#my life is so full of sweet women aaaa

[wincore]

vixen | nakamoto yuta

pairing: kitsune!yuta x female!reader

words: 5.1k 

summary: every year, you visit the fox who claims to know everything about you. 

genre: fantasy/folklore, fluff, angst(?)

warnings: suggestive, mention of past bullying, one excessively flirty nakamoto yuta

song rec(s): clear and sunny - sou (cover)

a/n: this is for all you furries who aren’t quite furries yet muah (im joking) but aaaa love exploring folklore and also i should put in a disclaimer that not every aspect adheres to the original tales of the kitsune <3 i did not proofread btw and i am very sorry

Some things never change.

Examples: boys, shitty friends, death, and the scent of nostalgia. To you, that very scent happens to be the earthy smell of chrysanthemums and a faint waft of spices from the kitchen in your parents’ house. To you, October is not just another month. To you, there is one more thing that never changes and it is not your belief in old ghost stories. 

Around this time of the year, the autumn festival begins in a flurry of vibrant red smudges and a whiff of excitement, in streets suddenly brought alive. The skies are candied orange, and it’s the only time you aren’t tired of home. This time is also when you find yourself right in the clutches of the one demon you swore you’d avoid for the rest of your life. You swore. It’s not your fault that said demon is a little, let’s say, tempting. 

Tempting in the most vexing, infuriating way possible. Bewitching, cruel, seducing—all that foxes are and all that you’ve heard of them could not have prepared you for an encounter. Folklore runs deep through you. The memories of a certain fox-boy run deeper. 

It is not the festival you are here for. 

You yawn, leaning against the wooden door frame of the shop. It would be inappropriate to fall asleep on the job, especially since there are a bunch of children staring idly at you. You close your mouth quickly, resting the back of your hand against your lips. Late afternoon is an easy time to fall asleep. You have half the mind to snarl at the kids to scare them off, their gaze getting on your nerves and when you think you will, you turn the other way. Manners come first to you, no matter how temperamental you get. 

The procession has gathered a crowd. Some shouts and squeals from the children make you slump further. At least they’re having fun with whatever stupid game they’re playing. You breathe in the autumn air. A part of you wonders if you simply let your feet lead you down the stairs, you’d be free of this entire ordeal. You shake your head. Temptation has always been hard to resist—never meant to be resisted but you’re much older now. There is dignity to be answered.

October is mild—your grandmother’s shop is still on the verge of collapse, your mother still yells at you for misplacing kitchen utensils and your old friends from school still gossip about who you’re dating. It’s like the script never changes; people change the meaning, twist their words in the same old pattern. If you were a little less behaved, you would have poured your drink over their heads yesterday. 

You clench your jaw. It’s always an ‘Oh, you’re so attractive’ and an ‘I wish I could date as many men as you do but I’m loyal to my boyfriend’, or even a ‘Must be nice being surrounded by boys all the time’. You know what they mean. It’s not the first time you’ve been called a fox, and you don’t think it’ll be the last—at least until you decide to stop letting your hometown suffocate you. Maybe you’ll accept what they say. You have heard of what hatred left unchecked can do.

If you’re honest, you haven’t been with too many men. If you’re a little more honest, none of them have ever made your heart race.

You watch the children play with a keen eye, their painted masks ridiculously large for their faces and in brightly coloured clothes contrasting well with the town. You might not be allowed to fall asleep, but there’s nothing against closing your eyes for a second or two.

The image of glinting yellow eyes and a fanged smile pop up and you quickly open your eyes. You don’t know why your heart beats so loud at the mere thought of him, thoughts in which his lips are full and painted red, and his bright smile is stretched upon them. Sometimes, the thought of him is in gentle washes, his hand fixing your hair, or a flirty smile when you dare stumble upon him on a particularly sleepless night. You shake your head to get rid of the thought. That is not love. Some sort of embarrassing attraction, maybe. However, the friendship you have is worse.

“I see you’re a slacker as always.”

Your grandmother’s voice breaks you out of your cycle of thoughts and you’re almost grateful.

“I sold approximately zero sweets,” you snort. “Why can’t we just do away with the shop?”

“You’re starting to sound like your mother,” your grandma calls from behind one of the counters, distaste ringing clear in her voice. 

You sigh. “Fine, but… you work way too hard to make these for them to not sell.”

“Maybe they would sell if a certain little lady would stay and help.”

You groan, leaning your head back. “You know I have work in the city.”

Your grandmother waves her hand about, dismissing your reasoning. She fiddles around in the shadows for a bit before coming forward with more boxes than she should be able to hold.

