#wind is the embodiment of a seagull | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

astroyongie · 4 months

Text

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Moonlight

Pairing: Jake x Reader

Warnings: Slight mention of drugs and alcohol, overall fluff and flirt?

Note: Hope you guys will like this one <3 writing block is still strong

You can read with this song: https://open.spotify.com/intl-pt/track/0laLzrH5PsoA7HpGw2vCVh?si=4930b8d16e2441f1

You loved summer nights.

They were even better at the beach.

It was the embodiment of a symphony of warmth and tranquility under a blanket of stars. The air is alive with the soft hum of waves crashing into the shore and the occasional rustle of seagulls that hunted in the late hours. A faint scent of weed and cigarette lingers in the breeze, while distant laughter and music carry on the wind, echoing the joy of your friends that had come around to celebrate the last week of summer.

The plan was simple, everyone got some drinks and food, and you would all party until sunset, or at least that was what your friends tried to convince you of. The bonfire was lit and the scarlet flames burned and danced through darkness. You had spent all night sat on the cold sand, a lazy smile on your lips as you listened to your friends gossip and play games. Your attention however was on Jake, the guy that you had your eyes on from as long as you could remember. You guys weren’t particularly close, he was after all but a friend of your best friend’s boyfriend. But you had spoken with him several times at parties and even sometimes at school.

He was everything that you could hope for. Tall, handsome, hilarious and his smile was to die for. He had always treated you with upmost respect and even furring the games played along with everyone, he had been respectful to you, always asking if he could perform the kissing dares whenever it fell on him.

Your crush on him was undeniable and your best friend knew about it. Perhaps too well. As the laughter resonated, you lost yourself in the peaceful atmosphere, enjoying how the alcohol and the scent of cannabis invaded your system. There was something about the sound of the waves crashing that made you feel comfort, the scent of salt and sea mixed with the warm night felt right. Your gaze was perfectly aligned on Jake and you couldn't have asked for something better.

Your mind would often turn off, lost on your own daydreams about how your life could be if this boy actually said yes to you. Right now your mind was way too full of booze and future anxiety for you to notice anything that was happening around you.

“Hey, y/n” your friend called over, snapping from your daydreaming. They were standing next to you, which made you tittle your head up so you could see them. Her boyfriend's arm was around her shoulders, making you feel slightly jealous.

“Yeah?”

“We are fetching some pizza, we will be back”

“Okay. Please no pineapple”

“You are no fun!”

“It's a crime!” You said loudly and she hummed, her body turning around to walk away with her boyfriend.

“Don’t let the fire die!”

Your friend laughed as she left and you realized now that you were alone with Jake. The sudden realization made you frown your eyebrows as you looked around for the rest of your friends who clearly weren’t around anymore. You caught the glimpse of some of them a few meters away, probably smoking something illegal or doing things that you didn't want to be involved in. Jake's friends were also nowhere to be seen and you suddenly felt awkward with the whole situation. You cleared your throat, out of embarrassment. Suddenly you felt your temperature rise, as you had never been this alone with someone you liked. You reached for a stick that was lying next to the bonfire, using it to pick at the fire.

Jake watched you intensely, analyzing what you were doing. And truth be told you were just pretending to know what you were doing and praying for someone to come and remove you from this awkward situation.

“Aren’t we supposed to look after the fire?” Jake’s voice resonated.

“Yes” You said, picking the fire again as one of the wood detached itself causing a small release of flames. You hated how awkward you are. It wasn't the first time you were talking to him, but every time with Jake felt like the first.

“Easy there, Targaryen”

You found yourself pouting at that. “I was a scout, I can do it just fine”

Jake chuckled “I am pretty sure you ain't suppose to pick at the fire like this”

You groaned this time, putting the stick down and rubbing your neck. “I might have lost my fire bending talents”

“Bet” he pointed out smiling. You looked over at him as he drank from his beer, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped down. You let go of the stick, rubbing your hands together for some warmth.

“Anyway, where is everyone?” You asked.

“Heeseung and the boys went for a smoke. Although it has been quite a while since he left”

“Shouldn't we look for them?” you asked, looking up at jake. his eyes shone, bright as fire itself. He was breathtaking and the thought made you blush.

“Nah,” he casually said. “They are big boys, they can find their way back”

“Wow, you are a great friend” you pointed out, half joking at him. Jake hummed at that, taking another sip of his drink before he stood up from his spot. You watched as he scouted closer to you, sitting by your side. Before you could say anything, he pushed his hands forward to the bonfire, smirking.

“I was cold there, hope you don’t mind”

“Me? No! Why would I?”

Jake didn’t answer and proceeded to chuckle. Your eyes went back to the fire, as you watched his hands warming up. Unconscious, your hands went also forward, near his to feel the warmth provided by the bonfire against your skin. It tingled in a comforting way, and the feeling makes you move your fingers in uncoordinated movements.

“Are you trying your bending fire techniques?” Jake asked in a low voice, which made you look at him.

“You are quick to learn. That’s how you keep the bonfire lit”

“I should’ve known you fire was your element”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused. Jake smiled, his fingers brushing against yours before he locked his fingers with yours. You felt your heart hammering against your chest and you thanked the gods that the light provided by the bonfire wasn't enough to see the furious blush on your cheeks.

“You bright and hot as fire”

You laughed loudly at his words, which took him by surprise. “I am serious”

You shook your head in disbelief but didn't argumented. Jake reached forward to the bag where the drinks were. Taking two cold beers from it. He opened yours first, giving it to you which you accepted with a smile. After he got his ready, you both drank together, enjoying the sweet moment.

The conversation went on, from family matters to favorite music and animals. Beers kept being opened and when you noticed, your head left lightheaded and your body started to relax. Jake however had become more touchy, his hands searching for you until they eventually settled on your naked legs, rubbing sweet patterns as you both talked profoundly about trivial matters.

You smiled, feeling the warmness of the bonfire against your skin. Jake’s hand ran up and down your thigh, almost lazily as his eyes were focused on you.

“So what’s your plans for college?” he asked.

“I haven’t decided yet” you admitted, shifting your arms so they could support your shin. “I am torn between taking history or criminology”

“I always thought you would pick law”

You groaned at that. “Yeah bet, my parents wanted to. But I don't see myself there.”

“Why not?” Jake asked, his hand stopping mid caress to squeeze your thigh lightly.

“Maybe because I would have to lock myself up if I did”

He snorted. “understandable”.

“What about you?”

“I am following arts”

“Really?” you asked, locking your eyes on his, and Jake looked away, almost in shyness.

“yeah. I like arts” you grinned at the statement.

“Didn’t know you were a Picasso”

Jake laughed again and squeezed your thigh again, making you painfully aware of how big his hand was on your. “I am more of a Michelangelo guy”

You bit your bottom lip. “If you need a model, hit me up”

That made him smirk widely “I would hit you up nonetheless”

This time it was your time to blush, a gurgle noise coming from your throat as you looked away in embarrassment. Jake chuckled loudly, finishing the content of his beer. It had been probably one hour and your friends were nowhere to be seen. You mentally cursed your best friend, taking note that this had been probably part of her plan. Silence floated in the air before you spoke.

“Isn’t it stupid to put so many responsibilities on the shoulders of young people?”

“It is,” he hummed, taking a gulp of your cold beer, which made you glare jokingly at him. “But we need to start somewhere”

“I suppose that you are right,” you sighed, finally pushing your body back, using your hands for support, this time looking at the waves instead of the fire. The sound of the water was soothing, the dark blue and green lights making it fairy. Nature was as beautiful as mysterious. The ocean was vast and extending right in front of you, deep and calling. It was dangerous as it was endearing.

“I really want to go in the water” you murmured to yourself and Jake looked at you.

“Wanna go?”

“We are supposed to look after the fire”

“I am sure the fire will be fine” he said as he stood up and offered you his hand. “C’mon let's go”

You bit your lips in thought before you grabbed his hand, standing up. Jake pushed his hand on your smaller back, guiding you away from the bonfire, the touch electrifying. Allowing yourself to cross your limits, you pushed him gently, hearing his grunt before you started running toward the water. He followed course, trying to catch you as you both laughed heartily. Sometimes, embarrassment should be killed in order to live life fully. Right now, there was just you and him. No thoughts, no responsibilities, no future.

Your feet reach the warm water, soaking your skin as you keep running, or at least trying to. Water wasn't known to be the best to run through. You kept trying to run away, as you screamed in amusement when you watched him catch up to you.

You felt Jake’s hands wrap themselves around your waist as he lifted you up. You laughed this time, trying to slip out of his embrace. His low chuckled vibrated against your ear, and for once you felt like you belonged somewhere. Here, in his arms. Or perhaps you were drunk or too high to think straight.

Jake put you down, before he turned you around. He used his hands to remove your hair from your face as you kept giggling. Locking his eyes on yours, you felt like you could fly at any moment. Jake offered you a soft smile before leaning in and kissing you. You kissed back, your hands wrapping themselves around his neck.

Eventually both broke it off, your noses rubbing against each other, as you felt his breathing against your lips.

“C’mon.. let’s go back before you catch a cold”

You nodded at his words, as he pulled away from you while holding your hand. You both started to walk along the beach, giggling at the stupidity of this soft moment. Jake was definitely more drunk than you were, but his laugh felt pure and genuine. Eventually he lost his balance and you both fell on the dry sand.

You laughed loudly, rubbing the joyful tears away from your eyes as you laid on your back. Jake’s breathing settled down, his eyes glued to the starlight sky. The moonlight was shining faintly yet, to you, it had never been more beautiful than tonight.

“I think I like you” Jake breathed out and you took some seconds to let the information sink in. Looking at your side, your expression widened at the confession. You both locked eyes and you couldn't help but smile widely at his words. It was ridiculous how this boy could make your heart flutter with the most simple words.

“I think I like you too, Jake”

You saw his lips curl up into a grin. his skin shined through the silver colors of the moonlight, like he was a perfect renaissance painting. He was beautiful. And as he sealed your lips together, in a tender kiss, you felt your heart waver in palpitation. No matter how scared you were of the future, no matter how much the world weighed down on your shoulders, you knew from that moment that as long as he was there, you could do anything.

#enhypen #enhypen jake #enhypen headcanons #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen reactions #jake #jake enhyepn #jake x reader #jake scenarios #jake reactions #jake imagines #jake headcanons #enhypen x reader #jake sim

34 notes · View notes

zodiacs-web · 1 year

Note

This is the first time I'm doing this holy crap ummmm

Well, hello! I saw that requests were open so I was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing a Tanjiro x childhood friend reader (gender neutral or fem whichever works for you :D). Like, uh, something fluffy?

༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽ I don't know how to do these things aahahahbaa

Amor del Mar

╰₊✧ Tanjiro Kamado x Gn!Reader

╰₊✧ Synopsis: You and Tanjiro come upon the beach

╰₊✧ What's in the web: Fluff

He could smell it, he told you. The smell of the ocean nearby had him grabbing your hand in a hurry. It has been a long time since you both visited the ocean. Chores, misaligned schedules, and the paranoia of demons were at fault. As you grew up, those times of hanging out whenever you wanted vanished.

But one thing remained certain: you two stayed close to one another no matter the situation. You went on the journey with him to become a demon slayer and ended up becoming one yourself. As you came upon the beach, the sudden brush of his thumb against your knuckle caught you off guard.

"Isn't it nice to be here?" As he looked out at the beautiful scenery, his tone was calm, and you watched him with interest. "Where the sea can take away your pain."

The smile on his face gets accompanied by a few wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, your love for them never ending. As you take in the view, the sound of crashing waves and the seagulls call seem to calm a part of you. He gasped as he saw you run towards the ocean, your hands unlocking as he placed down Nezuko's box.

As if he was the embodiment of wind, he chased after you. It's as if the world stopped for a minute so you both can enjoy the peace you've longed for. Eyes filled with adoration for one another as you both danced in the water. After a few minutes of splashing one another with water and playing tag — to be a child again was where it was at.

You both finally sit down after the humidity takes a bit of a strike on you. As the sound of crashing waves fills the air, he interlocks his hand with yours.

#zodiac's web #tanjiro fluff #tanjiro x y/n #tanjiro kamado #kimetsu tanjiro #kny #kny x reader #tanjiro x reader #tanjiro x you #demon slayer x reader

62 notes · View notes

elegance567 · 2 months

Text

A Vision of Elegance Above the Waves

As they soared overhead, the seagulls let out soft, melodic cries that carried on the wind. It was as if they were singing a song of freedom and joy, a celebration of their effortless flight over the boundless ocean. Their calls echoed in the stillness of the evening, adding to the sense of tranquility and serenity that hung in the air.

