - Enemies to Lovers

*Tiger* - Bondage 

*Fawn* - Virginity Loss/First Time

*Stork* - Breeding

*Rabbit* - Friends to Lovers

*Kitten* - Comfort/Hurt to Smut

*Mouse* - Edging

*Dragon* - Overstimulation

*Sloth* - Somnophilia 

*Elephant* - Fake Relationship

*Bullfrog* - Arranged Marriage

*Starfish* - Body Worship

*Hummingbird* - Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiac

*Bat* - Exhibitionism

*Rattlesnake* - Threesome/Foursome

*Shark* - Impact Play/Pain Kink

*Leopard* - Degradation

*Retriever* - Praise

*Rooster* - Drunk/High Sex

GET CREATIVE, PALS! 

[tladb]

Urban Australia 1

The Kandinsky Project

Aim : To create traditional physical images using pencils and crayons from ideas generated by Ai using other images as sources for --srefs or by merging existing images.

Initial Prompt with Kandinsky image : an illustration of Australian urban landscape image --sref https://s.mj.run/qQABXe9LEb8 --sw 100 --ar 3:2

Use CHatGPT generate a prompt with a colour palette used with urban images. The colour palette with traditional colour names is :

The initial ChatGPT ( a bit wordy) prompt result is:

An Australian urban landscape painting featuring a bustling city street in the afternoon. The scene captures iconic architectural details like Federation-style buildings, modern skyscrapers, and eucalyptus trees along the road. The sky is a vivid ultramarine blue with soft wisps of cloud in titanium white. The street and sidewalk are bathed in warm golden ochre from the sun, casting long shadows in burnt sienna. The buildings are painted in earthy tones of raw umber and yellow ochre, with touches of Indian red brickwork. The greenery of the trees features sap green with highlights of viridian. Accents of Payne's grey for shadows and depth add a contrasting cool tone. The overall mood is calm yet vibrant, evoking the distinct warmth and character of an Australian urban setting

The palette is

Ultramarine Blue

Titanium White

Golden Ochre

Burnt Sienna

Raw Umber

Yellow Ochre

Indian Red

Sap Green

Viridian

Payne's Grey

The names make it easier to select physical paints .

Have Midjourney generate a images of the colours as swatches with ChatGPT:

Display 10 separated color swatches, each distinctly labeled, arranged in a clean grid. The colors are: Ultramarine Blue, Titanium White, Golden Ochre, Burnt Sienna, Raw Umber, Yellow Ochre, Indian Red, Sap Green, Viridian, and Payne's Grey. Each swatch should have smooth, solid color with no texture or shading, placed on a neutral background for clear contrast. The arrangement should be orderly and visually balanced, with each swatch occupying an equal space

The swatch image can be used in Midjourney to set the colour.

Alternatively using "Studio Artist" the swatch image is input and s Studio Artist palette is generated from the image. This palette can be used in the Image Operation,:Color Palette Map operation to remap the palette colours onto successive images.

The colourised image is then edited in Acorn (an inexpensive image editor) to add a large grid to the image making it easier to construct the physical image.

Why are this rigmarole? Because I am not a traditional media artist and lack many of the colour and construction skills.

[bxtsence]

Cont from here

@monmuses

[ ☣ ] - … It had been a dare from one of her friends.

Her shy gazing at the Frenchman hadn’t gone unnoticed, and after some prompting, she had now found herself standing in front of the tall man and fidgeting as she asked him on a date. Viridian had been preparing herself for him to refuse and walk off, so when he said yes, her jaw practically dropped to the ground. She didn’t expect him to do that.

What she most certainly didn’t expect was the kissing of her hand.

The bright red color her face had turned contrasted with the bright blue-green color her hair was at the compliment, and now she found herself barely able to even find words to say. Cute? Her? No way.

❝ Oh! ❞ She blinked, ❝ I-I mean I guess we could! Did you have a place in mind? ❞

[antilocaprine]

... 41 with the chef's recommended ship of the day?

(Kiss Prompt List)

Throwing some Boomer in here, because most of my other requests were for Frenrey, so I wanted to add some variety since the request had flexibility. This is a continuation of the ending scene of my sentinel/guide crossover AU, To Guide and To Guard.

41: …because the world is saved.

“You could help, you know,” Bubby growls up at Dr. Coomer as he drags himself up the last few feet before the ledge. Dr. Coomer glances down at him and his mustache curves up at the corners. 

“I know you can jump further than that, Bubby.”

“I didn’t feel like it,” Bubby snaps.

“I know that, too.”

Huffing, Bubby pulls himself up and straightens. “You just know everything, don’t you?”

Dr. Coomer smiles again, his eyes twinkling. “When it comes to you, yes.” He runs his hands down Bubby’s sleeves, brushing loose red soil and dried blood off the fabric. “Just like you know everything about me.”

Bubby’s gaze flicks to the acidic green glow of the portal next to them. It reminds him far too much of the liquid in his tube. “If you say so,” he mumbles, and reaches out to run his fingers along the rock at the far edge of the portal’s whirling colors. He focuses, and his sense of touch crawls to the forefront of his mind. His fingertips tremble as he holds it there, pressing the pad of his thumb to the margins, where the rock dissolves into the green glow.

Harold’s hand is on his shoulder, and even through the labcoat, Bubby can feel the tender weight of it. He tilts his head and closes his eyes, breathing deep and holding the rusty air in his lungs, even though it’s tangy with blood and the strange hot chemical smell that still seeps out of the colossal dead thing that lays motionless in the middle of the cavern with its head split open.

“What do you think?” Harold asks, and Bubby pulls his hand back, releases his tactility, and breathes out in a rush.

“I think this thing could send you wherever you want to go,” he says slowly. The portal buzzes merrily away as he stares into its viridian depths. “It just might take time to figure out how to aim it.”

“Well, we certainly have that!” Dr. Coomer says cheerfully. “Dr. Coolatta must need some time to get here from Black Mesa.”

Bubby glances over at him. “Doctor Coolatta? Is he a doctor?”

Harold blinks. “Aren’t we all?”

“Are…are we?”

“Well,” Harold says briskly. “If he doesn’t have a doctorate, I’m sure one of us can share. You have some to spare, don’t you?”

“That’s not how it works,” Bubby replies.

“I don’t see why not!”

“There’s lots you can’t see,” Bubby grumbles, turning his own gaze back to the portal. He feels washed out by its light. Harold, of course, just seems brighter - but maybe that’s because Bubby is biased. And anyway, he’s used to looking at Harold through a veil of green.

“What do you see here?” Harold asks softly, and Bubby hums.

“Potential.” His eyes flick to Dr. Coomer’s face, then back to the portal. “Maybe you could go somewhere else. See…someone else.”