“You don’t have to feel too guilty. Yuta’s been helping out,” your grandmother informs fondly. “You could learn a thing or two from him.”

You’re not the superstitious sort and yet still, your heart beats faster. For him, or for the bad omens foxes bring to a household—you don’t know.

You scoff instead. “He’s not as great a guy as you think, grandma. He can be really mean too!”

“Oh, I doubt that. Have you seen his smile? Impossible.” Your grandmother waves it off before drawing nearer, voice hushed without reason. “Have you thought about it then? He is handsome, isn’t he?”

“Grandma.”

You’re not sure what old women go through in their youth that makes them something of a matchmaker in their later years. You think the whole ordeal is messed up. There is no way you’re going to stick your nose into your grandchildren’s love life; it’s gross.

“These should be enough for the children, no?” Your grandmother asks and you look up.

“You’re giving them away for free?” you question, furrowing your eyebrows. “And you talk about bad business.”

She places her hand on her hip, pointing an accusatory finger. “You’re going to lecture your grandmother?”

You raise your hands up in defeat, standing up to help her with the red boxes of acorn candy and paper wraps of roasted chestnuts. You end up with the entire load in your arms, your grandmother happily shuffling about as she locks up the store.

You turn sharply at the surprised sound behind you. The evening has settled in and glowing lanterns bring forward the evidence, the darkening streets flooding with round droplets of light.

But it is not the festival you are looking at.

Yuta looks somewhat serene, your cheeks heating up despite yourself. You look at him with bated breath, hoping the boxes obscure your face enough to make the vaguely positive emotions less evident. The dark red jacket draped over his shoulder does not look out of place—in fact, he fits in so well you would’ve mistaken him for another face in the crowd if he weren’t stupidly gorgeous. He looks at you with no strong emotion in the eyes before breaking into a smile; and when his hand strokes the top of your head as a greeting, he seems fond. He always does.

“Grandma,” he calls with his best smile, turning to the old woman.

Your grandmother doesn’t need any more convincing of his character. 

“Oh, there you are! Did I tell you (name)’s back? I wanted to break the news to you earlier. Ah…I must have forgotten.”

You glance from Yuta to her. Is this another one of her tricks and tests?

“She’s always here this time of the year,” he responds, laughing politely.

“Ah, you remembered,” she says, eyes crescent as she smiles back. “Help her with the boxes. The city has made her so frail.”

“I’m good,” you choke on the words, hurriedly moving away and almost dropping one of the boxes.

You slip on your sandals and scurry off faster, wishing he’d just stay behind. He always has. The air makes you shiver but you’re adamant; and it’s not the only trait of yours to make relationships fail.

“You know, you should be nicer to old friends.”

You try not to react when Yuta takes the boxes from you, matching your pace almost effortlessly.

“I thought foxes ran away once they’re found out,” you snap, reluctantly letting him take the packages.

Yuta rolls his eyes. “I see you still aren’t very fond of me.”

“Not when you’re tricking my grandmother like this,” you hiss.

“You call helping trickery?” he retaliates.

“Foxes bring bad business,” you mutter.

“I’m the reason your grandmother’s business is somewhat above the water.”

You sigh, exasperated. There’s no point in wasting your breath. You look away, crossing your arms as you walk, the silence between the two of you suddenly awkward. Even so, you’re not going to open your mouth for him.

“Would you two slow down?” your grandmother calls, voice weary. “We’re already there.”

The two of you halt in your tracks immediately, taking mellow steps back to her. She looks over the two of you with furrowed eyebrows and you try to think of an explanation when she starts laughing.

“Oh, I don’t mind the two of you flirting,” she says, littered with slow laughter. “Just make sure the food is where it’s supposed to be.”

You’re about to refute when Yuta laughs, the sound still boyish and lively. “Of course. (name) missed me so much this year, she couldn’t help herself.”

You give him a pointed look which he ignores, deliberately or not. “We- I wasn’t—”

“Grandmother, if you’ll give us permission,” he interrupts, settling the packages on the table by the food stall and smiling wide. “We’ll go enjoy the festival now.”

She bobs her head in affirmation and Yuta grabs your hand to pull you into the bustling street, your silent plea for help ignored by your smug grandmother.

“What are you doing?” you ask, slipping your hand from his. “You aren’t- You aren’t trying to eat my liver, are you?”

“Why the liver? Can’t I have the rest of you too?”

It’s not like you were particularly alarmed but his response makes you feel a flush of embarrassment.

“It’s been a year since I last saw you,” he says before his voice turns a shade cooler. “Have you thought about my proposal?”