Watching the seagulls soar overhead, I couldn't help but be captivated by their beauty and grace. They seemed to embody a sense of freedom and lightness that was truly inspiring. In that moment, I felt a deep connection to the natural world around me, as if I were being lifted up by the wings of these majestic creatures.

https://bestsuppliers.top/

As the sun sank below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, the seagulls continued their elegant dance in the fading light. It was a scene of pure, unadulterated beauty, a fleeting moment of magic that would stay with me long after the seagulls had disappeared into the night.

1 note · View note

sociologyonthemove · 3 months

Text

The Close Proximity of Cardiff’s Class and Culture Contrast by Sadie Mullis

It is 11.34am when I approach the four-way junction at the top of Albany Road. My attention is immediately drawn to the flashing blue lights coming from a parked ambulance on my left. The driver is sat on his phone in the front seat, seemingly unfazed by what could be unfolding in the back. It is just another day at the office for him, after all. It is a Sunday in April, and the sun is restrained by the grey clouds, occasionally peeking through to tease us with the hope of summertime in Cardiff. At least it’s not raining. A group of four lads surge past me, breathing heavily but still able to gossip. Clearly in the middle of their ‘Sunday long run’, which will inevitably end with a pint at the pub. The aggressive beeping of the traffic lights brings me back to reality, and I cross the road. Hearing this prompted my human sensory perception and reminded me why so many researchers choose to use ‘listening walks’ (Gallagher and Prior, 2017). I walk down the left-hand side of the street, as I normally would, on a mission or with a particular goal in mind. But this walk is different. I feel mixed emotions; more present, but also more conscious of my surroundings. Eager to explore and note the close proximity of class and culture differences present.

People are all around, some walking at a leisurely pace matching mine, others clearly with an end destination in mind. I notice I am one of the only young girls around, which makes me slightly more vigilant than usual. A middle-aged woman in a khaki tracksuit exits Savers on my left, toilet roll in hand. On my right, an elderly couple board the bus, both wearing smart attire. On reflection this is the first contrast which emphasises the sociological focus of my walk. Classes and cultures can be significantly different yet be in such a close proximity to one another. The clothing these individuals chose to wear on Albany Road in some ways provide a visible process of distinction between these classes (Bourdieu, 1984). What might their typical Sunday look like? And would it differ considerably? I find myself wondering. My stomach rumbles, an automatic response to the smell of Indian cuisine emanating from Pooja Sweets & Savouries. The window of the independent store is filled with spring rolls and samosas, bhajis and pastries, offering a cultural alternative to the mass produced but perhaps unimaginative Tesco meal deal that is available only a few metres down the road. I stop to look through the window at the impressive array of treats. Regular consumers perhaps wouldn’t think twice about this mix of cultural options on the street (Macklin, 2007). I pass by a slightly run down looking dry cleaners and dodge the shards of broken glass on the street. Litter and what I assume (and hope) to be a spilt chocolate milkshake surround the overflowing bins, seagulls lurking around hoping for any leftovers. I dodge three drains on the pavement. An Eastern European looking man, whom I presume to be the owner, unlocks the door of Pookie Delicacy. He mutters on the phone in a language I am unfamiliar with. He embodies the ‘assimilationist hero’ (Rhys-Taylor, 2013). I become aware of a chill in the air when a gust of wind emerges, regretting the thin sweater I chose to wear. My attention is drawn to the large, yellow poster presented inside one of the many Iceland chain stores that can be accessed around Cardiff. ‘HUGE HALF PRICE REDUCTIONS!’, it seemingly screamed. The advertising team had earnt their wages; it certainly caught my attention (Lange et al. 2016). I move beyond the first of many charity shops, before dodging a group of male teens all dressed in black, sporting large chains around some of their necks. I cough, trying not to inhale the sickeningly sweet strawberry second hand vape smoke that clouds behind two of them.

I near the halfway point of the first part of my walk down Albany Road, passing the infamous Andrew Buchanan pub. The smell of cigarette smoke immediately transports me back to summer evenings abroad (Verbeek and van Campen, 2013). I am filled with excitement at the thought of my post exam period getaway. This excitement is quickly surpassed by reality as the two elderly males standing outside, clutching half empty pints of Guinness, stare at me walking by. I move on towards the post office, and flinch at the flock of pigeons at my feet. They are always here; I don’t know why I am surprised. The clunk of a bicycle changing gear can be heard over my right shoulder, and the line of cars waiting for that green light surge past. On my left I notice the break in shops, replaced by lines of terraced houses visible far into the horizon. I open the maps app on my phone, and discover that these slightly run down, sandwiched houses lead onto those surrounding Roath Recreational Ground which boast large gardens and grand front porches. One may wonder where the boundary is that signals the difference between residents, and whether this is individually subjective to them (Barth, 1969). Speaking of boundaries, the prominent metal gate to my right creates a distinct physical one. It separates Albany Road Primary School from the potential dangers of a busy road and popular street.

Despite being aware of my dawdling, I remember I am to try and embrace Walter Benjamin’s concept of ‘flâneur’ throughout the duration of my walk (Bates and Rhys-Taylor, 2017), so I continue at a leisurely pace. Walkers are the practitioners of the city, after all (Solnit, 2001). I take a left turning onto Wellfield Road. The time is now 11.46. Loud music erupts from a trailer parked outside a slightly run down but grand old building labelled ‘Rainbow Bargains’. Its advertising boasts an impressive array of different e-cigarette and disposable vape flavours. The combination of catchy tunes and colourful flashing lights glamourising the unhealthy habit. I stroll on, the sound of the music dulling behind me. The area already seems less crowded and quieter. Perhaps because the road is one way, halving the number of cars, I note. A fresh fruit and vegetable stall is closed beside me. It is positioned next to an in-bloom cherry blossom tree which sways lightly in the breeze. I stop and stand for a moment. Behind me is a noisy street, packed with everything a consumer could want. Its occupants ranging in age and culture, most seemingly in a rush. In front of me is much more picturesque. The selection of shops is perhaps more limited, but much less cramped. Couples sit leisurely outside of cafes and coffee shops. The average age is higher, and predominantly white.

“Oooh, they’ve got loads of iced buns”, a man exclaims to his female acquaintance as we cross paths next to Parsons bakery. They are both dressed in athletic wear, like a few others around, takeaway coffees in hand. I presume they have been for a run around the nearby lake, now seeking their reward. Dainty outside tables and chairs are all occupied by laughing customers, clearly comfortable with their surroundings despite being sat next to a road and on a pavement. They have claimed and chosen this area, manifesting their sense of elective belonging (Savage et al. 2005). I can’t help but wonder if a mere half a mile behind them they would feel so at ease. Whereas most of the food outlets on Albany Road were takeaway, Wellfield Road boasts many restaurants with waiters lurking eagerly to serve. Flats above the shops have intricate balconies and I imagine residents relaxing with a drink in the summertime. I continue at my unhurried speed and acknowledge the luxury of wandering I am able to experience (Shortell, 2015). The wind has dropped slightly, and the sun is straining to get through the clouds. I feel at ease. But this ease is quickly replaced with guilt as I pass a homeless man outside of Tesco Express, unable to offer any loose change. Unknowingly, he is an obstacle in a regular shopper’s guilt-free experience (Rhys-Taylor, 2017). This physical juxtaposition of poverty and wealth emphasizes just how flawed society is. A seemingly wealthy and more exclusive area still homes those with nothing.

An independent boutique store, homing exclusive garments that clearly only appeal to both the middle class and middle-aged woman, neighbours another bakery. The church on the other side of the road looks quiet, despite it being a Sunday. Rubbish bags pile up its fence, which also holds a Slimming World banner. The sound of a child’s scooter trails the tarmac. The four-way crossing I need to use is surrounded by road works and barriers. I don’t change my tracks and chance that I can cross the road further down, following the narrow path obstructed by large red boulders. I cannot! Turning back around humbly, I follow a woman who had made the same mistake. She acknowledges a man waiting so she had room to pass by with a genuine thanks. I retrace my steps back to the crossing and wait for the familiar beeping of the green man. I overhear a friendly looking elderly woman with a young child on a bike, tassels swinging from the handlebars, wonder if they too can cross by the roadworks. An elderly gentleman overhears and politely explains that they in fact cannot. A car horn blasts: maybe they too are frustrated with the building works. I cross the road and we all go our separate ways, and I think about how in the space of a minute I had witnessed two exchanges compared to the none on Albany Road. Could it be that these people had subconsciously recognised one another as members of the area’s collective group identity (Cohen, 1985) and consequently been friendly?

I progress off Wellfield Road and approach the vicinity of Roath Recreational Ground. Building works veer me away from my planned route yet again, so I am forced to take the path adjacent to the grass area. The dump trucks and piles of materials are deserted, workers nowhere to be seen. To my left, tall, grand houses occupy the space, front gardens perfectly groomed and full of greenery. They all boast front room views of the park and pleasure gardens. A man sporting a fluorescent yellow quarter zip exits the front gate of one of these houses and proceeds to cross the road and start jogging around the park, presenting a real-life example of how the middle class choose their place of residence in order to fit their habitus (Jackson and Benson, 2014). The building works tapering, I decide to head onto the grass area, embodying both rural and urban identities (Moles, 2008). My feet sink into the wet and muddy forage underfoot, and I quickly hop back to the path. A harsh reminder of the copious amounts of rainfall Cardiff has experienced lately. The blue sky can be deceiving. Clearly, as some people are wearing shorts, others woolly hats and puffer coats. The time is now 12.04 and the sun is out. I hear a dog barking, followed by laughter. An aeroplane echoes faintly overhead. More runners overtake me, both male and female, some in groups trying to chat, others solo and focused. With running being a highly gendered practise in general, I feel a sense of relief that women feel comfortable enough to run in this area (Cook and Larsen, 2022). The end of my route nearing, I wander into Roath Pleasure Gardens. There is no litter to be seen. The river flows unassumingly, it’s many uses often overlooked by the average eye (Bates and Moles, 2023). Wet pawprints dot along the dry path and an elderly couple soak up the sun on one of the benches. An idyllic scene set in front of me, I reflect how in the space of an hour I have experienced vast cultural and class differences provided by the city of Cardiff.

Methodological Note

I used a literary sociology approach to my walk through Cardiff, in order to demonstrate and capture the creative and imaginative spirit of the walk itself (Back, 2007). Small details the regular walker would perhaps miss were of high importance to me in order to sustain the bigger picture and sociological focus of my walk. These small details can be used to both make connections and recognise differences, which is necessary in order for me to explore the class and culture contrasts presented. I recorded my sensory experiences in the form of taking rough notes and pictures of my surroundings, which helped to prompt my memory when it came to writing this essay. I recorded my thoughts and feelings along with the physical sights presented throughout my walk, which emphasised some of the social structures I had predicted. Walking as a method has become hugely popular with researchers as it enables them to personify the transient, embodied and multi sensual aspects of walking (Bates and Rhys-Taylor, 2017). Further, listening walks have become appealing as they can be used to understand peoples in situ experiences of different sound environments (Gallagher and Prior, 2017), which in turn helps to feed the researchers sociological imagination (Mills, 1959).

The aim of my walk was to explore the class and culture differences present in the short distance between Albany Road and Roath Pleasure Gardens. A key piece of literature relating to the focus of this walking essay was Jackson and Benson’s (2014) article based on the middle classes and how they often perceive people as ‘others’, despite inhabiting the same neighbourhood. Separate group identities are formed which thrive off of the recognition of similarities between members and the distinction of differences between others (Cohen, 1895). Using the combination of my senses enabled me to pick up on some of the distinctions invisible to the regular walkers untrained eye, and I found embracing the sensory walk to be an efficient technique. The use of our senses, particularly smell, play a significant role in the transmission of culture through different areas (Seremetakis, 1996). In addition, the art of really listening can unlock hidden and deeper meanings (Back, 2007). The fusion of being familiar with the area and being alone also contributed to the success of my walk and gathering of ideas to compile this essay. Despite my physicality being opposite to that of the traditional ‘flâneur’ occupier, I was able to embody this concept which was a welcome break from the usual pressures of everyday life (Bates and Rhys-Taylor, 2017). The act and freedom of wandering, with no time constraints or particular goal in mind, can therefore be viewed as a privilege when compared to the pressures and stresses of my third-year student reality.