Dr. Coomer tilts his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Bubby dear.”

Bubby feels his shoulders tightening, and forces them to relax. “I mean. They took her. You said that.”

Dr. Coomer sighs gently, and his soft hands shift into a strong grip as he reaches up and turns Bubby to face him. He has to tilt his chin up a bit to meet Bubby’s eyes, and then he has to raise one hand and press it to Bubby’s cheek to keep their gazes locked as Bubby tries to look away.

“Bubby,” he says, “they took her because I asked them to. They took her because she wanted to go.”

“...What?”

Dr. Coomer chuckles a little ruefully and shrugs. “Our bond was only ever a shallow one, and it started unraveling as soon as I started working with you.”

“But that’s what I mean!” Bubby steps back, and Dr. Coomer lets him go, his hands dropping. “If you hadn’t been assigned to me, you’d still be married to her, you’d be - together -”

“And miserable,” Dr. Coomer says sternly. “Bubby, dear, we would be miserable. We wanted such different things…”

“Like what?” Bubby asks.

“Well, she wanted to join the military,” Dr. Coomer says, then his eyes soften. “And I wanted you.”

Bubby shifts his weight. Below them, in the red pool, Tommy is splashing to and fro around the corpse of an alien god, holding up several glass vials with liquid contents at various levels. Against the far wall, Gordon and Benrey sit with their heads together and their hands entwined, apparently deep in conversation. Bubby looks away.

“Why, though?” He isn’t trying to be self-deprecating, but it’s happening anyway. “I’m just…I’m not even a real sentinel. If I had actual enhanced senses before they fucked with me, I don’t know what they were. I don’t remember.” He takes a shaky breath and lets it out slowly.

Dr. Coomer’s expression is pained when he steps into Bubby’s space and reaches up to cup his shoulders. “I do,” he says sadly. “I remember. You had touch. Your hearing and smell were naturally enhanced as well.” His fingers tighten, the metal in his arms creaking as he holds himself back from squeezing too hard.

“I don’t -”

“Your main enhanced sense was touch, and they locked you in a tube full of liquid that you couldn’t hear or smell through either. And Bubby, you didn’t lose your mind.” He shakes Bubby’s shoulders a little, like he can’t help it. “Do you know how remarkable that is?”

“Harold,” Bubby says helplessly.

“It is,” Dr. Coomer says fiercely. “It’s remarkable. You are remarkable. And all this?” He gestures around - to the cathedral-like chamber, red liquid lapping at its walls, Tommy hollering at a giant yellow dog that has appeared out of nowhere in a shower of sweet voice, and Gordon and Benrey, their heads still tipped together, but now singing out twin songs of sunrise colors. “Bubby, this couldn’t have happened without you.”

“Harold, really,” Bubby huffs, ready to pull away again. Dr. Coomer grabs both his hands and tugs him back, their chests thumping together.

“It’s true,” Harold says gently, his chin tucked into the hollow of Bubby’s collarbone. “Gordon needed your experience to find Benrey. He’s really very stunted for a sentinel, isn’t he?”

“He’s a fucking five-senser,” Bubby replies blankly. “I don’t know how anyone let that happen.”

“Modern universities are a fucking travesty,” Harold agrees, and Bubby cackles in surprise.

“Sunkist, leave them alone!” Tommy’s voice breaks through their reverie. Bubby looks to the side and flinches at the sight of an enormous yellow dog, who appears simultaneously three-dimensional and flat as a pancake, hovering in the air and staring at them.

“Uh…shoo?” Bubby tries, and waves a hand.

Sunkist barks in his face, then zooms back down to Tommy, who shouts an apology as Bubby waves blue and green sweet voice out of his vision. “Do I even want to know?”

Dr. Coomer’s mustache curls up again in a beaming smile. “Mint green and powder blue swirled means ’You did it! You saved the world!’”

“That seems like a bit of an exaggeration,” Bubby starts to say, but then one of Harold’s hands curls around the back of his neck and they’re kissing.

Bubby sometimes wonders if Harold has moisturizer in his mustache, because his lips are always the softest thing Bubby has ever felt. He closes his eyes and relaxes into the kiss. It makes sense that touch has always been his strongest sense - he thinks he could get lost in the sensation of Harold at any time. 

When Harold pulls back, it takes Bubby a moment to refocus and open his eyes. Harold’s gaze is kind, and he runs his thumbs across Bubby’s cheekbones in a comforting sweep. 

“Let’s forget about the portals,” he says. “We already have a ride lined up, and I don’t want to be anywhere else but here with you.”

And what is Bubby supposed to do about that but kiss him again?

[tamagosandesu]

SSMonth 2022

Title: finally Prompt: soulmates: I was born knowing you Summary: ever since he was young, he saw hints. From colors, to memories, to finally seeing her physically Author’s Notes: IDK man. I guess, enjoy?

________________________

In a world where soulmates existed, and the red string of fate is the master of destiny, life was full of surprises. The strings are connected to two people, and they are soulmates, bound since the day they have walked the earth. It might get tangled by mistakes in life, but its length is infinite, and it will always find a way to bring those two bound together through love.

Pink. Pink has always been a big part of his life. Ever since childhood, the shade of bubblegum pink has left a great impact on him. Starting from the moment his eyes could see, pink was a hue that he could not miss, even the slightest tint of it.

He has always known that black was his favorite color. He has a different level of fondness towards the particular color. And yet, why is it that the barest hint of pink would catch his attention without fail? Flowers in the garden, shades of walls, paintings, even whenever the sunset would show a pink gradient, he would be utterly captivated.

It wasn’t that he started to crave his own object in the shade of pink, his likeness towards the shade of black still stands. But it made him curious. So, so curious about this attentive observation towards the particular color.

When he was thirteen, it wasn’t only pink. But it was so much more.

The keen awareness towards bubblegum pink did not only intensify, but also gave him a peculiar wave of emotion that he can’t seem to describe. Not also that, but even the color green has joined his curiosity.

It all started when he saw an abstract painting of the shade viridian. The creation was so utterly mesmerizing that he forgot to breathe for a moment. It was so captivating, so fascinating, so beautiful.

Sasuke has never been the type to acknowledge such beauty nor to indulge in art with no particular pattern. But the painting caught his attention with a magnitude that it made him stutter mid-sentence while his eyes widened.

It was such a strange feeling that overcame him at that very moment. Why did he suddenly stop at a painting? Why was he looking at it again? But for all he knows, he was staring at the piece of art with a sense of longing and admiration that he didn’t know where it came from.

It later joined in the hyper-awareness towards the color pink. A combination of both the colors would catch his attention undeniably, and sometimes, would impact him so greatly that he would stop dead in his tracks only to stare.