You fall silent. The overthinking started last year too. Your thoughts and dreams, so easily pervaded by him and all it took was one sentence. 

“We should get married.”

“Why did you even think I’d agree to that?” You try not to get too flustered. He knows all your petty weaknesses and you’d rather not have them on display for him to stare and pick at. “What the fuck would I get out of marrying you?”

Yuta whistles. “I like your tongue. But—yes, to answer your question, you’d get a very handsome and capable husband. Your bed will always be warm and oh, speaking of beds—”

You clamp your hand over his mouth at the suggestive look he sends, worried about being spotted by one of your school friends. Ah, right—friends, the very same people that smell of jealousy and won’t miss any opportunity to throw a jab your way. Friends. You can’t believe you’re still afraid of their judgement.

“And why do you want to get married to me?” you ask, looking into his eyes.

There’s a pause, filled with the chatter of the crowd.

“You look like you’re afraid of finding someone,” he speaks finally, ignoring your question. “Or is it the other way around?”

You roll your eyes, ready to walk off when he grabs your wrist to pull you closer to his chest. It draws some looks from nearby people, your eyes darting from face to face in fear. You take a deep breath and look at Yuta again, almond eyes distracting. 

“People will think we’re lovers,” you whisper, almost a hiss.

“What’s wrong with that?”

You breathe out in disbelief. “You’re really something.”

“What? Why did you always come to meet me then? Behind the keyaki tree?”

“It wasn’t for you,” you lie quickly. “I had nothing better to do.”

Pining after a fox? You could never have feelings for him. Even so, your answer comes off childish and silly, and somehow he’s the only one to be able to draw that side of you—the you that is messy and unprepared.

Yuta smiles in return. “You think people can’t fall in love with us the same way they fall in love with most everything.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

“How conservative of you,” he leaves with an airy remark, but not before urging you to follow him.

The sizzling sound of food being fried and the knocking, clicking sound of children playing games, all these forgotten sounds grow louder and for a second, if only you let yourself, you could close your eyes and it would be just like your first date. 

No. It’s different. You look up, eyes trailing over Yuta’s back, his golden hair, how his figure moves with ease and confidence.

It is different.

You raise an eyebrow at the box of takoyaki Yuta shoves towards you, an expecting look across his face.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asks, an uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice.

You hum in response, taking the box from him and saving yourself the trouble of asking whether he paid for it or simply charmed his way through. 

“Eh, no thank you?” he complains. “How polite.”

You scrunch your nose to accompany an exaggerated smile and he laughs, the two of wandering over the asphalt streets. Your hands are close enough to brush—and if a twenty-something year-old woman can feel jittery because of it, hands truly are meant to share warmth. The smell of candy and caramel fills the air, making you smile. You’ve saved enough for the taste of home, you think. 

The taste of home. 

Inevitably, the thought of kissing your companion crosses your mind and you stop in your tracks. Whatever. It must be natural when someone as attractive is beside you. Those aren’t feelings. You curse yourself for feeling like a teenager again.

The festival grounds aren’t as shabby as you expect them to be. The city,—if you could call this one—stops here and the earth spreads out to the forest behind. The crowd also thins, and you take a fresh breath. They’re selling old books in the corner, but no one seems to be there.

“The raccoon dogs,” Yuta whispers in your ear, with an arcane smile. “Want to visit those rascals?”

You roll your eyes. He knows you’ve heard one too many folktales for a lifetime, seen one too many. It’s time to go home, especially now that the thought of thanking him crosses your mind. You’re about to turn when your shoulder crashes into someone else’s. A surprised, syrupy smile greets you, which you cannot return for the first few moments. Yui’s smile wavers and you flash her a quick smile. A friend. Her arm is looped through her lover’s, the one she never shuts up about and suddenly the urge to pour water over her head returns.

Yuta glances from you to her before pressing his lips together, as if suppressing laughter. You’re almost offended when Yui laughs flippantly.

“You’re on a date too? I knew you couldn’t stand spending the festival alone,” she says, tugging her lover closer. 

People have always told you who you are and what you do. As if they know better.

You smile awkwardly. “It’s… actually not—”

“Oh, don’t be shy.” She gently pats your shoulder before leaning in. “He’s a real catch. As expected from you. You can never leave the boys alone.”

You know what she really means. You’ve heard the same words in high school when she was shoving you into a wall behind the school. The sickening smile is still on her face.