References

Back, L. 2007. The Art of Listening. Oxford: Berg.

Barth, F. 1969. Ethnic groups and boundaries. Boston, MA: Little Brown and Co.

Bates, C. and Rhys-Taylor, A. 2017. Walking through social research. New York; London: Routledge.

Bates, C. and Moles, K. 2023. Living with Water: Everyday Encounters and Liquid Connections. Manchester: Manchester University Press.

Bourdieu, P. 1984. Distinction: a social critique of the judgement of taste. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.

Cohen, A. 1985. The symbolic construction of community. London: Routledge.

Cook, S. and Larsen, J. 2022. Geographies of running cultures and practices. Geography Compass 16(10).

Gallagher, M. and Prior, J. 2017. Listening Walks: A Method of Multiplicity. In: Bates, C. and Rhys-Taylor, A. eds. Walking through social research. New York: Routledge, pp. 163-177.

Jackson, E. and Benson, M. 2014. Neither ‘Deepest, Darkest Peckham’ nor ‘Run-of-the-Mill’ East Dulwich: The Middle Classes and their ‘Others’ in an Inner-London Neighbourhood. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research38(4), p. 1195-1210.

Lange, F., Rosengren, S. and Blom, A. 2016. Store-window creativity’s impact on shopper behaviour. Journal of Business Research 69(3), pp. 1014-1021.

Macklin, G. 2007. Very Deeply Dyed in Black: Sir Oswald Mosley and the Postwar Reconstruction of British Fascism. London; New York: I. B. Tauris.

Mills, C. 1959. The sociological imagination. New York: Oxford University Press.

Moles, K. 2008. ‘A Walk in Thirdspace: Place, Methods and Walking’. Sociological Research Online 13(4), pp. 31-39.

Rhys-Taylor, A. 2013. The essences of multiculture: a sensory exploration of an inner-city street market. Identities 20(4), pp. 393-406.

Rhys-Taylor, A. 2017. Westfield Stratford City: A walk through millennial urbanism. In: Bates, C. and Rhys-Taylor, A. eds. Walking through social research. New York: Routledge, pp. 105-128

Savage, M., Bagnall, G. and Longhurst, B. 2005. Globalisation and belonging. London: SAGE.

Seremetakis, C.N. 1996. The senses still. Chicago: University of Chicago Press

Shortell, T. 2015. Walking in Cities: Quotidian Mobility as Urban Theory, Method, and Practice. Philadelphia: Temple University Press

Solnit, R. 2001. Wanderlust: a history of walking. London: Verso

Verbeek, C. and van Campen, C. 2013. Inhaling Memories: Smell and Taste Memories in Art, Science, and Practice. The Senses and Society 8(2), pp. 133-148.

0 notes

sharkuwu210 · 5 months

Text

Flight

It was early morning when I stepped onto my balcony and saw a mesmerizing sight. A flock of birds was flying towards the east, their wings beating in unison as they moved gracefully through the sky. The sun had just begun to rise, casting a golden glow over the horizon, and the birds seemed to be basking in its warm light as they journeyed. I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and wonder as I watched the birds flying in perfect formation. It was as if they were on a mission, a purposeful journey towards the east. I asked what could be guiding them and what instinctual force was compelling them to travel in this direction. As I continued to watch, I noticed the different types of birds in the flock. Small sparrows were darting in and out of the group, their quick movements adding energy and playfulness to the otherwise orderly formation. There were larger birds, like crows and seagulls, soaring effortlessly above the others, their mighty wings quickly cutting through the air.

I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of nature unfolding before my eyes. It reminded me of the interconnectedness of all living things and the delicate balance in the world. The birds flying towards the east seemed to embody this harmony, each playing their part in the larger tapestry of life. As I watched the birds disappear into the distance, I couldn't help but feel a sense of longing. They were free, able to roam the skies and explore the world in a way that I could only dream of. I longed to join them, to feel the wind beneath my wings and the exhilaration of flight.

#writers and poets #writerscommunity #writeblr #writers on tumblr #short fiction #shortext #short story

0 notes

julierysava · 7 months

Text

Once upon a time, in a quaint little town nestled between rolling hills and whispering forests, there were seven dear friends who had known each other since childhood. Their bond was unbreakable, forged through laughter, tears, and shared dreams. As fate would have it, they all found love around the same time and embarked on the journey of marriage together.

First, there was Sarah, a spirited artist with a heart as colorful as her paintings. She married James, a gentle soul who cherished her creativity and zest for life. Together, they had three children: Emily, the eldest with a curiosity knew no bounds, followed by twins Lily and Lucas, mischievous but endlessly lovable.

Then there was Emma, the bookworm whose love for literature knew no bounds. She tied the knot with Adam, an intellectual who shared her passion for stories and ideas. Their two children, Matthew and Sophia, were the embodiment of curiosity and intelligence, always eager to explore the world around them.

Next came Mia, the free spirit who danced through life with grace and joy. She found her match in Michael, a musician whose melodies matched the rhythm of her heart. Their son, Oliver, was a reflection of their creativity and love for music, with a laugh that could brighten even the cloudiest of days.

Rachel, the pragmatic and organized one, fell for David, a steady and dependable presence in her life. Their twins, Ava and Benjamin, brought laughter and chaos in equal measure, keeping their parents on their toes with their endless energy and mischief.

Sophie, the compassionate healer with a heart of gold, found love in Daniel, a doctor whose kindness matched her own. Their daughter, Harper, was a ray of sunshine, spreading warmth and happiness wherever she went, just like her parents.

Grace, the adventurous thrill-seeker, was swept off her feet by Thomas, an adrenaline junkie who shared her love for excitement and exploration. Their son, Noah, was fearless and adventurous, always eager to embark on the next adventure with his parents by his side.

And finally, there was Lily, the quiet and introspective one, who found solace in the arms of Ethan, a poet whose words mirrored the depth of her soul. Their daughter, Chloe, was a gentle soul with a love for nature and beauty, much like her parents.

Together, the seven couples decided to embark on a holiday adventure, bringing along their eleven children for a vacation filled with laughter, love, and unforgettable memories. As they gathered around the campfire under the starry night sky, they realized that no matter where life took them, their friendship and love would always endure, binding them together through every joy and challenge that lay ahead.

Once upon a time, seven friends decided to take a much-needed break from the chaos of daily life and booked a seaside holiday cottage big enough to fit all their families. As they arrived at the cottage, they were greeted by the salty breeze and the sound of seagulls, ready for a week of relaxation and fun.

However, chaos ensued almost immediately.

The moment they stepped into the cottage, they realized they had forgotten to check the fine print – the cottage was a charming relic from the past, complete with creaky floorboards, temperamental plumbing, and a resident ghost named Mildred, who seemed to have a penchant for rearranging furniture.

As the friends tried to settle in, they discovered the cottage had a mind of its own. Doors would slam shut at random intervals, lights flickered on and off, and strange noises echoed through the halls at night. But being the resilient bunch they were, they decided to make the best of it and embrace the quirky charm of their seaside abode.

Their first evening at the cottage, they decided to have a barbecue on the beach. But just as they were about to light the grill, a gust of wind swept in, scattering their burgers and hot dogs into the sand. Undeterred, they turned it into a game of "beach barbecue scavenger hunt," with the kids racing to retrieve the runaway sausages while the adults attempted to salvage what was left of their dinner.

Later the night, as they gathered around the fireplace to roast marshmallows, they discovered Mildred the ghost had a mischievous side. Every time someone tried to tell a ghost story, the lights would flicker and strange noises echoed through the cottage, sending everyone into fits of laughter.

Despite the cottage's quirks and Mildred's antics, the friends had the time of their lives. They spent their days building sandcastles on the beach, exploring tide pools, and indulging in ice cream cones as they watched the sunset paint the sky in shades of blue and clouds.

And as they packed up to leave at the end of the week, they realized the memories they had made at the seaside cottage – the laughter, the mishaps, and the unexpected adventures – were the true treasures of their holiday by the sea.

0 notes

ackerfics · 3 years

Note

hange and their best friend (reader) "platonically" flirt with one another, they use pet names for each other, making others think they're together unintentionally. until reader finds an s/o, not knowing hange actually likes them

she — hange zoe

— hange zoe x female reader (modern au)

— warnings: angst ??? the stinging feeling you get when you see someone you love, love someone else

— summary: hange's best friend found love in the form of autumn while hange associates her with all of the seasons.

— word count: 2.5k

— notes: i love hange but i hate myself for writing something that hurts them :<<< they're my first love in aot and it pains me to imagine them hurting in any sort of way (which is probably the reason why i bawled my heart out in chap 132). this little fic hit too close at home for me bc it's exactly what i felt one time during high school. it's fucking traumatizing and istg, i don't want to relive falling in love with a friend again, it's like the most satisfying way to hurt, too. happy reading tho :<<<

reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

She embodies everything positive in Hange’s eyes.

She is spring — the bursting of blossoms under the tendrils of sunlight seeping between the spaces of the trees in the woods. Every time Hange closes their eyes, they are reminded of how she signifies every single flower they ever know. She makes them feel everything at once — see every color at once in a single frame. There is no space for artistic abilities in Hange’s calloused, mismatched hands but when it comes to her, they can create a myriad of paintings encapsulating her beauty at every stroke of a brush. Her laughs, her flowery perfume that doesn’t hurt their nose, her smiles that are as radiant as the early morning Sun — are ingrained in their brain. She brings forth the butterflies that Hange carefully imprisoned in their ribs, the monarchs’ wings already seeping through the cracks at every joke she makes, reaching to their heart until every beat swayed to the sound of her giggles.

“Hange, the love of my life, there you are!”

Hange turned around with a huge smile on their lips. Their conversation with Levi came to an abrupt stop, with the shorter man mumbling along the lines of ‘here we go again’. The small smile on his face spoke otherwise while watching two of his closest friends hug each other as if they didn’t live together in an apartment right outside of campus. It was such a mystery that Hange could be so comfortable around someone to the point of playfully kissing their neck in public, followed by their best friend’s melodious laughs soon after. However, Levi couldn’t be fooled. He knew the glint in the brown-haired person’s eyes. The downturn of their eyebrows when their best friend wasn’t looking. The longing was apparent when she was talking to someone across the room.

The idiot going by the name Hange Zoe was irrevocably in love with their best friend, [Name] [Last Name].

“What is it, baby?” Hange asked vibrantly, glasses reflecting the equally excited girl in their arms. “Didn’t know your class dismissed this early. What happened?”

“Nothing. Our professor announced that we should visit a museum for our finals.” She then mimicked the haughty tone of her Art History professor, straightening her back to make herself appear taller. “Choose a painting or a sculpture and trace down its history and attach your critique in the final output. If I see anyone half-assing this paper, I will not hesitate to give a failing grade that will make you retake this class. I know you lot don’t want to see me again for another semester and I don’t want to see you again, too. So, prove to me you’re worth your standing in this course.” She cleared her throat. “What he said.”

Hange whistled. “Dang, I’m happy that I didn’t follow you to the Arts Department. Your professor sounds like a complete asshole.” They chortled the next second. “Sounds like my mom, to be honest.”

“At least your mom makes a bomb bento box.”

“Yeah, I guess, you’re right.” Hange then nuzzled their face in her hair. “But your bento boxes taste much more delicious — I could eat them all day. Can I be your partner so that you’ll cook for me every day?”

“I’ve already taken the position of your wife the moment I agreed to be your roommate in university, sweetheart. And I cook for you every single day so you don’t have to ask to be my partner because you already are.”

Hange looked smug at her reply, the heat in their cheeks traveling to their ears. “That was a rhetorical question but hearing those words come out of your mouth, it’s making me feel things.”

“Oh? What are those things?”

The brown-haired person snickered under their breath, glancing at Levi who was now looking at the two of them in that lazy way of his that might come off as him being annoyed again. In reality, he was only waiting for the two to finally stop flirting to recognize he was there. His daily job of being a third-wheel should’ve started fifteen minutes ago but Hange wouldn’t let [Name] go. Hange turned back to the expectant girl. “I don’t want Levi to hear what I’m about to say. Just expect something back at the apartment,” they joked, a cheeky smile tugging at their lips.

[Name] laughed heartily. “I’m looking forward to that, gorgeous.”

“I’m still here, you know?” Levi dryly made himself known. He huffed and turned around in the direction of the university restaurant. “Come on, lovebirds, let’s have lunch. Oh, and [Name]?” When he heard her little hum of acknowledgment, Levi slightly turned around to meet his friend’s eyes with his jaded ones. “It’s your turn to buy me a drink. Make it a venti today.” She only blinked at him, giving him no choice but to resort to that dumb thing she always asked. “Please can I have a venti this time? I got you and Hange a venti last time so this makes us even.”

