#this should be reserved for a notes or in my sketchbook but I already started typing

[bi-panic-at-the-disco]

i know that I am being absolutely ridiculous and definitely stared at my painting for too long and am tired of it but also ughhh like I’m following my photo and maybe my photo is just boring and it feels like the colors are the only thing going for it compared to other peoples!! i just want this to be done!!

[anxious-witch]

The color between my lines

Summary: The story of the Bojan and Kris is pretty simple. They liked each other, they dated, they broke up. Almost broke up a band over it, too. Really the fact that they are such good friends now is a miracle in itself.

Kris has kept a careful balance ever since. Letting his feelings get the best of him already got him hurt once. He will not do it again. Except, when Jere enters the equation and Bojan seems to be interested in the Finn, can Kris truly let him go? Or will he risk their friendship in an attempt to try again?

Pairings: Bojan Cvjetićanin/Kris Guštin

Warnings: mentions of bullying, an unnamed character getting his arm broken, homophobia, mentions of past bullying Kris experienced

Notes:

On AO3

Okay, so first and foremost, a big thank you to @occhi-verdi-come-il-mare for beta reading this and helping me iron some details, and to @reserved-fruit for letting me expand on one of the prompts she got, I am really thankful to you both <3

Second of all, I know this chapter is a bit short, I was getting into bokris dynamics for the first time and I wanted to give a bit of the backstory first. I hope I did them justice. This fic will probably have 2-3 chapters if I don't get carried away. So yeah, enjoy

Kris’ life, for the most part, was a carefully constructed set of rules. Like a sketchbook full of drawings. You were meant to color it, but there were specific colors you should use and you needed to color in between the lines.

Simple.

Or, it was, before Bojan slowly but surely pushed his way in his life.��

Coloring his life over any and all lines, like he couldn't see them at all and breathing to life the colors Kris couldn't have even imagined.

It was a slow but inevitable dance they played, exchanging jabs towards each other. A push and pull, forever circling each other.

“That song doesn't have distortions.” Turned into “I still think you are annoying, but sure, we can hang out after school.” Then, “Please don't faint when you meet my dad.” 

“I don't think I ever would have picked up a guitar if it wasn't for you.”

Was it truly a surprise for them to end up together?

“I don't think I ever felt this way about anyone,” Bojan said to him, his eyes wide and honest. 

They were at the park, in the middle of the night, sitting on a blanket Kris sneakily took from the far end of the closet. He didn't like sneaking out at night, but only this late did they dare to be this close outside.

Besides, it was summer. It was warm and they had no obligations outside of band practices. Kris thought that for once, he could relax a bit and let himself be a bit more laid back.

Bojan passed his hand through Kris’ short hair and Kris pretended it didn't make him shiver. 

“Because you had so many experiences with dating in the first seventeen years of your life?”

Bojan lightly slapped his arm.

“I had a girlfriend before!”

Kris snorted.

“Right. The one you dated for…what? Two weeks?”

“Three!”

“My mistake.”

Bojan pushed him on his back as Kris laughed and kissed him. It was a sure way to quickly end most of their arguments. 

And even those were far and few in those first few months of their relationship.  

Months were passing quickly, though and as summer melted into autumn and then the beginning of winter, things started to change.

It was on a particularly cold night, after a gig they did that they found themselves in Kris’ house. His parents knew about it by this point, and having expressed their approval, allowed Bojan to come over when he liked.

This was how they ended up lying in Kris’ bed, the post gig adrenaline slowly dying down. Bojan was always hit with the low especially hard afterwards, so Kris made sure he didn't leave him alone after.

“Don't you sometimes wish we could just…go away?” Bojan whispered in the dark.

Kris circled his arms around his waist, pulling him closer to his chest.

“Go where?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere but here.”

Kris felt his heart squeeze painfully at the bitterness in Bojan's voice. He gently turned him so he'd face him.

“What are you saying? Why do you want to leave? I never heard you talk like this before.”

Bojan's eyes were piercing, even in the darkness of Kris’ bedroom.

“I just…don't you wish we could just hold hands in public? Kiss? Just, be ourselves?”

Kris carefully considered his words, his hand automatically intertwining with Bojan's.

“I mean, yes. But we have the time. It's not now or never. We are barely eighteen.”

Bojan huffed, turning his head away. Kris gently turned it back to him.

“Where is all this coming from?”

Bojan shrugged, but Kris could feel there was something deeper than that. So he waited.

“There is a guy from the same year as me, but in a different class. Someone broke his arm during recess today.”

Kris felt the chill sink into his bones despite being in a warm bedroom.

“Oh my God. What happened? Did they do it…on purpose?”

There was slight hesitation before Bojan nodded. Then, all at once, it clicked for Kris.”

“They did it because he is gay.”

It wasn’t a question, but Bojan nodded again. Oh Bojan, Kris thought. 

“Are you…” Kris trailed off, unsure what the right word was. Scared? Angry?

 “...okay?”

Bojan rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m peachy, but I am not the one with a broken arm, am I?”

“Bojči…”

“Don’t.”

They fell silent, but the tension stayed, hanging heavily in the air. Too heavy for Kris’ childhood bedroom, too heavy than anything that hung between them before.

Kris thought of middle school where people called him a girl and a fag until he cut him hair. How he could have easily been the one to get his arm broken in slightly different circumstances. Yet, what could he say to all that? They couldn’t exactly just pack up and move away on a whim, could they?

Besides, they wouldn’t be in high school forever. For Bojan it was only a few months left, while for Kris, it was one more year. College would be different, they just had to bid their time until then. 

There were so many things Kris could say, but Bojan looked so small and exhausted, Kris didn't want to push. When he was angry or felt something was unfair, he could be quite stubborn. Pressing the issue could only result in more argument. 

“Alright, maybe we should just go to sleep and talk about this some other time, yeah?”

Bojan looked up at him for a moment, his dark eyes piercing. Kris let him, unsure what he was looking for, exactly. Then, after a moment Bojan simply nodded and wrapped around Kris tighter, as if he was trying to melt into him. Kris chuckled and pressed a kiss into his hair.

“Goodnight Bojči.”

“Goodnight Krisko.”

It didn't get better.

Ever since that night, Bojan kept pushing the issue. Saying how, if they stay, they'll cave under the pressure, get stuffed into a mold and then it'll be too late. 

Kris didn't understand. They were still themselves and while certainly, the situation wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t dire either. They were only eighteen. Where would they go? And how?

Bojan didn't seem to have a definitive answer to that, so they stopped arguing. But Kris could tell it didn't leave his mind. Then, things got worse.

Bojan began pulling away. There was no other way of describing it. Not just pulling away from Kris, but from the band, too. Kris wasn't sure what shifted, but ever since Bojan got a new music teacher, he seemed to have completely shifted his worldview.

He kept missing practice and saying he just didn't have a clear idea on the new song they started working on.

Their dates became fewer too, although it did seem Bojan put more effort into maintaining their relationship than he did in maintaining the band.

Kris did wonder why he looked so tired all the time, though. What was he doing?

He came knocking at his front door one day after class and Bojan's mom greeted him. He saw a surprise flash over her face.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Cvjetićanin.”

“Kris, you know you can call me Snežana. But also Bojan isn't home yet.”

Kris made a split second decision to lie and find out what had been happening with Bojan lately. So he smiled, hoping he came off as sheepish and earnest at the same time.

“I actually wanted to come a bit earlier and surprise him, since he had been so busy lately…”

Snežana's face turned understanding.

“Yeah, of course. Come in. You can wait in his room if you'd like. Do you want anything to drink?”

After a bit of small talk with Snežana, Kris found himself in Bojan's room. It was somehow even more of a mess than usual.

What drew Kris in was a stack of papers neatly put on the table. Or well, as neatly as one could expect from Bojan.

When he picked one up, he found they were song lyrics. Not the song lyrics of the new song Kris had been begging Bojan to work on, though. No.

This was-this wasn't even the kind of song that suited the band. And the notes on it confirmed Kris’ suspicion. 

It was a solo song.

Kris slowly sat on the bed, the paper still in his hands. He stared blankly, his brain trying to catch up to what he was seeing.

There was only white static in his head, his heart drumming in his ears. Then, the doors opened and Bojan was standing in the doorway.

Kris felt as if time slowed down. He looked up at him. Saw as Bojan's expression flickered between surprised, to fond. Then, his eyes slowly focused on the paper Kris was holding. His face paled.

“Kris, I-”

“Are you leaving the band?”

Bojan closed his mouth, then opened it, then closed it again. The pressure in Kris’ head grew, static turning into white-hot rage.

“Are you leaving the fucking band?!”

Bojan flinched back, his foot hitting the door behind him. Kris breathed in through his teeth. 

“I don't know yet. But-probably.”

Kris closed his eyes. Tried to breathe through his anger and something awfully close to heartbreak.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Kris’ hand trembled as he dragged them through his own hair, nails scratching over the scalp, attempting to ground himself with the pain.

“Humor me.”

“Statistically, solo singers are more likely to make it in the industry.”

He bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood. His breaths came out as labored. He couldn't bring himself to look at Bojan at all.

“So that's what this is about? You want so badly to get away from here, you are willing to leave all of us behind?”

“No!”

Kris finally opened his eyes to see Bojan walking towards him and kneeling down to take Kris’ hands in his own.

“You-you could come with me. If it all works out as it should.”

He swallowed a lump in his throat. Bojan's voice sounded so small, as if pleading him to understand. Kris did understand. But understanding wasn't enough.

“How would that even work? We both agreed we'd have plan B. How do you think this will work with college? Besides, if we are not doing this as a band, how would I even go with you?”

Bojan didn't say anything, which was an answer in itself.

“Is this what your new music teacher told you? Is he pushing you to-”

“He is not pushing me to do anything! I want to do this!”

The black line, crudely drawn across all the other line and colors, cutting it in half.

“Well then,” Kris said, his voice coming out strangely calm, almost frosty, “I suppose there is nothing more to say.”

He saw the exact moment his words hit Bojan, his eyes widening and his face paling even further.

“Wait. Are you breaking up with me?”

Kris felt as if he was in some sort of trance, all his fiery rage turning to ice. He pulled his hands from Bojan's grasp.

“I guess I am.”

He stood up and Bojan did as well, grabbing on to his arms. Kris tried to shake him off, but Bojan held firm.

“No, wait-please listen to me!”

“What is there to listen to? You want to leave? Fine! There is nothing holding you back now!”

Kris began walking towards the door, but then Bojan grabbed him again and pinned him to the door. Kris exhaled shakily and then he was being kissed.

Bojan had never kissed him like this before. So desperate and full of despair. Kris kissed him back and cupped Bojan's face, finding it wet with tears.

By the time he pulled away, they were both breathless. 

“Stay,” Bojan whispered, his hot breath ghosting over his lips.

“Only if you do.”

Bojan's face twisted up in pain. 

“I can't, Kris I have to try. If I don't try, I'll always wonder what would have happened if I tried. I'm sorry.”

Kris’ ice shield broke and tears slid down his cheeks too.

“I'm sorry, too,” he said and pushed him away.

This time, Bojan didn't try to stop him. Kris walked past the kitchen and living room, hearing Snežana humming to the radio, blissfully unaware.

For the first time, Kris didn't say goodbye to her when he left.

He got out on the street and simply walked. Winter sunset painted the sky in beautiful orange and yellow colors, but Kris felt completely devoid of color. 

Like a coloring book with pages torn out and discarded, all the colors uneven and ugly. For the first time he saw them all, but they held no beauty and no warmth.

He swore he would never, ever let Bojan break his heart again. He would never even talk about him ever again.

He was done.

[therealvalkyrie]

exactly the spring

Pairing/setting: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem!Reader, college!AU

Summary: Reserved biology student Ushijima finds himself falling in love when you, an adorably disorganized art student, wander into the greenhouse.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: fluff, kissing

AN: Hi!! So, the inspiration for this one sprang from the beautiful, sexi brain of Emme ( @doinmybesthere ) way back in MARCH ahem anyway, it's done! I hope it's just as soft and intimate as you envisioned<33 Also, big shoutout to my beautiful friends Arobi ( @daqueenobooty ) and Cee ( @spacelabrathor ) for being wonderful betas and giving me such kind comments:) I hope you enjoy, and as always don't be shy about leaving comments or coming to chat! Be kind to yourselves and others.  ~valkyrie

p.s. check out this amazing art that @/54prowl made of plant boy ushi!! :D

Plants don’t talk back, Ushijima learned as a toddler. He’d babble to them in nonsensical phrases as his mother worked in the garden, and they’d only sway in the wind and listen, waxy under his chubby fingers.

A volleyball doesn’t talk back, either, not even through its bounces and echoes on hands and hard surfaces. It doesn’t listen as easily as plants, but can be herded and shaped like putty into a winning thing if you touch it right. This, Ushijima learned at his father’s hand and carried with him through childhood and adolescence.

The joy and puzzlement of you is that you do both. You listen so intently and openly with your steady eyes and soft body as the words pour out of him. And then, you reply. With your clear voice and new perspective, you offer something new. You offer companionship.

It was the second week of spring semester that you wandered into the greenhouse, eyes lit by the sun and sketchbook under one arm. Ushijima was repotting a large fern, dirt up to his elbows as he kneeled on the floor. He barely gave you a second glance, preoccupied with nestling the plant’s root system comfortably.

You settled a short distance away, crossing your legs to sit on the tile floor in front of an orange tree to sketch its still-closed flower buds with charcoal pencils. He kept working as you did, the sun sliding across glass, shadows shifting into the early evening of winter. When the sun was threatening to set over the city skyline — even with the greenhouse where it sits on the roof of the biology building — he turned to tell you he was closing up, only to find you gone. In your place, sitting on the wooden table that held newly planted basil and sage, was a drawing.

It was a single branch, detailed in shades of charcoal down to the last dewdrop. At the bottom, looping handwriting scrawled, “thank you for the peace.”

That night, he tacked it up above his desk in his dorm next to the postcard from Tendō and hoped you’d come back.

And you do, a couple of days later, on a Saturday. He looks up from where he’s filling in the logbook, this time, catching your gaze and holding it for a moment before you break away to survey the room. Today, he thinks you looked breathtaking. You’re wearing a long, flowing skirt and a sweater that makes him want to feel how soft it is, and how soft you are in it, and by the time his brain catches up with his thoughts, he’s been staring too long and your eyes have wandered back to him. It’s raining, today — it never really snows in this city, he’s learned — and shadowy droplets play across your face as they drip down the greenhouse’s arched glass ceiling, highlighting the curve of your cheekbone and making your eyes glow softly.

He clears his throat and looks back to the thick spiral-bound book on the table before him. Sometimes, when he meets people for the first time, he knows he can come across as intimidating. That worked out for him in high school and on the volleyball court, but in his adulthood, it’s been more of a hindrance than a help. It makes it… difficult to make friends here, where he doesn’t already know anyone.

And the last thing he wants is to scare you away. The last thing he wants is to break the peace you’ve apparently found here.

Which is why he barely dares to breathe when he looks up to find you approaching him where he’s perched on a sturdy wooden stool.

“Hi,” you smile and lilt, and god if it isn’t the most beautiful word Ushijima’s ever heard, if it isn’t the prettiest smile he’s seen.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t want to scare you away.

“Uhm,” you start again, when the silence makes it clear he’s waiting for you to speak, “I have an art assignment,” you start digging around in your shoulder bag as you speak, “to draw a, um, what’s it called?”

“I don’t know.”

You pause in your rifling and pin him with such a sunny smile it makes his knee start bouncing. And you laugh, too, which officially replaces your “hi” as the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Ha, you’re funny,” you resume digging, “it was um, pretty leafy and... tropical, I think? Oh! Here.” Triumphantly, you produce a wrinkled paper from your bag. It’s the first imperfect thing Ushijima’s found out about you, that you’re shit at keeping your belongings organized, and he files it away for later reference. You hold the paper in front of your face and squint slightly to read in the shifting light. “Canna indica.”

Canna indica, native to tropical climates, notable as a minor food crop for South American Native populations for thousands of years.

“And I was told that you have it, here, in the greenhouse.”

Ushijima nods and finds himself relieved that this is what you’re asking him. Plants, he can do.

“We do. Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes, please,” you also sound relieved, like he’s provided the solution to every problem you’ve ever had.

He unfolds himself from the stool, setting down his pen as he goes. You take a step back and look up at him mildly, as though you hadn’t realized quite how huge he is.

“This way,” he indicates, leading you deeper into the maze that is the biology department’s greenhouse. The winding path back to the tropical room gives him a moment to sink back into the earthy peace of being here, even if now there’s someone sharing that peace.

The temperature change from the warm main greenhouse to the balmy tropical room prompts Ushijima to shed his flannel outer layer, hanging it on the nail hammered by the door while you step in behind him.

“Whew,” you exhale, shrugging off your soft cardigan as well, “it’s hot in here.”

Ushijima hums in agreement and tries not to look too hard at the patch of skin revealed by your cropped tank top. Canna indica isn’t too far into the room, so he just gently moves past draping leaves and ceramic pots.

“Here,” he stops, holding back leaves for you. He stops breathing again when you duck under his arm and end up so close in the narrow aisle that he can smell your shampoo. The moment passes, and he can breathe again when you breeze past him and squat down to peer at the bright, waxy red leaves of your subject.

“Beautiful,” you murmur, and he silently agrees.