You gulp, feeling sixteen again. The lack of people around somehow makes it more awkward and you’re about to excuse yourself when suddenly, Yuta bumps into Yui and his warm drink spills over her left shoulder. Your eyes widen, more in confusion. When did he leave? You don’t doubt his ability to sneak past people, but surely you couldn’t have been so enraptured in your own feelings that you barely noticed.

“I’m so sorry,” Yuta says, voice honeyed with surprise.

Yui looks like she’s about to explode when she looks at him, her expression dropping to a calmer one almost immediately.

It’s an easy look to recognize. They always have it when they first meet Yuta, whether it’s the smile that’s too dazzling or the pretty round eyes. 

How persuasive, those eyes.

“Ah… I must have not seen you,” she says faintly, and Yuta’s smile widens.

Before he can stir up more trouble, you slip your arm into his and pull him away, not caring for another polite apology to an old, almost nameless face.

“I was having fun,” Yuta complains, voice still smug and calm.

You glare at him and it only seems to add fuel to the fire, to whatever cold fire dances at his fingertips. 

“You’re happy, right? Don’t look at me like that. You should reward me.”

You don’t respond, looking away and hoping to get at least a word in about how troublesome he is every single time you visit. Yuta has other plans, however. Leaning his head to look you in the eye, he maintains a distance which looks perfectly decent but feels less than so.

“How about a kiss? I deserve one, don’t I?” He moves his head closer to yours, making you shy away.

You grab him by the belt and pretend to not catch a glimpse of the pleased look on his face as you drag him into a secluded part by the forest.

It’s quieter here, so much that you can almost hear your own heart drumming in your chest, and the faint light of the distant festival grounds doesn’t help much at all. It’s dark as dusk, and you can only make out Yuta’s jawline and a faint smirk over his lips. You think that if a fox ever wanted to eat your liver, this would be the perfect spot.

“You did something,” you finally utter the words. “You did something to me.”

“Why do you think I did something? Do you mean love?” he responds with a cheeky smile. “This means you’ve been thinking about me? How cute—”

“Yuta, stop it,” you warn. 

“Or what? You should stop me yourself.”

You grab the lapels of his jacket, the cloth bunching as your knuckles turn white. The anger you feel isn’t the first of its kind—it’s just a little funny how it’s always Yuta every time, making you remember the burning feeling time and time again. You find yourself unable to respond. 

“Oh, don’t hold back,” he provokes, leaning in.

You push at his chest in exasperation, but he grabs your wrists before you can retract your hands.

“Scared?” he whispers.

You pull apart anyway, a scowl over your lips. “You’re as annoying as ever. Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”

“Ooh! Sharp claws. You’d be lovely as my fox-bride.” he teases. 

Your face flares with heat. “I’m not your… I’m not a fox.”

“I didn’t say a fox, I said—”

“I know what you said,” you snap, massaging your wrist so you don’t have to look at him.

Yuta falls quiet for a moment, voice lower when he speaks again.

“Is it so nasty to be called a fox? There are worse things, you know.”

You scoff, growing increasingly annoyed. “Of course you’d say that. I hate it. I hate this town. I hate foxes and I hate you.”

Yuta places a hand over his chest, gasping with no emotion. Your eyes linger over his long, painted nails a little longer before you meet his eyes. A part of you regrets saying the words but you couldn’t help it. The shroud choking your hometown makes you want to scream at the top of your lungs every time you’re here. You hate this place.

But you don’t hate him, after all. 

You try to clear yourself of the thought. A gentle gust of wind brings you back to the present, Yuta still glancing at you with no giveaway to what he’s feeling.

“You wouldn’t make a terrible fox though,” he says, eyes sharp. “Don’t they know you’re a vixen already? How many livers will you eat?”

You suck in a breath, tears stinging at your eyes. However, it’s not like you to get so easily affected by him. No. No, somehow that doesn’t make sense either. Those words do hurt from Yuta and you’re not sure if it’s just because he's the only one you didn’t expect them from.

“You…”

“What? Aren’t you going to lash at me again? You’re so predictable.”

His voice is calm despite your obvious annoyance and you feel flames lick at your heart. Your hand moves before you can think, about to meet his cheek when he grabs your wrist. You struggle, trying to pull free but to no avail and you use the other hand to hit him in the chest. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t bother him and that same feline smile curves up his lips.

You feel something you haven’t before, a warm growl at the pit of your stomach.

You push with all your strength, catching Yuta off guard and he stumbles backward but not before pulling you into him. Consequently, either of you lose footing and land on the grass with a sudden thud, Yuta’s side pressed against yours. His hands still clutch your wrist, and he shifts to hover over you.