“Ooh, make mine a venti, too, baby!” Hange squeezed their best friend’s waist.

“Anything for my sweetheart.”

“Again, I’m right here, you know.”

Just the thought of that little scenario hurts Hange.

But as much as the pain comes in the package, she is still summer in their eyes.

The Sun can’t compare to the brilliance of her smile. Kind smiles and gentle touches under the warm rays of the summer heat. Her scent is yellow to Hange — so bright and warm that they don’t care how long they bask in her presence, never caring if they get burned because it feels so right to be within her orbit. She urges them to feel so loved and so special, tender caresses of her warmth cascading down every vein until it reaches their heart. The cerulean waters of the sea hold nothing against the beauty of her grins, brown eyes searching for her every time of the day no matter how ethereal the world painted itself to be. Viewing the sights with rose-colored glasses is what they may call it but for Hange, it’s simply her. Someone once said that summer brings forth a paradise where blue covers everything in its wake, the cry of the seagulls reverberating in the distance, and the scent of ice cream flickers in the breeze. For Hange, summer is in the form of pretty close-lipped smiles, of late-night movie marathons on a worn-out couch, of bento boxes filled with their favorites, of a scent so saccharine, and a loyal friend.

A friend.

Of course. No matter where Hange goes, that word haunts them. Hidden beneath their smiles, their jokes, their longing, and admiring stares. It’s a reminder of where they stand in this limbo they created. At one point, they thought that line had been crossed only for it to be established again in permanent ink. And before they know it, Hange is tumbling down in a spiral, along with a change of seasons.

Fall is where everything started.

The orange glow of the leaves created the perfect view as she sipped on her tall cup of warm coffee. The blissful sigh that came soon after warmed up Hange, even though they were seated in front of each other in the outside tables of the small cozy café where Levi was working at. The chill brought by the autumn wind caused both of them to shiver in their layered clothing. The way she nuzzled more into her scarf made Hange coo, reaching out to pinch her cheek affectionately. Autumn was both their favorite season, how it made them resort to the comfort and warmth their sweaters bring, or how they cuddle in each other’s beds with the air conditioner blasting despite the cold. It was also a season where Hange could admire her in their hoodie, a piece of clothing that swallows her whole because she’s so small compared to their lanky figure.

Hange remembered being called out here because she wanted to talk about something. Now that they thought about it, her cheeks appear to be glowing more than usual and she kept glancing inside the café where Levi was busy telling his coworker how to make the new drink. Hange even went as far as following her gaze but they didn’t find anything out of the ordinary other than Levi sighing in that stressful way of his that always made them snicker. They turned back to their Sun, who was once again in a daze while staring at the clear windows of the café. “So,” they prolonged the syllable, “how’s life going, darling? I know we’re living in the same apartment but I just can’t help but ask you this because it seems like you’re always in a daze these days.”

A pause made the breeze’s call known.

“Hey, Hange, have you ever been in love?”

That spread the chill even more inside Hange’s chest. She called them by their name. Not sweetheart nor big spoon. The reality washed over Hange like a pail of freezing water.

“W-What?” Damn, they couldn’t keep the stutter off their words.

She turned her head to them, eyes so soft and smile so beautiful that made Hange breathless for one second. The butterflies dwindled, losing their iridescent wings when they realized that look wasn’t reserved for them anymore. “I thought about it,” she murmured, rubbing her numbing fingertips on the warm cup. “I have never fallen in love with anyone before. Sure, I love you and all our friends but I’ve never stopped and thought about how someone can look like starlight in front of me. But recently,” again, that pretty smile that pierced Hange’s chest, “I never knew that it could hit me that unexpectedly.”

Hange grinned despite the pounding of her chest. “So, who’s the lucky person?”

She chuckled, going back to staring at the interior of the café. “I told Levi to lay off on scolding her but he never listens, says she’ll never grow a backbone if he’s being considerate on her.”

Now, they’re confused because the only people manning the counter as she spoke was Levi (and she would never fall in love with Levi, seeing as they grew up together like siblings rather than the childhood friends that they are) and a strawberry blonde who looked like Levi’s become their worst nightmare. It took Hange a full minute to process that the person she’s been staring at was never their mutual friend, but the strawberry blonde who looked up towards their direction and waved with a pretty blush on their cheeks. She waved back with the same shyness, leaving Hange dumbfounded. “Wait, the person you’re in love with is—”

“Yeah, it’s her.”

Suddenly, Hange understands why she’s starting to like autumn.

It reminds her of the girl’s hair, which she gushes about smelling like coconut. It reminds her of the girl’s preferred perfume, how it smells so much like cinnamon, something that she sometimes puts in her autumn drinks because in her words, ‘it’s the perfect season rather than winter’. It reminds her of the girl’s hugs, the way both of them fit with each other like lost puzzle pieces.

But as the seasons change, feelings of long-term pining will always be constant.

“Are you okay, though?” Erwin asked them, blue eyes reflecting their pathetic faux smile. He pushed the plate of pasta to them since Erwin had an idea that Hange wasn’t eating that much now. It also worried [Name].

“Yeah, four-eyes, I know you’re not doing that great and I’m saying this in the friendliest way possible because we’re worried now,” Levi reminded them, sipping on his tea with slightly narrowed eyes. “You always decline whenever we want to bring you to somewhere, to the point of leaving Nanaba on voicemail. You always answer at the first ring. Look here, shitty four-eyes,” the way Levi enunciated the nickname made Hange slowly turn their head to him, face void of the smile they were known for, “shouldn’t you be happy for her? [Name] gained the courage to confess and you’re here moping when you should’ve been supportive—”

“And what of my feelings, Levi?”

That made Levi blink and feel like an asshole.

Then, the dam broke.

“I’ve been with her all this time, you’ve seen that. You witnessed how this shy girl opened up to an extroverted idiot and became one of her best friends during high school. It feels like I can’t fucking breathe because I always thought we were meant to be. When she was lonely, I was there to comfort her. When she got a bad grade on an exam, I was the one who knows what flavors of ice cream she wants or how she eats them together like a fucking milkshake. Every day, I never expected her to look my way like she looks at her girlfriend right now. It fucking hurts. It feels so empty to know that I’m not the one she fell in love with. What did I lack? Should I be sweeter and gentler like that girl? Or dainty whenever I eat like she is? Be girly and dress up like a doll? Fuck, I can’t even bring myself to hate her girlfriend. She’s so nice and kind and sweet, anything I’m not.” Hange buried their hands in their hair, making it messier than it was.

“I just want [Name] to love me and make things wonderful. Why isn’t Fate on my side this time?

“Why didn’t she choose me?”

Tears were now drifting down like snowflakes.

“Hange,” Erwin murmured.

“Look, sunshine, it’s snowing!”

A voice catches their attention. A strawberry blonde cheers the words with glee painted in her eyes. Beside her is the subject of the trio’s conversation, the subject of a brown-haired person’s affections. Her eyes are taking in the beauty that is her girlfriend. She looks so pretty in love — how her eyes crinkled at the corners and how snow clung on her eyelashes as if she is a fairy straight from a fairy tale Hange loves when she was a kid. Her girlfriend takes her hand and pulls her to the restaurant where the trio is watching from the windows. Gray and blue irises slide over a somber bespectacled person, gauging their reaction though their face never gives anything away.

“I’m right behind you, Petra. I just took the time to admire you because you’re so pretty under the snow.”

“Stop it! You’re prettier!”

“Did you know that seeing the first snow of the year together with the person you love, your relationship will rival that of eternity?”

“Then, I’m happy I get to see this first snow with you, sunshine.”

“Me, too, angel.”

Hange smiles under a steady stream of tears. “I’m happy for her. I’m happy she found happiness even if it’s not with me.”

The chill blows inside the warm walls of the restaurant the moment the door opens, [Name]’s joyous greetings for her best friends bringing smiles to two of them. Her eyes drift to brown ones before turning to Petra to ask for a pack of tissues since Hange’s tears are still visible. Hange watches the commotion with a small smile, the chill spreading through them like a snowstorm.

Winter is here.

general taglist:

@angelofthorr

142 notes · View notes

myelocin · 4 years

Text

Diver | Miya Atsumu

Synopsis: For you, decisions have always resulted in one, then two, then twenty steps back from the jump you know you want to take, but never find the courage to do so. Miya Atsumu was one of those decisions, and it baffles you how he makes the edge seem so inviting.

Characters: Miya Atsumu, You

Warnings/Tags/Genre: Self reflection, Slice of Life, Fluff (atsumu is cute lmao), Mentions of sitting on a cliff, Friendship w Bo!! Pining!Atsumu, hard to get reader when irl ur just confused , more sky references are surprised? no

WC: 4.6k+

a/n: this was purely based on my desire to explore atsumu and the y/n i headcanon’s character more. this is also to those who struggle to decide which risks are actually worth taking. (atm this is not edited bc im just gonna do that tomorrow lol)

playlist: Hello by Elijah Who

++note: please click keep reading bc whole thing is posted!

You remember standing at the edge of the cliff and thinking about how big and beautiful the world looked at age seven. You think back to the words your grandfather tells you when he sits on the ground next to you and begins to tell the familiar tale of the boy who lived life too scared to leap. You don’t think it was a true story; some elements changed every other time the same story was retold but you listened with rapt attention either way.

Every summer when you visited your grandfather in that little house by the cliff hours away from the rush the city brought, more than half of your days were spent sitting by the edge watching the clouds chase and envelop one another. You’d watch as the blue moved into gold, then orange, then red, then back to blue—and finally dive into black. There was never a day where the chase looked exactly the same.

At nine, you still thought the world looked too vast and beautiful and now you think it was because there was still so much you didn’t know. At sixteen, you remembered seeing more streaks of pink along the horizon in the distance but when you look back at the photos now—it was still really just swirls of red and kisses of orange. Maybe that was the summer you first felt love, because the world you saw in those days were through the rose colored lenses that only you wore.

When your grandfather would ask you why you preferred to sit out by the edge instead of run in the field with the kids you knew nearby you only shrugged and said you didn’t want to miss the stories in the sky later that day. Some days, he’d sit next to you and you’d listen to the story of the boy who never leaped again, but during the last few years of his life when he became too frail for the world, he’d only ruffle your hair and go back inside the house.

There wasn’t a particular reason either; no dramatics that told a heartfelt backstory towards your infatuation with the sky, or a long spill about how you love letting the sounds of the waves crashing silence your thoughts—it was quite the opposite, really. Even when your first love told you it wasn’t working out and you spent the entire evening and the next crying over a story ended, you still sat and watched the colors changing with the expression of wonder that stayed constant since you were a child.

“I still care for you,” you remember him saying and his voice clear in your head doesn’t fight over the sounds of the waves crashing on jagged boulders below.

“—we’re just not meant for each other,” he says again but you don’t feel the need to look away from the sky because the sun’s beginning to dip into the horizon and the violets are starting to paint swirls in the sky.

“I don’t think I ever loved you, (y/n),” you hear along with the cry of a seagull somewhere on your left but you only let out the sigh you’ve held in when the show is over and the black curtains cover the sky. You remember closing your eyes to try to search for that twinge of pain you always read about when your first love is over. But, when you breathe in, you only hear the water below roar. When you breathe out, you hear your grandfather’s call from the house behind you.

That night when you stood up to leave, you dusted the dirt off of your pants and stepped closer to the edge; you weren’t going to jump but you wanted to step into that line of uncertainty to feel that rush.

The feeling you always get when you’re tipping your seat back and you let your fingers graze off of the table you’re supporting yourself with—and you’re dipping into the territory of whether you’ll fall forward or backward. Whether the fall either ways could mean good, or bad.

“Can’t we work this out?” is what you knew you wanted to try to say in the moment he turned his back. And then the first step towards him became one, then two, then three—before your hand stopped short of grabbing his shoulder because you realize you don’t want to say it.

Maybe because you were sixteen and the chemistry test you had to take next period was a more important thought than this, or maybe because this was the kind of puppy love where it as quick as it started—so you didn’t want to tarnish the final chapters with an ugly fight. But, really, you began to think, as your hand curled back into a fist and you watched him with dry eyes turn the corner and disappear, you just don’t have a reason to want to work it out.

So then as the bell rang, you turned to take a step that went from one, to two, to three, four—and then eventually six steps back.