He was thirteen, a teenager discovering the newfound feelings of adolescence. He discarded the thought gradually as he thought it’ll pass, and that it’s just a phase he was going through temporarily.

________________________

When he was sixteen, he suddenly had the urge to learn art.

Brushstrokes and wild imaginary sketches piqued his attention. It wasn’t really practical for someone like him who came from a conglomerate family and that business was their expected field. And yet, he tried his best to invest in art as much as possible. The will to learn and the strong interest he had was enough of a driving force to make time every day and explore what he can do with colors and paintings.

He didn’t regard it as something serious at first, but his creations somehow would always consist of the shade bubblegum pink and viridian specifically. He mostly stuck with landscape, acrylic and oil painting as his main medium, and sometimes he would delve in gouache techniques.

He’s never dared to try 3d realism and portrait paintings of real people. Art wasn’t in him naturally, but only something that he has a knack for. 

His art was mostly self-indulgent, and he wasn’t bound to it by forced obligation. He never joined any art clubs in school, nor did he try to compete with his developed skills. He was doing everything by choice, because he wanted to.

And so, he guesses that was the reason that convinced him to paint in the middle of the night. It might be the reason why he suddenly tried to make a portrait. Maybe it was that reason that he painted with urgency, to preserve the vivid memory that popped up in his mind of a person that he has absolutely never seen before.

It seems like a moment, a single blink of an eye. It was as if his entire body was bewitched and under control by a different person completely as it moved in harmony and in an urgent manner. Everything was so fast, so intense, that after he finished he was breathing hard with adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The necessity, the urge, the need to pain was so extreme, it led to this.

The result? He was shocked.

On this canvas, was a person that he apparently drew. It was a young, beautiful woman. An absolute siren of seduction, and an epitome of grace, and the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

She has that bubblegum pink hair that he’s grown to adore, and viridian eyes that captivated him entirely. She has porcelain skin, light pink plump lips, and she was an absolute perfect beauty.

He has never seen this person before. Yet, she seemed so familiar, that he felt a sense of longing, of adoration, and of…fondness towards her.

On that night, on that time, on that hour, on that minute, and on that very moment, he finally found his muse.

________________________

He was eighteen when the pink, viridian, and the vivid thoughts of his muse turned into real and clear memories.

He was fresh out of high school, ready to face whatever college has to offer. He was bound to take business—as the heir to their multi-million company, it was crucial to know everything.

He never left art. No. This time around, it was only a side hustle, a hobby that he became passionate about. As much as he wants to continue his ever-growing love towards art, life does not revolve around passion, he knows that fact.

He simply opened his eyes and made use of the massive opportunity presented in front of him. He could definitely build himself a great future by taking responsibility for the company. Art could come later—it would always be with him but will never be his priority from now on.

Around the time he was exploring more of the environment, he caught memories. In random times of the day, or any time at all, an image of a girl would pop up in his mind.

Every time it would happen he would be left so utterly confused. He doesn’t know who she is, nor has he ever seen her. But she’s familiar, he’ll admit that.

The best comparison that he could get was from his muse. The woman who constantly appeared in his mind has pink bubblegum hair, green eyes of viridian, and porcelain skin. All the same prominent features that his muse has.

At first, he doesn’t question why she appears in his mind. He hasn’t named his muse, and it’s certainly been a while since he last saw her nor painted. It might be longing for the very thing that he was passionate about. He thought that painting again, rekindling with art, and seeing his very first painting of that woman would stop this sudden burst of image in his mind.

Only, the images never stopped even when he finally did that. And honesty, it only got more frequent.

Studying became harder because of the constant distraction in his head. She would pop up, then mess with his concentration. He would be talking then he would catch a glimpse of pink then stutter, he would be in an important discussion with his father then become completely enamored by the shade of viridian that was in his head, unaware completely of what his father’s talking

Everything, from his childhood towards today. It all came back, and all came haunting him. Just what were these memories trying to show him?

It looked like his muse, but at the same time it didn’t. The woman who distracted his thoughts often was beautiful, charming, and so gorgeous it sometimes makes him think of her for hours. 

Who was she? He still doesn’t know. Maybe, she’s just an imaginary person that his own mind created. Maybe, he’s way too lacking in terms of women that his brain supplied him his very own one. Maybe, she was just a concrete personification of women who are his types.

He was eighteen, freshly in college and constantly plagued with maybes. He was also eighteen, when he learned not to mind and instead, ultimately fall for her.

________________________

He was twenty-five, graduated, and almost the CEO of their company when he finally met her.

The memories worsened throughout the years. She was still as beautiful as ever, she was still the same woman that plagued his mind, and stole his very heart in his mind. He fell for her, hard. He knows it’s unhealthy—growing to love someone who doesn’t exist physically, and only in his mind. But what can he do? He was attacked by the same image of a woman every day non-stop, and quite possibly the only woman he finds beautiful.

He was twenty-five when he was walking downtown to meet with a potential client in a coffee shop. He was twenty-five when he wasn’t looking at where he was going and suddenly bumped into someone.

He was twenty-five when he finally saw her. All of her in human form.

“Oh my, I am so sorry,” he heard a gentle voice, a calming lull and oh-so-soft voice.

His things were scattered on the ground, in disarray and unorganized due to falling. He ‘tsked’ under his breath and started to collect the objects, when her hand came to intervene.

“Oh please let me help you,” he hears her say, then sees her hands also reaching out to collect documents and things of his on the ground. 

“It’s fine. I can handle it,” he mutters with a low tone.

“Please let me. It was my fault after all. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” she insists with a stubbornness that makes him annoyed and makes him look at her.

But what he saw, snatched all the breath in his lungs.

There she was. The very person who was plaguing his mind for years. The person whom he constantly saw in his dreams, and the very person whom he grew to love.

She was all he could remember, but also she was so much more. She has the bubblegum pink hair, the same porcelain skin, and when she looked up to meet his gaze and smile—his mind blanked.

Oh my god.

She has the brightest, most beautiful viridian eyes he has ever seen.  She was beautiful, the very personification of beauty itself. 

He suddenly felt like crying, as the woman of his dreams—literally—was right in front of him. She was tangible, she was real, she was beautiful as ever.

He never thought this day would come, he never even thought that this woman is actually real.

But here she was, with her unearthly beauty, and charming smile that immediately caused a thousand tingles in his stomach.

He was twenty-five, out of school and starting a new life in the company. He was twenty-five when he met her—the love of his life.

[chaoticcandies1]

A bit of writing for an OC, underneath the cut. Warning for references to alcohol. The prompt was "Green".

Green in Grief Word count: 248

I never thought green could be such an ugly color.

It was my favorite color until recently. Everything I bought, collected, owned — if it could be green, then I’ll have it.