“We used to wrestle like this as a litter,” he says, erupting into full laughter. “Ah, memories. I don’t even know if they’re alive or dead now.”

Yuta is much stronger than he looks, and he’s taken your tantrum as a source of amusement much to your infuriation. He has your hands pinned back, eyes unaffected as he scans over your face. You try to shift but there’s just too much weight on you. You breathe slowly, chest rising and falling in time with his. His earrings sway gently in the wind, dangling a few inches above you—he’s pretty, so pretty. Admitting defeat has never been your forte but now that your senses are gathering again, you feel a flush of embarrassment for losing your temper. 

Or perhaps, it is something else when you register the lack of distance between your noses.

“Playtime’s over,” Yuta coos. “You’re kinda cute when you’re losing.”

He tilts his head, an adoring smile over his lips. For a moment, they’re all you see.

Can a fox comfort you? Can a fox make you feel loved on the darkest of nights? Your mind races with questions your heart does not want to answer. 

Yuta leans in to close the distance and despite every nerve in your body, you turn your head away. You can hear him gulp, the following moments painfully quiet before he gets up. Your breath is soft and shallow, lying on the ground till you get enough courage to sit up. 

You almost gasp. His tails are clearer under the dim moonlight, all nine of them golden and luxurious. The light hitting his face isn’t any less flattering and once again you are reminded of how handsome he is, fairytale or not. 

Yuta looks uncomfortable, and that’s a first for you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, though you don’t know why.

He waves his hand dismissively, annoyed.

“Yuta,” you take a step forward.

“I see the way you look at me,” he says quietly, “Is it not want?”

You fall silent, biting your lip so you don’t retort violently. He doesn’t look particularly malicious when he says that but you do not want to give him the satisfaction of an answer yet.

He quietens for a moment before a look of curiosity flashes across his features.

“What is it then?” he asks. “Is it a secret? Foxes love secrets. Tell me.”

Despite every bone in your body burning up, you find it in yourself to laugh.

“I don’t think I could keep a secret from you if I tried,” you finally say, before bursting into soft laughter again.

Yuta looks at you puzzled, lips parted while he stands frozen as if he were a painting. A daunting, reckless, heavenly painting.

“It’s not want,” you answer quietly. “It’s more than that. Even if I hated it. I like you.”

Yuta’s ears perk up at your confession. “So- so you admit, then? You are interested?”

“I could blame you for this, you know?” You shrug, hugging yourself once the night starts to feel cold again. Yuta begins to take off his jacket when you stop him, gently pressing your palm against his chest. 

“You’re a fox, after all,” you whisper. “Like me. What they think of me.”

Yuta purses his lips. “Does it really hurt you? No, wait. Did they- did they—”

“Now, you tell me,” you cut him off. “Why do you insist on getting married—to me?”

There’s a pause. The crickets chirp a merry tune despite the leisurely darkness of the night.

“You’re not terrible,” he says, nonchalantly.

You glare at him and he raises his hands in defeat. He looks wearier the more you look at him.

“I want to grow old,” he mumbles after a long pause. “Properly.”

You hold your breath.

“And you want to do it with me?”

Another flower blooms in your chest, as if he hasn’t planted a garden in there already. The lights from the festival flicker down, the lanterns burning brighter in the distance. He glances at them for a moment, your eyes still fixated on him. 

The tails glow even brighter in the dark, as if gold in broad daylight. You’ve always been curious about him and his kind, all the stories; but he says he’s too old to remember if you ask.

You reach out to touch one of the tails, wondering if the fur is as warm as it looks. They’re pale and captivating, but they look so soft—they shouldn’t belong to an animal so vicious. Is he, though? Is he all that you think he is or have all these years failed you? If anything, he’s quite probably not as much a fox as you are, you think bitterly.

The fur is warm, but the realization is short-lived.

A short growl leaves the corner of his mouth. Yuta glares at you like he was stolen from and yet, you do not move your hand. Some part of you wants to aggravate him further.

“I’m not a pet,” he snaps. “Stop that.”

“You should stop me yourself,” you mimic his voice.

Yuta’s shoulders relax, and he looks down but you can still see the trembling smile on his face. It’s the way he looks at you, you think to yourself, maybe that's the reason after all.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, feeling warmer than the autumn night should allow.

“Like what?” he asks, still smiling.

You look away. 

“You’re not too fox-like, you know?” you mumble. “You’re just annoying. And flirty. And annoying.”

Yuta chuckles, before pressing his palm to the top of your head. 

“And you’re lovely.”

You give in to the gesture of affection, leaning your head to press against his shoulder.