Six steps away from the edge where you let yourself be dangled by uncertainty.

The strange part is you don’t remember what began shifting afterwards; when you lost sight of the horizon you spent years losing yet finding yourself in all at once.

After that night, for the years that led up to now it felt like there was never a balance when it came the climax of your decision making. Every time the atmosphere tensed and you feel your gut twist with the pressure of the outcome, your brain is suddenly creating loopholes to mend the situation and your body is already in motion—every single time moving one, to two, to twenty steps away from the drop. That way, you could rock your heels to the side or tip the back of your chair as far back as possible without the need to pull back because you know the steady ground would always break your fall.

You weren’t sure if you necessarily enjoyed it but the cliff by your grandfather’s house doesn’t look the same anymore. This time, you’re sitting in a chair on the porch, a heavy distance away from the pull of gravity down below. Because it’s safe, you reason, but the horizon from your spot doesn’t look quite the same. Peering at the strokes of colors in the 6pm sky through cracks in the porch’s rooftop makes the world feel so little. You hear the sound of the TV running inside the house instead of the water roaring below and you know it isn’t the same.

But when the sun peeks in finality before diving the world into dark, you stand at the edge of the porch like you did at the edge of the cliff so many times before.

One foot hovering over the ground below and you know your balance is tipping, but you don’t feel anything. There isn’t a hitch in your breath and the feeling of weightlessness and heaviness simultaneously nipping at your skin.

You sigh in blankness as you thrust your body forward and let yourself dive. Before you even leap you already feel the ground beneath your feet.

The ground is only two feet below you.

In your mid-twenties, Miya Atsumu came into your life in a whirlwind of laughter and expressions.

He wasn’t really that spectacular. Sure, Atsumu could twirl a pencil like the honor roll kids as well as he could land a service ace, but that was kind of it.

How the two of you became close friends was always a wonder to you as well. You knew his twin brother—Osamu, after frequenting his onigiri shop every day for lunch, but your interactions with him were mostly limited to the “hi”, “how are you”, “thanks”, and “goodbye”.

Atsumu was, well, interesting to talk to because of all the expressions that substituted some verbal cues in the conversation.

It took getting to know him for about a year and joining him in the last minute road trips he pulled with you to realize how much Atsumu embodied uncertainty.

He was like the push and the pull of the wind when you’re standing at that edge again. Like somewhere between the moments of unfiltered fear from plunging down into the ocean you know you can’t swim in, and that step back of reasoning that tells you a two more steps further means two more steps safer.

He was neither of those, but at the same time, made you feel the magnitude of both simultaneously. Atsumu, to you, was the cliff, the rocking wind, the steady ground, and the plunge below.

And it was frustrating because you couldn’t read him at all.

When he asked you one day if you wanted to join him for dinner, this time, just the two of you while the apples of his cheek blushed a visible shade of red despite the dimmed lighting of the sky—you felt your gut churn in uncertainty.

For a while you’ve felt he wanted to push the boundaries of your friendship into a territory more unknown to the both of you, but you thought it would just stop at the experimental prodding. You weren’t blind. You felt how his eyes would trail your profile when he thought your attention was too engrossed in a book, knew that the unmarked box of chocolates were from him because he wasn’t subtle in hiding the special instructions written on the bottom of the box. You saw the triumphant spark in his eye when you told him the gift he gave you on your birthday was exactly what you wanted even if he just shrugged and said he guessed lucky.

And that’s the thing—Atsumu was painfully obvious. He wasn’t explicit about his intentions—he was just obvious; you know he wasn’t dumb enough to leave all these hints and expect you to still not know so that frustrated you even further. Did he want you to find out? Did you want to find out?

“Do ya think you wanna get some dinner tonight?” he quips beside you, “—just us two?” he adds, finishing awkwardly as you two come to a halt in front of the train station.

You think about his offer; you really do. The feeling in your gut doesn’t go away and your left foot is subconsciously rocking backwards. One step back.

“Maybe next time,” you hear yourself say. Atsumu’s deflating in front of you and his right hand rests on the back of his head while he shoves the left into the pocket of his jeans.

Two steps, “I’d love to—“ you continue, “but I may miss the last train and I don’t really wanna take a taxi tonight.”

Atsumu’s nodding his head saying, “Of course! Of course. Yeah, definitely. Next time!” And in a way you’re thankful he doesn’t mention the fact that he could always drive you back instead of letting you take a taxi.

Three steps, as you wave at him from the top steps of the station’s exit.

Four steps, “For sure next time!” you call out as he waves at your retreating figure with a smile. Neither of you really have faith on when next time will be, nor were sure if either of you believed it in the first place.

It’s when the train doors close and you’re holding on the railing where it dawns on you that you just took about 20 more steps back.

Two weeks after Atsumu’s offer of a dinner date was when Bokuto comes to you to say that he understands why you rejected the offer.

“You and him are just too different from each other,” he says like he made a profound discovery and not like he’s commenting on your love life.

“Aren’t opposites supposed to attract?” you ask.

“Not all the time,” Bokuto answers almost immediately and you nod your head choosing to not expand on the topic while your mind begins to whirl at his words.

On the bright side, you were glad neither you nor Atsumu spoke much about it. The days where you’d spend the afternoons with the team until practice ended, if nobody wanted to catch dinner the two of you would eventually just part ways at the train station he walked you to every night.

“I could always drive you home, ya know, I’m a good driver,” he says when you search through your bag for your PASMO card.

“I live in the opposite way you’re going, ‘Tsumu,” you laugh, albeit still appreciative at his offer.

“I know,” he replies and rattles his keys in his hands.

You’re still digging through your bag as you look for the card you know you must have left at home before you finally sigh and look at him looking at you holding out his keys.

“C’mon, (Y/n), I won’t speed I swear!” Atsumu laughs as he leads the way to the parking lot.

A few more weeks pass and you’re glad no one mentions the fact that you follow Atsumu into the parking lot every time practice ends. The day after he drove you home for the first time, you flashed the PASMO card you made sure to have with you this time and told him thank you for dropping you off the day before. He only rolled his eyes as he grabbed your wrists and pulled you in the car with him.

In hindsight, you could have said no and waved him off like usual, but your feet were matching the steps in his before you could even process what you were doing. He just drove you home, made small talk, and asked about your days most of the time—so all in all it was pleasant.

And you lived in the west side of town so drive always meant that the both of you had a front seat view to the sky’s art show. One thing you noticed (and appreciated) about Atsumu was the duality in his focus.

First hand, you’ve seen up close the intensity of his focus during his serves. The air would whip itself into a deafening silence at the drop of his hand and his eyes steeled over as fast as the sounds came to a halt—it was eerie, almost. In the way that sent chills down your spine and admiration bubble in the pits of your stomach. Then, as quick as the ball slams on the spot of the ground he aimed towards—the yell of triumph he’d express and the smile that would break into his face would overflow from his whole being. Like exhaling shakily after a sharp intake of breath—Atsumu was everything intense.

But, Atsumu, you think as you peek at him looking at the skies in front of him, was also serene. The kind of focus that pulled you in all the right ways. Like the gentle teacher you had from elementary who would coax you softly to focus sounding out the words in the passage you had trouble pronouncing. His hands were steady on the wheel, at 10 and 2 and the car would slowly come to a stop at every red light instead of the sharp lurch your body moves into when you press the brake a little too harshly. He only sometimes put music in the car—he told you he prefers to have your voice as company instead of hearing about the weather from the radio.

It surprised you, but at this point Atsumu brought nothing in your life but surprises. Then again, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—you were just used to feeling the ground before you fell so his uncertainty was still very much of an unmarked territory for you.

“Is it something about me?” he asked when the two of you exited the car and stood outside the entrance to your apartment building.

You know what he’s talking about, but you opt to stay silent and look at him with your head tilted instead because you already feel the urge to take one step back.

He’s still looking at you even as the passing moments are stretching into an awkward silence so he sighs and shoves his hands back in his pockets—something he does when he’s nervous, you noticed—and waved you off when you opened your mouth to try to retaliate. You’re thankful because you aren’t exactly sure what it was you were going to say anyway.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he says as he turns.

“See ya tomorrow?”

He waits for you to nod and wave a goodbye at him, which he first smiles at, before he starts the car and drives away.

His question “doesn’t keep you up at night,” is what you try to convince yourself when it’s 2:05 am on a Tuesday night and all you’ve done so far is toss and turn in bed. To prove your own point, you’ve sat up and turned the bedside lamp on while you scroll through some unopened emails on your laptop.

Halfway into retyping the same email you know you’ve been staring at for the past hour, Atsumu’s contact photo chimes in your phone in the form of a text message.

“you up?” it reads from the notification bar and you automatically shut your laptop close, turn off the lamp, and throw your covers over your head.

“No,” you reply out loud and you internally groan because of how ridiculous you’re being.

Your thoughts from the night before still remain in your head as you’re sitting on the bench beside the court later that afternoon as you type away at your laptop. It’s still the same email you never replied to last night, but you try to ignore that. You also ignore the fact that you’ve kept count of how many times the ball slammed on the opposite side of the net when Atsumu practiced his serves.

You don’t notice it when Bokuto takes a seat next to you and looks over your shoulder at the email you’re not even halfway through typing.

“That’s the same email opened since this morning,” he points out and you groan before turning to face and quickly shush him.

He’s laughing when he takes a seat next to you.

“You know,” he begins, “I think you’re just scared to feel something for Atsumu.”

You close your laptop—the draft of your email unsaved, like it had any coherent content anyway.

“Bo, you’re being silly,” you reply knocking your shoulder against his in laughter.

“You’re avoiding the conversation, (y/n),” he laughs back and you wave him off towards the court in laughter when the coach calls for him. He stretches when he stands back up and tells you, “We’ll talk about this later because I think you need it,” before jogging off to the other side of the gym.

Inwardly, you heave another sigh, because this was one of the times where Bokuto’s being more serious. You had to give him credit—the duality in his personality and harsh line when he switched from jesting to seriousness was impressive. Bokuto Koutarou wasn’t smart in many aspects of the domestic parts of life—he didn’t understand taxes, or why you needed to change the oil often, but he had a way of looking through the layers people build around themselves.

At first, it caught you off guard because two weeks after you met you had only been sitting outside a convenience store watching him lick the melted parts of his ice cream on his hands when he suddenly turns to you and says, “(Y/n), I wish you would take risks more. You’re too cautious.”

He never brought it up again, but every time he chose to tell you something—it was always something you knew, never acknowledged, but needed to hear.

So when Atsumu waves at you and shouts that he’ll just shower and be out in thirty minutes, you ignore the urge to step back, and smile at him instead.

You’re thinking about Bokuto’s words again as you listen to Atsumu yell something at Sakusa from inside the locker room.

You’re too different from each other.

You suppose there are differences, especially in the way you address your friends—Atsumu’s not afraid to clap your back while he laughs while you choose to keep your hands to yourself. He’s not afraid to let his intentions be known while you try to wrestle with your thoughts every time you’re shifting closer to the edge.

You could always walk away, you tell yourself every day, but every day you also choose to not do that. You know day by day and sunset after sunset you watch with Atsumu you’re nearing that edge again—and you want nothing more than take twenty more steps back but each day he offers you a new joke that you genuinely laugh at you know it’s a couple centimetres closer to where you’re afraid of going.

Bokuto’s right, you’re different from each other, but you know deep down that you’re alike in so many ways. When Atsumu talks about what he wants to do accomplish in life outside of volleyball, he talks with such a childish wonder in the certainty of the tone of his voice. At times, he was stubborn to the core—just like you were, and you realize that would clash between the both of you some day but Atsumu smiling as he’s jogging towards you has you realizing that you don’t really mind at all.

“Ready to go?” he asks and you could only nod as you follow him out the door.

Bokuto’s looking at you and giving you a thumbs up which you nervously return with a smile of your own.

During the car ride back home, you’re thankful that Atsumu chooses to flip on the radio this time; you didn’t plan on telling much of a story, and your thoughts are too jumbled up with everything for you to even settle with small talk.

“You good?” he asks, then looks over at you at the red light. You nod yes and shift the bag sitting in your lap.

“The sky looks pretty today,” you begin, “—the sunset today looks like the ones I grew up seeing when I was a kid at my grandfather’s by the coast.”

Atsumu hums, but it’s still heard over the low volume of the car’s radio, “You should take me to see one day.”

Your gut churns and you curse yourself when you habitually chose to stay silent.