Like my olive green parka, slumped over the dining chair like a creature’s rotting carcass, one even the hungriest of predators would avoid. I picked it out with them at a store (now closed, ivies had climbed over the walls and trees had burst out of its roof) when we were still green, when every other night, we’d launch ourselves to the bar and drink ourselves to green-faced oblivion, a darker shade reflected in the bottles in our hands. The same viridian-tinted bottle now sits opposite the parka, sunlight seeping in through the windows and through the glass, casting a brilliant shadow onto the table.

It’s almost a shame then, that green remains a painful color.

My phone buzzes. I know, I have to get up, but the phone certainly can’t listen to me or my thoughts, nor can anyone else.

“There’s no way to go but up,” they say, “when you hit rock bottom.”

But have they been at rock bottom? Where you’ve tried time and time again to climb out, but the rocks are slick with moss and your knuckles are blue, green, and yellow from bruises.

My phone buzzes again. Once, twice, thrice, then my will breaks.

“Event:” it taunts me in its neon green glory, “funeral at 10”. 

I roll off the couch.

[aicidos]

@heartwilled + starter call ( accepting ! ):  "you’re just full of surprises, that’s all." - ignatz to claude

  “ but of course !  it keeps every day unpredictable, doesn’t it ?  ”  khalid recognizes in igntaz’s eye: the familiar thrill of figuring someone out. though, he wasn’t quite ready to have himself unraveled in the ways that mattered. not yet.  “  i must admit, even i surprised myself this time. i accidentally set a few heavy tomes on top of this small stone i found earlier and, well, crushed bits off of it. i figured it’d make for a promising pigment, so, i thought to myself, why not finish the job and grind it completely ?  ”  he takes a seat for himself next to him, the blades of grass flattening with his weght. the brief once-over to ingatz’s sketchbook prompts a smile to grow.

   “  naturally, you’d make much better use of this than i could. it’d be a shame if i tried playing artist and wasted most of it.  ”  khalid holds the little bottle against the sunlight, admiring the viridian dust; it was cooler than the green of his eyes, deeper than igntaz’s own hair, but no less striking.  “  tell me, ignatz, when you see this color, what comes to mind first ?  ”  

[archonssun]

"I mean, stuff has worked."

And

"I think I might be falling in love with you."

Romantic! With Venti please. Thank you!

ooooooo I hope I can do you justice, anon!! <33

Prompts: “I mean, stupider stuff has worked.” ; “I think I might be falling in love with you.”

Stupidly in Love

Requests for Genshin Impact are OPEN!!!

600 Follower Event Rules and Prompt List {CLOSED}

How long had you known the verdant bard? It seems like he had always been at your side, armed with a witty pun and his lyre. Venti always seemed to know when you had a bad day, appearing with a flash of green, a smile on his face and an ‘ingenious’ idea to get your spirits back up.

Today just happened to be one of those bad days. From the moment you had woken up, fate had thrown you one bad thing after another, giving you no time to catch a break or your breath. From your commissions to your interactions with people, your day was anything but nice. And it was only after you had finished your last commission -- you had been tasked with defeating an Abyss Mage and a group of Hilichurls, but of course your Anemo vision wasn’t particularly strong against any one element -- that you had found some semblance of peace.

You flopped onto your bed, a whimper sneaking past your lips as searing pains erupted in your entire body.

Maybe I should take tomorrow off to heal... you thought to yourself, gingerly rolling onto your side and closing your eyes. You could feel sleep tugging at your mind, and just as you were about to give in a breeze whipped through your room, startling you. You shot up, groaning as your body protested at the sudden movement.

“What happened to you, Firefly?” You frowned, feeling your heart speed up at the bard’s voice. Venti was perched on your desk, fingers plucking at his lyre. You groaned when you saw him, faceplanting onto your bed. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Silence greeted you, and you looked to the bard to see him tapping his chin thoughtfully. After a few seconds, he turned his viridian eyes to you. And as soon as that smile crept onto his face, you knew you wouldn’t be getting to sleep just yet.

---

Crystalflies fluttered around the great tree of Windrise, mingling with the fireflies to create an ethereal glow around you and Venti. Your (e/c) eyes could only watch in wonder, Venti tugging you along towards a broken column off to the side of the Statue of the Seven.

“This is beautiful, Venti,” you gasped, your gaze wandering all around the clearing before settling on the bard, his hand wrapped firmly around yours as he pulled you up onto the column. You settled down next to him and rested your head against his shoulder, not noticing how his fingers had laced with your. Eyes drifting shut, you couldn’t help but wish things were different between the two of you.

If only I--

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Your body grew cold, your head shooting up as Venti’s fingers caressed your cheek. You tried to put distance between you and the bard as quickly as you could, scrambling to get purchase on the old block of stone. Just as you were about to tumble off the column, Venti had grabbed your wrist, pulling you back towards himself with a light pout.

You were panicking, shaking his hand away and climbing off the column. Backing away from him slowly, Venti could see the tears welling in your eyes and he hopped down after you, worry tainting his visage. But when he got closer you only smacked him away.

��Did you really think that saying something like that would cheer me up?!” You cried, feeling the tears sliding down your cheeks. Venti cutely cocked his head to the side, a brilliant smile on his face. 

“I mean, stupider stuff has worked,” he quipped, giving you a cheeky smile. You watched the bard with wide eyes, your heart hammering away in your chest as you gripped the front of your shirt. Venti’s viridian eyes filled with worry and just a tinge of hurt the longer you were quiet.

Why would he say something like that? Does he know how I feel about him? No, he couldn’t, but--

“(Y/n), take deep breaths, okay? You’re hyperventilating.” In an instant, the bard was standing in front of you -- had I really been hyperventilating? -- slender fingers cradling your face even gentler than that had minutes earlier. His fingertips barely brushed against your skin, and you made a noise somewhere between a hiccup and a laugh at the feeling. Slowly, Venti rested his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut as he blew out a terse breath. After a few moments, he opened his eyes once more, the bluish-green color shining with sincerity.

“(Y/n),” he began again, letting his hands rest more against your skin and bumping your nose with his. “I know I’m falling in love with you.”

“I hate you,” you sobbed, hitting him in the chest. There was no heat behind your words, no strength behind your fist and Venti hummed quietly, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek.

“I love you, Firefly.” His words were soft against your ears as he wrapped one arm around your waist and cradled your face with his other hand. Soft kisses were pressed across your face, the bard’s lips catching any remaining tears.

“Stupid bard,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his back as you buried your face against his chest. “I love you, too.”

-----

Masterlist

Ending notes: the beginning here is kinda weird, so i apologize for that. but i must say, this ending is one of my favorites. I hope you all enjoyed it!! <333

-----

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list for Genshin Impact!!!