“Why do you even do all this? What do you get out of it?” you say, voice muffled. He hears you clearly, however.

“Because I love you,” he responds, as if coming to terms with it himself. “More than you think.”

There is no joke, no flirtation to his tone, no decoration upon his words. It’s plain, and laid bare. And sometimes, simplicity is scariest. 

You pull back, lips pulled into a frown. The air is cold once more; the longing for warmth flowing into you. The silence is worse.

“You don't believe foxes can fall in love,” he states softly upon a wavering smile. “I knew that. Of course.”

A part of him believes it too.

“I…” you begin, and for the first time, you are afraid of promises in the name of love. You are the one making them now.

“I’ll believe you,” you whisper, “I’ll believe you so please… please take care of me.”

You place your palm against his cheek, his skin bewitchingly warm. 

“Only if you take care of me,” he whispers back, leaning in.

This time, you do not move.

The lovers’ kiss you’d been searching for—lovers’ warmth, lovers’ comfort—all of it comes crashing down once Yuta tightens his arm around your waist, the other hand resting gently at the base of your neck. He kisses with the right amount of pressure, the vague taste of sweet berries in his mouth.

You used to fear his touch, like he would eat you whole; even if they have been gentle, always. This time, you might as well let him. He presses his lips from your cheek to jaw to neck, lingering at each spot enough to make you clutch at his shirt tighter, taking in short gasps of breath. You kiss for a little longer, like time means nothing.

“We should go back,” you whisper, pulling apart.

Yuta kisses you again, the distance unacceptable. 

“Yuta—”

He kisses you once more, your calls falling on deaf ears.

Finally, after another long kiss, he pulls apart enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

“It must have been hard for you,” he mumbles.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you scoff.

“Foxes are faithful lovers, you know?” he insists.

You laugh. “What do you mean?”

“It means I’ll follow you everywhere.”

He stands up straight, his thumb stroking your cheek as he bites back a smile.

“I don’t think we should get back tonight,” he suggests all of a sudden. “We could book a hotel. That’s the place you use these days, right? I’m sure your grandmother will understand your absence—”

You groan, resting your forehead against his shoulder and he presents a delighted laugh in return. It is warm by his side; he is warm. You find it easy to forget the failures in love, the loneliness of a lover that isn’t meant to be yours. Folktales are just long tales, after all. You smile to yourself. 

You should’ve known—it was the fox all along. 

[isempiterna]

REALLY LONG  CHARACTER  SURVEY. RULES.  Repost, don’t  reblog! tag  10  ! good luck! TAGGED.  @starryeyecl  TAGGING. who of my followers haven’t been tagged yet, I tag u

GOTTA DO BOTH GIRLS CAUSE I LOVE OVERSHARING INFORMATION !!!!

the following information is for the verse YELLOW ROSE. information differs by a little or a lot depending on verse

FULL NAME: Lark Maureen Tempest ∬ Sparrow Grace Weave NICKNAME // ALIAS: HILARIOUS STORY TIME Lark used to introduce herself all the time as “Lark, but you can call me Temmy if you want” and nobody would call her Temmy sdhfdskfslhf  ∬  one of her friends calls her Spar sometimes AGE:  26 ∬ 20 BIRTHDAY:  November 26 (1991) ∬ February 20 (1997) ETHNIC GROUP: European mix (Irish-French, German-Polish-Danish) ∬ European mix ? (Irish-French, British-Indian) NATIONALITY: American LANGUAGE/S: English ∬ English, very limited Spanish SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual ∬ asexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: biromantic ∬ demiromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single CLASS: middle class / lower middle HOMETOWN/AREA: I just stick em places CURRENT HOME: ┐(ツ)┌ PROFESSION: café owner ∬ student

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: white-blonde, practically white ∬ black EYES: copper brown ∬ light blue FACE: heart ∬ peach LIPS: pouty, rather pink ∬ soft, dark cherries COMPLEXION: European, tans easily ∬ fair, smooth BLEMISHES: beauty marks! one at the inner corner of her eye (left), one at the bottom of her mouth (left), two on her cheek (right) ∬ none SCARS: a few here and there TATTOOS: none HEIGHT: 5′2″ ∬ 5′3″ WEIGHT: ~116 lbs ∬ ~106 lbs BUILD: hourglass, strong, compact ∬ pear, slender, toned FEATURES: major resting bitch face, can’t tell if eyes are bored or bedroom, STRONG ARMS ∬ delicate, almost a sense of ethereal beauty? bordering on creepy, hidden strength