“I don’t mean it like I’m inviting myself there, (Y/n)—“

“It’s okay, you should visit with me next time,” you reply then turn to watch his expression shift from flustered to surprise from his profile. You’re watching him with baited breath and your heart thumping can almost be heard when the radio dips into a silence in the commercial.

The light switches to green and Atsumu eases his foot off of the break as the car slowly gains momentum before he’s nodding his head and saying a soft, “Yeah. Sure. Totally.”

It’s quite uncharacteristic for him to be so muted with his replies, but you suppose these are one of the similarities you’re discovering you have with Atsumu. He’s confident and barks out his comments when his emotions are running high, but at the moment you know the both of you are tiptoeing around that line of uncertainty at the moment.

When his pointer figure taps the steering wheel in an unknown rhythm, a nervous habit of his, you feel yourself slightly relax. The difference this time from that hallway breakup you had when you were sixteen was both of you were at the same page. That boy who said he didn’t love you let the certainty in his intentions be known in the way you could already anticipate the long term ending for. There was nothing more to be uncovered—and you didn’t find the push to dive down for more.

This, with Atsumu, was a different story. You had curiosity with the unclarity. You craved to unravel his truth.

Truthfully, every decision you’ve made so far had you already seeing the outcome—that’s why you’ve only felt like you were only jumping to a ground two or three feet under you.

With Atsumu, you’ve come to realize that he personified the edge. At the same time, he was the push and the pull of the wind when you’re balancing yourself between curiosity and reason. You know the frustration you feel when you can’t read him comes from the fact that you’re only seeing him from the surface. You see licks of who he is with every slam of the ball and every spark in his eye.

But just when you feel that knot in your stomach, you allow reason to cloud your desire to jump into the blurred lines of variability— Every. Single. Time.

And it frustrates you because twenty steps back have become too comfortable for you to try to leave. You hated it, but you knew what was waiting for you every time, so you learned to find the comfort in it.

The truth is, you’ve always had the curiosity towards what it felt like to plunge. Like the story your grandfather would tell you—it ended with the boy dying by the edge he never found the curiosity to jump in, surrounded by the questions that ultimately died with him. It was a pitiful end, and up till now you believe the entire story could have been avoided. You know you’re always thinking about the dive and what comes with it, but never found quite the push that’d lead you to want to throw your body forward and seek.

You know Bokuto always had a point in the passing comments he tells you when you least expect it. Bokuto presented them to you in forms of declarations not even in questions.

The sky in front of you is the same sky you stood under when you dangled your feet over the edge, fearless, years ago. Atsumu feels like the push and pull of the wind, and the tug of gravity under your soles when he looks at you as you stand in front of your apartment building.

You’re not in the cliff side this time but you see the horizon you forgot you loved when Atsumu shoves his hands in his pockets and offers you a smile.

You hear the cry of the waves below and the call of the seagulls to your left when Atsumu says, “About earlier, you don’t have to worry about it—I was just jokin.”

“You’re scared to feel something for Atsumu,” you hear Bokuto tell you when you itch to take a step back, then, “I wish you’d take more risks.”

“I wanna take the risk,” you say out loud and Atsumu looks at you quizzically, before softening his eyes when he realizes what you’re trying to say.

And you could almost laugh because of course he understands what you mean. Atsumu knew more than he let on and you could laugh again at the mirroring of your personalities. It was opposite and identical at the same time: identical like the both of you understanding each other’s metaphors without explanation, and opposite in the way he always addresses them while you do, well, the opposite of that.

“I wanna jump,” you say even if it doesn’t make sense because you’re confident the message will reach him all the same.

Atsumu’s beaming and you think it looks like the sun that’s looked at you from the horizon for years. When he takes your hands in his, you inhale yet feel breathless because the balls of your feet feel weightless and your body is leaning forward.

And when the clouds in the sky blend with the painting and Atsumu leans forward, you let gravity take you—

Then, you’re diving.

270 notes · View notes

zacmonro · 3 years

Text

Lockdown Lessons on Sustainability.

“There would seem to be nothing more obvious, more tangible and palpable than the present moment. And yet it eludes us completely. All the sadness of life lies in that fact.”

- Mila Kundera

That is all very well, but when you’re faced with 12 months of staying indoors, I have to say that for me personally, there have been times when ‘the present moment’ didn’t so much ‘elude me completely’ as sit there, next to me like a massive sack of potatoes, between my makeshift desk and the bed, with a face that said, ‘come on then!’

I think it has been a combination of having no choice but to be more aware of every individual action and a sense that things they are a changing, that spurred us on during lockdown, to take the words of Guru to heart, and take a look at ourselves.

For years we’ve been working at making our work more sustainable, from retrofits to new build housing, but honestly the main drivers for the solutions have not been the climate emergency. Sometimes we’re trying to re-humanise spaces for workers and families, always we’re improving someone’s quality of life, but in the background, there is this question, to be perfectly blunt, of what all this will mean for the quality of life for our children.

And that’s just it, it’s in the background. Knowing that almost every move we make will involve the use of some energy, the digging of mineral or the felling of trees, we’re almost embarrassed to bring it up in the middle of an upbeat conversation about why we’re the best people to rebuild your house for you. Almost.“Yes, this is right up our street, we’re brilliant at this, look at all our beautiful work, oh and by the way we will be destroying the planet together!”

So, in the face of a global pandemic no doubt inextricably linked to the aforementioned climate emergency, such things to tend to bubble to the surface, like a fart in a bathtub.

So in the absence of office drink-mixing sessions or being attacked by seagulls at practice days out to the seaside; to keep some semblance of practice culture (and not at all because someone accidentally hit send all to all the CPD providers on the RIBA hitlist), we put in place the mother of all CPD programmes over lockdown. And its sights were aimed squarely at sustainability.

We’ve had sessions on Low Embodied Carbon Construction, Operational Carbon, Woodfibre Insulation, all other kinds of insulation, Airtightness, Ground Source Heat Pumps, Solar Panels, Sustainable Drainage, Sustainable House Case Studies, Unsustainable House Case Studies, Climate Literacy, RIBA 2030, Brexit, Social Housing, Rainscreen Cladding, Building Hospitals, Evaporative Cooling, the relative merits of the use of cyanide in construction…we’ve even given one of our own…and we’re only getting started!

And the upshot of all this? Honestly it has been empowering! Having to spend time considering the uncomfortable truth and the tools at our disposal to understand and improve what we do, goes a long way to demystifying what is a daunting subject. Having to develop and formalise a policy has changed the way we work and is set-up to change it a lot more. It feels like a really positive thing, something to be proud of. It feels a bit like rediscovering sails on a boat with a busted engine.

And as we plan to come back together as an office, hopefully sometime in June, it feels like we’re on a mission, maybe not quite like the Blues Brothers, but at least we’re not embarrassed about bring it up, after all isn’t it rooted in the very foundation of our civilisation when 2500 years ago Socrates said: “A good house should be warm in winter and cool in summer… and with flowery wallpaper”

I’m fairly sure Socrates built what we now call ‘Socrates House’ with an overhang on the long side facing the sun to allow the low winter sun in and keep the high summer sun out, the opposite side low and closed to keep the winds out. And he’s wrong about the wallpaper.

#zacmonroarchitects #architecture #architect #sustainability #learning #design #climate crisis #design for sustainability #good design #lockdown learning

1 note · View note

beautifulblhell · 4 years

Text

An Ordinary Morning (Banana Fish Fanfic)

Pairing: Ash x Eiji

Summary: All Eiji wishes was to be with Ash and live an ordinary life together... Or was that too much to ask for?

Warning: Contains angst and spoilers for the end of the anime/manga.

A/N: I would like to thank KingSirahk, who helped me with so much more than just proofreading! Thank you!

The gentle aroma of miso soup drifted in the quiet morning air.

“Ash.”

Eiji poked his head around the door and saw no signs of response in the bed. Walking over, he gently shook the person buried under the duvet.

“Ash?”

Eiji grabbed the edge of the duvet and flung it into the air, before walking over to the window and opening the curtains. The bright summer sun greeted him, casting its warm rays onto the person curled on the bed.

“Wake up, Ash.”

The young man emitted a groan as the sunlight hit his face. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled, reaching his hand out to grab the duvet and proceeded to pull it over his head.

“That’s what you said ten minutes ago.” Eiji crossed his arms, trying to sound stern, yet he could not help but let a smile slip onto his face. “Breakfast is already ready, so hurry and get up. Otherwise you won’t be getting any food.”

Eiji returned to the kitchen. He was finishing spooning two bowls of rice when he felt a presence lean against him. Ash rested his chin on Eiji’s shoulder and sniffed. His breath tickled Eiji’s ear.

“Why’s there no meat?”

“I made salmon.”

Ash pulled a face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Salmon is good for you. Here,” He said as he hands Ash a plate topped with a piece of grilled fish and smiled wryly when he saw the skeptical frown directed at the fish. “Fine, I’ll make steak for lunch.” Hearing this, Ash’s expression immediately brightened and a small laugh escaped from Eiji’s lips. Seeing Eiji laughing at him, Ash pouted, a slight pink dusted his cheeks, and he poked at Eiji’s cheeks. “Don’t laugh, I’m still growing. It’s no wonder that you are so short if this is what you eat.”

It became a routine for them: Eiji making breakfast, waking Ash up, eating breakfast, then going for a stroll afterwards, if the weather permits. It was these short, precious, everyday moments that Eiji treasures so much, with nothing coming in between them.

Ash stood by the front porch, waiting for Eiji to finish locking the doors. In the summer air, Ash’s hair danced in the gentle breeze, shining all the more brightly in the morning light. When Eiji turned around, he reached for Eiji’s hand and naturally entwined their fingers together and gave Eiji a bright smile that made even the sun pale in comparison.

“Let’s go, Eiji.”

They walked along the beach, leaving behind a trail of footprints imprinted on the white crystal sands. Two pairs side by side. The sound of the waves gently breaking against the sand, washing ashore a thin line of white mist, before rolling calmly back into the sea. Seagulls flew overhead, crying out, their white wings spread against the cloudless blue sky, freedom etched to the tip of their wings.

They stopped right at the edge of the sea, feeling the waves softly washing over the tip of their toes before receding.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ash murmured. Eiji brought a hand up to his eyes and gazed at the ocean. He didn’t realise Ash was looking at him.

Endless blues of bright azure, deep sapphire, and rich aquamarine dance underneath the sun, causing thousands of white, glittering light across the surface to shimmer like jewels against the bright blue sky. This beauty could take one's breath away and yet in Eiji’s eyes, nothing could be compared to the beauty of the man standing next to him.

It was so peaceful standing here with the salty sea aroma enveloping all around them. The cool water washing all their worries away and the calming sound of waves hiding the noise of any human activities. It was as if they were in a world that only consisted of

themselves and the deep blue sea. Eiji closed his eyes and breathed in the ocean; tasting the salt on his tongue and feeling it seep into his lungs. Ash watched him with a tender look in his green eyes.

“The sea reminds me of Japan. When I went to my grandparents’ house in the summer, I could see the ocean from the window in my room.” A wave of nostalgia washed over him as he squinted at the water and the memory brought a smile upon his face.

Emerald eyes become troubled for a moment. “Do you miss Japan?”

Eiji shook his head. How could he feel homesick, when the person standing next to him embodies the very meaning of home?

It was bliss to be able to wake up every morning and hear the gentle sound of waves crashing against the shore, and most importantly, with Ash by his side. If this could last for eternity...

Ash suddenly dropped Eiji’s hand.

“Sorry, I gotta go to the library.” His voice was cold, suddenly devoid of any emotion, his expression faraway.

...The library?

The sudden shift in topic jarred Eiji in his tracks.

Was there even a library around here?

A library...

Somehow, the word sets off a warning bell inside his brain and dread begins to spread in his chest as he hurriedly goes to grab Ash’s hand with a shout, “Wait!”

But Ash had already turned around, his back now facing Eiji, and walked forward, away from him. Panicking, Eiji tried to grab Ash’s hand, but missed, his fingers grasping nothing but the empty air.

Without realising, a deathly stillness had settled over. The waves stood still, the birds hung unmoving in the sky and the heat of the sun was gone, replaced by a cold chill. Then, the scene around them cracks like a mirror before shattering and falling away, revealing an expanse of darkness that surrounds them. It was impossible to tell which way was forward or which way was back. The only thing that Eiji could see was Ash, slowly getting smaller and smaller as he walked steadily further into the blackness.

“Ash, wait!” Eiji’s horrified cry echoed eerily in the gloom, as he hurriedly ran after Ash. But no matter how hard he ran, Ash kept on getting further and further away.

