#hq.📖

[prettyiwa]

Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader | 539 words post-canon (takes place in 2025). fluff. established relationship. Hajime receives birthday love.

Hajime’s birthday spans over two days across three timezones.

The first comes with texts from his friends in Japan—exuberant and excitable, a short-lived time machine that takes him back to his high school days. Mattsun and Makki are always the first, turning it into a competition between each other to see who can get ahold of him first, who can be louder. It always makes his day, arriving at 8 A.M. the morning before, though it’s midnight in Japan.

His parents video call in the afternoon, always falling squarely between his lessons. It’s still the morning for them, just before they must leave for work, and it always makes him miss home more than anything. Their desire for a visit goes unspoken, but the way they talk about how much he’s grown and how happy they are that he found his passion pulls at something beneath the surface. These calls are always followed up with no less than a half-hour spent trying to plan a return visit, intermittently interrupted with trickling messages from the others starting their days in Japan—he responds to these after dinner without fail.

The second consists of a single person—Oikawa. On occasion, he’s been able to come out for the day, arriving at 8 P.M. as though still adhering to Argentina Time. It depends on the demands of the season, but regardless of where he is, Oikawa makes a day of it. Starting with a series of phone calls until Hajime answers, he gifts him an intentionally off-key happy birthday song (at least, you hope it’s intentional). Oikawa will launch into the same tale each year of two children who were destined to meet and become best friends—in the past, if Hajime objected to any of it, Oikawa’s embellishments would only grow, though Hajime’s since learned to let it happen. They catch up as if they don’t regularly talk to one another with Oikawa offering him a goodbye that calls to question your status in Hajime’s life. Unfortunately for you, the second call comes five minutes after Hajime’s first alarm in the morning, much too loud for either of you to process first thing in the morning, but it wouldn’t be his birthday without it.

The third—Hajime’s favorite, something known only between you two—comes at the strike of midnight in California. You wake him with kisses, feather light, enough to rouse him from his slumber with a sleepy smile. Your praise comes to you easily, thanking him for being born, for changing your life, for all the tiny little things he does throughout your shared lives that reflect his love for you. Love pours from you, filling him up until he’s overflowing. Each year, without fail, he’s convinced that holding you like this is the greatest gift he can receive. It goes unspoken, passed between languid kisses and soft touches, something threaded into the foundation of your marriage.

“Happy birthday, Hajime. I’m so very glad that you were born thirty-one years ago.”

His heart swells, your skin soft under his touch as he comes to cup your face. Your lips shape into his favorite smile and he hopes you know that he yearns for many more, just like this.

Haikyuu masterlist

[prettyiwa]

I'm finally getting around to reading this masterpiece and I am kicking myself for not having read it earlier.

From the start, you establish the nature of this story, that this is a special day, that even on this special day, Reader is captivated by this stranger, that they've known the words that are to come. There you are. I've been waiting. Such a simple and hopeful and ominous set of first words for a soulmate. They establish that there was faith that they would unite, that there is heartbreak awaiting them as Reader meets him on her special day. He has been waiting, but she didn't. The stark contrast between them communicating who they are and where they are perfectly.

Your command over atmospheric writing is, in my opinion, unparalleled. The words you choose all work to weave this wondrous tapestry, vivid in the descriptions you provide and the world you create. Everything has weight to it, working to bring your writing to life so that it breathes. It aids your storytelling, the establishment of the relationships between the girls and the belief and personal and societal stigma surrounding soulmates, everything that will lead to the decision to marry despite Kita's promise of waiting.

The development of Takao's relationship with Reader is slow, gentle, the earnest crush of adolescence that morphs into friendship. Their separation is the result of life, subject to the same difficulties of real relationships and friendships as people grow and grow apart, and their reunion is smooth, natural, aided by the work put in to remain friends despite the attraction and fear surrounding not being one another's soul mates. Their burgeoning love is whole and true, a choice that they make despite knowing there is someone out there "made for them," a leap of faith in one another captured spectacularly by your words.

And the return to Kita? Knowing the full weight of the choices that Reader made to get to this point makes the heartbreak all the more poignant and visceral, cementing a sense of dread for the choices and conversations that await.

I am thoroughly in love with the way you stitch together words to create such a vivid story with such precision. Thank you so much for crafting this story. I cannot wait to continue 💜

lover be good to me: part one

You meet Kita Shinsuke on a rainy summer day, with a sea of hydrangeas swirling at your feet. You know him instantly, as only a soulmate can. He seems like a good man. Like a good soulmate.

But it's your wedding day.

minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

pairings: kita shinsuke x f!reader, oc x f!reader

notes: this fic has been a long time coming—it's basically my baby at this point. i'm so excited to finally get to share part one with you! i am so thankful for everyone who has sat thru me yelling about this to them. and a million thank yous to my beta, between your enthusiasm for this fic and all your help with it—i don't know if it could have been done without you!

title and part title are from hozier's "be" and "nfwmb"

tags for this part: soulmate au (first words), this is a very reader-centric story, very significant reader x oc, slow burn, hurt/comfort, pining, alcohol consumption, anxiety.

see main fic tags here.

wc: 13k

The hydrangeas are in full bloom.

You can see them through the window: the sea in each blossom, the radiant blue of them veined through with white, ocean and foam detailed in petals. They nod with the rain, weighed down by the fat droplets. 

There are two men that keep passing through the sea of hydrangeas like ships, leaving little eddies of blooms in their wake. They must be vendors considering they’re weighted down by boxes, though neither seems bothered by their load. 

You watch them for a moment. They’re both efficient, unbothered by the slow, steady drizzle. You rest your chin on your cupped palm, eyes drawn to the shorter man. There’s a few strands of hair peeking out from beneath his hat, the hazy gray of it—black-tipped like thunderclouds—an odd contrast to his lean, toned body. 

He makes his way through the courtyard, and you lean forward to keep him in sight, your nose almost pressed against the foggy window pane. He steps carefully around a drooping hydrangea bloom, his calm face visible for the first time, and something threads through you for a breath unraveling too quickly for you to place. 

He ducks beneath the eaves and out of your sight. 

Just in time, too. The rain picks up drumming gently against the ground, carrying a few loosened petals with it. The other man—broader and taller but no less graceful for it—spits out a curse. He hurries forward until he too is gone from view. 

“Told you it would rain,” Abe says from behind you, making you yelp. She presses in next to you. Her breath billows over the window pane blooming hazy against it, a marine fog. 

“You did,” you say with a laugh. “So did the weather channel. Almost a full week before you did.”

She scoffs. “Yes, but that’s their job. Mine was sheer instinct.”

“And listening to the weather channel?”

“Must you slander me?”

“Yes,” you say, smiling, but your gaze returns to the courtyard where the hydrangeas are bleeding petals under the rain’s heavy cut. 