You’re leaning so close to the plant he’s afraid you might topple over when you make a noise of realization and sit back on your butt to rifle through your bag once again. Ushijima knows he should probably leave you to it, but he’s glad he waited just an extra minute when you pull out a pair of glasses and pop them on your face. Adorably.

“That’s better.” You’re looking back at canna indica, now, at a normal distance.

He’s figured you’ve forgotten he’s there when you start to pull out pastels from your seemingly bottomless bag, so he turns to leave you.

A soft, “hey,” calls him back to you, however, and he’s met by your face glowing eerily in the shifting rain-light. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

When he locks up that afternoon, he finds another charcoal drawing waiting for him on the table near the door, this time of his favorite agapanthus africanus. No note, this time, but he attaches all the sounds he heard from you today in its place. He also finds your cardigan forgotten next to where you were sitting and carefully folds it for when you come back.

The drawing joins the orange branch on his wall-- an odd starter garden, he thinks, but all the more precious because it came from you.

The next time he sees you isn’t in the greenhouse, but instead at a cafe a couple of blocks away, two weeks later. He’s walking past, gym bag slung over his shoulder, when he hears your laugh ring out across the outdoor seating area. His eyes find you, head tipped back in sending peals of mirth into the lively spring air. It’s the first truly warm day of the season, though you and your companion are the only patrons sitting outside, and the sun catches on your glasses sat atop your head.

Your friend says something apparently hilarious, because your giggles redouble, and an honest-to-god snort pushes out of your nose. Ushijima catalogues it in his ever-growing list of sounds you make, and pauses at the crosswalk, halfway turned back to keep one eye on you and one on the light. If you were alone, he might’ve approached you and told you that he still has your sweater in the greenhouse, waiting on a shelf between succulents, but he doesn’t want to interrupt your— date?

He isn’t sure, but the person sat there with you seems like someone you might date. Clearly also an art student, judging by the carefully disheveled blue hair and combat boots. Are you the type to date someone with blue hair? Unlikely, he decides. You seem too… bright. Too floaty to be so concerned with looking like you don’t care how you look.

Ushijima’s still debating whether you find blue hair attractive when the crosswalk light begins its countdown and he starts across the street. And he almost makes it all the way across, too, when a voice calls—

“Wait! Hey!”

He turns partially because it sounds urgent enough that it might be an emergency, and his grandmother would roll in her grave if he remained a bystander to some horrific accident. But it’s you, standing up from your seat and waving him back over. He glances at the crosswalk countdown, which lights up red as it ticks from four to three, then turns and jogs back towards you, waving a hand apologetically to the cars waiting at the light. You meet him at the metal fence around the cafe seating area, and now that you’re standing, he can see you’re wearing a yellow sundress that cuts off at your calves and drapes over your hips like the fabric was spun from pure light.

“Hello.” Ushijima talks first this time because if he doesn’t refocus his brain on something else he knows he won’t be able to stop staring.

“Hi! Sorry about that, uh, and I’m sure you have places to be, but, um, did I leave my cardigan at the greenhouse? I can’t find it, and I know I have a tendency to forget things, so,” you finish with a laugh, one hand fiddling with the rings on the other.

“Yes, you did. I put it on a shelf in case you came back.”

“Oh! That’s great!” You sound relieved, and Ushijima’s suddenly very grateful he didn’t take it down to the bio department’s lost and found like they’re technically supposed to. “Is there maybe a time I can come pick it up? When you’ll be there?”

“I’ll be there all day tomorrow, opening at nine.” 

He can’t tell if he sounds a little too eager, and he’s about to soften his meaning by telling you that they’re open today, too, and anyone can hand you a sweater, but you’re already smiling big and sunny and telling him,

“I’ll see you at nine, then. Do you drink coffee?”

He doesn’t; his coaches have always told him that caffeine can only harm his athletic performance.

“Yes, I do.”

“Then I’ll see you at nine, with coffee.”

Ushijima says goodbye and turns to wait at the crosswalk again while you swirl your way back to your seat and pick up your conversation with your friend. He can feel two pairs of eyes on him as he crosses the street, red numbers blinking down from ten, and can’t help but turn to look back as he steps onto the opposite sidewalk. Where your friend tactfully looks down into their cup of tea, you catch his eye with yours and wave. He lifts his hand halfway in a goodbye before an eighteen-wheeler stops at the intersection and blocks you from him.

Ushijima’s normal work attire is typical of an average agricultural biology student accustomed to being up to their elbows in dirt every day: practical cargo shorts, dirt-stained but sturdy sneakers, a “plant dad” t-shirt (a gift from Tendō when they’d said their goodbyes and gone away to college), and a soft cotton flannel. He’s usually satisfied with this for his shift at the greenhouse, expecting to be mud-covered at least up to his wrists by the end of the day.

But today… Today, he pauses in the dorm bathroom to scrub his face raw, and he clips and shapes his nails like his mother used to do for him every Saturday. He normally only does it before tournaments, now, and it calms his nerves to feel prepared for a Big Event, even if that event is only handing you your gently pilled cashmere cardigan and receiving a coffee he won’t drink in return.

The air that morning is heady with spring, earthy and alive, reminding Ushijima of lying beneath the hedge along his mother’s garden to pass notes to the girl next door. He was seven and she was nine, so naturally she knew everything he didn’t. She knew about the planets and why worms live in dirt and how to spell the word “catastrophe,” and Ushijima would’ve bet his whole weekly allowance that she was the coolest person in the world, if he knew what betting was. (She did, and once bet him half an ice cream sandwich that he couldn’t climb the oak tree in his backyard all the way to the top. He did, and then twisted his ankle on the way down, and she brought him an ice cream sandwich every day for a week as an apology.) She was all shiny, long black hair and dark eyes and fast words, nothing like the spring blooming around him.

You, on the other hand, are exactly the spring.

He stops at his favorite pastry place on the way to work to pick up two fresh cream donuts. The line is just dwindling from the height of the morning rush, so he manages to make it to the biology building just five minutes before he normally does.

Morning sun sends rainbows through the automatic misting spray as Ushijima unlocks the greenhouse door, letting a burst of humidity out into the rest of the building. The spiral-bound log book is there on the desk, a thick parchment bookmark sticking out from where whoever closed last night marked the page. 

Ushijima places his backpack and pastry bag on the desk and reaches to hang his key on its hook just when there’s a knock on the door.

“I know I’m early,” you start, edging your way into the room with a paper coffee cup in each hand. “But I saw it was already open, so...”

Ushijima smiles despite himself. In their second year Oikawa Tooru had told him that his smiles can be unnerving, but he can’t help it right now. You look so lovely today, in jeans and a silky tank top, with a certain morning tenderness in the way you hold yourself.

“It’s okay, come in. I just need to check the temperature controls and I’ll be done opening.”

“Sounds good,” you reply, smiling back.

As he makes his way to the temp controls on the Southern wall, you perch on the wooden stool and set down the coffee.

With his back turned to you for a moment, you allow yourself to slouch, planting two hands on the table and stretching your shoulders with a sigh. It’s earlier than you normally get out of bed, let alone actually leave your apartment, and you can already feel a quiet exhaustion setting into your bones.

But this is worth it, you remind yourself. Worth it to talk to the beautiful boy with broad shoulders and gentle hands.

He’d been unexpected. That first day in the greenhouse, you’d sat down with the intention to calm down from a tedious school day and nothing more. Your hands had moved of their own volition on that second drawing of the orange branch, scribbling out a hasty message that made your cheeks burn. But he was so present that day, in the corner of your eye but staying respectfully out of your space. And you’re not blind -- you saw the muscles under his shirt as he lifted an entire small tree in its pot. You saw the startling shade of green his eyes took on in the sun. You saw it all, and it drew you back, and now you’re here.

When he joins you back at the table, leaning back against it to face you, you stick out your hand and offer your name.

He looks at it for a moment, then back at you.

“I just, uh, realized we never properly introduced ourselves,” you explain, with a hesitant smile.

He smiles again and your heart thuds, then his big hand engulfs yours and he shakes it firmly.

“Wakatoshi. It’s nice to meet you.”

You learn in the following weeks of coming to the greenhouse that Wakatoshi doesn’t like coffee. But he does like tea and donuts, so that’s what you bring him on the mornings you can find it in you to wake up before nine. You sit with him in the greenhouse, talking and listening as he records data and waters plants and sits next to you on the quilt you’ve fallen into the habit of bringing. The occasional professor or student comes through, and you get to watch Wakatoshi show off his brains when he leaves you to help them.

There are several things you learn about him over those weeks. Number one: he never minces words. Two: he prefers grapefruit chapstick over anything else. And three: he kisses like it’s his last day on Earth.

You discover number three late one night when you decide to drop by after class, shooting him a text to make sure he’s still there. Today he’s closing instead of opening, and you missed spending your morning with him.

The city lights cast a different kind of glow at this time of night. They add a distance to everything that’s palpable as you drop your bag by the door.

“Toshi, are you here-- oh, hi.” You turn the corner to find him closing the door to the supply closet.

His cheekbones are highlighted briefly by a billboard outside flashing red.

“You should get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired. And I wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?”

He takes a step towards you and you have to tilt your head back slightly to keep your eyes on his. They’re leaf green and unreadable.

“Yeah, uh,” you wet your lips with your tongue, “is that okay?”

“Yes.” He pauses for a long time, then, watching you carefully in the neon glow of the exit sign. His hand shakes as it reaches up to push your glasses from your face onto your head.

Without them, he looks fuzzy and soft around the edges.

He says, “Can I kiss you?” and it feels like there’s a bird trapped in your ribcage.

“Yes. Kiss me.”

Wakatoshi kisses nothing like you expected, all tongues and teeth and heavy fingers in the dip of your waist. He growls when you gasp and mewl against him, sucking on your lower lip as your hands find purchase in his shirt. He kisses you so absolutely breathless that you think you might pass out. Your knees buckle and you pull away, gasping with your eyes closed for a moment until you come back to yourself.

“Are you alright, little one?”

The endearment makes your cheeks flush with heat and your eyes snap open.

“Yes, I’m alright. Please do it again.”

And so he does it again, and again, and again until you find yourself bringing him home with you on the last bus that goes towards your neighborhood. He’s standing in the aisle, one hand wrapped around a pole and the other wound around you, who’s standing in front of him. He keeps you steady as the bus rounds a corner.

That night, you bring the peace of the greenhouse into your home, and the only thing you find yourself wishing for is that it never leaves.

[calpops]

the secret trail | c.h.

A secret trail brings dandelion wishes and songs about love.

1k words

tiny home masterlist | my masterlist | feedback and reblogs mean the world ♥️

Copyright © 2021 calpops. All rights reserved. This work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

***

Sunset comes in hazy rose gold and deepening purple. Calum stares out at the shining water from his perch on a rock, she sits just below him, knees pulled up to her chest and Duke at her side. His guitar is abandoned, settled against the trunk of a tree and her sketchbook lays in the wilting grass off to the side. Any pretenses of doing work had fallen away. The secret trail beside the mountains has given them a sliver of solace. It’s silent save for the whistling of wind through the trees and the soft lapping of water against rocks.

She leans back and turns, head now in his lap where his hands can brush through her hair. Duke lets out a small noise but stays idly by her side. Calum knows they should get going soon, the trip through the trail in complete dark will not be ideal. But he hasn’t the heart to break the serenity that’s captured her so. They took their time to get there; stopping to blow on dandelions and make wishes, to take pictures and pluck blooming flowers for a vase back at home. He just wants to revel in their new private spot a while longer.

“I told you there was a trail,” she mumbled softly, too content with the affection Calum gives her to have any sarcastic bite or undertone of victory in her words. It’s merely a fact that she stares. “You should listen to me more often.”

Calum laughs and leans down to kiss the top of her head.

“I always listen to you, sunshine,” he promises and adjusts when she stands up, places herself properly in his lap with legs straddling his waist and a pout on her petaled lips. She lets out a small breath.

“Yeah?” she asks teasingly and bats her eyelashes, inches closer just a bit and brushes her lips against his. “And I wanna listen to that song you’ve been writing for days now.”

“Right now?” Calum asks, eyebrows shooting up in question at her request. She nods, just a small tilt to her head in answer. He bites his lips but copies her nod and gently squeezes her hips.

She stands and though he wishes she was back in his hold she hands him his guitar instead. Her patient but excited smile shoots nerves through him. He’s played for her a million times but it never fails to make his heart beat a little faster and warm him from the inside out. She dips down to pick up Duke as she waits for Calum to begin. He plays a few cursory strums and clears his throat. He’s had the words in his head and heart and written down on paper for days now. It was the music he was missing. But with time under the stars and headed for sunsets Calum finally found inspiration in the glimmer of her eyes and the soft whispers of her voice in the night.

“It’s a little rough,” he admits and feels a blush capture his cheeks. Her never ending ability to make him flustered, even after years together, making her grin a little wider.

She and Duke stand with rapt attention on him. The old dog’s ears perked up at the first note of the song. Calum’s hands are deft and gentle on the old instrument as the song picks up and his lover’s eyes stay on him. He’s warmer than the sunset glazing him in gold, his small audience gives him more attention and praise with silent reactions than a screaming crowd of thousands ever could. She’s already smiling by the time the first word graces his lips and rolls off his tongue. He’s always told her that her name sounds like a song and now she hears it in harmony with the guitar.

It comes to a soft close after a great crescendo, his music echoing around the world in a way that fame could never make it. Instead of cheers from a crowd Calum looks up to find her gently making Duke’s paws come together in tiny claps. He laughs and shakes his head, curls mussed and in his face as he abandons the guitar again and instead takes the two of them in his arms.

“What’d you think?” Calum questions though he’s sure he already knows the answer. From the demure grin cut across her face that sparkles her eyes to the warmth of her cheeks under his fingertips.

“I loved it.” She pressed forward and closes the minuscule distance between them. Gives him a fleeting and chaste kiss under the sunset before pulling away to let the golden tones wash over them. “Almost as much as I love you,” she continues and pauses, her gaze cutting down to Duke in her arms. “This guy on the other hand. Well, he’s a much tougher critic than me, you know.”

“Is that right?” Calum asks around a laugh and ruffles the old dog’s ears in tandem with slinking his other hand down her arm to interlock their fingers. “Should’ve been about cookies and walks, huh?”

She nods and bounces Duke lightly in her arms to make it seem as if he’s nodding too. His head bobs lightly and he sticks his tongue out as he starts to pant lightly. It’s as if he knows the conversation and agrees that walks and cookies far outweighs the lyricism of love that Calum produced.

“And barking at birds and the wind,” she supplies and kisses the top of Duke’s head before setting his back down on the ground. “But I think it’s your best one yet, if that’s not too conceited to say.” Her eyebrows arch and a crooked smirk replaces her smile. “But I’m not sure a song filled with my name will sell real well to the general population.”

“This one’s just for you,” Calum assures.

Selling songs comes second to the way his words make her sway and swoon. He’d write a million he couldn’t sell if it meant she found a semblance of happiness and he could make her warm without sunlight or touch; just the sound of his voice making her skin simmer and come ablaze.

“And tomorrow I’ll paint something just for you,” she promises. “Once we leave for the coast.”

***

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[alonelysimp]

Genshin Band Au

Characters: Yanfei, Xinyan, Barbara, Y/N (reader)

WC: 1975

Warnings: No beta we die like hilichurls

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, No Ships, Headcanons, Bulleted

Spotify Playlist: Pov: you're in a band with Xinyan Yanfei and Barbara

《 𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓸𝓬𝓴, 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓽𝓼 𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓵 ���

Once when you were having lunch with Xinyan and Xiangling, Xinyan said something along the lines of “wouldn’t it be cool if i had a band?” and you, of course, jokingly said “if you started a band, then I wanna be the first member to join” and that’s basically how it started

You offered Xiangling if she'd like to join as well but she declined. As tempting as a life like that sounds, she’s set on her dream to be a chef. “I’d rather be your biggest fan!”

Not really knowing where to go at this point, you suggested posting a notice to the bulletin board beside the long-unused alchemy table and the one beside the adventurer’s guild typically reserved for commissions, but Katheryne gave you permission to put it up.

Xinyan had already begun to have the beginnings of a fanbase at this point, but it wasn’t really much of a surprise you hadn’t heard anything in a few days. You had even gone so far as to ask the traveler to keep an eye out.

Thankfully, the traveler was more successful than the both of you, bringing back a letter from both the top legal advisor in Liyue and the Idol and Deconess of Mondstadt. When you asked them how or why they put in so much effort, they just smiled and waved you off. The only payment they wanted were some small shiny rocks you had laying around as paperweights that you got from a hilichurl. Odd, but you insisted they accepted mora as well.

And so, on the agreed date mentioned in both of the letters, courtesy of the traveler setting up, you sat around a table at Wamin with a few assorted dishes of Jueyun Chili Chicken and Crab Roe Tofu. By the end, you were able to convince both of them to join. It was a bit.. really hard in the beginning, with Barbara and Yanfei having jobs. Barbara living in Mond didn’t help much either, but after some work it became manageable. You agree to meet every week at Pop’s Teas, one of the vendors at the stone gate. It would only take half an hour-ish each way.

“What should we call it?” You ask, languidly setting down your tea. Xinyan looks at you, still hunched over a few sheets of paper with her head propped up on her hand. “The band,” you clarify. Barbara hums from across the table, pressing a finger to her lip.