@anatthesavage

[alolowrites]

The Neighbor from Apartment 512

Summary: You have a crush on your new neighbor, Izuku Midoriya, who lives right across the hall.

Author’s Note: This is my fifth story for @bnhabookclub​‘s Hero Camp Bingo event. The prompt I used was “Boy Next Door” and inspiration came from Selena’s song “El Chico Del Apartamento 512″ (English translation: The Guy from Apartment 512). This story is also for the the Celebrating Deku event! It’s been a while since I wrote a story for Midoriya (last time was in May I believe).

I apologize for taking so long to publish another story. Work is really kicking my butt and I don’t want to force myself on writing something that’s half-assed. 

Without further ado, please enjoy!

Word Count: 1.8K+

A gust of cold air blows across your face the moment you open the freezer door. An empty ice cube tray greets you while a dangling icicle chips off from the corner. It’s a pitiful sight, and you pout—there’s no ice cream. However, there’s a convenience store five minutes from your place. The downside is you have to walk, and you’re not feeling it right now.

Except you are desperately craving for something creamy and sweet. You gaze into the freezer to weigh your options. After two minutes, you groan and snatch your gray sweater off the chair. Guess you’ll be making the trip. Before stepping out the door, you do a quick once over at the mirror to make sure you look decent.

Especially if he’s outside—Izuku Midoriya, the neighbor from apartment 512.

He recently moved into your building and settled right across from you. There was lots of commotion going on outside the hallway, disrupting your usual Saturday cleaning spree. If you couldn’t hear your music, then what was the point of cleaning anyway? You remembered whipping the door open, mouth wide open to complain, when a pair of emerald eyes stared straight at you. He introduced himself as Izuku Midoriya and apologized profusely for the ruckus. You didn’t care if he fired up a jackhammer against your wall, he was handsome.

Long story short, you fell for him. Hard.

Subconsciously, you make sure to put your best foot forward. And yes, that even means doing a quick breath check in case you both end up in the elevator together. Once satisfied with your reflection, you peek at peephole and leave the apartment. It’s relatively possible Midoriya is not even home, but you can never be too sure.

Someone calls your name, and regrettably, you recognize their voice. Turning around, you shoot him an awkward smile. “Tarou, hi…”

Tarou is a fellow neighbor who lives two doors down from you. Everyone in this entire building knows his massive crush on you, including yourself. The guy is sweet, yes, but you don’t have the same feelings toward him. You settled for being friends, but the lovestruck look in his eyes is painfully apparent.

Tarou gestures to what he’s holding, “Just taking out the trash!”

“I can see that.”

“Yeah, always gotta keep this place clean, y’know?” He follows you down the hall, his black bag swishing sideways. You call for the elevator, but keep a polite distance from him. “Where are you heading?”

You shrug, “To the store to buy some ice cream.”

“Oh, well, I have some!” Ah, crap…

“What flavor is it?”

“Mint chocolate chip.”

You click your teeth, “Ooo, sorry, not really my flavor. But thanks for the offer!”

A ding cuts off Tarou, and you look at the elevator. When Midoriya steps off, your heart races, the sleeves on his black dress shirt rolled up until his elbows. He scratches his head and smiles when he spots you. All your focus is on him, especially when he sings out your name in that deep voice of his. As Midoriya sends a curt nod at Tarou, your eyes are permanently glued to the viridian-haired man’s retreating figure.  

Yup, you definitely have fallen hard for him.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

“Bill…bill…bill…bi—oooh coupon! I’m so keeping this.”

You continue to check your mail as the elevator heads to your floor. With the mail sorted through, you skim through the magazine that arrived today. Not once did you look up the moment you exit the elevator, your eyes soaking in the pages filled with colorful photographs and words. You’re not worried bumping into anything, or anyone, since you know the place like the back of your hand.

Keys jingle and you peer over the magazine. Your hands crumple the pages as you watch Midoriya lock his door. He’s wearing a fitted lichen blue shirt that accentuates every muscle on his upper body and a pair of black shorts that stop just above his knees. Midoriya shoves his wireless earbuds and strolls away from his apartment.

Your breath hitches when his face lights up. “Hey! How’s it looking outside?”

“G-good,” you stammer before clearing your throat, “Perfect weather for running.”

“Sounds great!” Midoriya is a fairly busy person, but the few times you run into each other, he always flashes his winning smile. It sends your heart racing faster than the Hayabusa train. He checks the time and waves goodbye. “Catch you later, neighbor!”

“You too!” That’s where you should have ended, but nope—your mouth runs on its own and betrays you when it blurts out, “Have fun running and sweating!”

The sheer horror dawns on your face when those five words echo down the hallway. Midoriya stops to glance over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. You scramble to your door and fumble with the keys. Your eyes stay firmly on the knob until you’re able to rush inside. The magazine falls out of your grasp as you slide down against the door in embarrassment.

“Have fun running and sweating?” You moan, head banging on the door. “What kind of response is that? Ugh!”

This is the last time you’ll get your mail at this hour.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Both legs dangle over the couch’s armrest, and you stare at the ceiling. Days have passed since the humiliating incident, the conversation replaying inside your head like a broken record. However, Midoriya continued to greet you like normal. Was it done out of pity, who knows? Interestingly enough, his smile was more playful than usual.

Your crush on Midoriya skyrockets since then.

A pillow slams over your face. How is it possible for a person to make you feel this way? Midoriya is continuously in your thoughts when awake, and in your dreams when fast asleep. It’s a miracle that your heart hasn’t exploded from all the giddiness building inside. But your thoughts and dreams can only go so far. For you, the best moments happen whenever you both cross paths outside the hallway.

It’s definitely that smile of his.

You move the pillow away from your face and sit up. Although you know you like Midoriya, you wonder if he feels the same way. There’s only one way to know for sure, and you become absolutely nervous just thinking about it. Still, you don’t want to keep waiting around. For once, you want to take charge.

After many attempts in front of the bathroom mirror, you settle with a simple confession: “Midoriya, I like you.”

Yup that should do it.

You shake the nerves trapped inside and gently tap your cheeks. Hopefully, Midoriya is home right now. You’re running on pure adrenaline and who knows when that will disappear. With a final check near the entrance mirror, you stride toward his door.

The number 512 shines underneath the warm light, making you gulp. One foot takes a step back, but you move forward again. One fist rises, but stops just at the door’s smooth surface. You end up fighting against yourself for a few minutes until a rapid knock attacks the door. Nothing happens as you hold your breath.

Then the knob turns, and your face falls; another woman answers instead of Midoriya.

Abort mission, abort mission, abort mission—

“Hi, may I help you?”