“Are you nervous?”

You meet Abe’s gaze in the reflection of the window pane. Her dark eyes are warm and soft, and maybe a little bit sad. 

“Should I be?” you ask.

She wraps a small hand around yours and you realize you’ve been tapping your nail against your water glass, a crystalline symphony. 

“No,” she says firmly. “You shouldn’t.”

Warmth blooms in your chest, sprouts like flowers between the cracks in the concrete. You lean into her. She sighs, long and put-upon, but she tilts towards you, opens her body to you. It’s an invitation you know well. You rest your head in the crook of her shoulder and stare out the window.

“Yeah,” you say. “You’re right.”

“Always am.”

“That’s debatable, Natsu.” 

She grumbles but starts to pull away without comment when the kimono stylist calls out for her. She pauses for a moment. She leans in and adjusts your shiromuku carefully, her fingers deft. Then she squeezes your hand softly, familiar and warm, like a song you’ll always know. You squeeze back. 

You watch her reflection in the window until it blurs at the edges. She’s already bickering with Yoshikawa by the time it fades entirely from the foggy windowpane, their voices carrying. You’re sure that they’re curled together over Yoshikawa’s phone, flicking through the itinerary you’ve already forgotten most of. 

There’s movement beyond the window and you perk up as the man from before walks by. He’s kept under the eaves by the increased rain, and you can see the way it’s dampened his hair to something closer to slate.

There’s a gleam of amber above the boxes he’s carrying; the briefest flash of his eyes, bright and keen. He sweeps by the window almost close enough to touch, and you press your fingertips against the cool pane without thinking. 

It’s this closeness that lets you see his phone—a flip phone, of all things, with a little charm you can’t quite make out dangling from it—slip from his pocket. You wince as it drops out of view. 

He keeps going though, utterly unfazed. The rain has overshadowed the noise you realize, and you’re darting outside before you even know it, the shoji rattling slightly from your force. The summer humidity rolls over you, so stark against your aircon-chilled skin that you shiver with it. 

“You dropped your phone!” you call out after the man, hurrying along the engawa to scoop it up, careful of your shiromuku’s hem. The tiny charm is a stylized stalk of rice, you realize, the little panicles at the top colored with shimmering golden paint. It’s cute. A little at odds with his utilitarian flip phone, but cute nonetheless.

Ahead of you, the man goes still.

He’s turning around when his name unfurls inside of you. 

The movies hadn’t said it was anything like this.

There’s no passion ripping through you like forest fire, no lightning strike sizzling his name into your very bones. It’s slow and soft, like slipping into bathwater after a long, hard day, the heated kiss of it a balm against all of your bruises. Like the bloom of the first crocuses, a promise of spring after the long winter. 

“Oh, Shinsuke,” you breathe, and you think you’ve never known a name so well, that each curve of it was made to fit upon your tongue. 

The man—Shinsuke—stares at you. And then his lips tilt into a faint smile, tender like the oncoming dawn; a watercolor sky burgeoning with sunlight, a world coming awake. You think you could build a home in the way he looks at you. 

“There you are,” he says softly. “I’ve been waiting.”

You know.

You’ve known for years that he’s been waiting for you; it’s been scrawled on your skin this whole time. He has always, always been waiting for you.

Your soulmark pulses faintly. For a breath, you think you can see it glow despite the heavy layers you have on.

“Shinsuke,” you say again. It’s a helpless little sound, the edges of it catching in your throat like burrs. You need to say something else. You know you do. You know what you have to tell him, but he’s looking at you so softly that the words keep getting lost. 

Your grip on his phone tightens until the little rice charm is cutting into your skin.

His smile starts to fade. It curls in on itself, wilting at the edges, like the last of the summer flowers.

He’s been looking at only you, you realize. Just you. Your face, most likely, but it feels like something more—as if he’s seeing down to your marrow, as if he’s flayed you open beneath his tender gaze. He’s only been looking at you. Nothing else. 

He’s been looking at you, but you think he’s seeing the rest now. Your careful makeup. Your pristine hair.

Your lavish shiromuku—carefully embroidered with the elegant sweep of cranes’ wings and with delicate petals unfolding into bountiful chrysanthemums—that fits you perfectly, the heavy silk of it as white as driven snow.

You couldn’t find the words for it, caught up in the gentle sun of his joy as it pooled golden around you, but he’s finally seeing what you couldn’t say.

It’s your wedding day.

***

Your soulmark appears when you’re twelve, all without you even noticing. 

Summer is in full bloom in Toyooka; the wet lick of a heatwave has settled oppressive over the countryside. It’s relentless. Even the rice fields seem to feel it, the verdant green ripple of them becoming a honey-slow shiver under the wind’s gentle touch. 

In the heat the cicadas’ call goes lazy; the storks only come out in the earliest parts of morning. They wade carefully through the still waters of the rice paddies, their beaks flashing in the weak sunlight as they needle down into the murk. 

The rental house is tucked carefully between two farms, a lone house amid the rippling rice plants. It’s old but well-maintained, a perfect little hideaway for your mother to finish her study. In the heat, she keeps the shoji doors open wide to let in the dancing, citronella-scented breeze. The first day you wander around the house to weigh the papers down with a mish-mash of items: the fruit bowl, pilfered from the kitchen counter under your father’s nose; encyclopedias long outdated; a pair of petal-flecked garden shears. 

It helps it feel like home.

Abe and her mother have come to Toyooka too; your mothers spend their days bent close together, talking in a language you know by heart but still can’t understand. Caught up in their research, they leave you to your own devices.

Away from all of your other friends and the bustle of the city, you and Abe roam free like a pair of stray cats. You spend the days without chores wandering through town, your arm hooked through hers, both your tongues stained sky blue from the Gari-Gari Kun popsicles from the conbini. The grannies wave at you as you pass by them; the two of you wave back with sticky fingers. 

You flit in and out of the rice paddies, scooping up tadpoles from the murky water. The farmers grow used to your presence quickly; they greet you cheerfully, accepting the onigiri you bring with little nods. 

After you splash through a paddy to coo over them, Watanabe lets you feed his ducks. He pours the feed from his hands into your smaller ones with a grunt. His hands are strong but aged, the dark skin on the back of his hands papery in the sunlight, wrinkled like old parchment. He teaches you both how to sprinkle the feed into the water just right so the ducks go arrowing across the water, little ships without sails. 

The days are long and short in the same breath.  

At night, Abe’s flashlight flickers in her window like a firefly, long after you are both meant to be in bed. You flash your own message back, little secrets wrapped up in ribbons of light, never mentioned after dawn. The two of you are woven together as only childhood friends can be.

And it’s Abe that sees your soulmark first. 