“I have a few ideas.” Xinyan pulls a blank sheet from the pile and scribbles BAND NAMES at the top. “Let’s brainstorm them while we’re all here.” One by one, you begin to throw out ideas.

Firelytical

Rockin Resistance

Wildfires

Illuminated Flames

Inferno

Sudden Freedom

She taps the pen to her lip, thinking of other names to suggest.

“These seem a bit.. fire-centric, even for a pyro-based band,” you comment. Yanfei nods, still deep in thought.

“Oh that’s a good idea, y/n.” You glance over, seeing Xinyan write down “Pyrocentric” on the list.

“Maybe it’d be best if we came up with ideas and shared them next week?” You nod at Barbara’s suggestion.

“I’ll keep a notepad with me in the office…” Xinyan tosses the pencil back on the table, watching Yanfei pull out what you assume to be the notebook and flip to a page, moving on to the next topic of discussion. “Costumes,” she says as her lips twist into a slight frown.

“Oh! I have some ideas for that,” you pull a sketchbook out of your bag, showing them your ideas. “I’m not very good at drawing but.. I wanted to keep some bits of your normal clothing too, I hope it’s not too much.”

“Y/n these look so amazing!” Barbara smiles, moving one to get a better look.

“Aw these are so awesome!” Xinyan slides over the one for her, grinning. Yanfei nods, looking over hers. “I could totally make these.” Her eyes sparkle with interest, radiating in the sunlight. “Oh,” she looks back up at you. “If you don’t mind, that is.” You wave her away, giggling under your breath.

“If Barbra and Yanfei don’t have any adjustments to make, I’d love to see my designs come to life!” You sip your tea, which has long gone cold by now. Barbara turns the paper around, pointing at the skirt on the page. “What if we add another one under it? If we make it a different colour, it’ll pop more.” You nod, pulling out a sheet and writing it down.

“Oh, oh y/n what if we added something here too?” Yanfei points to a slightly emptier spot on the hip. “Like an uhm…” she trails off.

“What if we put something like this from Xinyan’s?” You put your finger on a braided cord. “Like a belt, I guess?”

“Oh yeah yeah and I could put my vision on it–” she unconsciously reaches to touch the pyro vision at her side.

“Y/n?” Barbara sets aside her tea, as if she just found out the hard way that it’s cold. You hum, the pencil in your hand tapping against the page as you note details for Yanfei’s costume. “Thank you for working so hard on this!”

A few other names had come up during the week; BXY, Fiery Vale, and such, but you settled on Fervent Apricity. An odd name, but it’s meaning was able to win everyone over; the intense heat of the sun in the midst of winter. It fit the band well, you thought. Perhaps one day you should be able to live up to the name.

After a few months of dragging Yanfei away from her work to teach her the bass, which she picked up scarily fast (perhaps it's an illuminated beast thing?), you were able to arrange something with the millenith to not crash your debut concert. Yanfei suggested she just continued practicing for a while before she performed with it though.

You agreed that since there were only four of you, it wouldn’t be too much to have all of you as vocalists. Barabra lead vocals and choreography, Xinyan with lead guitar and harsh vocals, Yanfei rapping and eventually bass guitar, and you playing drums.

Tonight was the night. The night that Fervent Apricity would set foot on the stage for the first time. To be completely honest, you were a nervous wreck. Ignoring your worries didn’t make them go away, much to your annoyance.

Xiangling set up a food cart nearby, though she got distracted listening more than she cooked.

You sat in front of the drums, only moments left before you started. This was it. You’ve practiced so many times, it’ll be a breeze. Xinyan counted down, the strums from her guitar filling the summer night air as the concert began.

You would’ve felt bad being this loud so late at night, but by the time you had finished, you attracted not only a good portion of the residents in the harbor, but the wholehearted support of the largest fleet that docks in Liyue. The Crux and her crew! You recognize a lot of people from Xinyan’s previous concerts, loyal fans you assume she’s gained, and a good few handfuls of new faces. Travelers, probably.

You played into the night, without a care in the world for who may be listening. It lasted almost half an hour longer than one of Xinyan’s normal concerts. If you had to put the experience into one word, it was freeing. You were alive. The feeling was… incredible. But, as the adrenaline wore off, you came to realize how undeniably tired you were.

And so, that breathtaking performance marked the day that you would start your, Fervent Apricity’s, journey of becoming one of the most popular bands in Teyvat

For the week after, you had been working out the details of the next large concert. Xinyan carried on with her nightly performances, you caught word of Barbara still performing in Mond, although slightly less than usual, and you had been exchanging ideas with Yanfei. Despite her job and work schedule, she proves to be a great help, almost overwhelmingly so. After the second day, it felt more like her setting it up and running it by you instead of the other way around. Not that you could really complain, just a little less work for you.

After a few months of performing regularly in Liyue Harbor, Barbara suggested that you come to Mond. It’d be a new experience, since you had never really traveled outside of Liyue, but you were concerned it might affect Barbara’s reputation. She insisted. Playing with the band is something she’s proud of and the message your music brings is something she supports.

Was it running away? Finding a new audience that would love your music just as much as you did? No, just the opposite. It was finding a new audience, one that was just as foreign to it, and lighting it up one spark at a time.

You started working out the time with Yanfei and Barbara to fit their schedules and Xinyan started picking out songs she thought would be more… well accepted by the northern people and bouncing some ideas off you. The instruments weren’t much, so you were able to transport it easily. Barbara said to come to the plaza at the top of all the stairs a few days prior.

Xinyan had to tell the sentries you were here to perform with Barbara, to which they let you through with no further difficulties. People stared, and whether it was a good or bad thing, it was almost.. empowering? You met with Barbara and the other sisters, introducing yourselves as the other members of Fervent Apricity.

They were a bit weary of you, a ragtag group of musicians with a vaguely red and black colour scheme with Barbara, who had run off shortly after you arrived to change into her costume.

By the time she had returned, the makeshift stage had already been set up and a crowd began to form. It appears Barbara was quite popular here. You could tell they were a bit cautious though. Perhaps it’s because it’s pretty clear that your music was different from what Barbara usually played. All the better to prove how amazing rock could be.

There was but a few minutes left before you were scheduled to start. All the fireproofing needed was complete; you were ready to light up the city of freedom.

It was just like one of your normal concerts, a handful of songs you had played many times before. The crowd was a bit taken aback by Xinyan’s screaming, you had to hold in a laugh. You made a note to after, bring it up to her to get the crowd more fired up before choosing one that… intense. No matter how many times you performed, it was always just as lively as the first time.

Having mentioned your thought to Xinyan after the show, Yanfei came up to the both of you. She said she wanted to play her instrument in the next concert. Xinyan replied that if she wanted to then that’s a-okay but she shouldn’t feel pressured into it before she was ready

You overheard the “Barbara fan club,” as Barbara had mentioned earlier, crowding her and asking so many questions, it made you want to kick their asses to Inazuma.

“Barbara-sama, are you joining them permanently?”

“Barbara-sama, will you still be performing on your own?”

“Barbara-sama, how long have you been with them?”

“Barbara-sama, is this why you don’t let me join you to the stone gate?”

After a bit of rescuing and creep-yelling-at, Xinyan made a final announcement, mentioning the band’s name and the upcoming concert dates in Liyue.

Oh, how quickly time passes

ohmygod THANK YOU SM FOR 200- SHAWTYS ILYSM- ugh I might actually take this blog seriously soon..

Fervent Apricity Masterlist [ X ]

[voidcat]

– Stardust

Characters: Oikawa Tooru/You

Genre: fluff/comfort, heart to heart on reader’s part (questioning your place in the universe and all)

Summary: Sleep does not come some nights when it gets loud inside your head. Pebbles thrown at your window feels something out of movies. Oikawa Tooru being the one to do feels unreal. So you do what everyone does in dreams, is this a dream?, and follow his lead.

Word Count: 4.3k (i poured my heart out pls respond)

A/N: I didn’t write it with a song in mind but Kimochi Warui (When?  When? When? When? When? When? When?) sounded fitting while proofreading. Take it as a suggestion if you want.  – ao3 - PART 2

It’s late. 

Too late to still be up. Too late to be thinking like this. 

Too late to be up, awake, vibrating with all these overwhelming thoughts filling your head, wanting to break free, scratching the inside of your skull like feral animals, dying to get out.

It’s late and you keep lying down just like that. Hands clasped over your stomach, eyes locked onto the ceiling, trying not to think, keeping your mind blank like a newly bought sketchbook.

You lie like that for seconds feeling like hours and hours feeling like seconds.

You lie awake, the dim moon light entering your room lazily. All too familiar thoughts plaguing your mind, telling things you’ve known since childhood over and over and over until you grow numb to the noise.

Tck.

You consider checking the time but you’re afraid it’ll still be too early for the new day to start.

Tck.

Was that an actual sound or the newest trick of your mind?

Tck.

They say third time is the charm. Third time also means it’s too much of a specific occurrence to be a coincidence. The noise seems to be coming from outside, something small hitting your window.

Irritation and curiosity taking over you at last, not to mention boredom, you make way to the window and open it.

You see Oikawa Tooru of all people waving with his phone at you, a little aggressively.

Walking back to your nightstand and picking up your phone, you receive a message.

>[Does your folks wake up early?]

>[Or check up on you first thing in the morning?]

[No. why?] Hitting the send button you wait, walking back there and looking at him again. Face lightened by the glow of his phone, you can make up his eyes and nose.

>[Wear something warm.]

>[And make that spicy tea thingy you like so much if you want.]

>[I’m waiting by the door.]

Weird is seeing Oikawa Tooru under your window at an hour no one else is awake. Him telling you to get dressed and come outside? That’s creepy and worrying.

[Why]

>[I’m doing you a favor out of the goodness of my heart for once.] You want to roll your eyes at that. Since when does he know what being good means? Towards you especially.

>[No shady business, I promise.]

>[Trust me.]

As if knowing what went in your mind, these texts show up on your screen. You come to a halt.

Your relationship with Oikawa was never good. You would ignore one another on the good days and be utterly destructive and spiteful on the bad days. He never gave you a reason or made a gesture to earn your trust, you don’t even recall hearing those words from him much. They are reserved for Iwaizumi and the team only.

So why do you find yourself in a dilemma, as if there’s something to choose, a decision to make? Because the logical thing for you to do, the in-character thing for you to do, is to say no, go back to bed and hope to fall asleep at some point. The usual set of action for you is to refuse whatever he has to offer and go back to your own thing.

But you’re done with the logical and the in-character. So you send a quick [I’ll be down in 5.], make way to prepare something warm first and change your clothes as you wait for it to heat up. A sweatshirt should be enough.

Being too lazy and out-of-it to function once in a while pays, because instead of having to brew the tea and wait for a long while, you just heat up the already brewed and stashed one and pour it to your thermos.

Silently opening the door and getting out, you see Oikawa leaning against the wall.

He walks away when he sees you, you follow without a word. Soon enough you’re met with a car. Since when he has a car?

Wait, no. Don’t ask, don’t wait for an answer. Don’t look at the stupid car, don’t examine it. It is a dream after all, right? What’s the point in observing things when you’ll forget about them first thing in the morning?

Following his lead, you get inside the passenger seat, hear him start the engine, watch his hand reach for the stereo. A low hum arise.

It sounds like he picked a channel on random, the music isn’t bad per se, the volume is down. So it doesn’t exactly bother you either. Getting comfortable in your seat and resting your head against the window, you watch the blur of images go by.

There is no moon tonight, the only source of light is the street lamps coming into view and leaving as fast. Houses, buildings, trees, everything belonging to the day pass by in a fog and smear of colors. Almost like a quick brush of oil paint. It’s calming in a quiet before the thunderstorm kind of way.

As the road goes under the wheels, less and less houses come in to your view.

“Where to?”

Oikawa gives you a quick glance. He almost looks surprised to see you speak. Did he just assume you’d stay quiet all night?

“You’ll see.” His tone doesn’t match his face.

“What’s the meaning of it?”

“Consider it a favor.” This marks the end of your short lived conversation.

You don’t need to recognize the road he takes to understand he’s driving out of town, out of Miyagi. The why of it keeps floating in your head, you can’t apply the ‘it’s a dream’ tactic any more either, you are too awake for that, in both senses.

Turning your attention back on the sidelines, you let your mind wander off to meaningless assumptions.

A light behind the trees, you imagine a lonely night creature, lurking around to find his lost love.

You spot an animal you can’t identify and make up a story about an once-successful maiden, falling fool to a wicked spell.

You look at the trees and imagine nature coming to life in humanoid form, mutating and taking its revenge on human race.

Hearing a ribbit nearby and you recall the time your mother read you the Princess and the Frog years ago.

You turn left to look at Oikawa. Finding your phone inside your pocket and raising it in a show-and-tell manner, you wait for him to take notice and turn off the stereo. You press play.

Satie’s Once Upon A Time In Paris fills the air.

You note the relaxation in his shoulders. You let the melody take over your body as well.

Closing your eyes and holding your hands in the air, you can see the keys in front of you.

Hitting the keys one by one, reaching for the pedal, you can feel it flow through you. Head moving on its own, dancing with the melody, Gymnopedie no.1 as calm and serene as ever. Simple like a short quote on love from a poet.

It ends silently, Gnossienne no.3 enters with much more emotion.

It’s almost comical how many times you’ve played this exact piece but almost never listened to others playing. It sounds like you in some ways, some tints and emphasis different than how you’d play but that’s all you got right now.

You don’t need to break out of the music’s hold or open your eyes to catch Oikawa’s gaze on you once in a while. You went through all this before on so many occasions. Be it on public transportation and a piece you connect with comes on, you can’t stop your fingers from trying to play it on air, making keys out of nitrogen and oxygen in the air. Your body starting to move on its own after a while. Strangers giving you funny looks all the while.

The notes gain meaning and heaviness, hanging in the air and making way for the following ones as fast.

When the B bemols come, you can feel a stinging feeling in your eyes.

Since when does Gnossienne no.3 make you want to cry? Why now of all times?

You don’t care, you don’t want the answers, you don’t want to understand or reach a new level of understanding within yourself. Just shutting yourself out completely and taking in all the music with a deep breathe, you lean back as far as you can into the seat.

Gnossienne no.4 starts and your hands no longer itch to play.

When Oikawa pulls up at last, the music has long ended.

Getting off with your thermos in one hand, you look around.

Not a single building, a sign of life in sight. Where the hell did he bring you?

You can see his figure searching for something in the back seat, some shuffling reaches your ear. You look at the few and far between trees in the distance. It is a dead night. Not even wind, not even some comical tumbleweeds are in sight to add some motion. Time has stopped completely.

You don’t realize Oikawa’s signals for the second time that night, just as you didn’t hear him throwing pebbles at your window.

Noticing the loud thud, as him patting the hood of his car a little too late, only when he starts to get loud, you look back up. He’s sitting there, patting the space next to him, the gesture all too familiar.

Your mind wanders back to the moments you’d do the same, asking your cat to come sit with you, listen to you ramble, maybe purr for you, hear your sobs or meow at your antics. Tilting your hand with her head, bumping your legs with her tail. Those moments painted golden, filtered with a gray film, already gone, leaving nothing but a sharp pain in your chest.

You climb and sit, careful not to have any physical contact with him.

“Why are we here?” you try one last time.

“I didn’t want to be alone.” He says. Nodding your head at that, you’re not exactly surprised. The way he always surrounds himself with people, no matter the proximity and bond he shares with them.

He answered a question, maybe he can answer few more before I drive him to the limit, you think. “Why me?” This nags at your brain more than any other current question you have for him.

“It seemed fitting.”

“Why not Hajime or Makki, or even Mattsun?”

“Iwa-chan has come on little trips such as this with me before. I didn’t want to drag him tonight. Asking anyone else I’m close with didn’t sound like a good idea. And frankly? You seemed like you could use a break like this today.”

Observant prick.

“So, what exactly? We share one cozy moment tonight and return to our daily selves of hating one another in the morning?” His silence is a yes enough. “Sure, sounds good then.”

After the little conversation, you are back examining the surroundings, the comforting stillness in the air, the silence, the emptiness and the blackness of it all.

It gets boring after a while. Not wanting to disturb Oikawa further and at a loss of what else to do in the middle of nowhere, you look up at last.

Oh.

You forget to breathe for a few seconds. And that doesn’t even seem to be a problem in your eyes.

Has he done this before? How long has he been going out at ungodly hours for this?

You knew Oikawa Tooru was obsessed with space and aliens, thanks to Iwaizumi, but you never expected it to be on a more serious, in-depth level. Not like this.

Never like this.

Billions of stars hanging in the night sky, most millions of years old, blinking from a long gone past, probably dead in their current time.

A calm breeze washing over your wholly, reminding you just how small you are, your life is and how it is all okay because in the big picture you’re all nothing but dust. Destined to be forgotten by history in few centuries, if not decades.

Seeing all these stars, colorful lights what you hope are planets, an arm of the Milky Way, flowing like a waterfall and you feel a sense of security you haven’t felt in a while.

There is something comforting about the night sky, the way it can show you your unimportance in the big picture, your place in all this. You feel whole with the universe. You belong.

So you look up, and up and up. Stare at the sky, blink at the stars, smile at the constellations you spot and remember their stories, the gods and the myths, the heroes and the queens…

You look back at Oikawa then. As if remembering only now that he is there by your side.