“Um, hello,” you meekly wave, a forced smile hurting your face. The woman looks pretty and around your age, but definitely not related to Midoriya. There’s a massive pit in your stomach. “I’m the neighbor from across the hall. I came to ask Midoriya if he has any, um, flour! Yes, flour!”

Flour, really? Is that the best you can come up with on the spot?

“Oh, well, I can ask him—”

“A-Actually no! It’s fine!” You give an awkward laugh. “I, uh, just remembered the recipe doesn’t need any flour. Yeah, it’s a flourless cake. Says so on the name! Sorry if I bothered you. I’ll be heading back now…um, have a great day!”

You bolt back into your apartment again and slam the door.  

Guess he doesn’t like you.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

There’s an imaginary dark cloud looming over your head. It follows you everywhere, from brushing your teeth in the bathroom to visiting the postal office to drop off a small package. You purposefully take the longest route back home, not ready to face the sad reality awaiting on the fifth floor.

Now you understand why people call it a crush. One moment you feel excited or hopeful for a chance to be together. The next moment, those same feelings start crumbling and crush you without a single warning. You hang your head low; all that’s left now is for you to move on with your life. The S.S. Midoriya has officially sailed, and you’re not on it.

The dark cloud starts raining.

Even in my imagination, I can’t catch a break.

You arrive at your apartment complex and enter the elevator. A sharp ding breaks the silence as you step off to drag your feet on the floor. Fishing for your keys, you don’t hear a door opening from across the hall. Someone coughs out your name, and you freeze before peeking over your shoulder to see Midoriya.

“Sorry!” He flails his hands, green eyes filled with panic. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“No, it’s okay,” you say, turning around to face him. Midoriya sighs in relief, and you hold back a snort. “So…what’s up? Do you need something?”

“Actually, I heard you stopped by my door yesterday. Looking for flour?”

“O-oh, about that!” You grip the keys, the heat rising behind your neck. “Yeah, I thought I needed flour for this recipe, but I forgot I was making a flourless cake. I didn’t mean to bother you or your girlfriend, so…”

“Girlfriend?”

“Yeah, she’s the one who answered your door?”

“Oh, you mean Uraraka!” Midoriya lets out a genuine laugh, leaving you confused. “She’s just a good friend of mine from college. She’s came by for a visit after not seeing me for so long.”

Well, you certainly jumped the gun there. The dark cloud vanishes, and you almost jump at the thought of Midoriya being single. Before you could speak, Midoriya shoves one hand in his pocket while the other scratches behind his neck. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks as he tries to find his words.

Eventually, he does when he confesses, “Besides, I actually like you. A lot if I’m being honest, but I was too nervous to say something until Uraraka gave me the courage, so yeah…”

You’re gaping like a fish, the keys barely hanging on your shaky fingers.

Say something, anything! Just don’t stand there!

“I love your freckles!” Oh my god. You slap your forehead and pinch the bridge of your nose for a second. Finally, you take a deep breath and shoot him a shy smile, “What I meant to say was, I also like you. A lot, too.”

Somehow Midoriya’s face glows even brighter than before, his green curls bouncing in celebration as well. A surge of confidence runs through his veins as he stands straighter and asks you out for dinner tonight.

“Sure, pick me up at 7pm, neighbor?”

“On the dot, neighbor.”

Your grin never disappears. After all, you have a date with Izuku Midoriya, the lovely neighbor from apartment 512.

Fifth prompt is crossed off. Which one will be next? Stay tune! Thank you for reading! 

Previous prompt: Crime AU

Hero Camp Bingo Masterlist

[officialleehadan]

Ambivalent Amethyst

Today's story was brought to you by Wistfulmemory! Darling, you always have such interesting prompts for me. Thank you for your support!

Prompt: Computer Science 101 with Ambivalent Amethyst

+++

“I left him.”

Adrienne wasn’t sure how to come at the problem, so she decided to go for the direct approach and hope for the best. It wasn’t always a successful method, all things considered, but Nathan deserved to know the truth.

“Who?” he asked as he joined her at the prow of the boat, a pair of mugs in hand. He passed her one, and she discovered that they were full of hot cider, with the hint of something alcoholic. “There’s rum in the cider. You looked like you could use it.”

“I can,” Adrienne admitted. She had her new cloak around her shoulders against the chill, and he was bundled in a heavy winter robe. The days were still warm enough, but the nights on the water could get punishingly cold. Her dress was deep, amethyst purple, edged in silky-soft white fur, and made her feel like a winter princess. It was also, much to her relief, both comfortable and warm. “You know the guy I’m always complaining about? Patrick?”

“The one who made that ridiculously offensive ‘Girls worth your time’ list?”

“That’s the one,” Adrienne said bitterly. She missed the time when that was Patrick’s worst offense in her world, but she had seen enough of his true colors while they traveled together. “He’s here. In this world.”

She wasn’t sure why it took her so long to tell Nathan about Patrick. They had talked a little, about how she met up with another necromancer who she thought was him, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to name names. Maybe it was because she was embarrassed at her own stupid naivety. Maybe it was because she was still so angry at Patrick, and at herself.

“The necromancer,” Nathan murmured, smart enough to put the pieces together for himself without her having to explain. “The one you thought was me. You mistook us, because you knew he was from our world.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled into her cider, grateful for the warmth and for the rum easing the way. She wasn’t a lightweight to be getting tipsy on a single drink, but she appreciated a little shot of liquid courage. “He’s… he thinks the people here are just programs that he can kill and abuse. I snuck away when I realized who he wasn’t, and I haven’t heard anything about him since.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Adrienne looked up at Nathan, surprised and taken aback by the sudden, carefully controlled fury in his question. Magic wove around his hands, moon-glow pale and threatening. The silent threat on her behalf left her almost speechless.

“No,” she promised him, and reached over to take one of his hands in hers. His magic rolled over her skin and she shivered a little. She expected it to sting, but it was more like running her hands through cool water.  “No, he didn’t hurt me, I promise. He didn’t hurt anyone who wasn’t… who didn’t attack him first.”

“Why did you run?” he asked quietly and made a surprised noise in the back of his throat when she eased over close enough for him to put an arm around her, and for her to share the warmth of her heavy cloak. “I know you. You don’t leave people behind unless you have a good reason.”

This part was harder, and Adrienne fiddled with the amethyst-studded clasp of her dress while she tried to find the words.

“You don’t stay with someone who thinks you’re an enemy,” she said finally, since it seemed like the easiest way to explain without having to go back through the hellish weeks of traveling with Patrick and seeing what he did to anyone who crossed him. “He has one of those pendants that keep an enemy from summoning backup. It blocked the message scrolls. It’s why I stopped writing to you after Forest Hall. I just didn’t realize, because I thought he was you, and you wouldn’t be writing to me if we were together, anyway.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Nathan told her, his cheek resting against her hair as she leaned into him. “So his pendant blocked our scrolls because he thinks of you as an enemy? He was the bad star the Coda told me about, isn’t he?”