It’s midday and the clouds are rolling in across the clear blue sky hanging heavy and low, a gray promise of afternoon thunder. The two of you trace shapes in the clouds, shaded under a massive camphor tree, bumping into each other’s arms as you go.

There’s a rabbit in your cloud, the puffy edges of it extending into fluffy gray ears that wisp and sway with the growing breeze. You’ve just traced along the little curve of its nose when Abe—who has been burbling away like a spring brook, her chatter weaving a spell around the two of you—goes silent. 

Then she shrieks and grabs your arm.

“When did it come in?” she asks breathlessly. She’s shaking you too hard for you to see what she’s talking about, but there’s only one thing that tone could mean. 

You freeze, your heart pounding in your ears. For a moment, you consider closing your eyes, as if that will keep it from being real. As if that will rewrite your fate. 

You think of all the quotes you’ve scrawled in your notebooks late at night, and hope for all of them and none of them. 

Abe gives you another little shake. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! It’s so early! How long have you had it? Has anyone said it yet? What do you—”

“I don’t know!” you say, shaking her off and scooting backwards, pulling your arm towards your chest. 

She scowls. “How do you not know?”

“I didn’t notice it.”

You hadn’t. Maybe it was the sleepy haze of summer days running together.

Maybe you hadn’t wanted to see it.

Now that you know, it’s easy to see your mark. It’s already settled into your skin, the kanji tucked carefully into the tender flesh of the crook of your elbow. The characters are neat, precise little things, delicate at the edges. It shimmers silvery in the sunlight. A winter moon’s glow inked into your skin.

Abe plants her hands on her hips. “You didn’t notice your soulmark?”

You shake your head. “You know I would tell you!!”

She huffs. “I guess. You really didn’t know?”

You yank on a tuft of grass. “Nope.”

“Idiot,” she says, but it’s fond. She nudges closer to you despite the heat. “Who doesn’t realize their mark was written?”

“Me, I guess.”

“Guess so. Lemme see,” she says, making grabby hands at your arm; you let her yank it close with a sigh. She peers down at your mark with heavy concentration.

“You look like Granny Takada right now.”

She pouts. “Do not!”

“You do,” you tell her. “You’re all squinty.” 

“Do you want me to read it to you or not?”

You take a second too long to answer, the words caught in your throat, tangled on your tongue. Abe glances up. Something passes over her face; it’s too quick to know, a fleeting summer storm. She drops your arm with a sigh.

“The kanji are complicated,” she complains. “Too hard to read. Leave it to you to have a soulmate like that.” 

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, wrinkling your nose even as you relax, your muscles uncoiling. 

She snorts. “Nothing, nothing,” she coos, smacking your hand away when you swat at her. “Let’s go, it’s gonna rain. We can’t track mud inside again.”

“That was you, not me.”

Abe ignores you, popping up to her feet and rocking back on her heels. She takes off before you can stand her braids streaming behind her like kite ribbons, and you yelp out a protest as you scramble to your feet. 

“Nat-chan!” 

“Keep up!” she shouts, halfway to the rice paddy that edges the little meadow, and you take off after her.

The skies open on the two of you when you’re almost back to the rental, the rain relentless and heavy as only a summer storm can be. You both shriek but the water is warm, and you giggle at the way Abe’s bangs are plastered to her forehead even as you keep running.

You tumble into the genkan just as the first lightning strike splits the sky. You’re practically tripping over each other. Abe knocks into the getabako, jarring a pair of your father’s shoes, their well-worn soles rolling upwards like the barnacled hull of a capsized boat. She grunts with the impact.

“Quiet,” you hiss.

“I’m being quiet,” she hisses back, just as your mother rounds the corner and fixes the two of you with an unimpressed raised brow.

Abe’s mother peeks around the corner too, her lips thinning as she sees the water dripping from the two of you. “You’re soaked,” she says. “And you’re making a mess of the genkan, Natsumi.”

“Sorry,” she mutters.

Her mother sighs. “Weren’t you supposed to be back earlier? Before the rain?”

“We got distracted because her soulmark came in!” Abe says, pointing to you with no remorse. 

You gape at her. 

“What?” she says. “It’s in a pretty obvious spot.” 

“Natsumi,” her mother says, exasperated. “You’re always jumping in feet first.”

Abe grumbles, but goes quiet when her mother eyes her.

“Chieko,” your mother says. “Do you need umbrellas for the walk home?”

“If it’s not an inconvenience.”

“Of course not.”

You and Abe engage in a rapid-fire round of mouthing things to each other as your mothers search for umbrellas, too close to risk actual words. Abe speaks fast, even in exaggerated slow motion, and after you think she says something about snails, you decide it’s too incomprehensible to keep trying. You wave her off with a quick tilt of your head. She scowls but stops, crossing her arms with a soggy squish. 

The scowl disappears from her face as soon as her mother steps up beside her, handing her one of your umbrellas. She traces a finger over the nearest little cat design, petting lightly at its fabric ears. 

“Let’s go before you catch a cold,” Chieko says. “Say goodbye.”

“Bye,” Abe says, her voice stilted.

“Bye,” you parrot. 

“Alright then,” Chieko says after a moment. She looks at you, considering. You bite the inside of your cheek, running the tip of your tongue against the pinched flesh. 

She sighs. “You’ll figure it out,” she says softly.

You should have known that she wouldn’t offer congratulations. The relief spreads over you like a balm, soothing the scrape you hadn’t even known was there. 

You nod. 

“See you tomorrow,” your mother tells her.

She and Abe disappear out the front door and into the downpour; Abe throws you one last look before the door closes behind them. You look away. 

Your mother is quiet for a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“I—I don’t think so.”

She considers you. “Alright,” she says. “I’ll get you a towel and then you need to go change before you get sick.”

“Okay.” 

She disappears down the hallway without another word. 

You look down to your soulmark. At the thin kanji of it, the gleam of them like spiderwebs caught in a moonbeam, an ethereal silver. When you touch it, tracing a fingertip carefully against the crook of your elbow, it just feels like skin. As if it’s always been there. As if it’s always been a part of you. 

Upside down, the kanji are difficult to parse. You run your fingers over them once more, and then your mother is there with a towel. You yank your fingers away as if burned. She doesn’t react, just handing you the towel and corralling you upstairs to dry yourself off. 

Dinner is quiet that night and you go up to bed early, tired from the ups and downs of the day.

You’ve just finished brushing your teeth when the flickering catches your attention. You spit out the last bit of foam and rinse out your mouth before padding over to your window. 

A little light bobs up and down across the way; at moments, you can make out the vague outline of Abe’s face when she brings the flashlight up with a sharp jerk that almost hits her chin. She’s cycling through the attention-getting code you’d made up a few years back. 

You consider pulling your shade down entirely. 