Facing the sky in a manner just like yours, you can see the stars on his face. Shining on his hair, cheeks and in his eyes. Almost like stardust.

He looks ethereal, unreachable, enchanting. And a little vulnerable. All that tension, layers of masks he puts on each day, all the fake smiles and empty look in his eyes are gone.

Raw and pure.

This is the truest of Oikawa you’ve ever seen.

The admiration can be read from his eyes. His face holding an emotion you’ve seen on him once or twice. Not intense like this, never like this. You’ve seen the same look on him for Iwaizumi but only for a second, when he’s sure no one is watching.

With the same eyes, he watches the starry night sky.

He looks like he belongs up there. Not in a “be an astronaut and go to space” but in a “should be there, amongst the stars, his memory up there, to be remembered by everyone gazing upon the starry night. Like a constellation, become a constellation, a legend and a story, and so much more, just like Orion and Andromeda.”

This is the closest to Oikawa Tooru you’ve ever been. The thought gives you a shiver.

Seeming to notice that, he gives you a puzzled look and raises his right arm. You realize the blanket around his form then. He’s making an offer.

“Don’t worry, three people can fit in easily, it’s wide enough for the both of us.” When his face turned to you, it’s dark, no source of light to reflect on his skin.

You scoot over to him, under the blanket. The two of you refocus back on the scene above you.

Remembering the little mug inside your front pocket, you open the lid of your thermos and start pouring some tea, the steam leaving a little trail behind. You hold out the mug to Oikawa, he just looks at you, the confusion clear on his face.

Why are you offering me the tea you brought for yourself?

What makes you think I’d trust you enough to taste something you made?

“We said tonight was our little secret, right? I can use the cap as a mug, don’t worry.”

Your words and clarification seems to convince him somewhat, holding the mug with both hands, he smells it before taking a sip.

Silence falls over again and it’s much nicer this time.

Not even the coldness can get to you or pull you out of the warm embrace you’re in. The warmth around your shoulders, more provided by the idea of the blanket than the blanket itself. Like a thin veil, separating the real world from your little bubble of escape.

It’s new moon, no reflecting lunar light to block your view of stars. Sitting under the tent of black, blue, white and red; it feels divine. Divine to live in the moment, to truly breathe, to witness something so enthralling and forever.

To stand by yourself, stripped bare of everything; your layers, titles, names and ticks, clothes and paints, to be a newborn again, to reborn again, all alone, in an endless room, empty and cold, filled with stars and gods, stories to tell and dreams to see.

To feel whole again, alone again, hopeless again but reach a self-realization again, to taste nectar and discover the secrets of the universe, converse with the long gone philosophers and waltz with supernovas.

You’re not alone. Not completely.

Maybe left alone with your thoughts in this dead land and you know how one can never have company in their own mind, forever trapped alone. Yet in that moment, you’re not alone. Moving your head to steal a glance at the boy next to you again, you understand it well. It all happens so fast.

“Isn’t it ironic? How as humans we use a word like ‘star’ for untouchable celebrities, important people and such while in reality stars are nothing but these giant balls of plasma-“ gesturing a ball with your hands now, thermos sitting between your legs, “-with their ongoing chemical reactions, sputtering molecules of hydrogen and helium and all, until they come to an end with their current phase of life. If you can call that life.” You say all these with your eyes locked onto the stars, Oikawa’s locked on you. You keep going.

“Speaking of life, what is even life? Aren’t we just a bunch of organic components somehow managing to come together, build a system and gain conscious somehow? Just trying to survive until an outer force comes or our cells come off? Isn’t it technically our cells living, in a way?”

“Aren’t we just piles of protein just walking around and doing things that make no sense but to us?  Until we come to an end with our current phase of life? Doing what we see fit or fun or appropriate until it all ends.” It’s not a question any more. He doesn’t give you an answer.

“Aren’t we all children of the stars in a different point of view? All our molecules and elements coming from them. I mean, look at them. We see them blinking and smirking and smiling at us but for all we know they could’ve ended long ago. They could’ve become part of a new life for all we know. They break down and give birth to us, pieces of us; and in return we go back to them when we are gone. Despite being made of stardust, we live pretty shit lives huh?” You give him a lopsided smile, facing him as you say your last words.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time?” he replies.

“For far too long to pinpoint an exact date actually.” You almost say in a singsong voice. He frowns at that slightly.

“But I am right! Right? I mean, you’re a space nerd! You must know what I’m talking about.”

“Understanding and putting it into words in such a depressing way are two different things.”

Pouting at that, you look the opposite direction sharply. “Whatever, I know I am right.”

His gaze is still on you. “Is that what you’re like most of the time? I don’t get how Iwa-chan deals with you.” He must be shaking his head now.

“Iwa-chan can’t read minds last time I checked.” You deadpan.

His laugh fills the air at that. Light and lively, carefree; you doubt you’ve heard him laugh before. It sounds wonderful.

You wonder how things would’ve been between you and Oikawa, if the circumstances were different. If you never met Iwaizumi that day, would your paths still cross? Would you finish your Aoba Johsai years never meeting him?

Would you meet Oikawa on your own? Could you ever be friends, instead of dancing around one another and spitting out insults whenever you can? Would you like him in another world? Value his friendship, the person he is? Would the two of you have met before or become something more?

All these unanswered questions hanging in the air and you find yourself looking at him again.

His smile looks different now, he looks different, changed. Almost breathtaking. Is that what Iwaizumi means by his ‘fake smiles’?

A honest smile looks good on him.

You find yourself smiling back.

“Hey.” He nudges your shoulder with his. “If you still want to complain about the meaningless of life and all that, be my guest. I promise I won’t listen.”

Taken aback by his wording, you give him a confused look.

“Tonight doesn’t exist, remember?”

“…Right.” You decide to lean back and lie under the stars.

Feeling a tug at the blanket after a while, you see him placing the mug down next to the tire. You hand him your thermos as he regains his composure, he complies silently and leans back when he’s done.

All there is in the air is your faint breathing now. Never matching one another, sometimes loud, sometimes ghostly. There is no rhythm, no adjusting subconsciously. Completely independent.

You take a deep breath and start.

“It feels grey most of the time. Not in a ‘there’s never two sides, everything is grey, blah blah.’ But more like a numbness of grey.”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything, nothing to show or to indicate that he is listening. You continue talking.

“Like lacking all color and feeling in life, blocking all there is to see and enjoy and I am left with nothing but… grey.

Grey to the point of everything is filtered, there are no boundaries, it all feels the same, plays the same and I am afraid. I am afraid of hurting. Hurting myself, being hurt myself and hurting the ones around me. Not the ones I love, I don’t even know love. What is love?” You turn to look at him.

“I tried thinking about it, reading about it, understanding it on a chemical and hormonal way. Consulted mathematics and never got an answer. It feels made up, a fairy tale to feel better, to attach ourselves to one another.

I fear I came across love and didn’t notice it, I fear I brushed it off for something else and now it’s too late.”

With each pause, it gets easier to speak, harder to talk. Finding the right words, using your vocal chords, moving your tongue, writing your sentences in your mind. You don’t feel the tears gathering around your eyes or going down your cheeks. You wait for the robot title, to be called heartless and how you have a rock in your chest. They never come.

“Do you really fear of hurting him?” There’s no doubt he is talking about Iwaizumi.

“I don’t know.”

“But you care for him.”

“I don’t know.”

“Think before you answer.” He says then, voice stern.

“I think I care for him but I fear I will ruin him.”

The unspoken ‘how so?’ is in the air.

“I feel grey to the point of dust and decay. I fear everything I touch either drives away from me or decays. I don’t want to lose him. I think I care for him. But I don’t want to watch him stay by my side and crumble one by one.

I don’t want to go from grey to blue.”

“Doesn’t he make you happy? I’ve seen genuine smiles on you when you’re with him. You almost light up when he enter a room or sits beside you.”

“What’s the point of happiness if it’s dependent on one person? It is not fair to either parties.”

He starts tsking. “Too many don’ts for that age. You’ll end up with wrinkles before your thirties.”

He stops prying after that.

The air begins to grow colder, a little breeze picks up.

The stars are as cold as ever, blinking diamonds in the sky.

You swear you see the arm of Milky Way coming into motion, flowing like a stream.

For what feels like an hour, it is quiescent. You decide to break it one last time.

“Speaking of stars, you and Iwaizumi are like neutron stars. Can be found alone or orbiting one another, chasing after each other, forever together and merged at last. Both stars on your own but as captivating when together.”

The hour taking its toll on you, your senses grow duller. You can’t hear his breathing without focusing, even the stars are getting blurry.

“Then you’re like a black dwarf.” Oikawa speaks up. “Because you feel unreal most of the time.”

You both fall back into silence. You don’t ask him if he meant it as a compliment and he doesn’t answer.

You don’t need to know which way he meant, in a way, you already know the response to that.

Tonight isn’t real. It’ll cease to exist in a few hours and you let these rare moments sink in. Probably the closest you’ll ever be to Oikawa Tooru, closest see him like this. It almost feels familiar, like you’ve done this before, went on stargazing with him and opened your heart out to him. It feels like a dream, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You chuckle at your attempt of a joke lightly.

It is serene around the two of you and in your mind. A placidity you haven’t had without the help of  a distraction in a long while.

“Thanks Tooru.”

His name falls out of your lips like you use it on the daily. Like the comforting shuffle of a worn out sweater as you put it on, the chirping of this family of birds living by your house for decades, the warm meow of your cat when you’re headed to bed. It sounds natural.

Scooting closer to him until your head rests on his chest. He just wraps his arm around you, pulling you further. Not a single word on your way of addressing him. And not a word from you on his way of holding you.

The moment will cease to exist in the morning, along with your confessions and the blinking lights of the stars. In a few hours it’ll no longer be real. So you decide to give it a shot at being close to him in all senses, share something the two of you will never have. Wrapping your arm around his torso, listening closely to his heart. Your head under his chin, his hand atop yours, you fall asleep until the sun comes.

[mimssides]

Life on Crow Avenue: Part 20

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___

“You’ve cooked for a whole battalion, ro-bro,” Remus remarked, watching his brother put the lasagne into the still cold oven.

Roman turned around and shot him an annoyed look before he checked if everything was in place. The aubergine-tomato antipasti were in place, they had garlic bread in case someone wanted to eat something between the starter and main course. He had thought about making a primo piatto and a secondo piatto, but decided that they probably would have enough with the lasagne and like that everyone would still like to eat dessert; a fig and raspberry tart.

He hoped they would like it.

“They’re gonna love it. Now, go change. They’re gonna be here in like half an hour,” Remus told Roman as he nudged him in the side.

With a huff Roman disappeared and Remus looked around in the living room. Mrs. Snuffles was sitting on the cat tree Virgil had given them and looked at him with her beautiful blue eyes. Smiling he walked up to her and nuzzled his face against her fluffy face, her eagerly headbutting into the movement. Softly he lifted her from the tree, adjusted her in his arms and held her like one would hold a baby, gently swaying her in his arms.

Cats always had always been one of Remus’s favourite animals. Just how they carried themselves, how much elegance and dorkiness fit in one single, fluffy entity amazed him each time anew. And somehow it fit perfectly into their new life. A life, where their living room is spacey and bright. Where their couch didn’t smell funny and he actually liked the combination of the furniture they had.

“Earth to Remus?”

Remus flinched and turned around. Roman stood in the end of the hallway, grinning at his brother’s weird cat dance.

Remus blinked. Roman was wearing a thin wine-red cardigan, beneath a white t-shirt and the black slim fit jeans Remus had bought him. Together with the slightly condescending and yet somehow charming smug smirk on Roman’s face, he looked good. Really good.

“What have you done with my brother?” Remus joked and walked towards Roman. “He’s never been seen in nice clothes on a Sunday forever!”

Roman rolled his eyes and picked the hem of his cardigan’s sleeve. He knew it was a compliment. He appreciated it. But somehow it just felt weird to make himself look fancy. To try and look at himself in the mirror and like or at least accept what stared back at him.

“Don’t make such a sour face! You look splendid! Jan’s never going to be able to eat any of the food because he’ll keep gawking at your pretty face!” Remus insisted, seeing far too well that Roman was doubting himself.

Nervously Roman pressed his lips together and told Remus with a sigh: “That would be a waste of food.”

“Come on! I know what kind of hairdo that is! Look-At-Me-And-Hold-Your-Breath! This is dress to impress, and if you don’t admit you’re a dirty liar!”

With a mischievous glint in his eyes Roman retorted: “I didn’t say that’s not my intention. It’s just gonna be a shame for the food that’s going to be wasted, won’t it?”

With mock offence Remus stared at him with his mouth wide open before the twins broke into a laughing fit. Mrs. Snuffles didn’t appreciate the shaking very much and Remus had to let her down still giggling furiously, when the doorbell rang.

Remus gave Roman a nod and then walked up to the door, pressed the speaker and heard Logan’s voice: “Salutations. It is Logan Fojtík. Excuse the disturbance.”

“We invited you, bicho. You’re not disturbing,” Remus chuckled and pressed the button to let Logan in.

A few short moments after Logan had walked up the stairs and Remus greeted him with a wide grin and a hug. The bookstore owner reciprocated the hug after a short second of hesitancy and then gave Roman a cordial nod as a greeting. Roman just smirked at the awkward look on Logan’s face and told him to follow him into the living room. Roman also made the mental note that Logan was wearing the turtleneck sweater and the slightly nicer jeans he usually wore on Friday evenings, which seemed to be an outfit he reserved for special occasions.

With ease Roman then enthralled Logan in some casual conversation about the food he had prepared. Logan looked mildly interested, even though he looked over to Remus playing with Mrs. Snuffles several times. That too, Roman would definitely remember for future events.

But soon there came the next ring and Remus let Janus and Virgil in just has he had Logan. Virgil had brought some cat treats and a few more toys for Mrs. Snuffles and was soon sitting with Remus on the floor playing with the cat instead of socializing with the with the other people in the room.

“Seeing this makes me wish, I was a pet,” Roman comments amused as both Janus and Logan gave him a look. “Unlimited attention, affection and reassurance thrown at you with no questions asked and you won’t even be punished if you scratch an asshole’s face.”

“While that outlook does have its appeal,” Logan commented his eyes locked on Mrs. Snuffles trying to catch a string with feathers attached to its end, “I would not enjoy doing my business in a litter box or outside under a tree.”

Janus chuckled and sat down at the already set table. For a moment his eyes drifted over the plates, the cutlery, cutlery mats and napkins, which were set up carefully and beautifully, before he looked over to Logan and teased lazily: “What a humorous remark coming from you, Mrs. Fojtík. I didn’t think you’d have an ounce of fun in your body.”

Logan did not grace that remark with an answer but shot him a glare. Janus did not care for it and instead turned to Roman and told him: “The table looks marvellous, Roman. I don’t think I’ve ever been invited for dinner at someone’s place who had such a sweetly decorated table.”

Janus watched Roman’s eyes glow with pride and listened happily as Roman started to tell how he liked decorating and how it was a way to treat themselves with something nice.

“After all, sitting at a nice set up table makes one feel a bit like royalty, doesn’t it?” Roman rambled happily.

Janus answered with a smile and a nod and would have been content to listen even longer, when the doorbell rang again and Roman stood up to get the door.

Not too surprisingly, Patton had arrived and Roman let the tattoo artist into their flat. He had a cheery look on his face and promptly thanked Roman for the invitation.

“Oh, don’t mention it, padre! After the way you all helped us last Friday, I wanted to give something back. It’s the least I can do,” Roman said and shot a look over to Remus who looked up from Mrs. Snuffles in front of him and gave a little nod.

“Yeah, something happy for a change,” Remus said and looked down Mrs. Snuffles.

Remus’s eyes shone peacefully. Lips tugged in a lopsided smile. Patton felt his heart pound in his chest. Remus looked beautiful and in this very moment every fibre in his body was painfully aware of that. He actually shivered when Remus raised his look from Mrs. Snuffles to him and the little smile grew a little wider as he met Patton’s eyes. It was the best thing he had felt in a long time and he was sure that his smile reflected the sentiment well, as Remus chuckled and got up from the floor.

“Now, princesa, do you want to get us all into a food coma?” Remus asked and put his hands on his hips with an eyeroll.

Energetically, Roman jumped to action and ushered their guests to get to the table.

“Oh, I hope you’re hungry!” Roman announced in a singsong tone and the five others settled down around the table.

Curiously Janus looked into the kitchen from his chair, as Patton complimented Remus’s clothes; a green t-shirt with pink spots, a light blue jeans vest and orange skinny fit pants. Remus gave to comment back, adding that he liked the look of the pastel pink tank top, with black ripped-jeans and the bun Patton had put his hair in.

“Your hair is nice too!” Patton gave back and looked at the black messy hair on top of Remus’s head.

Remus tousled through his bangs and shrugged.

“Thanks. I don’t really know what to do with it. It’s a bit ‘meh’ so I tend to just let it do its thing.”

“Are you aware how to best take care of the hair type you have?” Logan suddenly chimed into the conversation.

And so, Roman served his aubergine-tomato antipasti, as the conversation about hair styling and grooming got started. Logan did most of the talking, Patton sometimes adding something and Remus curiously asking questions. The conversation only got interrupted when Logan finally started eating, after Roman chiding him for letting the food get cold. In that sudden pause, Janus took the chance to compliment Roman’s cooking, as the others did just a moment after.