He shouldn’t have let go of the hand.

The darkness was suffocating, slithering into his lungs, choking him, until Eiji was gasping for breath. His legs started to cramp, his mind deprived of oxygen, but still, he pressed forward, forcing himself to work harder, faster. Keep running, keeping running.

Run.

Run!

RUN!

Out of nowhere a solitary snowflake fell. Then, another one descended, then another one, and another one, until it turned into a blizzard. The wind whipped mercilessly around him, causing the icy air to pierce like a thousand swords into his bones, freezing him from the inside out. With every breath the white clouded his vision, yet nevertheless his eyes never left the back in front of his eyes.

“ASH!”

His strangled yells were drowned out by the fierce, howling of the wind. But then, Ash paused and turned back towards Eiji with a small smile.

Hope spreads through Eiji, giving him a sudden burst of energy as he runs towards Ash. He was so close, Ash was just within his reach. Eiji extends his hand-

Ash’s mouth moved slightly but the wind swallowed his words.

In the next moment, another gust of strong gale blew around Ash, shrouding him in white. From within the darkness beneath the storm of ice, a skeletal hand extended. It curled its bony fingers around Ash’s shoulder, and with one, finally angry shriek of the wind, Ash was gone.

Within a blink of an eye, the storm had vanished as quickly as it came.

“Ash?”

His trembling voice dissipated into the void around him that had once again reappeared.

“Ash?” Only silence echoed back.

“Ash?” He called again, desperation seeping into his voice.

Eiji cried out, “Ash! Where are you?!”

The desperate hoarse voice screamed on, again and again. No, he must have not ran hard enough. Ash must be here somewhere. He HAD to be...

As he took a step forward, a crackling noise sounded below his foot.

He looked down and saw several sheets of paper, scrawled with familiar handwriting.

Because it was his writing.

Eiji’s chest becomes constricted as invisible chains appear out of nowhere, shackling him down and forcing him to watch as the scene unfolds in front of his eyes.

Small splashed of red slowly seeped inwards from the edge of the pages, dissolving the black ink until it became a darker, murky red.

Like blood.

Eiji wanted to turn his head away, to close his eyes, but his body won’t obey, frozen in terror.

The words slowly blurred as the red creeped inwards, until it finally reached the last untainted sentence in the middle. Eiji had just enough time to register the words in his brain before the red engulfed the black ink, curling around it.

The pieces of paper stained with a dark blood red stared at him accusingly. From the darkness, it felt like a thousand eyes were glaring at him, blaming him, with whispers chanting over and over again that it’s all his fault.

It’sallhisfaulit’sallhisfaultit’sallhisfaultIt’sallhisfaulit’sallhisfaultit’sallhisfault-

“AHHHHHHHH!!!”

He clutched his head between his hands and fell onto his knees, giving out a broken scream as if his soul had been ripped from his body. The pain in his heart took a physical form, threatening to tear him apart. He threw his head back and screamed towards the heavens that had abandoned Ash, towards the vicissitude of life, and most of all, towards himself, who shouldn’t have left Ash-

A blurry ceiling came into view.

At first, confusion clouded his brain. It took him a while before his disoriented mind could re-piece back reality. He blinked as the remnants of the tears rolled silently down his cheeks, leaving two damp trails, side by side.

The sound of people bustling in the busy street and traffic below sound muffled to his ears as if he was underwater; unconnected to reality.

He tightened the blanket around him and laid there; simply waiting for sleep to come.

It was morning, the sun in the grey sky had risen, but his sun was forever gone. Only in his dreams could he be with Ash again…

Before he drifted off, the words from the letter echoed inside his mind...

“ My soul is always with you.”

#Banana Fish #Banana Fish Fanfic #Fanfic #Banana Fish Ash #Banana Fish Eiji #Ash x Eiji #Ash x Eiji fanfic #Ash and Eiji #Ash Lynx #Ash Lynx fanfic #Eiji Okumura #Eiji Okumura fanfic #Banana Fish Angst #Banana Fish Fanfiction #BF #yaoi #yaoi fanfic #beautifulotomehell fanfic

44 notes · View notes

mask131 · 4 years

Text

Fictional mythologies for Dummies: the Old World

The Warhammer franchise has numerous pantheons, including numerous human pantheons. One of the most well known human pantheons is the one of the "Old World" (the Old Word being Warhammer's equivalent of Europe).

The Old World gods are split into two distinct religions and pantheons (even though they are technically both coexisting in a same culture, and thus tend to be treated sometimes as one and same pantheon).

The first pantheon is the one known as the pantheon of the "Nordic Gods", also called the "Old Gods" or the "Elder Gods". They are a pantheon based you guessed it, on the Northern regions of the Old World. The first and older of the two pantheons, they were seen as tribal, primitive, brutal and barbaric gods.

Four deities made up this pantheon :

# Taal. The father-god and king of the gods. He was a god of nature and the wilds, lord of beasts and animals, ruling over mountains and forests. As brutal and as wild as his domain, he was worshipped mostly by hunters and woodsmen. He was known to be a very... volatile god, prompt to whims, desires and anger ; he was also a god that loved to hunt, whether it is animals, humans or supernatural beings. He was seen as mostly indifferent towards mortal species, just as nature itself is indifferent and harsh to those that inhabit it. He was usually represented as a muscular and bearded man, with giant antlers ; or he appeared as a giant stag.

# Rhya. The wife of Taal, and Mother-Earth. Usually appearing as a beautiful, motherly woman with flowers and plants in her hair, or as a giant deer, she was a gentle and kind goddess full of pity and forgiving whose role was to calm the wrath and pulsions of her husband. Her role was to create and maintain life on earth, and to help everything grow and develop. She was seen as a goddess of agriculture and fertility, that blessed animals and plants with health, that sent gentle winds and soft rains. But do not let that fool you - she was just as violent as her husband and the other gods. Because Rhya was also a goddess of the hunt, whose symbols were a bow and arrows. Goddess of the hunt, because hunting and killing is the oldest way of making sure your family has plenty enough to eat, and the best way to protect what you treasure. Her arrows were also used as a symbol of love, because she was a goddess of love, sexuality and procreation.

# Manann. Son of Taal and Rhya, he was the god of the sea and oceans, lord of the tide and of the storm. He was an ambiguous god representing change and evolution, both good and evil. His bird was the seagull, seen as much as a good augur as a bad omen. On one side, he was a destructive and dangerous god, the one that birthed sea monsters, that made ship sinks and that caused storms, the god of all the dangers of the sea. But on the other hand, he was also a good that offered to mankind the art of sailing, and the deity associated with exploring the world, discovering new lands, a god linked with finding wealth and riches beyond the sea and in other lands.

# Ulric. The younger brother of Taal. God of winter, Lord of the wolves, patron of the predators, he is a furious and savage god, the ultimate embodiment of the wild and hungry predators. While Taal is usually the ruler of the world, he allows Ulric to take his place as the king of gods for the duration of winter, while the rest of the year is Taal's rule.

Interestingly, the Nordic pantheon knew a true evolution.

Originally, it was made only of one god, an hermaphrodite deity. This god was the one people prayed for both protection against storms and natural disasters ; and for abundance in agriculture and hunting. This deity was the one of the cycles of nature as a whole, and it wore the aspect of a man during summer and winter, but the one of a woman during spring and autumn.

Later, the male figure of the "god of winter" was split from the main deity, becoming a god of his own - Ulric, the Wolf-Lord. And the hermaphrodite god of nature also ended up splitting itself into the couple of Taal (evolution of the summer male god) and of Rhya (the female goddess of spring and autumn). For a very long time Ulric, Taal and Rhya made a trinity, working together as the representants of nature.

Later Manann was added to the pantheon (probably when their tribes evolved enough to built ships and travel through the sea).

Now, this was the first, "old" pantheon of the North.

Time went by and a new human Empire formed itself in the southern lands (empire based on the Greco-Roman civilisation, while the North was based on Nordic and Celtic cultures). This new empire created new gods, considered more "civilized", a new pantheon called the Southern Pantheon or Classical Pantheon.

This one was made of five gods :

# Morr. The father figure of this pantheon. Morr is a god of death, whose task is to act as a guardian of the dead in the afterlife. He is also a god of dreams, prophecies and illusions - in general he is tasked with everything that isn't anymore or that never was. He isn't a very active god, he is rather a passive one, mostly watching over his domain and subjects.

# Verena. The mother figure, and Morr's wife. She is goddess of both justice and learning, knowledge. Teaching humans the principles of education and wisdom, she is the enemy of tyrany and oppression, in fact you could say she cares more about equality than law. But she is still a goddess whose role is to fight for those oppressed by injustice ; and to defend those that broke the law for a just and noble cause. Her symbols are the scale (for justice and equality), the owl (for wisdom) and the sword (for fight).

# Myrmidia. One of the two daughters of Morr and Verene. She is the goddess of war, but she is a goddess of strategies and tactis, a goddess of an ordered and civilized war, opposed to the brutality and barbary of the ancient god Ulric. Where Ulric in his eternal winter asks for strenght and fury, Myrmidia asks for art and science - she is a goddess of civilization and culture, "order into chaos" so to speak. She is also a goddess of honor and beauty. Associated with lions and eagles, she usually appeared as a tall warrior woman, all in white (clothes, skin, hair, eyes...).

# Shallya. The second daughter of Morr and Verene. She is the goddess of mercy and healing. Deity of charity and forgiveness, she brings redemption, nourishment and purification : she brings peace to the dying and the sick, comfort to the imprisoned and the poor, the promise of a better life in another existence for the wounded warriors. Her symbol is a white dove, and her temple typically act like public hospitals in cities. She was represented in mythology as an innocent and naive goddess, often tricked or captured by more malevolent deities. She was represented as a young girl always weeping and crying, tears running down her eyes - and said tears being the symbol of her pity and comfort. As a goddess of healing, she can heal both physical and mental wounds.

# Ranald. This god is an odd case. He used to be a mortal man, but he tricked his way into godhood. He had Shallya fall in love with him, and then pretended to be sick and dying. Shallya used her tears to make him immortal, and thus he became a god, while revealing to Shallya that it was all a ruse and that he never loved her.

On one side he is the trickster god, the god of illusions, deceit, trickery, uses and fraud, as well as the god of irony. On the other hand, he is the god of thieves, bandits and criminals. Worshipped by gamblers and thiefs, patron of games based on luck, deity of luck, fortune and malice, he is associated with numerous superstitions, and his temples often act as casinos, worehouses and pubs.

Ranald is also the god of the common people, opposed to the more "intellectual" and "philosophical" gods of the rest of the pantheon. He embodies the idea of liberty and revolution. God of agitators and politicians, of demagogues and of democracy (remember, we are inside an empire), he represents the god that will defend and protect the people against tyranny and despots.

The black cat is his sacred animal.

(Interestingly, in the Old World culture, each cat's color is associated with a differen symbolism. The black cats are Ranald's symbol. The red cats are symbols of violence and conflicts. The white cats symbolize feminity, women and innocence. As for the tortoise-shell cats, they are symbols of confusion, surprise and complication.)

#fictional mythologies for dummies #warhammer #gods #goddess #goddesses #old world #nordic gods #southern gods #old gods #mythology

5 notes · View notes

zeldauniverse · 4 years

Text

Zelda's Study: There's something familiar about Aryll

"When you first played The Wind Waker, did it feel like you had already met Aryll before?" Zelda's Study: There's something familiar about Aryll #ZeldasStudy

When you first played The Wind Waker, did it feel like you had already met Aryll before? Maybe its her chipper demeanor, or the way she dresses? Or could it be the strange love she has for seagulls? There’s something about Aryll that makes her seem instantly familiar to Zelda fans. This is because she was designed to embody the spirit of fan-favorite characters from games past.

Zelda’s Study

View On WordPress

10 notes · View notes

growingstronglikeahighgardenrose · 5 years

Text

Miss You

For @sanditoncreative Candy Hearts & Tropey Starts Pairings: Sidney/Charlotte Prompt: Miss You (and my own favourite Austen-romance trope: handwritten letters full of feels) Rating: G Synopsis: It isn’t easy to miss someone once you’ve held them.

Also available on AO3

Rain drops on the window and dark clouds could fill even the most joyful spirit with melancholy. Focussing her gaze beyond the window, she watched the waves consume almost the entirety of the beach.

A lone seagull raked through the sky, fighting against the wind as he spread his wings towards the open sea.