Instead, you pad over to your dresser drawer and pull out your own flashlight. You settle into bed with it heavy on your lap. You pull at the edge of the faded sticker slapped below the switch, tearing a little piece of it off. You flick it on for a second. Just enough to let Abe know you’re there. 

It’s not your normal greeting, and Abe’s window stays dark for a long, long moment. 

Mad at me? she finally flashes, little pulses of starlight in the dark.

You are. Soulmates are different for the two of you. You’ve grown up hearing all of the jargon for your mother’s study, and you know that she has too. You know the low rate of soulmates meeting, and you know the distant look in your father’s eyes as he wraps tender fingers around his blackened mark. 

It’s different, and you thought she knew that. 

Sorry, her flashlight blinks out. I am.

You think of how she complained about the kanji of your mark despite being the most proficient in your classroom. 

Mad at me?

You wonder how you would have told your parents that you’d received your mark when you can barely acknowledge it yourself. 

You raise your flashlight.

No, you send off. Not anymore. 

Good, she immediately sends. 

You talk until your eyelids are drooping and your jaw is cracking with non-stop yawning. It’s easy to say goodnight, knowing you’ll see each other in the morning. You pull down your shade and climb into bed.

You fall asleep with your hand cupped over your soulmark.

***

It takes you three days to finally ask what your mark says. 

Evening is coming to life, the sky darkening into plum, the faintest hint of cotton-candy pink lingering on the horizon. As your father sets the table, you’re unable to resist the quiet call of what fate has scraped into your skin. 

He blinks, trading a look with your mother, but then he smiles softly. 

“After dinner,” he tells you. “Okay?”

You nod.

It’s your mother who reads it to you later, the two of you whispering together on the engawa surrounded by the flicker of the summer fireflies. You curl tight into her side, a rib returned. 

“There you are,” she reads softly, stroking a thumb gently over the kanji. “I’ve been waiting.” 

Her voice is a honeyed drip, sweet and steady, and though she is smiling, you think she sounds sad. She shifts to press a hand tight over her stomach as if it’s the only thing holding her together, as if she’s suddenly too big for her body. You know her mark is there. The kanji has gone sour and black, an eclipsed moon. 

“I don’t know if I want them to wait for me,” you whisper to her. 

She presses a kiss to your hairline. “You don’t have to know, tadpole.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

She shifts beside you. “You don’t have to wait for them, you know,” she tells you.

“Really?”

“Really,” she says.

“Do you think I’ll meet them?” you ask, kicking your feet and looking out into the night. A firefly flares bright, and you consider running to catch it. You’ve always been quick enough. The fireflies have always been trusting enough. 

She nudges a knuckle against your cheek. “The chances are low,” she admits, because she has never lied to you about soulmates. “And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Why?”

She sighs. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

She still has her hand pressed hard against her ribcage. 

You bite your lip and don’t ask anything else. 

The two of you stay curled together under the stars, watching the trucks trundle down the road as the late-working farmers return from the paddies. Eventually, she ushers you inside, and when she thinks you aren’t looking she knots her fingers in your father’s shirt. The fabric winds tight around her fingers, cutting into the softness of her skin. Her shoulders are trembling. Your father cups the back of her head and brushes a kiss to her hairline. 

You go up to your bedroom without a word because even this young, you know there are things you aren’t meant to see. 

Not long after that night your mother and Abe’s mother publish the study. It’s a culmination of years of grueling research on soulmates, of half-written notes on napkins when you go out to restaurants, of simmering arguments between her and Abe’s mother, of death threats and poisonous words. 

It covers the concept of soulmates like kudzu, winding over the romance of it and smothering it beneath statistics and a dissection of societal impact alike. 

It gets a nickname soon after publication, and your mother’s smile is a melon rind curve, bitter at the edges. 

They call it the Heartbreak Study.

***

Summer comes to an end.

You leave Toyooka on a rainy afternoon, the light drizzle sending water droplets racing down the train window. The storks huddle together in the paddies, their wet feathers gleaming like the moon. Abe is warm at your side curled into you, already half-asleep from the underlying hum of the train. It picks up speed and the rolling green of the countryside blurs like a watercolor, smearing across the horizon as you head back to the city.

It feels like you’re leaving more than the countryside behind.

Still, the city is a comfort, the bustle of it a familiar song, and you’d missed the neon lights that dot the streets like little flowers. With the return of school just around the corner it’s nice to settle back into the rhythm of city life, so different from the steady, unyielding heartbeat of Toyooka. 

You unpack your clothes and yourself too, slotting everything back into your city life, trying to fit back into it like a well-worn pair of shoes. 

“Oh,” Yoshikawa says lazily the next day, when you and Abe find her sprawled out on a bench by the conbini, sucking on a popsicle. She peers up at you, her long hair flowing around her shoulders like weeds in the current, softly swaying with each little movement. “You’re back.”

“She got her soulmark!” Abe says, dragging you forward by your wrist to display your mark. 

“Natsu,” you groan, ignoring the way she tugs at your wrist to pull you even more into Yoshikawa’s space. “Really?”

“What, you weren’t going to tell her?”

“Yeah,” Yoshikawa drawls, her dark eyes sly. “Were you not gonna tell me?”

“Shut up, Yocchan,” you say. “You know I was going to tell you.”

“You sure?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbows. “Doesn’t quite sound like it.”

“Yocchan.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop teasing. Can I see?” 

You hesitate for a breath. 

“You don’t gotta,” Yoshikawa says, biting into her popsicle with a loud crunch. Her lips are blue with it, the same color as the mid-morning sky. It drips down her elegant fingers, catches on the small scars littered across them. She licks at them absently, but her gaze is keen.

“It’s fine,” you say. “I’m just…still getting used to it.”

She hums. 

“Great,” Abe says, using her grip on your wrist to tug you forward again. “Look, look, look!”

Yoshikawa pushes herself the rest of the way up slowly, tucking her popsicle between her teeth as she reaches for your arm. Her fingers are sticky against your skin. She’s quiet as she reads your mark, her brow slightly furrowed. 

She lets you go after a minute, and you try not to fidget.

“Romantic,” she says. She lays back down on the bench.

Abe makes a strangled noise. “That’s all?”

Yoshikawa blinks slowly, but there’s a smug curve to her lips. “Is there something else to say?”

Abe stamps her foot. “There’s so much to say! She got her mark! The first of us! The first in our year!”

“Nah, Sasaki got his right before the break.”

“He did?”

“He did?” you echo. Relief blooms in you, rooting in the cracks of you, and you let out a tight breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Yeah,” Yoshikawa says. She closes her eyes and raises her face to the sun. It bathes her, turns her golden, an offering at the ending summer’s altar. “Our moms are friends. Heard them talking about it.” 