“I assume so,” Adrienne said. She took a careful sip of her cider and closed her eyes. “But I left him. He’s just as lost in this world as us, and I’m the only person he knows, and I just vanished on him. If he didn’t hate me already, he does now.”

“You can’t know that, either,” he said gently and set his cider aside to tilt her head up until she met his eyes. “You have proof, good, solid, proof, that he thinks of you as an enemy, and you’ve seen what he does to enemies. You did the right thing.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I know that I would be lost without you,” he said, a little shy to admit it. Adrienne went back to hiding her face in his shoulder, since the conversation was significantly easier without eye-contact. “And I know what I could do to someone if I wanted to. If he’s got the same character-build I do… there’s a reason people fear necromancers here. People die badly when there’s an angry necromancer in the room.”

“You aren’t like him.” Of that, Adrienne was completely certain. From the flower in her hair, which still hadn’t shown any sign of wilting, to the way he slipped a bite or two of his supper to the river-boat’s resident cat, she knew he was good all the way to the heart. “You wouldn’t… you wouldn’t kill someone who was trying to run away. You don’t short the merchants. You’re here, talking me down just because I’m weirdly ambivalent about leaving someone behind.”

“I’ve killed people while we were here,” he told her seriously, the shame in his voice enough to make her sit up, if only so she could face him properly. “Bandits who tried to jump me on the road, you remember? They startled me, and I blasted them before I could try and talk them down. I have nightmares about the way they screamed… and about how long they screamed.”

“Hey,” she said, and cupped his cheek lightly. He tried to smile for her, but it came out as more of a grimace. “There’s a difference between that, and hurting people because you can. I traveled with Patrick for two weeks, and I promise you, he didn’t have nightmares about what he did.”

They were quiet for a while as the sky darkened and the stars twinkled into sight one by one. They weren’t the constellations that Adrienne knew from home, but they were still stars, and stars were always soothing. After a minute, Nathan shifted to wrap his arms around her again. Adrienne sighed at their shared warmth and leaned back against his chest.

“We can send him a message, if you like,” he said when the last of the light faded from the sky and their only light was the stars and the boat’s lanterns, glittering over the dark river as they sailed onward. “He’s probably got a scroll like ours. Find out how he got here. We know what quest we’re doing, but unless he’s got a wife in-game who’s also here, he can’t possibly be doing the same one as us.”

“I like that idea,” Adrienne admitted, suddenly tired, but too comfortable to move. She looked down at her hand, and the ring she wore that matched Nathan’s. “I should apologize for vanishing on him, if nothing else, and maybe we can help him with his quest, too.”

“It’s a plan,” Nathan agreed warmly. He freed a hand so he could reach her discarded cider, and his own. “Now, let’s finish our drinks, and stumble off towards bed. It’s getting late, and we’ll need our sleep for whatever comes next.”

+++

Cybersecurity 101

Adrienne is one of her server’s top players, but the game is more than a game, and she will have to face love, and betrayal, to survive.

Cyber Finals

For the Experience

A Quest Never Completed

Reorienting Home (Subscriber Only!)

Skills Already Known (Subscriber Only!)

Finish Them! (Free on Patreon!)

Down the River Boat  (Free on Patreon!)

Lily Shine (Subscriber Only!)

Mage-Market

Green Fire

Cobalt Coda (Free on Patreon!) 

Guide By Stars

Hazel Hoodwink (Subscriber Only!)

Chime and Check (Free on Patreon!)

Glowing Spiral Interlude (Subscriber Only!)

Vagabond City

(Subscriber Only!)

Side by Side (Free on Patreon!)

Viridian Vigilance

Tavern Tales

Share and Spar

Heartfire Festival (Subscriber Only!)

Ambivalent Amethyst

+++

More Stories!

+++

[heroofpenamstan]

WIP DAY #8

Tagged by the amazing @nightwingshero! 💖 ( was tempted to slap down your ask from last night but resisted. :""")) )

Going to tag: @abosaa, @risenlucifer, @faithchel, @ariestals, @lobanhart, @shallow-gravy, @spicevalleys, @mackie-hattwie, @strafethesesinners, @teamhawkeye, @trialandseed! Sharing is never obligatory, of course! But if anyone wants to share and pin the blame on someone—I'll be you gal. x

8. such a lovely place; such a lovely face—snippet of my Mary May/Michael oneshot for the smut prompts because I just have to set a mood. Also, sorry for the lack of line break; I'm on my phone at work so can't add a line break properly. :"")

"Thought the cleaners were supposed to do that for ya."

His voice tore through the empty bar like a grazing bullet, yet Mary May refuses to succumb to the sudden ring of it. The only indication of her perplexion resides in the thinning of her lips, the tightness of her hold on the worn-out mop; her knuckles white, teeth scrapping, tugging—Mary May attempts to catch her bearings.

"Yeah—well," she clears her throat, dragging at the bucket laying by her feet. "The last time I saw Frank, he was sittin' in a tinted reaping truck heading up to the Mountains, so—"

Mary May gives a final swipe across the beer-soaked wood before giving up and discarding her cleaning products altogether by the running jukebox.

She turns to him, then; drinks in the sight of the shearling jacket draped over an upturned barstool, the trail of mud flaking from his heavy boots and onto her ( just cleaned, fuck— ) floor. Mary May heaves a heavy sigh as her viridian gaze lands on the wide, sharp grin belonging to one Michael Scott Hughes.

"Just why are you her—what happened?" The sight of the darkened bruise upon his cheekbone is enough to cut her words off, to kick her brain into overdrive as she traverses the space between them in eight quick strides, gripping his chin to angle his jaw to face her better. Michael observes her beneath soot-colored lashes, mirth nearly spilling from his curled mouth at the lines of concern distorting Mary May's features. Her finger pad idly brushes across the discoloration of his skin, and Michael seldom flinches at the throbbing pain.

"Nothin' major, dollface," he positively purrs as he leans his bruised face into the warmth of her palm, pressing his cheek fully against her soft skin. As if seared by fire, Mary May retracts her touch, brows coming together in scowling warning. 

He's currently walking on eggshells, he knows, but when hasn't he when it concerned his childhood sweetheart? A year ago? Ten? He can't even recall a time she hasn't flinched from his playful touch or his comforting hand, no matter how light or welcomed, and that admission sets a bitter taste in his mouth he's grown uncomfortablely used to.

Still, Michael cracks her a slight smirk, seemingly amused by her apprehension as he comes behind the bar—much to Mary May's dismay.