In her mind, Charlotte travelled alongside the seagull, across foaming waves and whirlpools, to a boat riding the streams with determination.

Her eyes slipped shut, imagining Sidney’s strong brow and handsome face grim with determination, one force of nature against the other.

Her fingers lifted towards the window, reaching forward as she imagined his wet face, the same as it had been the day she’d bumped into him at the cove.

As her fingertips bumped against the cold window. His face would be cold because of the rain and wind as well.

She missed him. The sight of him had always managed to fill her heart with a certain delight. She’d never really given attention to how her heart felt before falling in love, but now she was constantly aware of it. It was a sensitive organ, sometimes beating fast, and sometimes very slow. Sometimes she could even feel it stop, and sometimes she felt like it could simply explode with joy and love.

Right now she could distinguish the odd hollow feeling she usually only suffered in the dark at night, as she lay alone in her cold big bed. Those were the times the lack of him hit her the hardest.

Because she could recall with exact precision the way the bed dipped underneath his weight, and the way she curled against him to absorb his heat. Their bed had been their haven, the place where he felt most at ease to tell her how he felt. The place where he managed to drag the highest of highs out of Charlotte as she yielded to his touch.

In their room, there was only ever them. The outside world ,the silly world and society’s rules remained firmly at the door.

Perhaps that was why being alone in the room that embodied the heart of their house and relationship hurt more.

Her fingers slipped down the window.

Where was he right now? Was he thinking of her as well?

Her reverie was perturbed by a knock on the door.

‘Come in.’

‘You got a letter’, Georgiana smiled as she walked over to her.

‘It’s tea time by the way, you should come downstairs.’

Charlotte nodded with a smile.

‘After I read the letter.’

‘Don’t take too long. I want to take my tea with you and I loathe cold tea. Also, the cake is fresh out of the oven, and I prefer to eat it while it’s still hot.’

‘The longer you talk to me, the longer it’ll be before I come down’, Charlotte teased.

Georgiana rolled her eyes and walked away.

The letter was stained, with paler splotches here and there. Sea salt, Charlotte concluded. In need slanted writing in black pen stood her name. Her index finger trailed over the letters, halting at the blotched P of her surname.

He’d promised her he’d write to her each time they stopped somewhere.

And he had fulfilled that promise perfectly. She had a small chest with twenty envelopes in it right beside her bed, to reread when she got too lonely at night.

She quickly, but carefully, opened the letter.

“To my dearest Admiral Charlotte 3/05/18—”

Charlotte bit her lip. He’d taken to calling her a new term of endearment with every letter he wrote. It had been over half a year since he’d called her Admiral Heywood. The last time had been during the summer. Back when she’d first gotten to know him. How much had changed since then! But she would not forget the first time he ever called her that as they had their boat race with the children. She looked up to the ceiling as her breathing became unsteady. Gods, how she missed him!

She took a minute to take a deep breath and collect herself before continuing.

“It is with no small amount of pleasure that I can announce my last letter. We’ve stopped in our final port for the travel. All our work is done. The next stop shall be London.

In five days, I shall be home again. Nothing remarkable happened since the last letter. The weather was pleasant, and the sea was mostly calm. I have no reason to suspect a storm shall hit us during the last leg of our journey. We also don’t need to pass any traitorous streams or sandbanks. These are trusted waters, and there is no reason to fear. Though I doubt not you shall make up your own mind despite of what I think.

After the amount of letters I’ve been obliged to send you, I’m afraid I’ve run out of things to say. Except perhaps a last and final thought I haven’t voiced to you yet. It’s been one and a half month since I’ve had to leave you because of business, which is almost half our marriage. The only other time I’ve missed you for longer than that, was during the dark months before our reconciliation. I wrongly assumed that knowing we were reunited forever now, despite some temporary distance, would lessen the sorrow of being parted from you. But as I now know you better than I have ever before, I have become keenly aware of exactly what I miss. Make no mistake, my life was worth nothing without you, but nothing could have prepared me for what I feel now.

Charlotte, I miss you. I can’t wait to be back home. I’m counting down the days, and I’m not afraid to say my men shall suffer if Poseidon intervenes and prolongs my time away from you. Since I won’t stop at another shore, you can save all your colourful stories and ardent declarations of love for when you see me again. I’d rather you show me how much you missed me.

If you missed me anywhere as much as I missed you, I know our reunion shall be even more spectacular than our wedding night.

Affectionately yours,

Your second-in-command”

#6 sanditon valentines #sidney x charlotte #sanditoncreative #day 2: miss you #sanditon

20 notes · View notes

anythingforcrepes · 5 years

Text

(hey so I really don’t post my fics often, but i’ve been so excited about good omens that I felt the need to share! hope u enjoy!)

[1.2k ; Aziraphale x Crowley at a carnival by the ocean ; fluff ; slight AU?? ; no spoilers]

A flock of seagulls tumbled and glittered in the light wind, blissfully unaware of the sticky, hot boardwalk below them.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and listened to their chortling. He sat on a metal bench in the full sun and in his hands he clutched a half-empty bag of jellybeans. He scooped up a handful, opening his eyes only to quickly inspect them, and began popping them in his mouth. They melted quickly there, staining his tongue and teeth with a riot of colour. The yellow and blue beans were wedged between the bench slats–the rejects. He leaned back and sighed through his sugar-coated teeth, listening to the seagulls cackle overhead. It was far from the most beautiful sound on earth, but he got a subtle pleasure from its roughness.

The sun was eclipsed by a shaggy mane of red hair. Aziraphale, unsurprised, squinted at the ironically haloed head and patted the spot next to him.

Crowley shook his head in disgust and sat beside Aziraphale, avoiding the melting sweets.

“I can’t believe this,” Crowley said, picking a yellow bean out of the bench. “You’re wasting perfectly good jellybeans.”

Flustered, Aziraphale looked over at Crowley, his mouth full of green jellies.

“It’s notf wmaste!” he protested. “It’s feeding the ants, see? They love it!”

Crowley scowled and threw the bean behind him. Anyone passing by would think he was angry, but Aziraphale knew better. Behind his dark shades and scowl, Crowley was laughing.

Rifling through the packet, Aziraphale pulled a red bean and placed it in Crowley’s hand.

“There, that one matches your hair.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and tossed the candy in his mouth. He nearly spat it out. Cinnamon heart flavour. Ugh.

“So, what’s the plan, angel?” Crowley asked, stretching his legs. “Stroll on the boardwalk? Corn dog or two? I can win you one of those stuffed panda bears if that’s the real reason we’re here.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Well, no, but I was wondering if we could go up in… that?” He pointed hopefully to something behind them.

Crowley whipped around, lowering his glasses. He hoped to G-O-D that Aziraphale wasn’t pointing at–

“The ferris wheel!” said Aziraphale, nearly dropping his candies. “I’ve always wanted to go on one. Look how cute it is!”

Dragging a hand down his face, Crowley took a second look at the thing. It looked like a bunch of haphazard steel poles, some wires, and a couple buckets of pastel paint decided to go on a bender together.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, patiently. “May I remind you that you literally have the power of flight?”

“No need to remind me, Crowley. I’m well aware.”

“And that you can go about a thousand times higher than that thing could take you?”

“Yes, I am aware of that as well.”

Crowley took a long, slow breath, then jumped to his feet, striding towards the ferris wheel. “Well, c'mon then, let’s get it over with,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to watch Aziraphale blush with joy.

Each of his steps were three of Aziraphale’s, so naturally he reached the wheel first.

“Ticket please,” said the pimply gate watch, automatically extending his hand.

Turning to make sure Aziraphale hadn’t quite caught up yet, Crowley waved a hand in front of the teenager’s face. Instantly, the boy’s expression livened and he stood up straight.

“It’s free today, sir!” he said.

“Free?” Aziraphale said, a little out of breath. “Excellent!”

The pair picked a light pink carriage and sat down. It was a tight fit, to say the least. Crowley experimentally rattled the metal handle bar that rested across the two of them. Flimsy crap. Well, as long as Aziraphale was happy…

The ride jolted to a start, scaring both of them. Slowly, the wheel started to turn upwards. Crowley flinched at the creaking noise the carriage made as it swung in the wind, but his thoughts were directed elsewhere when he looked over at Aziraphale. The angel was in his element; with his eyes shining and white-gold hair being tousled by the sea air, he embodied the term angelic. Aziraphale held the bar with one hand and pointed out with the other.

“The ocean looks spectacular from up here, look! And the motion of the ferris wheel feels like waves…it’s almost as if we’re really among them.”

Crowley grinned and started violently rocking the carriage. Aziraphale gave a little yelp and clutched at the handle.

“Crowley, stop! I didn’t mean it like that!”

They laughed as their carriage made it to the top of the wheel and gently halted.

A few moments of comfortable silence passed between them, punctuated only by faraway seagull calls, the crash of a wave, and the gentle swish and creak of their carriage. Crowley eyed Aziraphale’s hands, still wrapped around the metal bar. If he could just scoot one of his hands closer, his pinkie finger could brush against a single knuckle. Aziraphale wouldn’t notice, would he? No. He hardly ever did. Crowley inhaled gently, and started to inch his hand along the bar.

Before he could get very far, Aziraphale lifted a hand and placed it on top of Crowley’s.

“Thank you for coming up here with me,” Aziraphale said, smiling at him. “I know it’s a bit of a silly bother, but it’s just one of those human contraptions I find so interesting…”

“Uh, yeah,” Crowley said, feeling his face go red and turning away. “No prob.”

“Crowley?”

“Angel?”

As Crowley turned back, Aziraphale’s other hand was there to cup his face.

Crowley froze, instantly remembering the words that had haunted him ever since Aziraphale said them just a few years ago:

It’s no risk for you and all the risk for me.

After an extensive dinner outing and several drinks they had been dancing, or swaying, more like, in the back room of Aziraphale’s shop. Crowley could hardly remember to move his feet, as the angel’s head was on his shoulder, and they had never been close like this before, despite their many previous drunken expeditions. Before Crowley could think too much about it, he had placed his fingers under Aziraphale’s chin and tilted his face upwards. Aziraphale eyes had flicked through emotions like a slot machine before landing on neutral seriousness. And then he had said the words.

And now, he would say them again. So Crowley sat still, and waited.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Aziraphale. “But it’s okay. For just this moment, it’s okay.”

It was like letting a ferret out of a cage. Crowley instantly reached across and buried his fingers in the back of Aziraphale’s hair. So soft, like duckling fluff. Aziraphale marveled at how Crowley’s fingers tangled desperately in his hair, and how hot his face was under his hand. Crowley leaned towards him, remembering the movies he’d watched, the half-joking, half-serious practice sessions he’d had in front of the mirror.

The ferris wheel took this moment to clunk back to life, throwing the pair forwards and almost out of the carriage.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake!” said Crowley. He slammed his hands down on the bar, half out of frustration, and half because his tongue burned the second the H-word was on it.

Aziraphale began to laugh, reaching up to cover the deep blush that had spread across his face.

The carriage soon touched the ground once more, and Crowley leapt out of it as if it was doused in holy water. Aziraphale took his time, dusting off his pants, getting a handkerchief out to wipe his forehead, thanking the ticket boy.

They walked back towards the boardwalk in silence. Crowley shoved his hands deep in his pockets and squinted at the sun, the hot dog vendor, anywhere and at anything but Aziraphale.

“Crowley, could we stop for a moment here?”

The pair halted by a booth for a ring toss game.

“Want the panda after all?” Crowley asked, unable to keep the gloomy edge out of his voice.

“No thank you, I’d much rather show you a magic trick,” Aziraphale replied.

Crowley groaned. Not another one. One a year was enough for him.

“Just bend down a bit…” said Aziraphale, rummaging in his pockets. “That’s right so your face is level with mine…”

They looked at each other for a few seconds, long enough for Crowley to see that Aziraphale was still blushing, ever so slightly. Then, Aziraphale leaned forward and pecked Crowley on the cheek.

“There,” he said, quietly. “I didn’t want you to go on that terrifying wheel for nothing.”

“It was fun, angel,” Crowley replied, giving Aziraphale a quick, barely perceptible nuzzle before straightening up. “So…corn dogs ?”

“Yes please,” the angel said, entwining his fingers in Crowley’s. It took nearly all the demon’s concentration to remember how to use his legs.

On their way to the stand, they passed a bench. In the slats, blue and yellow jellybeans had melted together under the midday sun. Soon, the ants would be upon them. But for now, they looked like crystals: sparkling, fresh, and bright.

#good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #anythingforcrepes writes

1 note · View note