“Oh,” Abe says, pursing her lips. She glances at you, and you don’t know what she sees in your face, but her eyes go soft. “I guess it’s better that way. It won’t be as big of a deal. It’ll be fine.”

“You think so?” you ask. It comes out smaller than you meant it to. 

She nudges you with her hip. “Yeah,” she says, her voice gentle. There’s a promise in it. “I do.”

Yoshikawa hums her agreement as she bites off the last of her popsicle, ignoring Abe’s wince. She sucks the stick clean and glances at it. “Oh,” she says mildly. “I won.” 

“What?” Abe cries out, practically clambering on top of her to grab the stick. “How do you always win?”

Yoshikawa grunts under her sudden burden, stretching out one long arm to keep Abe from grabbing the stick. “S’not my fault you have bad luck.”

“C’mon, you already had a popsicle today!”

You watch them struggle, Abe doing her best to blanket Yoshikawa’s lanky frame with her tiny one. The laughter bubbles out of you, spills from you like an overflowing urn, loud and unrestrained. 

They turn to you in unison, brows raised. 

“Let’s go to the park,” you say, laughter still sweet on your tongue. “Don’t want to waste the day.” 

They eye you for a moment. They look at each other and shrug. 

“Conbini first,” Abe says. “I want something.” 

“You can’t have my popsicle,” Yoshikawa says.

“I don’t want your stupid free popsicle!”

“You were just trying to grab it!”

“Well I don’t want it anymore! I want mochi instead!”

This time you swallow down your laugh, let it spread warm through you like bottled sunshine. You follow the bickering pair into the conbini. They wait for you at the door, and you link pinkies with them both so they can drag you down the snack aisle.

For the first time since getting your mark, it feels like everything is going to be okay.

***

School starts up again.

It’s still warm, the last dregs of summer lingering in the air as you walk languidly to school with your friends. Abe flits ahead, her dark hair shimmering under the morning sun, and you think of a little darting fish on a reef, a quicksilver flash of scales. She greets other classmates easily. They always have a smile for her, and she falls into step beside them for a moment, chattering away. 

But in the end she always turns around and waits for you and Yoshikawa.

She’s off in the distance when Yoshikawa glances down at the silver peeking out of the crook of your elbow, exposed by the summer uniform’s short sleeves. 

“No wrap?” she asks. 

“No wrap,” you say.

You’d thought about it, but wearing a wrap screams that you’ve gotten your mark. With yours tucked tender into the crook of your elbow, you might be able to get away with it. At least you hope so. You know how many eyes will be on you when people realize, and you shift on the balls of your feet, pressing closer to Yoshikawa.

She hums. “Alright.”

You know that tone.

“Do not cause any problems,” you warn her.

She blinks slowly, like a smug cat with a patch of sunshine all to itself. “I would never. Do you want some toast?”

“Do I what—”

She pulls a handkerchief filled with toast out from her bag, little oily spots of butter bleeding through the hand-embroidered cloth. “Toast,” she says, holding it out.

“Don’t try to distract me,” you say irritably, but when she nudges the toast in your direction you slip a piece free of the handkerchief. You’ve eaten breakfast but no one makes bread like Yoshikawa’s mother, a hobby she’d picked up in her year abroad as a teen. Any of her loaves crackle perfectly under the bread knife, each slice thick and hearty, woven through with herbs and spices. 

“I would never.”

“Liar,” you mutter, sinking your teeth into the toast.

“So mean,” she says, but she’s smiling.

“Hurry up!” Abe shouts back to you both, her hands cupped over her mouth to unnecessarily amplify herself. 

Yoshikawa ignores her, sauntering along as your fellow students pour past you both. She moves like a river current, languid and flowing, and immoveable from her path. 

“You’re the worst,” Abe tells her a few minutes later, when you’ve finally caught up to her. 

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t ignore me, Yocchan!” 

“I’m not,” Yoshikawa says, holding out the toast again. She always brings enough for all three of you. “You just say it so much that it’s lost all meaning.” 

Abe grumbles, but she snags a piece of toast. It crunches beneath her teeth, a crackling symphony. “This is bribery, you know,” she says through her mouthful, scrunching up her nose. 

Yoshikawa shrugs. 

“C’mon,” you say, poking at them both. “We’re gonna be late.”

Abe links arms with you. Your mark flashes bright with the movement, glimmering like snow in the moonlight, all prismatic ice. 

She hums, shifting her arm just enough that your elbows are interlocked, hiding your mark as she tugs you towards the school gates. “Let’s go then,” she says. 

Yoshikawa falls into step on your other side. She leans over and softly bonks her head against yours, her long hair a veil for you both. You press together for a breath, then she pulls back and links her arm through your other arm as you enter the school grounds.

You make it two whole periods before someone notices. 

It’s Hasegawa, of course, her deep brown eyes going wide as you reach into your bag for your textbook. She says something to her seatmate, and Honda’s eyes snap to you.

You keep arranging your supplies. You set your pencil down next to your notebook and line them up as precisely as you can, nudging it back and forth until it’s perfectly aligned as they whisper to each other. They keep glancing at you until Yoshikawa leans back in her seat and flashes them a razor-edged smile. Honda squeaks, and they both go quiet after that.

But there’s no escaping it. You can feel eyes on you all day, and murmurs follow you everywhere. You barely eat at lunch, pushing the pieces of your bento around as Abe and Yoshikawa crowd you on either side. 

You almost make it to the end of the school day, but then Ueda and Nakajima stop you in the hallway. You bow to your seniors as they look you up and down. 

“We heard you got your soulmark,” Nakajima says, swaying in place just slightly, like kelp caught in a current. “Is it true?”

“Yes,” you say, trying not to fidget with your sleeve.

“When?” Ueda asks, frowning.

“Over the break.”

“Early to be getting your mark,” she muses. She doesn’t have hers yet, you think. Only a handful of people in her year do. 

“They say the earlier the mark manifests, the stronger the soul bond,” Nakajima says. 

It’s a common belief, one of the oldest wives tales there is, but you’ve spent too long listening to your mother. You know better. Still, your stomach twists.

“What does yours say?” Ueda asks.

You bite your tongue; the pain flashes through you like lightning, bright and sharp and bitter. The bitterness lingers, fills your mouth until you have to swallow it down. It stings the whole way. 

Ueda waits.

When you tell her, it feels like each word is being torn from you, as if they’d rooted into your very flesh. 

(You suppose they have.) 

For a breath, Ueda’s face twists. You think of the first hint of rot in ripe fruit, when the scent goes too sweet, a promise of decay. It isn’t the first time you’ve seen jealousy over a mark, but it’s odd to have it directed at you. 

I didn’t ask for this, you want to tell her. I don’t know if I even want this.

“Oh, how lovely,” Nakajima murmurs, moon-eyed. “You’re lucky to have such a devoted soulmate.”