ALLERGIES: none USUAL HAIR STYLE: casual ponytail, messy bun, whatever it’s called when you fold your hair up with a big hair clip?? ∬ down, easily hides her face when necessary, ponytail for running USUAL FACE LOOK: resting bitch, politely waiting for...something?, clear gaze ∬ thoughtful, mild to intense interest in whatever she’s looking at  USUAL CLOTHING: comfy, loose  ∬ simple, comfortable, subtly stylish

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: losing Sparrow, losing her father ∬ losing her loved ones, what happened in elementary/middle/high school coming back to haunt her in college ASPIRATION/S: take care of her sister FOREVER ∬ get a degree that will help her help people (nursing? doctor? therapist? environmentalist? ??) POSITIVE TRAITS: honest, easy to talk to, very aware of her emotions, can let go of grudges ∬ good listener, friendly, supportive, forgiving, pacifist, Mom Friend NEGATIVE TRAITS: immediately dislikes you if you look at Sparrow funny, doesn’t always lose her temper but when she DOES, doesn’t know how to pull her punches, god her plastic smiles are the most annoying thing in the world, possibly too honest  ∬ doesn’t think of her own well-being in the least, can’t stand up for herself, highly manipulable, apologizes for everything, gives way too many chances (as in she never stops giving u another chance) ZODIAC: Sagittarius ∬ Pisces (Aquarius-Pisces cusp) TEMPERAMENT: sanguine  ∬ phlegmatic SOUL TYPE/S: warrior ∬ ghdvkhldlf couldn’t take the quiz again but I’d guess server (maybe she coulda been an artist if I hadn’t fucked w things ( ᐛ ) ) VICE HABIT/S: using force when frustrated, cheat day every day?  ∬ apathy towards herself, unnecessary guilt, keeping secrets VIRTUES/VICES: kindness & wrath ∬ patience (and also liKE ALL OF THEM AAAA) & ........maybe like sloth...about herself.....emotionally....... FAITH: Lark has faith in herself hghdksvh ∬ Sparrow has faith in the good of others GHOSTS?: maybe a little but probably not ∬ who knows, why not? AFTERLIFE?: nope ∬ maybe, who knows REINCARNATION?: god she wants to be Sparrow’s sister foREVER ∬ maybe, who knows? ALIENS?: why not ∬ w h o  kn o w s ? POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: democratic-leaning ∬ democratic-leaning or third party EDUCATION LEVEL: college graduate (4 years) ∬ currently in college

FAMILY.

FATHER: Lionel Tempest ∬ Chandler Weave MOTHER: Phoenix Burke SIBLINGS: Sparrow ∬ Lark  EXTENDED FAMILY: uugh I don’t wanna write all this out but Phoenix has a p big family and Lionel has a huge family and Chandler also has a pretty extensive family that he’s largely estranged from NAME MEANING/S: Lark as in the bird ∬ Sparrow as in the bird HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: BIRDS

FAVORITES.

BOOK: the poetry book Sparrow got her ∬ just one favorite?? MOVIE: Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (lotta fond nostalgia) ∬ prolly watches a lot of foreign films? not really a fan of violence 5 SONGS: JUST 5 ??? HOLIDAY: 4th of July bc FIREWORKS  ∬ Christmas bc she can give gifts to ppl MONTH: July ∬ late September/early October SEASON: SUMMER ∬ fall and winter and actually spring and heck why not summer too PLACE: wherever her sister is ∬ home, her uncle’s library (visited once when she was very young, still dreams about it) WEATHER: SUMMER NIGHT ∬ mild autumn day, early winter morning SOUND: the crackle of fireworks and fizz of sparklers; ice cracking; distant traffic; Sparrow singing when no one can hear her; the thump of sand-filled canvas; bird wings ∬ snow falling; Lark idly playing the piano; footsteps on carpet; 3am thunder over the mountains; wind chimes and bells and glass tinkling and music boxes SCENT/S: summer air, heavy and humid; smoke (fireworks, campfire); hot spring waters; lilacs ∬ books and paper and binding glue; evergreen trees and juniper berries; the first breath of a cold day; healthy earth and roots and sun-warmed leaves; graphite and fresh ink TASTE/S: orange soda, carbonates; smooth coffee; light, crunchy snacks ∬ fresh fruits and vegetables; colloidal silver; water after a long run; raspberry chocolate FEEL/S: warmth, solid or soft or just the air pressing around; post-workout, heavy muscles but light on the inside, sweet oxygen and satisfaction; cool piano keys and worn foot pedals ∬ sunlight on window seats; scritta paper; winter’s chill; downy blankets and a warm mug; runner’s high ANIMAL/S: KOALAS ∬ so many?? NUMBER: uh ∬ prolly like 3 or smth COLORS: yellow ∬ soft blue and peach

EXTRA.