They ate, talked and the mood was light and pleasant. Remus had, as promised earlier, gotten out his sketchbooks and went through it with Patton while Roman got the main dish ready. Virgil was once again playing with Mrs. Snuffles and Logan occupied himself by following Roman into the kitchen, asking about how he had prepared the antipasti from before and offering his help, which was politely declined. And Janus had sneaked away from the table and inconspicuously walked through the flat, looking in all rooms without entering any of them so his snooping around would not be detected.

Just as Janus peeked into Roman’s room, strikingly tidy with red and gold accented décor knickknacks, a hand was put on his shoulder and he flinched  as he was caught red-handed.

“You could have asked for a tour, Jay.”

Janus turned to see Roman smirking at him. Speechless he opened his mouth only to close it again and press his lips together. Roman grinned until Remus called from the living room: “Are ya’ making out? Should we not wait with the food for you?”

With an eyeroll Roman turned around but kept his eyes locked on Janus. A smile tugged at the edges of Roman’s lips and he said quietly: “I’ll be happy to show you around after you’ve told me how much you like the lasagne I’ve made.”

Finally, Janus found his composure again, grinned back and replied: “Then I’ll be kind enough to indulge you, Señor Segura Reyes.”

Roman chuckled and they went back into the living room. Smoothly Roman walked around the table to Janus’s seat, pulled it back for him and sat down telling his guest to help themselves with the lasagne.

Already anticipating Virgil’s questioning look Roman told him: “It’s vegetarian. I could have made a different dish for you but I didn’t feel like it and just made the meatless variant for all of us.”

“Cool. Thanks,” Virgil mumbled a little shyly before he took some of the lasagne.

“What did you take instead of the meat?” Logan asked eyeing the food in front of him judgingly.

“Spinach and Cheese. And if you find that inedible, I can get you something else,” Roman answered and rose his eyebrows playfully daring.

Logan pressed his lips together and looked back down to the food. It smelled good and it didn’t look like the vegetables his mother used to make him eat when he was younger. He could at least try. And so, he tried.

“Das ist alles andere als ungeniessbar,” Logan almost inaudibly said under his breath and took another bite.

Roman, who was sitting next to him, shot him an incredulous look which turned into an excited one and he enthusiastically said: “Danke sehr! Ich wusste nicht, dass du Deutsch sprichts?”

Baffled Logan looked up to Roman and the rest of the table did the same, not knowing what Roman had just said and why he suddenly spoke in a different language.

“Ich, uh, übe noch. Sprache war schon immer ein Leidenschaft von mir,” Logan said slowly, not quite certain if he had gotten the gender of ‘passion’ right.

“No way!” Roman exclaimed joyously, “Me too! Languages are so cool! Which ones besides German do you know?”

Logan blinked. Blinked again. Roman’s enthusiasm for languages matched his own passion, which was rare, and he seemed very eager to talk about it. Not dismissing him. He was not dismissing him, Logan realized, took a little breath and started telling Roman how he had begun learning Czech and Polish when he was in his early teens and over the years had added Spanish and German to the mix.

“That’s so cool! You have to teach me some Polish and Czech! I’d love to get into some new languages. It always interesting to see how they are different or the same to some languages I already know. And like, both are Slavic languages, right? I’m curious if they work similarly to Russian!”

“You speak Russian?” Logan asked intrigued.

“Not super well, but I’d get by. The wife of our florist mentor is Russian and I got to learn if from her. And he’s Brazilian, which is why I know some Portuguese. German, Italian and French I learned in school and from old Disney VHS movies Mamá got on a flea market. It’s so interesting to see how all of them sound and work and-”

“Yes, my thoughts exactly!” Logan agreed and the two kept on marvelling over the beauty of languages until the main dish was eaten.

The others kept quiet and just watched both men being unabashedly passionate about languages and how they work. Watched Roman stumble over his words because he got excited about tenses in Spanish and Logan raising his voice in euphoria about cases in Slavic languages. It was quite a scene they got to look at and none of them could complain, even though Remus would later claim that the nerding out over languages was the bane of his existence.

When all had finished their lasagne, Roman picked up the plates and put them into the dishwasher. The rest settled down on the couch, beanbag and the armchairs before dessert would get served. Remus and Virgil were yet again playing with Mrs. Snuffles and Janus, Patton and Logan just watched them have fun, since they were all a bit tired after the big meal. Roman soon joined them and sat down on the couch next to Janus, bickering a little with his brother about how he was neglecting their guests.

“What no! Look their all happy doing nothing after overeating on your stupidly delicious food!” Remus retorted.

Roman puffed his cheeks and nagged: “Still! You could at least try and indulge them in a convers-”

“Sorry, Rem, could you maybe check something on Mrs. Snuffles for me?”

Both twins shut up immediately and Virgil looked up from the cat to see Remus’s extremely concerned look.

“She’s fine! It’s fine! Just-” Virgil quickly added hoping he could stop Remus from freaking out - “just check something for me. Just touch her belly for me and tell me if what you feel.”

Remus blinked, gave a short nod and inched closer to the white cat lady. Softly he petted her until she laid down and carefully touched the side of her belly.

“It’s pretty normal, I think? Like I feel her breathing and some tiny movements, I guess? Isn’t that just digestion, though?” Remus asked warily.

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, smiled and told Remus: “It could, but I think you might need to wait with neutering her. It’s possible that she’s pregnant but I’d have the vet check her to make sure.”

Remus squealed in an octave dogs and bats could hear and successfully made all guests jump in their seats. This was the best thing to ever happen to Remus and an ecstatic voice in the back of his head told him to kiss either Patton or Logan or even both just to get all the pent-up energy out. Instead, he tackle hugged Virgil, who was not prepared for Remus’s hug and fell backwards so both ended up laying on the floor.

And while that happened and drew all the attention on Remus and Virgil, Roman had a silent anxiety attack. Trembling he stood up, quietly mumbling No estoy preparado para ser padre. and taking out his phone to open the app where he had to arrange little squares according to hue. He forced himself to concentrate on the colours, on moving his fingers accordingly and not focus on the fact that their cat would-

Colours. Sorting. Making a clean perfect hue.

I am a wonderful, amazing, gorgeous, magnificent hue-master!

Alright. Okay.

Roman turned back to look at his brother, who was still almost smothering Virgil and decidedly walked up to them. Firmly he grabbed Remus by the arm and pulled him back a little.

“Stop pestering him! Get up and go whip cream to get your energy out. I need more calories after this shock,” Roman chided Remus.

Snickering Remus got up, shoving Roman a little in the shoulder and turning towards the kitchen.

“Oh, you’ll love them too! Don’t worry,” Remus told him as he disappeared.

Roman fumed for a few seconds, massaged the bridge of his nose before he offered Virgil his hand to get up.

“How many kittens does a cat have in a litter, generally?” Roman asked in the most defeated tone they had ever heard him use.

Virgil cleared his throat and answered: “Around four. And don’t pick her up until you know for sure if she’s pregnant or not. You could accidentally hurt the babies.”

Roman nodded and declared that they would have desert now, since he now needed some stress food. Before long the six men sat at the table again, all with a big slice of a fig and raspberry tart. Roman had put a big spoon of whipped cream on his slice and told the others to help themselves with the cream as much as they wanted. Patton took the offer and toasted Roman with a sympathetic smile as Remus bounced on his chair and asked Virgil a million questions about kitten’s and how to care for them.

It was more than clear that Remus was very hyped for the potential of a kitten litter and was already unwilling to give away a single one of them. No matter what Roman would say, Remus wouldn’t change his mind and Roman had to accept it.

“Hey, if they ever get too rowdy and you need a break, I can maybe catsit? Is that a thing?” Patton offered.

That got a snicker out of Roman and he thanked Patton for the gracious offer but Remus would have to catsit, since he was the one who wanted to keep them. Remus said he would do that happily and the evening continued calmly. After finishing desert Roman showed Janus the flat and around ten the four guests eventually bid goodbye and left the twins to themselves.

The tension on Roman’s shoulders had eased away a bit. But it was still there. He still felt it linger and he was glad when Remus asked if he should clean the kitchen, so Roman could get ready for bed.

But next to Remus nobody seemed to have noticed. Which was good and what Roman had wanted. He told himself.

He didn’t want others to know. They didn’t need to know. After all, he had it under control.

At least, that was what he told himself.

___

@varthandi

@sammy-is-obsessed / @exhaustedfander

@alexisrealgay

@softie-sushi

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

@winter-jay-official

@a-ghostlight-for-roman

Tagged for this fic:

@frawkeye

@arodynamic-enby

@espepspes

@bullet-tothefeels

@fukindork

@shadeofadye

@magic-but-its-green

@a-non-binary-pan

@simone-the-weird-person

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 | 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤

Rowaelin modern AU ▶ Masterlist

note: hi! thank you for all your comments and likes. hope y'all like this chapter. (also sorry for the bad gifs, I have no idea what I'm doing there!)

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Rowan was pissed, sleep-deprived and severely exhausted. Lorcan had taken his sweet time picking Aelin up and even once he'd arrived, she had thrown tantrums bad enough, it had taken both of them to get her into his damned car. He had gotten little sleep after that, thoughts reverting back to her antics.

He was looking forward to some peace when someone sat down beside him. "Leave me alone, Aelin," he groaned.

An amused snort. "She'll be offended you mistook me for her," Lorcan Salvaterre said.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I've grown used to Aelin hounding me around this time." He should shut up sometime soon. This was Lorcan Salvaterre he was talking to, Lorcan who was as well-built as him, who looked like he had crawled out of some hellscape and was never seen without a scowl on his face. Lorcan could probably punch him for talking like that about Aelin.

"You don't like Aelin?" Lorcan asked.

It was a casual question that shouldn't have bothered him at all. But did he like Aelin? She was bothersome of course but he preferred her company to everyone else here. "I think she is fine," he finally said.

Lorcan nodded, dark eyes scanning his face. He rose from his seat. "Aelin is a nice person. You don't want to hurt her." Rowan didn't mistake the words for anything but a warning to not hurt her. A friend looking out for another. This is what they were. Aelin and her friends - they weren't friends, they were family. The closest thing Rowan had to that was his roommate.

"I don't want anything to do with her," Rowan said. He meant it.

Lorcan shook his head, then turned to leave. Almost as if in afterthought, he added, "Don't tell anyone what I said."

Students were still filing inside the classroom when Lorcan left, presumably to his own classroom. Rowan had his nose buried in the book he was reading but he could identify Aelin from the sight of those light, hurried footsteps, then the loud sigh that escaped her mouth when she plopped down beside him. Rowan turned in his seat.

"Bad day?" she chirped.

He didn't know how she could function after the amount of alcohol she had consumed. "Some idiot got drunk and I had to take care of her. Couldn't sleep," he grunted.

She clicked her tongue. "Inconsiderate. You should teach her some manners."

Rowan rolled his eyes and went back to reading his book. Unable to concentrate because of Aelin watching him, Rowan shut the book, opening his sketchbook instead. He glanced towards the door. Where was Professor Gavriel?

Aelin answered, "He isn't coming, something about recruiting a new quarterback for the football team."

Rowan shifted the sketchbook so it was out of Aelin's point of view. He expected her to peek or ask or interrupt but she watched him again, keen eyes memorizing all the details on his face. Rowan tried not to let the attention bother him as he worked. She was silent long enough that Rowan worried something was wrong.

But she asked, "Rowan, do you like football?" He wished she hadn't spoken.

"I do."

Don't ask don't ask don't ask don't ask don't ask—"Then why aren't you on the football team? You ever tried out?"

He had. Rowan didn't want to tell her that, didn't want to share that secret. Yet, somehow he told her, "I did. They didn't choose me. Not because I wasn't good at it but because the whole team hated me. Gavriel said it would affect the team spirit if he took me in, couldn't take that chance." He didn't want to share this secret about how much it had hurt to be rejected by students he had wanted to befriend. "I was principal's nephew, good at studies, at sports. I had a bad reputation around."

She cocked her head to the side. "Do you still want to join the team?"

"Doesn't matter. We don't always get what we want."

Aelin raised an eyebrow as if to say, you are one drama queen. Answer my question. So he did. "I still like football and this is my last year in school so yes."

"You should have done something about it," she said.

He could have shuddered in relief if only for the fact that there was no pity in her eyes, no sorrow. "I'd rather not spend time with people who ha—"

"You could've tried to make amends. If they believed you bad, did you do something to prove otherwise?" Her question took him off guard.

Had he done anything other than scowl and glare since he had changed schools? Rowan didn't want to go down that road, didn't want to visit that part of his past now. He pushed the thoughts away, buried himself in his silence, prepared to tell Aelin off but she was already on her feet, rushing towards the front of the class, squeals of excitement busting out of her.

She threw her arms around the guy standing near the front.

Dorian Havilliard leaned over to whisper something in her ear and Aelin laughed at him, loud and unrestrained. Everyone was watching but neither of them cared enough about it. Rowan convinced himself that the irritation he felt was only for the fact that they were being so loud, it was distracting him.

Yes, that was the only reasonable explanation that he could think of. With a long drawn-out sigh, Rowan went back to sitting in silence.

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Aelin was ecstatic.

Dorian had accompanied his parents to another continent for a business trip and she had missed him like hell. Her friends had tried their best to keep her entertained but no one could replace the dark haired boy.

When she pulled back, Dorian grinned at her. "Aw, missed me, Ace?"

"You are telling me you didn't miss your best friend?" Aelin smirked.

Dorian nodded, looking around the classroom before he looked at her again. "You are right, I did miss Chaol. Where is he?" He chuckled when she smacked the back of his head.

Then it occured to Aelin that he didn't know she had broken up with him. It had been three months ago, right after Dorian left. She hadn't wanted to tell him over the phone and now that he was in front of her, she wanted to enjoy his return instead of dwelling over that. So Aelin grinned, looping an arm with his and they were walking out of the classroom, one eye out in case Meave was making rounds.

"Mind telling me why Rowan was staring at you?" Dorian asked.

Rowan Whitethorn.

Whom she had left in the classroom without even a word. A blush creeped onto her cheeks even as she tried to summon some swagger, flipping her hair back. "I did not fret over outfits for over an hour in the morning to please my own eyes. Let him stare."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Is Rowan the reason you broke up?"

Here she thought she was keeping it a secret. "How'd you know we broke up?" Aelin asked, then realised her mistake.

Her best friend grinned at her. "I didn't. You confirmed it. But seriously, Rowan? The I-don't-ever-smile Rowan?"

"He smiles plenty," she offered, even though she hadn't seen him smile once.

There was no point hiding things from Dorian. Most dismissed him as a nerd who was only interested in books, quiet and reserved but he was charming when he needed to be. And perceptive. If there's anyone she won't be able to keep secrets from, it was him.

She didn't realise where they were going until they halted in front of the library. "You couldn't wait until after school?"

Dorian pointed towards the shelves at the back. "Lorcan and Aedion are here too, they are skipping class. They brought snacks." Aelin didn't need to tell them what would happen if the librarian Phillipa found them sneaking food inside.

Aedion was resting his head on the table when she reached him, Lorcan looking through the shelves for one reference book or another. There was no sign of Lysandra and Aelin remembered something about her joining art classes earlier this week.

"Hey idiots!" Dorian chirped.

Lorcan said without looking, "For your sake, I'll pretend you didn't say that."

Then they were all digging through what her cousin had brought - an assortment of chips and biscuits and candies and chocolates.

Aedion said to Dorian through mouthfuls of food, "I'm surprised you managed to bring her. Aelin hasn't left Rowan's side in two days."

Aelin coughed, kicking her cousin's leg underneath the table. Dorian already suspected something was up and if he hadn't already figured it out, he certainly would now.

But Dorian shrugged. "This isn't news to me. I've been shipping Rowaelin since sophomore year."

Aedion choked on the soft drink he was drinking. "You-Rowaelin-I don't... Sophomore year? Impossible." Impossible indeed. He couldn't have known about that, could he? He couldn't possibly have known about sophomore year.

Dorian smiled innocently. "Aelin has had a crush on him since sophomore year."

"Liar," Aedion blurted out.

Lorcan was silent, munching on his chips and Aelin thanked the gods for it. She could only handle two of them at a time. "How did you know?" she asked.

Dorian chuckled. "You weren't subtle about it. It was written all over your face when he passed by."

Lorcan was still silent as everyone tried to digest the information they had been fed. She had crushed on Rowan on his first day in school, had dismissed it for a temporary thing. It went away after she started dating Chaol.

That was until they'd been paired up for a project and the crush came back in full force. At least she won't have to hide her feelings from her friends now.

Even if Aedion looked like he had swallowed nails. "Rowan isn't good—"

"I took care of that. He'll play nice." Lorcan leaned back in his seat with a lazy, proud smirk on his face.

Aelin's stomach sank at whatever he meant by that but she knew Lorcan, trusted him enough that she didn't ask him about it. She did however add: "He doesn't like me back though so I'd appreciate it if you could keep your teasing to a minimum around him."

"I think he does like you back," Dorian replied. "And I am never wrong."

"You are wrong now."

Aelin hoped with all she had he wasn't.

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Tags:

@thesirenwashere // @judexcardanxgreenbriar //@fangirltrash74 // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @rowaelinforeverworld // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @towhateverend17 // @aelinchocolatelover // @justabunchoffandoms // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @didsomeonesayviolin // @atozfantazyxx // @hizqueen4life

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged. (I absolutely love having a long taglist, good for the ego, y'know?)