You smile, but you think it’s a poor imitation of one, soured at the edges as it is. “Yeah,” you say, because she’s looking at you expectantly. “I am.”

“Well, congratulations. Right, Machi?”

“Yeah,” Ueda says, flashing you a tight smile. “Congratulations.” 

“Thank you,” you say, the words ash on your tongue. 

Nakajima tilts her head, bird-like, but Yoshikawa comes to your rescue, calling out your name from down the hall. You bid your seniors a quiet goodbye before hurrying to her.

She slings an arm around your shoulders, squeezing lightly. 

“Okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m fine.”

She hums her disbelief but leaves you be.

With her by your side, smiling pleasantly and radiating danger, the day passes without anyone else approaching you. Abe joins you again, looking proud of herself in a way that means she caused a problem, and you wonder what you did to deserve both of them. 

They come home with you when school ends, waving to your parents as you head up to your room. You collapse face-down on your bed and Yoshikawa laughs, low and deep and a little bit sad. 

She and Abe curl up around you like cats. They talk about everything and nothing, filling up your room with their presence until you start to go lax against them. They shuffle closer as you do and they’re warm against you, like sunbaked stone. You sink into that warmth and breathe out deeply.

The next few weeks will be filled with questions, with murmurs behind your back, with everything that comes with getting your mark so early. You know that, but there’s one other thing that you know, too.

With them, you know you’ll make it through. 

***

The school year blurs past in a watercolor of seasons. Fall gives way to winter, curling up under the biting cold; spring chases away winter in a riot of color, the sakura buds unfurling as your upperclassmen graduate, each bloom inset into the branches like a little jewel. As summer beckons, the days warming as the promise of rain hangs heavy in the humid air, Kimura gets her mark.

She’s only the third person in your year to get hers and she’s coy about it, wrapping it in a ribbon, the burgundy silk luscious against her skin. It’s as eye-catching as she meant it to be. 

It’s elegant in its own way, though the ribbon wilts slightly as the day goes on, mostly from the way she keeps touching it. She strokes along the ribbon as she talks with her friends. You’re not sure she realizes it.

A few people glance your way, their eyes flickering to your elbow, but their attention is as fleeting as the first snow. Their gazes return to Kimura, to the bruised burgundy of her ribbon.

Something loosens in you, unravels from where it’s been knit tight around your ribs. 

Honda gets hers next, and then Watanabe gets his. 

Slowly, mark after mark comes into being, words unfurling across skin. As more of your classmates receive their marks, yours fades into the background. It becomes common and you sink into that commonality, having long waited for the spotlight on you to cease.

Your mark fades into the background, like a star just after dawn—known only to those who know where to look. You try not to think of it. Sometimes you even succeed.

In your second year of high school, there’s Takao.

He’s a quiet boy. Stoic, even, his face almost stony as he introduces himself as the new transfer student. But he has a dandelion tuft smile, downy soft and fleeting, carried off by the wind not long after it blooms across his lips. 

You like it, his smile. 

You watch Kimura—your class rep, a position she’s held since middle school—get to her feet. Takao is setting up his desk when she approaches, methodically laying out his supplies. He keeps them in neat rows and you can’t help but smile when you see that his eraser is a battered little Keroppi, its round eyes almost flattened into a straight line on one side.

The class’s chatter softens, a few people glancing towards Kimura and Takao. You can’t see her face, but her fingers are trembling, just a bit. He looks unbothered. There’s not a trace of nerves in him, until you realize that the tips of his ears have gone faintly pink.

Kimura’s voice doesn’t carry when she greets him so you don’t hear what she says, but you see the tension bleed from her after Takao speaks. 

Not soulmates, then.

She relaxes, and from the way her hands are moving she’s starting to outline the classroom expectations. You shift in your seat, starting to turn away, when a flash of movement from Takao catches your eye.

He looks at you from beneath the fan of his eyelashes from across the classroom. He has a small spray of fading freckles, you realize, speckled over the bridge of his nose like a cluster of stars. He gives you that smile again. It takes a moment to realize you’re staring, and you look away, your cheeks hot.  

“You’ve got a crush,” Abe sing-songs at lunch a few days later, jabbing her chopsticks into your bento and stealing a piece of pickled daikon. 

“I don’t,” you say, moving your bento away as she tries to steal another piece. 

Yoshikawa snorts. She’s sprawled out on the grass next to you and Abe, her long skirt caught up around her calves. There’s grass caught in her black hair, the verdant blades swaying as she moves, as if floating in the whirling eddies of the darkened sea.  

“If you’re gonna lie,” she says, turning over onto her stomach, “at least do it well.” 

“I’m not lying!”

“Liar.”

“Such a liar,” Abe agrees. “You stare at him all the time.”

“No I don’t!”

Abe’s grin goes sly. “I didn’t say who,” she tells you. 

“I—it doesn’t matter who, I don’t stare at anyone!”

Yoshikawa raises an eyebrow. “So you don’t stare at Takao.” 

You scowl down at the ground, ripping up a small chunk of grass. You rub the blades between your fingers until they’re a fine pulp, and the scent of a freshly mowed lawn permeates the air.

“See?” Abe says. “Told you.”

“Are you going to talk to him?” Yoshikawa asks, peering up at you. She’s sly-eyed, her gaze keen despite the way she yawns. 

“Not yet,” you say. It takes you a moment to realize that you’re cupping a hand over your mark, rubbing your thumb over the thin skin just above it.

Yoshikawa smiles, warm and soft and knowing, and doesn’t say anything else. Instead she moves closer to you, curling around you like a crescent moon, her head padded on her discarded blazer. You settle into the cradle of her.

Abe is grinning wildly. “I knew that you had a crush,” she says, popping another bite of your rice into her mouth. 

“Oh, like we haven’t seen the way you moon over Takeda!” you say.

She shrugs. “She’s cute.” 

You huff and reach over to steal some of her tamagoyaki. She yelps, scrambling to pull her bento away as you snatch at the last piece. “Mean!” she says, watching as you eat it, the fluffy egg practically melting on your tongue. “I want the rest of your daikon!”

“Get your own!”

She reaches for your bento and you swat at her. The two of you bicker for the rest of lunch, only ceasing when you return to the classroom and take your seats.

Out of the corner of your eye, there’s a flicker of movement. When you glance over, Takao is already watching you. There’s a smile tucked sweet into the corner of his mouth, a sliver of a thing. 

It’s you who looks away first.

You’ll talk to him eventually, you think, cupping a hand over your soulmark once again. 

Just not yet.

***

Not yet lasts longer than you thought.

You and Takao trade glances across the classroom for one week, then another, and then another still. Each look is a fleeting thing, like a shooting star streaking across the sky. 

But you don’t speak to each other. 