TALENTS: piano, kick boxing, Worst puns, keeping a straight face ∬ violin, bullet journaling, painting/ink drawing, cooking, running, creative and harmless pranks BAD AT: being patient, cooking, not starting fights with people who are mean to her sister ∬ speaking up for herself, cutting toxic people out of her life, arguing, jokes and sarcasm TURN-ONS: strong people, cute girls, people with secrets, soulful singers ∬ she’s so confused TURN OFFS: too many secrets, dismissive of Sparrow, BAD teeth, narcissism ∬ are u making her uncomfortable?  HOBBIES: kick boxing, piano, talking about her sister ∬ reading, journaling, painting/drawing, running, violin TROPES:  Action Girl, Plucky Girl, Beauty Mark(s), Cool Big Sis, Daddy’s Girl, DEADPAN SNARKER ∬ Sibling Yin-Yang ∬ Actual Pacifist, Shrinking Violet, The Heart, Friendless Background, Feminine Women Can Cook, Nature Lover AESTHETIC TAGS: coffee n shit, fireworks, summery things, bikes maybe?, that’s yellow, this looks like Sparrow ∬ books, journals, art stuff, blue, snow maybe, skies I guess, pretty things GPOY QUOTES: “When the guys call you bro” ∬ “When you think something’s nice but nobody else does” 

FC INFO.

MAIN FC/S:  ┐(ツ)┌ ALT FC/S:  ┐(ツ)┌ ┐(ツ)┌ OLDER FC/S:  ┐(ツ)┌ YOUNGER FC/S: ┐(ツ)┌ VOICE CLAIM/S: me, actually, when I channel Lark (?? it’s weird) ∬ Liv Tyler GENDERBENT  FC/S: u think i got time for that

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: if you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?          

A1: hfskdghsdf I’d prolly end up calling it smth rly edgy and dumb like “Forbidden” or “The Blue Rose Girl” which doesn’t even sound edgy it just sounds dumb. black and white might be cool, or sort of a faded color? maybe it would go from black and white to color. it would be about the blue rose verse and the consequences they face bc of Lark’s actions and maybe Sparrow was better off staying dead? the folly of the heart type thing I’m tired can u tell

Q2: what would their soundtrack/score sound like?          

A2: pls don’t do this to me rn I’M WORKING ON IT

Q3: why did you start writing this character?        

A3: it all started w Sparrow. actually it all started with BJDs. I did a faceup and was like “cool who’s this” and thought Sparrow Weave was a cool name and literally started rping her with just a name and a face long story between that n this, but I decided Sparrow needed a sister bc of long story, and a lark was a bird and tempest was sort of the opposite of weave? why did they have to be opposite? Lark totally changed as a character tho originally she was super happy-go-lucky and bouncy and cheerful all the time but then I started to rp her and she was like “MOVE bitch get out the way”

Q4: what first attracted you to this character?          

A4: ?? her name was Sparrow and she looked nice with dead flowers and I threw her into the fray. she grew to be beautiful and extremely damaged. Lark tho, I really liked how she kicked my ass and did her own thing

Q5: describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.          

A5: just cause I know all their flaws doesn’t mean I dont love them for it

Q6: what do you have in common with your muse?          

A6: Sparrow and I are super squishy and people-pleasers and like books and art, and Lark and I get waaaaay over protective of people and have similar taste in puns, although I’m never confident enough to say any of mine

Q7: how does your muse feel about you?          

A7: Sparrow would like me, I’d remind Lark of Sparrow until she found out I’m the cause of her suffering?? then I would cease to exist down to the last atom

Q8: what characters does your muse have interesting interactions with?        

A8: this is going to sound horrible but I have this weird fascination with Sparrow in unhealthy relationships. she’s extremely manipulable but she’s also aware of that? so she might be onto you the whole time but why is she going along with it why does she have so much faith in you what are you going to do. LARK AND HER ENEMIES HALSKFHDKFSH

Q9: what gives you inspiration to write your muse?        

A9: Lark writes herself, Sparrow’s more shy but I know her. if I see or think of anything that reminds me of her I remember everything she’s ever done and I fall in love again. I never lose muse just the ability/focus to make the words go

Q10: how long did this take you to complete?          

A10: fuck ass long I stayed up way too lat workin on it, went back and edited/added more information to parts so it made more sense today, STILL WORKING ON THEIR PLAYLISTS but yeah this was fun!