[ad1thi]

aankhon mein teri

Summary: It should be noted, for the sake of posterity - that Steve usually wasn’t one to buy into the craze that surrounded celebrities. At the end of the day, they were still people. Tony Stark though, that was his exception.

insp // part of my series bollywood but make it gay

au - modern, actor! tony stark, illustrator! steve rogers, meet cute, pining, pre slash, tony stark is steve’s celebrity crush, 1.5k(ish)

//

It was a truth universally known, that there were two kinds of people on this planet. There was the kind that everybody fawned over, the kind that was put behind the lens of a camera and splayed out on billboards for tens of thousands of adoring fans to gaze up to in admiration; and there was the kind that spent their lives in the shadow of such people - waiting with baited breath to be touched with their light. 

Steve Rogers firmly fell into the second kind, but he wasn’t upset about it. Steve knew his place in the world, and he would gladly give up a spot in the limelight if it meant that it was shining on the likes of Tony Stark. It should be noted, for the sake of posterity - that Steve usually wasn’t one to buy into the craze that surrounded celebrities. At the end of the day, they were still people. Tony Stark though, that was his exception. There was just something about him, the way he -

“Hey!” Steve yelps, reaching out blindly to steady himself when Bucky pushes his legs off his desk, “what was that for?”

“You have that stupid look on your face,” Bucky says, “you were thinking of Stark again weren’t you?”. Steve doesn’t respond, instead opting to glare at his best friend. From the way his cheeks heat up though, he supposes that the effect of the glare is somewhat dimmed. 

“One of these days Stevie,” Bucky says, shaking his head, “you’ve got to get your head out of the clouds”

“My head’s not stuck in the clouds,” Steve grumbles, extending his leg to kick at Bucky, “I just think he’s neat is all”

“Yeah I’ve heard it all before,” Bucky leans forward with a manic grin, “which is why you’re gonna love me after you find out what I’ve got you for your birthday”

“Buck, I thought we agreed; no gifts!”. The economy hadn’t been kind to either of them; and it was a sheer stroke of luck that Steve was scraping enough together as an illustrator to keep a roof over their heads.

“Yeah we did, but I didn’t pay nothing for these babies,” Bucky says with a waggle of his eyebrows, “I got these for free”

Bucky pulls out two tickets from his pocket and waves them in front of Steve with a flourish. Steve reaches out to grab them, bringing them closer to read because he isn’t wearing his glasses. In the background, Bucky is saying “Am I the world’s bestfriend or what?” but Steve is no longer listening. 

“These are -” he points at the tickets and then looks back up at Bucky, “these are tickets for Tony Stark’s new movie premiere” 

“I know,” Bucky says, extremely smug.

“These are tickets for Tony Stark’s new movie premiere,” Steve says again, because it bears repeating, “for the movie premiere in Manhattan tonight”

Bucky leans down and places both hands on his shoulders, squeezing lightly, “you’re gonna get the chance to see your beau up close and personal Stevie”

The sound that Steve makes when he finally realises what he's holding in his hands is inhumane.

/

Steve has never been one to gripe about his clothes, content in what little he has, but that all changes tonight. At the risk of sounding like a girl in one of those soaps that his mother is always watching, Steve has nothing to wear. 

He twists this way and that in front of the mirror - assessing his one good suit, the one he generally reserves for business interviews and the like, and manfully resists the urge to tear it at the seams. The suit might be good enough to meet the occasional managing director, but Steve cannot show up to Tony Stark’s movie premiere in this. It’s simply not done.

“Steve honey!” his mother knocks on the door, huffing when she sees the way he’s glaring at himself in the mirror, “honey Bucky’s waiting for you downstairs; you’re going to be late”

“I’m not going,” he says, turning to face his mother with a frown, “I have nothing to wear”

“What’s wrong with what you’re wearing now?” his mother asks, brushing non-existent lint off his shoulders, “I think you look dashing” 

Steve just shrugs. There’s no good way to explain to your mother that a suit she bought for you with her hard earned money isn’t good enough for the actor who doesn’t know you exist. From the look she gives him though, Steve has the feeling that she already knows. 

His mother pulls at his tie slightly, silently gesturing for him to bend so that she can adjust it properly, “You look absolutely smashing darling, and if this isn’t good enough for your Tony Stark; well then maybe you should reconsider whether he’s the right man for you”

“You’re just saying that because you’re my mother,” Steve says in an accusing tone, but he still presses a kiss to her cheek and follows her down to where Bucky is waiting for him; one foot already out the door. 

“About time you brought your bony ass down,” Bucky says, “we’re going to be late. Bye Miss Rogers!” he calls over his shoulder, pulling Steve out the door and shoving him into the car. Steve barely has time to wave to his Ma before Bucky puts one foot on the gas and turns off their street. 

For all his complaining about being late, Steve and Bucky actually make it relatively early to the premiere. There’s a couple of people milling about, but not enough that they have to push through a huge crowd - so they take the opportunity to position themselves as close to the red carpet as possible. 

It’s only after the crowd starts filling out and some of the supporting cast members take to the red carpet that the reality of what’s about to happen truly hits Steve, and he turns to Bucky with wide eyes, “I’m about to see Tony Stark Buck. In person”

Bucky stops craning his neck to give Steve a rueful smile, “yeah you are punk - but if you keep looking at my ugly mug; you’re gonna miss it,” he grabs Steve’s chin and turns him to the road, where a black limousine is pulling up, “look - its your beau”

The driver steps out first, a burly man in a suit that’s more expensive than anything Steve’s ever owned; and he goes around to open up the passenger door. There’s a beat of silence; where fans and press alike are holding their breath - and then Tony Stark steps out, and Steve swears his heart drops. 

Tony looks absolutely resplendent, and Steve itches for a sketchbook to capture him. One hand fiddles with the button of his blazer while the other comes up to wave at the crowd; mouth stretched in a soft smile. 

It isn’t that Steve wasn’t aware of how attractive Tony was, he’s always been aware of how attractive Tony was, but it was one thing to see him in photos and videos; and another thing to see Tony Stark in person. He seemed to radiate beauty, and it was in everything he did: from the way he glided across the red carpet to the way he effortlessly dodged the thousands of fans that were reaching out to touch him, to be able to bask in his glory. 

Later, if you asked Steve to explain what happened - he couldn’t. But Bucky says it happened something like this.

Tony walks past them, and while he’s not facing them; it’s enough for Steve to just be this close to him. But then, inexplicably, Steve’s bracelet gets caught on the button of Tony’s blazer, on the hand that’s lying limply on his side - and Steve gets pulled onto the red carpet.

It doesn’t last more than a couple of seconds, because it doesn’t take long for Tony to realise that someone is pulling his hand. He turns to Steve with a mixture of confusion and anger, and Steve - at a loss for words; simply lifts up his wrist to show that no, he isn’t a creep that’s grabbed Tony’s hand, he’s simply been caught along for the ride. 

“Oh,” Tony says softly, face softening into one of amusement, and he reaches out to gently unclasp the bracelet from his blazer, “sorry about that”

Steve wants to tell him that there’s nothing to be sorry about, that Steve would gladly be attached to Tony’s blazer any day; but before he can get a word out - security grabs him with both arms and drags him away. The last thing that Steve sees before he’s thrown back into the crowd is Tony’s brilliant smile - concentrated completely on him.

Fin

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Ninety-Three: Painting ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

Every time he goes to that little cafe, Sasuke can’t help but look around for the mysterious painter.

Well...she’s not quite so mysterious now. After all, he knows her name, and had gotten to talk to her a bit when he and Itachi stumbled across her at the art show. It was nice to finally see what she’d been so fervently scribbling when they both were in the cafe at the same time. Even if it was also rather embarrassing to see himself as a subject of a painting...and even worse, Itachi actually bought it.

Upon his return home, he even texted Sasuke a picture of it hanging on his wall. To which Sasuke replied with several threats insisting he take it down before someone sees it.

...he hasn’t gotten a reply.

And of course, Itachi had ever so subtly gotten the younger pair to exchange numbers. But Sasuke hasn’t texted Hinata yet. Mostly because...he has no idea what he’d say. It’s not like they’re friends or anything. She’s a street artist who painted him once. They only talked for a few minutes at the art show she was in. What’s he supposed to offer to her based on so little?

She hasn’t texted him yet, either. Maybe she really didn’t want his number...after all, she’d clearly been caught off guard at being found by her unknowing subject. Add in Itachi’s insistence on buying it, and...maybe she was offended, or mad...but felt like she couldn’t say no.

...he hopes she wasn’t angry. Maybe just...surprised. Apparently Itachi had given her more than she asked for, after all…

...maybe she’s embarrassed.

But, whatever she is, Sasuke has no idea. All he knows is that their conversation under contacts is still empty, and neither of them seems to have any idea (or want) to break the silence.

All this he contemplates as he spaces out in line, waiting to get his favorite cup of black coffee. For once, he didn’t bring his laptop - no work to bring with him to work on and procrastinate by browsing online.

...maybe he’d been secretly hoping to run into her. Not that he has any idea what he’d say if he did. Theirs has just been such a funny little story, he was a little sad when it supposedly ended. Maybe she’s done coming to the cafe, moving on to a new venue and new subjects.

...why does that make him feel bummed out?

Getting his order, he retreats to his typical corner, sipping his coffee and staring boredly out the window. Well...she’s not here. Maybe he’ll go run some errands, or even see if Naruto’s up to anything. He’s not had a decent dose of socializing in a while, and his introversion needs a break every so often so he doesn’t forget what it is to be human.

Browsing social media idly on his phone, he glances up every time the bell over the door tolls. But each look sees him disappointed as it isn’t her. After half an hour of nothing, he sighs and gives up, pocketing his mobile and deciding to just...go for a walk.

Nothing better to do.

It’s still early Fall, the breeze a bit chilly but easily quelled with a heavy sweatshirt. This part of town has a decent amount of trees scattered around, blowing leaves of every warm shade across the sidewalks. Though more of a Summer guy himself, Sasuke can still appreciate the atmosphere of the season.

...maybe that’s what’s keeping Hinata out of the cafe. Surely all the colors and whatnot are giving her plenty of things to draw. He certainly wouldn’t blame her - it might not be the flowers and green of Summer, but surely it catches someone’s eye enough to maybe buy and support some of her work.

Twenty minutes pass in a mindless blur, Sasuke just strolling along whatever street strikes his fancy. It’s been a while since he’s been this far out on foot...and he tries not to drive when he can help it. Partly to save gas money, partly to be environmentally conscious...and mostly because he’d just rather be home.

Rounding a corner, he pauses as a faint...something reaches his ear. It sounds like music? Pinpointing the direction, he does his best to follow it, and eventually comes upon a street musician outside a small row of shops. No one he recognizes, they sit and play a guitar on a raised flower bed in the middle of the pedestrian-only street. Accompanying their playing they sing a few lyrics, a foot tapping in time to the music.

Watching, Sasuke can’t help a slowly-growing grin. He’s not a musician himself, never having tried (and having no motivation to), but his brother’s passion for it still rubs off on him a bit: he’s not an artist, but he’s a happy patron of it.

Every so often, people dare to scurry up and drop a tip in the open guitar case at his feet, earning a smile and a thankful nod with each note or clink or change. Taking out his wallet, Sasuke drops a ten dollar bill among the rest before retaking a place to watch.

“...Sasuke?”

Startling as his name is called, Sasuke glances around as a song ends, the small crowd clapping politely. A few feet over, seated on a bench with her sketchpad, is Hinata. “...hey!”

“What are you doing here?”

“Was going for a walk and heard the music...you?”

“Same, honestly. Was trying to find something to sketch.”

Glancing to her paper, he asks, “...you mind?”

In answer, she tilts it toward him. A scratchy but recognizable portrait of the musician is coming together under her hand. “I’ve only been here for about twenty minutes...I hope he stays long enough I can finish the sketch.”

“Could always ask him if he has plans to come back so you can keep going.”

“Mm...true.” Readjusting her work, she gets back to it as her model starts up another song.

Torn between curiosity and not wanting to be nosy, Sasuke only glances over every so often to catch a glimpse as she draws. Though she comes off as rather reserved, her strokes are anything but: sweeping, bold things that capture her subject in a grandiose style he wouldn’t have guessed to be hers if he didn’t see her do it himself. Swept up in it, he eventually just watches without pause, eyes following her movements as she slowly puts together her subject.

After another thirty minutes, the artist announces he has to pack it up, thanking the crowd for their generosity. By then, Hinata’s sketch is basically done: a likeness that Sasuke recognizes as very similar in its design to the one she did of him.

As the people break up and scatter, Hinata shyly approaches the guitarist, Sasuke hanging back as not to interrupt. Instead, he watches as she shows the man her work, which gets him to brighten and smile.

...for some reason, a slight damper weighs on Sasuke at the sight.

They talk for a minute more, the man nodding before moving to collect his tip and put away his instrument. Hinata in turn closes her sketchbook, retreating back to Sasuke. “He said he’ll be back on Wednesday, so I should be able to catch him.”

“That’s great. Think you’ll be able to finish it then?”

“Well, I usually just get the basic concept down with the s-subject, and then I fill in the blanks afterward from my imagination. It helps sort of...deviate it from reality a little bit. So it doesn’t feel too much like a...copy? More like a reference.”

“...I’ll pretend I understand that.”

That earns a laugh. “If I wanted to just copy what I was seeing, I might as well just take a photo, right? But I like to add my own style to what I draw. I get the skeleton in the sketch and cleaned up lines, and then I let my interpretation take over.”

Sasuke gives a slow nod. “...makes sense.”

“Do you…?”

“Hm?”

“Well, I was just curious if you do anything...creative,” Hinata offers, hugging her sketchbook to her chest. “Music, or...writing, maybe?”

“Me? Nah...my brother got all the creativity. I got all the logic. Not that he isn’t smart - he’s a genius. But I’ve never really found a creative outlet that I felt actually...fit me.”

Her head tilts, considering him for a moment. “I think...you might like p-photography.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a rather...technical artform. There’s rules you can follow, like how to proportion a shot to be the most pleasing to the eye. And all sorts of things you can focus on. Some people do portraits, or landscapes...or micro photography: really close ups of small things to see all the details!”

Sasuke blinks owlishly. He’s...never considered that before. “...maybe I’ll give it a try.”

“I’d love to see if you do!”

“So...do you have more paintings?”

“Oh...lots,” she admits, laughing sheepishly. “I sell a few online, but...m-most just sit in my studio and collect dust…”

“Itachi contact you at all about some buyers?”

“Not yet, but it hasn’t been very long. Besides, he was already m-more than generous. I’m not about to hold him to it.”

“Well, knowing him, he’ll come through. He’s just a busy guy. But uh…” Sasuke idly itches his neck. “...I’d like to see more of your stuff sometime. If I could.”

“Oh! Um...sure!” Her expression turns sheepish again. “Let me just, um...tidy up before then. I tend to let things get a bit...messy. But I can text you sometime once things aren’t so...chaotic.”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay! Um...it was nice seeing you again, Sasuke. Guess we just keep bumping into each other, huh?”

“Yeah. Kinda nice.”

“Mhm!” After a brief, growingly-awkward pause, she then offers, “I...better get home, though.”

“Same here. Have, uh...a nice evening.”

“You too!” She takes off down the street, and he finds himself a bit thankful it’s not the way he’s going. Nothing more embarrassing than saying goodbye and then having to walk together after…

Still, Sasuke finds his spirits a bit lightened from earlier. Well...maybe now he’ll finally get that text. Until then...he’ll just have to be patient.

                                                              .oOo.

     (This is a sequel to day 85!)      Now THIS is a throwback xD But given the prompt, I couldn't NOT do a follow up to day 85. Which I've wanted to, I just...didn't have a good prompt / reminder until now lol      I like to think Hinata's a creative type. Sasuke...maybe not so much xD I like having him be a musician sometimes, but being Mr. Logical also suits him, so it just varies from time to time. I actually do have him do some photography in a piece or two - I agree with Hinata, it fits well x3      Anyway I reallllly need to get to bed, so...that's all for now! Thanks for reading~

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

After the Fall Ch.14 Reflections

LoganLight, AO3

Notes:

Trigger Warning: Panic Attack.

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Alya was confused.

She didn't like being confused. Even if the source of her confusion was making her other friends happy. Things should make sense when you put them together. That's not to say she didn't see the pattern.

Nino started talking to her about his music again. And more than that, actually sharing it with her. Letting her listen to unfinished mixes and accepting her input.

Marinette was having bursts of inspiration Alya hadn't seen in months. And she wasn't ripping out the Chat Noir inspired designs from her sketchbook like she used to, either.

Alya knew exactly who was responsible for these positive changes: Adrien Agreste!

. . . Okay, so it was probably too convenient for Adrien to be responsible for everything. But he was definitely a major factor!

Nino was spending more time with Adrien (and Kagami). Alya was happy Nino wasn't coming to her about Adrien being reserved around him anymore . . . Although, it was a bit weird that Nino wasn't being as forthcoming about his best friend as he used to be.

Marinette had the opposite reaction, her girl had so many thoughts they all came out in a jumble. They had talked late into the night about that first conversation after half a year of stuttering and single syllable answers. A conversation Adrien had started.