You learn the sound of his voice through others when he speaks to your classmates and teachers. It’s quiet, steady, with a warm rasp to it that makes you think of billowing smoke. He blushes to the tips of his ears when it cracks. It’s cute in a way that makes you ache.  

You learn the sound of him, but never for yourself.

Still, you gravitate towards each other. He offers you a tangerine one morning, his smile small, soft, and earnest. When you nod he uses his fingernail to split open the peel, unfurling it in a smooth motion. The peel curls bright around his hand. He separates out a segment and gives it to you, his fingertips damp with sticky juice. They leave shy little imprints across your palm. 

The fruit bursts across your tongue like sunshine, golden and warm. Takao is watching you with hopeful eyes. You grin, and hold your hand out for another.

He sits down next to you to share it. The classroom is full of chatter, but the two of you are quiet, wrapped up in your own world. Suddenly, it’s not so much that you’re scared of speaking, but that maybe you don’t quite need it. Not yet.

It would be nice, you suppose, but as time passes, you and Takao find ways to fit together without speaking. Instead, you learn the tilt of his mouth and the crinkle of his nose and the way his fingers run through his hair. 

It works. It’s not quite enough, but it works.

And so not yet lasts just a little bit longer, the two of you steering away from the cliff’s edge looming in the distance. 

Another month goes by. 

You spend hours with Takao, the sight of you together a common thing to the point where your classmates ask you where he is when they’re looking for him. You can usually tell them. You’re incredibly aware of each other, caught in each other’s gravitational pull. 

Sometimes it feels like you’re destined to only orbit each other, to never truly touch. 

But sometimes you almost speak.

It’s a golden afternoon, the wind rustling through the leaves like a lullaby, filling the space between you both. You’re tucked together on one of the benches in the school’s yard watching the flow of students as they head to their clubs. 

Takao is sunstruck, haloed in gold, and it makes his dark eyes even deeper, an obsidian sheen. You’ve seen it before, but there’s still something about it that makes your stomach flip. 

He shakes his head, trying to get his hair out of his eyes. It doesn’t work, and he does it again. You think of a wet dog and try to stifle your laugh. 

When he does it for a third time, you reach out and brush your fingers through his hair, sweeping it back from his face. He turns into the touch, just slightly.

Someone shrieks out a laugh, and you look up to see one of the girls in the other classes batting lightly at her boyfriend. He murmurs something to her, and her smile grows wider. 

Your stomach twists, coiling tight as you watch them banter with each other. The gaps between your ribs seem to grow, until the empty space is what you’re made of. 

You want, you want, you want. 

You wonder if you’ll ever have.

Takao senses your change in mood but you say nothing, and the two of you separate not long after. 

Your father is watering the plants when you come home. They fill the windows of your home, the sun streaming through the verdant leaves, leaving emerald patches of light on the floor, nature’s stained glass. 

He’s quietly humming to himself, each note off-key, but he stops as soon as he sees you. He eyes you for a moment. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you say.

“You were better at lying when you were little,” he tells you.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now what’s wrong?”

You tell him. It spills out of you like an oil slick, coating everything it touches. You tell him about Takao, about the silence, about it all. You hadn’t realized how much the quiet was eating away at your bones. 

“So what is it, exactly, that you’re worrying about?” your father asks when you’ve finished. It’s a sharp question, razor-edged, but his eyes are soft.

“What if he’s not my soulmate?” you ask him.

He blinks. “Does that change how you feel about him?”

You take a moment to consider. You think of Takao’s smile, and the way his fingers linger against the palm of your hand when he hands you the erasers to clap; the way he lets you take pieces of his bento, all without a word. 

“No,” you say. “I don’t think so.”

“There you go, then.”

“But if he’s not my soulmate—”

“You know the statistics as well as I do,” he says.  “If Takao isn’t your soulmate, that doesn’t mean you can’t be with him.”

“They’re waiting,” you whisper.

“That doesn’t mean you have to,” he says gently. “You’re allowed to make your own choice.” 

You’re not sure that you are.

“What if he is my soulmate?”

Your father puts down the watering can. You see a flash of his soulmark. It’s blackened, a charred smudge against his skin, and when you glance up at his face, there’s something old in his expression. For a breath, you don’t know him at all.

It’s gone as soon as it came, like a shadow beneath the summer sun. He smiles at you. “Then your mom and I will have to meet him, won’t we?”

You balk. 

He laughs, a sound that shimmers in the air. “I’m joking, tadpole,” he says. “And if he is—you’ll figure it out. There’s no point in guessing before you even know.” 

You fidget with your sleeve, rubbing your thumb over the fraying hem of it. 

There are worse things than losing something you never had, you think.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

But things are easier said than done.

It’s not easy, not with Takao. It’s hard to find the words when you’ve spent so much time living in the space between them. 

You find yourself on the rooftop with him during lunch. It’s unseasonably warm, thick puffy clouds sitting high in a robin’s egg blue sky, and you’re sitting side-by-side, close enough to touch. Close enough, but not quite.

Takao hands you some anpan; you give him one of your onigiri, peeling the packaging open for him. He nudges against you, a silent thank you, and something in you breaks. 

“This is stupid,” you blurt out, loud enough that a few heads turn your way.

You clap your hand over your mouth immediately. 

He blinks, staring at you with his lips parted, and your cheeks start to heat. And then he laughs, the sound like woodfire smoke, billowing out of him in low, slow tones. It sweeps over you, settles on your skin, and though your cheeks heat more the sight of him sparks something in you. 

He laughs freely and warmly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. It doesn’t stop; if anything, it flows more strongly, like a river to the ocean. You find yourself swept up in it, laughter bubbling up inside you. 

When it spills out of you and joins his, it sounds like a song. 

“I cannot believe that’s what you said,” he says, and oh, you’ve ached to hear his voice when it was meant for you. You drink it in, swallow it down, something for you alone. “Of all the things.”

He laughs again, short and sharp with delight, but your smile is wilting, going brittle at the edges.

You finally have Takao, only to lose him a moment later.

You’re not soulmates. 

***

It changes things. 

You don’t mean for it to happen, but it does. Suddenly, the language between the two of you is different. Too used to speaking without words, neither of you are prepared for actual speech. You stumble over conversation, the words caught in your mouths like pebbles in a wave, spinning over and over until they’re worn down to nothing. 

“You’ll figure it out,” Abe says, lounging upside down on your bed, tapping away at her controller, her brow furrowed as she smashes at the buttons. “You just gotta adjust, that’s all.” 

You sigh. It’s not something you can explain, really. How one space was filled and another emptied. It leaves something in you aching. 

Yoshikawa hums from where she’s sprawled on your floor, barely paying attention to the tv as she hits combo after combo, much to Abe’s annoyance. “Soulmate stuff is weird,” she says. “But it’s up to you.”