"Was just setting an example for dear ol' John boy on how to be a good Samaritan for once. Not my fault he can't take a fuckin' joke." Mike's muffled voice rings out softly, words climbing over the soft lilt of Hotel California playing on the beat-down jukebox as he crouches down.

"Uh huh," Mary May watches him sharply as he rummages through the crate of pre-made molotovs stashed underneath her sink, wondering what the hell he is up to this time.

God, she just wants to sleep away the ever-present exhaustion that strung her back and invaded her mind with each radio taunt and threat and gunshot resounding in the distance. And Michael is, truly, the last thing she needs right now; he makes her tense for different reasons than the cult or John Seed do, begrudgingly enough. 

"And I suppose you comin' in here uninvited and going through my things is you being a 'good Samaritan'?" Her fingers curl into sarcastic quotation marks as Michael goes to hook his foot through the handle of the heavy-looking bag he has brought to drag it closer inside the bar with him.

"It's a bar, Mary dearest; I'm always invited."

"It's past midnight, Mickey."

Mary May can just make out the amused glint in his green eyes underneath the dim lights of the Spread Eagle as he stands back up to his full height, and the intensity of his sobering face makes her want to wrap her arms around herself for one reason or another.

"Precisely why I'm here," Michael mumbles as he slams the large bag on top of the wood before him. She looks on wordlessly as he unzips it, trying her best to appear disinterested at what Michael has cooked up for her today. 

"Annie and I," there's a slight pause at that, lasting only a hair's breath as the Deputy's endearing nickname tumbles from his mouth, and Mary May feels her forearms break into goosebumps; cold and tingly.

(  Must be the AC, she thinks begrudgingly, noting to check in on it in the morning. )

"—caught whiff of Johnny's plans for Fall's End in the upcoming weeks as a last measure, and it ain't no jokin' matter anymore, Mary."

Mary May opens her mouth to question him, to debunk  and rationalise with him—nothing John Seed throws at them can scare her at this point; not after the machine guns and planes and flamethrowers—but at the sight of the contents Michael produces from within his bag, her words die in her throat, unsaid and hollowed.

"Is that—"

"—yep," Michael tosses a gas mask at her, and Mary May can barely catch it in time, dazed as she is. "I'm not gonna lie; it's gonna be a real bitch gettin' rid of the smell afterwards, doll."

Mary May traces the edges of it in silent thought, grip tight, fingers pressing until they turn white from beneath her nails. Dread seeps into her pores and into her ringing ears, and the only thing that snaps her out of her anxious daze is the sound of a bottle being opened.

"Hey, put that back!" She barks unsteadily, seeing Michael bring out two tumblers from beneath the wooden bar, looking more at home than she would care to admit. There's long strands brushing across his cheeks, but Mary can still make out the tightness in his jaw, the too sharp too sudden spill of the malt Whiskey she had reserved only for him, for when he stumbles in, bruised and in need of nursing.

Just like now, apparently.

"Sit down." He points at the barstool brushing against her jeans, and Mary May realizes that he had placed it for her and not himself to recline upon. She chews on her bottom lip, teeth scraping at the flesh there, and Michael tuts at her. "I don't want no excuses from ya', sweetheart; lemme do this for you—it's the least I can do."

There's something in the way he says it, serious and unyielding, leaving no room for arguing that has her complacent. 

Mary May sits on the squeaking chair only with two complaints on her tongue, letting her shoulders drop as she leans her forearms on the bar. There's a hand at the base of her neck, then, and the only thing she can do is blink up at him as Michael releases her blonde locks from the bun she wears, his palm ruffling her crown, fingers sliding over to bop at her curved nose.

Michael counters her puffy cheeks with a tumbler full of whiskey, presenting the glass with more antics than necessary as Mary May sighs at his pompous gestures. Even when serious, Michael just has to display his grandiose signs of false chivalry and affection. 

In spite of it, she is unable to deny the flutter in her stomach his handling of her this way causes, nor the heat burning beneath her cheeks in the dim, dim light.

[slumbering-lore]

Who do you ship with Mairon? How did you come up with your name thingy(dragon-under-the-stars)? What's your favorite color(s)?

I'm so sorry I thought this was a prompt ask and didn't recheck :( Yeah so answering this late..

Who I ship Mai with:

I had described in details here

My blog url:

It originally was elf-loving-dragon because I started Tumblr when I was... 13? And I was obsessed with elves and dragons. Well I then deleted that blog for a silly reason and created this one with the same name. I changed it to a-dragon-under-the-stars a bit later because it sounded better 😬

My fav colour:

Viridian Green, Obsidian black and Periwinkle.

Thankyou for the ask and tolerating my stupidity

[snipsxvoid]

empty seasons

a collection of prompts not affiliated with any fandoms found on the internet to help the author better their writing and style. constructive criticism is welcome but outright hate is not.

maturity set for language and dark situations.

Part One

prompt reference sheet

Day 1: An impulse buy leading to intergalactic warfare.

Day 2: "Smoke hung so thick in the library's rafters that she could read words in it."

Day 3: The language of flowers, pajamas, a secret passageway.

Day 4: "His wife was having tea with the King and he didn't even know about it."

Day 5: The story of how your parents met, transposed into the Victorian era.

Day 6: A balloon, a ball, balustrades.

Day 7: A language class for aliens.

Day 8: "She liked to fit people into the world like puzzle pieces."

Day 9: Someone goes to extreme lengths to return something he/she borrowed.

Day 10: An explorer with MPD (multi-personality disorder), a widow, a house in the woods.

Day 11: "Winter was the only season we could be together."

Day 12: A story entitled "The Fate of the Telegraph Operator".

Day 13: Someone's life takes on new meaning after they discover an unusual tree.

Day 14: A sailor returning home finds his wife knows every detail of his life while he was away.

Day 15: A plague, a piece of chalk, viridian (a shade of green).

Day 16: "There were 48,000 gods in their mythology and not one..."

Day 17: A substance which generates ideas, a spy, 1 minute.

Day 18: "The floor tasted like..."

Day 19: A light-tent, an actress, 2 worlds.

Day 20: A story about someone who is obsessed with marmalade.

Day 21: Steampunk sleeping beauty.

Day 22: An unfinished work of art, a mycologist, a sense of foreboding.

Day 23: "Please shut the..."

Day 24: Mind controlling wallpaper creates happy ending.

Day 25: Lancelot, flannel, aeronautics.

Day 26: Invent a creation myth involving string and feathers.

Day 27: Story sandwich.

Day 28: "The color of her blood was the least of my worries."

Day 29: A single lily, a cliff, 3 hours.

Day 30: Write a story that begins and ends with a bicycle.

**Note: prompts likely won't be written in the order listed here.

[artsypanini]

Today’s mermaid!! The prompt was “royalty” and the color was “viridian green”, hope you like it as much as i did!!