Maybe she was reading too much into this. It was normal to be happy when your friend starts talking to you again . . . But she needed to distract herself from Chat Noir.

Ladybug probably regrets telling me about that.

Alya was in the unenviable position of wanting to respect Ladybug's privacy and really, really wanting to know what happened to Chat Noir. Even if she'd only asked a handful of times her questions upset Ladybug. And that just wouldn't do.

So, without the boys around Rena Rouge had apologized for her behavior. That wasn't something she wanted to repeat anytime soon. Ladybug had enough to deal with as it was.

Still. Sometimes Ladybug acted . . . un-Ladybug-like. The guys wouldn't say anything so that left Rena Rouge to tactfully suggest maybe not putting their heavy hitter in the back. Alya understood why; Ladybug already lost one Black Cat, she wasn't about to lose another one.

Alya put those thoughts into the back of her mind to better focus on the blond enigma in front of her.

Adrien went from being Chloe's friend to her best friend's crush to her boyfriend's best friend. Throughout that first year Alya had spent precious little time actually being Adrien's friend. Instead focusing on Marinette's elaborate . . . she didn't want to say 'schemes'.

Alya hadn't noticed until Marinette's plans went from trying to gain Adrien's affection to trying to help Adrien open up.

And I thought her romance-oriented plans were out there.

. . . Alya really shouldn't be doing this . . . But she wanted to help. She wanted to know. And she wasn't the only one; the whole class wanted to know too.

Good thing Alix is here.

That girl made sure everyone had their head on straight. Especially Kim. Alix was good at talking Marinette out of some . . . questionable ideas. And keeping the art room from bugging Rose about her bandmate too much.

Or she used to. Everyone seemed to have accepted that whatever-it-is would remain a mystery. Adrien was smiling after all. Playing video games with Max, taking part in Kim's silly challenges, giving Nathaniel and Marc constructive criticism (not sure how that happened) on their comics, and basically being more involved with his friends than ever.

Maybe she should just let this go? Adrien wasn't the only one that ever died in an akuma attack or the only one to take it this hard. Alya shuddered as she remembered Syren.

"Trixx, what do you think?"

"I think you've been staring at a guy who isn't your boyfriend longer than socially acceptable," Trixx replied from his hiding place in her hair.

Alya blushed. "I have not!"

Some of the students in the courtyard turned to give her funny looks. Thankfully Adrien and Kagami were too far away to hear. Alya held her phone a bit higher, pretending to speak into it. No, it wasn't recording. Yet.

"Mm, you kind of have though. It's starting to reach Marinette levels," Trixx pointed out.

"I'm nowhere near Marinette levels!" Alya whisper-shouted.

"True. She never took pictures."

Alya groaned. Or maybe it was a growl.

"Didn't Nino make it abundantly clear that Adrien doesn't want to tell anyone else whatever-it-is?" Trixx reminded her.

"According to the Bro Code it is totally prohibited for me to reveal confidential info without the express permission of said bro . . . Sorry, dude."

". . . I wanna be mad at him."

"For being as good a friend to Adrien as you are to Marinette?"

"Majestia help me. It sounds so terrible when you put it like that."

Trixx patted her head. "You're a good Fox. And part of being a good Fox is knowing when to keep a secret."

"Even though I don't actually know it?"

"Especially then."

Alya lowered her phone. "So . . . No more snooping around Adrien?"

"What're you asking me for?"

"Right," Alya stood straighter and repeated herself with more conviction. "Right! Adrien is my friend who greatly values his privacy and I should respect-"

"M. DUPAIN! W-w-what are you doing here!?"

Alya looked at Adrien again and standing beside him was indeed Tom Dupain. How had she missed someone so tall? Alya walked toward them.

"-seen Marinette?" Tom Dupain asked.

"N-n-no." Adrien took a step back. "She m-might be in the art room."

Kagami grasped one of his hands tightly and stepped forward. "I'm sure Marinette just forgot to turn her phone back on . . . M. Damocles! M. Dupain is looking for Marinette."

Adrien quickly backed away, removing his hand from Kagami's who followed a step behind. Kagami positioned herself between Tom Dupain and Adrien.

"-really come to the office first." M. Damocles chastised.

"Oh, yes, of course! It's just . . . where is that again?"

Alya passed the two adults who didn't notice Adrien curling in on himself.

"It wasn't him . . . It wasn't him . . . It wasn't him . . . It wasn't him!"

"What- What's going on?" she asked Kagami.

Kagami ignored her and reached toward Adrien, who was pressing himself against the wall. "Adrien-"

"Don't. Touch. Me."

Kagami snatched her hand back. Adrien took deep breaths. Alya restrained herself from asking more questions.

Nino zoomed past her. "Adrien! Dude, what-"

Kagami jerked him to a stop.

"Hey!"

"He said no touching," Kagami explained.

"Oh . . ." Nino glanced from Adrien to their surroundings, his frown deepened.

Alya followed his gaze and realized they were attracting attention.

Nino gave Kagami a you-know-what-to-do look. She nodded and turned to glare at the gawkers; suddenly everyone was very interested in something else.

"Hey, bro? You wanna, maybe, go somewhere less . . . public?"

". . . Don't talk to me like that."

". . . You're totally causing a scene and I know you hate that. So get your butt moving, dude!"

Adrien's lips twitched. "Okay." He wouldn't meet anyone's eyes as he made his way to the boy's restroom.

"Nino!" This time Alya reached out to stop him. "Wait. What . . . What triggered him?"

Nino glanced between Alya's expectant face and Adrien's retreating back. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Ah, yeah. Look, dude, Adrien needs me now but, uh . . . Kagami! You explain!"

Alya turned to see Kagami's look of surprise and then turned back just in time to see her boyfriend disappear into the boy's room.

Why, that little-

"Coward!" Kagami exclaimed.

I'm the only one allowed to insult my boyfriend!

Alya mentally shook the automatic thought away. "So, how 'bout that explanation?"

"My honor prevents me from divulging anything without Adrien's consent," Kagami replied neutrally.

That sounded suspiciously similar to what Nino had told her . . . Although it wasn't any different from what Kagami had said before. The idea that the three of them had planned specifically for her left Alya feeling  . . . conflicted.

"All I want is to know what happened so I can help! Then Adrien won't have to deal with . . . This!" Alya gestured vaguely around them.

Kagami's eyes softened. "Today was a special circumstance. I doubt he's encountered this trigger at all since the incident."

Alya tried not to feel annoyed at the deflection. "This trigger? What was different today?"

Kagami just raised an eyebrow.

"Adrien, you, no Nino, no Marinette, M. Dupain . . ." Alya's eyes widened. "Weredad!"

"Keep your voice down!"

"Of course! The timing matches up! That's why he . . . Oh."

"It took you this long to piece that together?"

"I was a bit distracted at finding out one of my friends died! Not turned into a statue or encased in magical ice or . . . Or anything else! Died."

Kagami's look shifted. "Is this the first time it's happened to someone close to you?"

"No, but . . . It's been a while."

"I see." Kagami must've seen that Alya didn't want to talk about that with her. "Have you told Marinette?"

"My girl has enough to deal with. I can't just go 'Hey, Marinette! Adrien died half a year ago and didn't tell anyone because reasons!' "

"Perhaps you should say that louder so everyone can hear," Kagami said sarcastically.

Alya ignored this and barreled on with her rant. "No way! Not doing that! Especially with Weredad involved. She has this weird guilt about that villain! Knowing Adrien got caught up in it will only make her feel worse!"

"And how would Adrien feel if I betrayed his trust by telling you something he doesn't want me to?"

. . . Well, drat.

"That's a fair point but I already figured out Weredad. Isn't there anything you can tell me about what happened?"

"Adrien didn't offer specifics and I didn't ask."

Alya sighed in defeat. Kagami hadn't budged since this whole affair started. At this point Alya was just questioning Kagami out of habit.

"At least I know why Adrien was avoiding my girl now."

"Right. That's why he did that."

". . . Do you think Nino needs help?"

"Boy's bathroom. And no, he's much better at getting Adrien to 'chill' than I am."

"You three seem close."

"Hasn't Nino provided exposition?"

"My boyfriend is suspiciously unforthcoming"

Kagami smiled. "He really is terrible at keeping secrets."

"Oh, you have no idea."

Kagami gave her a thoughtful look. "How is Marinette?"

"Well, now that 'Sunshine' is talking to her again Marinette's obs- concern is at an all time low. Thanks for that."

Kagami shook her head. "I should be thanking you. I don't think Adrien would have opened up to Nino when he did if you hadn't talked to him. You're a good friend."

Gratitude swelled in Alya's chest at the words.

"He's had fewer off day's with Nino around," Kagami continued. "Today notwithstanding."

"Do you think they'll stay in there all day?" Alya remembered Adrien's previous episodes.

"Adrien's stronger than you think," Kagami stated with conviction.

As if to prove her point that's when the boys emerged. Nino looked at the girls nervously. Adrien seemed embarrassed but held his head up.

Kagami stepped toward them and raised an eyebrow "Well?"

Adrien took a deep breath and said, "I need to see M. Dupain again."

"What!?" Alya exclaimed.

Kagami's other eyebrow rose to meet the first then she narrowed her eyes accusingly at Nino.

"Dude, it's not my fault! I tried to talk him out of it! Bro's seriously determined."

Kagami looked at Adrien. "You shouldn't push yourself before you're ready. Healing takes time."

"I've had time. Now I need to face my demons." Adrien squared his shoulders.

"That's great and all," Alya said. "But you faced him ten minutes ago. Didn't turn out so great."

"Understatement," Nino agreed.

Adrien gave a questioning look to Kagami.

"She knows about Weredad," Kagami explained.

"Ah." Adrien pushed his surprise aside and looked at them, unwavering. "He took me by surprise. I can do this! . . . If you help me."

Well . . . That's just cheating.

Kagami stared at him for a moment. Apparently satisfied with what she saw Kagami nodded. "Alright."

"What!?" Nino cried out, full of concern. "But . . . Dude . . ."

"He says he can do it," Kagami said, giving Nino a meaningful look.

Nino glanced between Adrien and Kagami, his worried eyes landed on Alya.

"I'm in," Alya said.

Adrien gave her a grateful smile.

Nino slumped in resignation but quickly straitened and set his cap. "Right dudes! If we're gonna do this someone needs to look out for Marinette and Chloe."

Alya understood perfectly. Didn't want Marinette seeing Adrien react badly to her dad. And as for Chloe . . .

------------------------------------------------------

"Of course Queen Bee is the best superhero!" Chloe exclaimed. "But at least Panthera is much better than that mangy alley cat who turned tail and ran!"

The courtyard was suddenly very quiet except for Marinette's growling beside Alya. Nino and Kagami stood next to a stiff Adrien, shooting daggers at Chloe.

"What?" Chloe asked disdainfully. "Anyone with eyes can see it. Ladybug herself told me Chat Noir just up and left! Right?"

Sabrina nodded vigorously.

Alya wasn't sure who was angrier: her or Nino. That was not what Ladybug told them! Alya opened her mouth to launch verbal barbs at Chloe, but her words were lost in the cacophony of voices.

"How dare you!?"

"Like you'd know a good superhero-"

"Chloe Bourgeois!"

"-if he fell on your head!"

"Chat Noir was an awesome hero!"

"Ladybug would be ashamed of-"

"Oh, please!'" Chloe cut them off . "Like you haven't been thinking the same thing! We're all better off without that-"

"Shut. Up."

Everyone stared at Adrien in varying degrees of shock. He was trembling, eyes down and fists clenched.

"A-all you do is i-insult everyone around you. Criticizing e-every flaw l-like you don't have any." Adrien looked up to glare at Chloe who stood frozen. "That- That's not okay! J-just because you're in pain doesn't give you the right to m-make everyone else as miserable as you!"

Adrien bolted. Chloe lurched after him. "Adrien, wait!"

She didn't get far as Nino blocked her path. "No, you don't, dude!"

"Outta my way you-"

Kagami walked up to Nino's side "No."

Fluttering black wings appeared in the corner of Alya's eye. She whipped her head toward it so fast pain flared in her neck . . . But it was only a white butterfly.

Unease filled Alya as she gazed around at her agitated classmates. Alix and Kim glared angrily at Chloe. The blond herself demanded to see Adrien, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. Rose and Juleka held each other while Luka stood protectively near them. Max was attempting to calm a confused Markov. It was a powder keg.

Alya turned to a troubled Marinette who gazed in the direction Adrien fled. "Girl, you gotta do something."

Marinette snapped out of her thoughts. "M-me?"

"Yes, you!" Alya took in everyone around them with her hands. "This is one black butterfly short of an akuma attack."

"Yeah, but . . ."

"They'll listen to you, Marinette."

Determination filled Marinette"s eyes as she nodded. "Make sure Adrien doesn't get akumatized."

"You got it, girl."

As Marinette went to pacify a former Bee, a Turtle, and a potential Dragon, Alya searched for Adrien. He wasn't hard to find.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

Alya is being introspective (and a bit hard on herself) due to circumstances. Trixx can totally hide in her hair and no one can convince me otherwise! Trixx is either a more nuanced Plagg or a more mischievous Tikki: I can't decide which.

The second part is a flashback in case that wasn't clear.

Chloe is the most vocal critic of Chat Noir. If she was less clingy or if Adrien was more vulnerable I believe he'd take it MUCH harder than he does in canon. Though he might be repressing that like he does everything else. Also, Adrien is her main motivator when it comes to improving herself. Take him away and she regresses easily.

As for Alya's observations in the beginning: All of her friends are under new and stressful conditions that have only really been normalizing recently. Her boyfriend and best friend are creative types and stress is very good at giving you a creative block.

(Also, I’m taking liberties with panic attacks because I didn’t research them at all when I wrote this. Sorry, about that.)

Ch.1  Ch.2  Ch.3   Ch.4  Ch.5  Ch.6  Ch.7  Ch.8  Ch.9  Ch.10  Ch.11  Ch.12  Ch.13     Ch.15  Ch.16  Ch.17  Ch.18  Ch.19  Ch.20  Ch.21  Ch.22

[written-s0ul]

Someday (1/2)

SUMMARY. Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader. Modern AU. You haven’t talked to Bucky — the ex you’re on good terms with — for a few years now. To break the ice, you decided to prank him with a call — of a fake pregnancy. Inspired by real events.

WARNINGS. Kids? HAHAHA. Fluff & fun. Clint Barton x Laura Barton.

WORD COUNT. 981! Shortest one I’ve ever had for a first part omg.

AUTHOR’S NOTES. So, this has been sitting in my drafts since February. I was supposed to post it for Valentine’s but, yeah, things got hella busy, especially as I will finally be graduating high school in three weeks!!! I hope this soothes any pain you have after watching Infinity War, if you have watched. <3

#1: you are here / #2

Years of babysitting have taught you two things: (1) kids were demons; and (2) you want to raise one.

Hell breaks loose the moment they’re in tears; but the moment you’ve coaxed them to sleep, to smile, to laugh — it’s like you’ve opened up the gates to heaven. There’s no other feeling like it. You’d certainly like to experience it one day. Not right now, but certainly someday.

For now, babysitting for your good Barton friends (while they had their long-due date night, jeezuskrist Clint) was enough.

You didn’t know their kids well, having met them on only a few occasions. So, it was certainly awkward at the beginning of the night, but as it progressed, they warmed up to you, at least in some degree.

Cooper, the eldest, was a sullen boy, shy and reserved — perhaps as expected for a boy going through puberty, when being supervised by an unfamiliar adult — but still so unlike his father. He spent most of the night in his room, only coming out twice: once for dinner, and another for the bathroom. You tried to engage with him both times, ask about school or his friends, but he never said anything more than three words at a time. When he only stared at you when you asked about his obsession with Transformations (or was it Transformers? What did Laura say?), you knew it was time to give up and let the kid have his solitude.

Nathaniel Pietro, on the other hand, was the exact opposite, being the youngest and the one of highest maintenance. Probably because he was a five-year-old, a loud and playful one too, with a habit of throwing toy balls across the room and of waddling around the house, constantly on the move. Distracting him to keep him stationary was exhausting. You could only breathe a sigh of relief once his eyes began to droop after dinner. Although, you had to admit, with him tucked in bed, a great deal of noise and fun was lost. You missed him already.

Peace was yet to come, however. Lila, the middle one, was the human equivalent of a Golden Retriever puppy. Sometimes skipping around the house, occasionally drawing in her sketchbook, often chatting your ear off with an eagerness to please. Such as right now. With your permission to stay up past her eight o’clock bedtime (hey, kids don’t get this chance a lot), she now sat next to you on the floor in the living room, drawing cartoonish characters with the television on, talking about her feuding friends in the art club. It was indeed a complicated situation. You were most certainly glad to not be in that stage of your life anymore.

She sat in silence now, her entire being focused in coloring her work. Now with her completely distracted, you took this chance to check your phone. No new messages. (Let’s pretend that doesn’t hurt.) But there were a few Facebook reminders about upcoming birthdays and events happening near you. You sighed. Might as well.

You pressed on that notification. Hey, it was Sharon Carter’s birthday yesterday! Greet her. Ah shit, you forgot about that. Maybe you’ll send her a short message later.

Scrolling past that, your eyes fell on the birthdays today. Tandy Bowen just turned thirty-six, greet her! Don’t know her, not sure why you even added her as a friend in the first place —

Hey, it’s Bucky Barnes’ birthday today! Write a greeting now …

Your heart leapt. Shit — it’s his thirty-fifth. How could you forget? You literally celebrated it with him, like, four times, before the inevitable break-up three years ago. Then again, you were always horrible at remembering dates. Your exam scores in history could attest to that.

You stared at the familiar profile picture: his face — still so fresh for a thirty-five year old — angled away from the camera, looking out to a snowy mountain — filtered in black and white (his favorite filter — such an old man at heart). Three years ago, that used to be the two of you. At the beach, his eyes gazing down at you as you looked out at the sunset — a beautiful photograph taken by your mutual friend, Natasha. It was lovely, both the photo and the day it was captured.

Should you greet him?

Both of you did spend four wonderful years of your lives together; that wasn’t nothing. And it’s not like the relationship ended on a bad note! Just that you wanted a family and he didn’t. That’s all. It simply wasn’t going anywhere.

Nevertheless, you promised to stay friends. Even though you’ve called each other, what, probably four times for the last three years? Perhaps this was a good chance, then, to start again?

Fingers flying across the keypad, you prepared a short message. 

Hey, Bucky! Oh my god, it’s your birthday! Your body is finally catching up to your soul!

Too many exclamation points. Rewrite.

Hey, Buck. Sending you my warmest wishes for a happy birthday.

Too formal. Again.

Hey, Bucky! How you doin’? Hope your day’s going well. It’s your birthday after all. Can you believe it? God —

Getting too long. Again.

Hey, Bucky! Happy thirty-fifth, I hope today was filled with all your favorite guilty pleasures!

Okay, what the fuck? Why’s this so hard? It shouldn’t be this hard to write a simple birthday message to a friend. Or ex-boyfriend, whatever. Same thing.

Damn it, who’re you kidding? This shit’s too fucking awkward. You need something to crack open the ice you’ve left freezing between the two of you. Something funny, something shocking, something …

Your eyes fell on Lila’s drawing. It was a family, two parents with three kids, one of which was carrying a toddler …

It hit you.

Lips stretching to a wide smile, you poked Lila’s shoulder. She looked up at you.

“Hey, Lila, can you help me with something?”

A/N. Sorry, it’s short. This is mostly build up and exposition. Next part will be posted on Thursday, probably! :D Hope you enjoyed this. <3

Tagging: (If you’d like to be tagged to the story or permanently, let me know!)

@courtneychicken @riddikuluslyemily @zadyalyss @iamwarrenspeace @l-tay @sebastianstanslefteyebrow @proving-myself-wrong @cassandras-musings

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

Blue, Red and Lavender

ML Rare Pair March 2018, Pair: Gabriel Agreste x Mrs. Agreste, Day 24: First Date, for Remasa

AO3 / fanfiction.net

(Other days: 6 | 8 | 20 | 24 | 27 |)

|This is also a sequel to my Gabriel Appreciation Week story - Doomsday, and Day 27 is Part 3 of this series.

‘Boatline or jewel? Both would look good…’

The most promising of Reboux designers was seated at the employees’ cafe at the company’s headquarters, a stack of papers piling up on his table, next to three empty cups and a half eaten sandwich.

‘A-line skirt, yes, but it needs to end below the knee,’ he was sketching furiously and murmuring under his breath, earning sideway glances from the staff and any of his coworkers who happened to pass by him.

‘Empire waist is a bit too much…’ he tore one of the half finished sketches, absently made a ball out of it and dropped it on the floor, absolutely unaware of the annoyed stare the barista sent his way.

‘Maybe I should try a v-neck? For a summer dress this would be more appropriate…’ the mumbling continued to the scribbling of pencil on paper, and yet another design emerged from the depths of his imagination, fleshing up thanks to a little bit of carbon and cellulose into a slender figure of a young woman. If anyone bothered to inspect any of the bits of paper on and around Gabriel’s table, they would discover that she was present on each and every one of them - long, wavy hair, large eyes, full lips, hourglass figure and cosmic legs of a model. Any random passerby would probably just shrug, assuming this was Monsieur Agreste’s standard design fill-in model. It would take a fellow fashionista, subscriber of La Mode, to spot the cunning resemblance to their top journalist, one Emilie Launder, aka every designers’ nightmare with deceitful looks of a daydream.

And daydreaming Gabriel was.

‘V-neck would show more cleavage which is good in summer… ekhm, ekhm-’

He felt the blood rushing to his cheeks at the thought of Mademoiselle Launder’s chest exposed in the flowing v-neckline dress he was currently drawing, and a coughing fit followed making him even more red. Gabriel tried to dismiss this vision. He was a professional, for heaven’s sake. He dealt with cleavages and hips and legs on a daily basis. It was his job to make them look attractive. How on earth was he suddenly blushing like a schoolgirl, and at his own design nonetheless.

‘Well, this is a really promising dress,’ he was startled by a pleasantly low rumble at his ear and choked on his own saliva when a perfectly manicured red nail tapped at the waistline of the drawing, ‘but I look better in a ¾ length,’ Mlle Launder murmured winking at him.

Gabriel spluttered something incoherent in reply, feeling his cheeks warming up dangerously close to self-combust. He shook his head. This wouldn’t do. He just needed a moment to get his treacherous body under control and to reboot his brain after the woman of his dreams and drawings suddenly materialized in the cafe.  

She watched with open amusement as he held up a finger and took a deep breath.

‘Fancy seeing you here, Monsieur Agreste,’ she pursed her lips in vain attempt to hold back the satisfied smirk.

Gabriel’s neurons finally reconnected. ‘Um, I work here?’ he ventured, not quite trusting his voice yet.

‘Oh, a second gig as a barista?’ she chuckled. ‘I already got that you were a man full of surprises.  And here I thought Reboux paid his designers a decent salary.’

Her suggestion rendered him speechless once again, until his two remaining brain cells prompted that this might have been a joke. He cleared his throat. ‘Your presence, however pleasant, is a surprise, mademoiselle,’ he said finally rising from his seat and taking her hand.

‘Is it? I think I’ve told you I would hunt you down, haven’t I?’ she firmly shook his palm, not allowing for a hand kiss this time.

Gabriel tried to suppress his disappointment. ‘Indeed,’ he nodded gravely, putting on the neutral face of a professional. It would look much better without the fiercely stinging blush.

Emilie raised a perfect brow at him. ‘And you never called,’ she reminded.

‘I’ve been…’ his gaze flickered to the sketchbook and the piles of papers in the neighborhood, ‘busy,’ he ended lamely. What was he supposed to tell her? That he couldn’t get her out of his mind since their meeting at the Fashion Week? That every time he took his pencil, the only thing he could think of was another design for her? That his superiors didn’t mind when instead of his entries for men’s autumn line he presented them with a complete collection of smart dresses and gowns worthy of a princess and he was given a free pass to work wherever and on whatever he wanted as long as the results would match these first drawings? At this rate he would single-handedly fill the next few seasons of Reboux womenswear before the midyear evaluation.

‘Indeed,’ she repeated his own words, eyeing the sketches at the same time. ‘And not only with the designs,’ she added. ‘All I asked was a phone call.’

Gabriel’s face fell from carefully impassive to worried. ‘I have sent you some… messages. Didn’t you get them?’

‘Oh, I did,’ a Cheshire cat grin appeared on her face. ‘Our office ran out of vases by Wednesday. My desk looks like I’ve robbed a flower shop,’ she paused mid sentence and cast him a questioning look. ‘You didn’t rob a flower shop, did you?’

Despite his debilitating state he somehow managed to scowl in indignation.

‘I asked you to call, not to arrange a garden in La Mode’s office,’ Emilie sighed.

‘I’m sorry?’ Gabriel squeaked. Apparently he misread her signals and acting purely on his infatuation might have overdone in wooing Mlle Launder with romantic gestures. Just a little bit. Okay, maybe more than a bit. So sue him. … Would she though? He gulped.

‘Let’s see,’ the woman tapped her red lips with a slender finger. ‘On Thursday I found daffodils. I obviously felt flattered that you remembered what I said about French gentlemen going extinct.’

Regard and chivalry. That had been his first idea.

‘Then the yellow tulips on Friday got a good giggle out of me and a few sour smiles from my coworkers,’ she continued, for now choosing to look around the cafe.

Sunshine in your smile. Gabriel thought it would be a good follow-up. Not too invasive but sustaining the interest.

‘I admit I was a bit surprised to find that stunning amaryllis waiting on my desk on Monday when I got back from lunch,’ she still wasn’t looking at him, but he didn’t miss the delicate coat of pink that colored her cheeks at the mention of amaryllis.

Splendid beauty. But that was hardly news. Surely she must have known what a gorgeous woman she was? He had some reservations about the amaryllis, but over the weekend he somehow convinced himself that he might have already lost her attention. When he found it on the flower market that Monday morning he bought it without really thinking it through. Unlike the tulips and the daffodils, he had to sit on this idea for a bit, and hadn’t decided to call for the office-boy until lunch.

‘Now you will probably be glad to hear that my coworkers lasted until Tuesday, before they started with their sarcastic comments, dubbing me the Sunflower Girl,’ she sent him a sweet smile. ‘Because sunflowers are my favorite.’

Adoration and dedication. Also bingo! He knew she’d like them.

‘We ran out of vases at the red carnations on Wednesday,’ Emilie mentioned casually. ‘And I could no longer evade questions about my secret admirer. Since by then at least some people in the office had done their homework on flower symbolism.’

Uh-oh. Were the red carnations for admiration already too much? But in that case today’s bouquet-

His train of thought was interrupted as Reboux’s office boy stuck his head into the cafe. He spotted the designer and strode in their direction with a broad grin, that was undoubtedly a result of the handsome pay Gabriel offered for the extra delivery for the last few days.

‘Monsieur Agreste,’ his smile broadened as he halted at the table. ‘I’m on my break so I can drop these beauties at La Mode now, if you want to,’ he carefully lifted the bouquet in question. A perfect arrangement of roses appeared in their vision and Gabriel noted with no small amount of satisfaction that his companion gasped at the display. Red, lavender and blue combined into one ample bunch.

He could almost hear the cogs in Mlle Launder’s brain spinning as she worked out the meaning behind the flowers and their colors. And when her delicate blush deepened, he knew he chose well.

‘Thank you, Jean-Luc, that won’t be necessary today,’ Gabriel passed the boy a 200 franc bill. After carefully depositing his cargo in the designer’s hands he left with a grin dangerously close to ripping his face in half.

Monsieur Agreste turned to the journalist. She was still staring at the roses, stunned into silence for the very first time. It was very satisfying, if he said so himself. His daily visits at the flower market and then the time it took to arrange the flowers personally had definitely paid off, if it had such an effect on her, even temporarily.

‘I see you have done your homework on plant symbolism too, mademoiselle,’ Gabriel murmured.

‘Blue for unattainable or mysterious,’ Emilie started weakly, ‘red for longing and desire. And lavender...,’ she reached to touch the delicate petals.

‘For love at first sight,’ he finished for her as he put his hand over hers.

She stilled and cleared her throat, apparently ready to take the initiative again. ‘Well, well, Monsieur Agreste,’ she drawled locking her emerald eyes with his aquamarine ones. ‘Now tell me, are you planning to propose with another bouquet before I finally ask you out on the first date?’

[cmcrson-blog]

WHATS UP Y’ALL ITS YA BITCH NICKI AGAIN N IM SO EXCITED TO INTRODUCE YOU TO MY SOFT LIL FIGHTER BABY EMERSON WHO I LOVE V MUCH AND I HOPE YALL WILL TOO. LIKE THIS N ILL COME TO U FOR PLOTS (for both her n mack if we havent already!!)

ABOUT EMERSON 

TW VIOLENCE AND FIGHTING

EMERSON BLACKWOOD. 20. ENGLISH LIT MAJOR. PISCES. WEREWOLF. COULD PROBABLY SNAP UR SPINE LIKE A TOOTHPICK BUT REALLY JUST WANTS TO CUDDLE.

ok so while most, if not all, the students at hexlore were raised supernatural, em wasn't 

emerson was actually born human and had a perfectly normal childhood up until around the age of 15 

for reasons she doesn't readily talk about, she was hexed by a very powerful witch with the lycanthropy curse 

her parents and siblings obviously didnt believe her, so when she transformed one night unexpectedly, they ended up thinking she was a wild wolf who had gotten into the house and killed her. they attacked her and she was left within an inch of her life before she could escape

she would have died that night if it weren't for pure luck that a travelling pack was passing through the wooded area where she had ended up collapsing. they stayed there with her for the night and healed her up, taking her in and initiating her into their pack. with nothing left to lose and a spirit as broken as hers, she accepted it and left with them. 

not only did she join a big pack, she joined a freaking strong one, and as the newest recruit she was the runt of the group. she felt more like a burden than an actual pack member, so she began to train in order to earn her place 

though they were a wandering pack, they'd stop in cities long enough for her and the other minors in the pack to be able to finish a solid school year, and in each new city, em would become a permanent fixture at their local gym. every day, she was there, working on getting stronger and more powerful and being able to prove herself. too swole to control bro

 all the bullshit she had gone through ignited something within her, something equal parts destructive and encouraging. her pain transformed itself into pure, unfiltered rage, which has become the staple of emerson's personality 

first off— she is (thankfully) the OPPOSITE of mack's dumb ass lmaooo

she’s really reserved and not very outgoing (just a lil shy..... wow how cute). she’s this tol cute bean with this long curly hair and these big blue eyes so she’s not exactly unapproachable but she’s also buff as FUQ and has this mysterious, enigmatic energy to her and tbh that makes her lowkey scary to approach

esp also considering that she’s almost ALWAYS got a black eye or bloodied knuckles or bruises scattering her body, she kinda looks terrifying and like she might try to snap ur arm in half

she’s honestly a super sweet soft soul, she genuinely is just bubbling with kindness and good intentions but she tries to keep her distance from the world bc oh dear 

emerson has a fucking TEMPER

and it’s not the “i’ll snap and be petty” it’s a “i won’t react until you keep pushing my buttons and then i’ll fucking snap and smash a table in half, punch a hole in the wall, and say a LOT of things i’ll regret”

she recognizes how dangerous and harmful this pent up aggression and rage is so she genuinely tries to keep it under check by withdrawing from a lot of over-stimulating situations and environments

she’s that bitch™ who’s always like “i...... i should go....” 

you would expect her to be this angry cynical bitch but honestly?? she keeps the anger beneath the surface tbh she’s really sweet and gentle. she’s also like.... a hopeless romantic and believes in being kind to the world and she’s SUCH A GOOD ARTIST but her main passion is honestly fighting so that’s why she hasn’t dropped it entirely despite how dangerous it is

she’s really scared that one of these days, her feelings are just gonna shut down and she’ll lose her humanity and get consumed my her own darkness and just become this awful angry monster of a person, which is why she tries SO DAMN HARD to be kind and gentle and good

(lowkey she’s gonna turn it off eventually for a hot minute bc i def want to play dark!emerson at some point HKJFHKHF)

also.... she’s loyal to a fucking FAULT nd would prob take a bullet for her loved ones. its altruism at its finest with this one. she’s also pretty softspoken but definitely stands up for what’s right, she won’t hesitate to literally snap ur fucking femur if you’re fucking with someone you shouldn’t be

on that note— she’s STRONG. like almost excessively strong, partially bc of her training 24/7, also partially bc her anger fuels her additional strength. but like.... she has the potential to honestly be an alpha if she really pushed herself

if i had to compare her to some characters from modern media..... stefan salvatore, the iron giant, scott mccall??

tldr: basically a big dreamy beefcake with anger issues who could probably snap u in half if u fuck with her loved ones. also has a sad past but is tryna turn her shit around without hurting anyone in the process which makes her reserved n secretive oh nooo

WANTED CONNECTIONS

crushes: one sided, mutual, lowkey, highkey infatuation, pls just give em the ability to be cute and sweet but also sometimes a bumbling fool

i want a plot where em admires someone from afar and is just like.... soft n always leaves them flowers or draws them in her little sketchbook

besties: emerson literally goes along w everything thus making her a valuable member to any and all squads. she’s also versatile, she can go from being that art nerd friend to that jock/fighter friend to that mom friend to that innocent friend to that leader friend. literally give my puppy of a person some buds pls

fighting plots: people who help her train, people who want her to stop, a love interest who bandages her up every time after a bad fight, anything pls

guardian: someone em looks out for fiercely and protectively or someone who looks out for her too n checks up on her when she has her bad moments

exes: she’s demisexual & demiromantic so she only starts to fall for people that she’s gotten to know or at least knows about. i really want an ex (or a few??) that were super cute and sweet when they dated but then em just kinda ended things out of nowhere? maybe she ghosted them, broke up over text, literally so out of nowhere and ur muse doesnt know why??? but it’s actually because em was too scared she’d end up hurting them so she ended things as a preemptive move to protect everyone

coworkers/customers: she works on campus somewhere bc she needs that cash money (im thinkin library) so i’d love a few plots of either people who work with her or people she sees constantly bc theyre always coming in??

“but nicki,” u may be asking, “where’s the fwb plots??” 

SURPRISE BITCH EMERSON’S A    V I R G I N

considering that mack is a heathen who prob has enough sex for the both of them i wanted to make emerson way more inexperienced since this bitch doesn’t like to get too attached to ppl

which means new potential wanted connection: her first time