“It’s up to him, too,” you remind her. “Not everyone wants to date someone who isn’t their soulmate.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Abe says. “He likes you. It’s kinda gross how much.”

Your cheeks heat. “Shut up.”

She sticks her tongue out at you. “Make me.” 

You throw a pillow at her face, relishing her little yelp as she tries to scramble out of the way and almost falls off your bed. 

“Brat,” she says, tossing the pillow back. “He does, though. Like you.”

“I know,” you say, something vast filling you.

“Is this about the waiting thing?” Yoshikawa asks, putting down her controller and turning to face you. She hooks her chin over your knee, looking up at you with knowing eyes. 

You bite at your bottom lip. 

You know the rates better than anyone; you’ve spent your whole childhood hearing a language all its own. Percentages, probabilities, and all manners of complicated academic jargon, all focused on stripping away the whimsy of soulmates. 

Your mother has only ever wanted to understand. But in that coveting, that hunger, she pressed understanding upon you as well, until you’re caught up in yourself, a tangled skein, so knotted that the beginning can barely be found. 

“What if I do meet them?” you ask. “And they really have been waiting?”

Yoshikawa hums; it reverberates through you. “Dunno,” she says. “But what if you don’t meet them?”

You glare. “Thanks, that’s helpful.” 

“Yeah, Yocchan,” Abe pipes up. “Super helpful.”

Yoshikawa tosses another pillow at her. “I don’t see you offering anything!”

“I already said it’ll be fine!” 

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did!” 

You laugh, the sound light but loud. Your friends pause, looking incredibly pleased with themselves. 

“Oh good,” Abe says. “You’re back.” 

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Nothing,” she says, but you think there’s a bit of sadness to her, in the waning moon of her smile. “Are you gonna play with us now?” 

She shoves a controller at you and you take it with a huff. “Get ready to lose,” you tell her.

“What else is new?” Yoshikawa asks, moving away from you to grab her own controller again.

“Shut up, Yocchan,” Abe says, scowling. “You’re the worst.”

“Love you too.” 

You ignore them both to pick your character, but you can’t help the smile that plays across your lips as they continue to argue with each other. Abe curls herself around you, sticking her tongue out at Yoshikawa. You shift to give her room and your mark catches the light, reflects it back like morning dew. 

For a moment you stare down at the words that have already changed your life so much. Sometimes you wonder how much more they can take from you.

“It’s my choice,” you say. You freeze, not having meant to say it out loud, but Yoshikawa just hums, settling warm on your other side

“Yeah,” she says with a little hum. “It is.” 

But it isn’t just your choice.

You can’t quite understand Takao’s smile anymore. The nuances are lost in the space between the two of you, a language half-forgotten. The structure is there, but you’ve lost some of the words. 

You can’t quite understand his choice, either.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, a scant few weeks after you realize you aren’t soulmates. The tips of his ears are pink, the color of the early dawn, and his eyes are glassy. “It’s just that—”

“We’re not soulmates,” you finish for him. Your heart is thrumming behind your ribs, a hummingbird battering against its cage. “Right?”

He winces. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t think it would matter.”

Maybe you should have known that it would.

He winces again; his hands tighten on the strap of his school bag. He stares at you, looking helpless, and you hate that you want to cradle his face in your hands. That you want to make it better for him. 

“It—”

He cuts himself off. His lip trembles, wobbling like a spinning top, and it comes to you all at once. It’s written in the space between you, in a language you’ve both been speaking for months, one that’s all your own.

Takao’s lying.

“Tell me the truth,” you demand, clenching your fists. 

He looks away. “We’re not soulmates,” he says. “That’s all there is to it.”

“Liar.”

“Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he says. “Please.”

“Then tell me the truth.”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“Fine,” you say. “Fine.” 

When you walk away, he doesn’t come after you. 

***

You hide yourself away among the hydrangea bushes that line the library, settling yourself in a sea of powder-blue petals. You curl up, pulling your knees up against your chest, and cry quietly until your uniform skirt is damp. 

“Well, that’s not good,” Abe says.

You glance up to see her and Yoshikawa leaning over the hydrangea bushes, looking down at you with tender expressions. You immediately cry harder, starting to sob aloud.

“Oh shit,” Abe says, pushing through the puffball clusters of flowers and dropping to her knees beside you. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, it’s okay.” 

“Takao?” Yoshikawa asks.

You nod. 

She smiles, sharp and mean. “Abe, stay with her. I’ll be back.”

You shoot to your feet, grabbing her by her uniform sleeve before she can take off. “No!” you yelp. “No, Asako, don’t do anything!”

“Why not? He made you cry.” 

“He just—it’s okay.”

“It’s not.” 

“He doesn’t want to be with someone who isn’t his soulmate,” you say softly. “That’s…he’s allowed to make that choice.”

She clicks her tongue. “He didn’t strike me as the type.”

“Me either,” you mumble. “I think he’s lying.”

“Why would he lie?” Abe asks, tilting her head.

“Don’t know,” you say. “But it just…it just seemed like he was. Please leave him alone.”

You don’t know how to explain it. You’re not sure you can. It’s a strange little language, the language that forms between two people who haven’t spoken to each other, and you’re not sure anyone who hasn’t created that language between themselves and another could even begin to understand the alphabet of it. 

Yoshikawa hums; her sly eyes are narrowed, the deep brown of them darkened to almost black. “Fine. But if he makes you cry again, all bets are off.”

“Yeah,” Abe says, nudging you up to your feet. “And we know where you hide, so no point in trying to keep it from us!”

Your laugh is watery, but it’s light as it leaves your lips. 

Abe loops her arm through yours. “Let’s go,” she says. “It’s lunchtime and Yoshikawa has a good bento today.”

“And it’s not for you,” Yoshikawa says lazily, stuffing her hands in her pocket as the three of you start to walk. “So don’t even try it.” 

You laugh again and they bicker all the way to the classroom. You’re in the middle of grabbing your own bento when you feel eyes on you and when you look up, Takao startles, looking away quickly. You bite your lip as the tips of his ears go pink once more. 

He glances at you again, and his eyes linger on your face. When his lips curl down into a small frown, you realize he knows you’ve been crying. He looks away as the twist of his lips goes pained. 

Yoshikawa steps in front of you, blocking your view of him. “C’mon,” she says softly, chivving you towards her desk where Abe is already sitting. “Let’s go.”

You follow her after one last glance in Takao’s direction. 

It develops into a routine over the next few weeks. You get used to the feeling of eyes on you all over again. Takao’s gaze feels silken against your skin, and though you shouldn’t, you bask in it. Maybe you’re too used to it; it reminds you of the beginning, when all you had was fleeting looks and quiet gazes. 

But now he looks away every time you look up, though his ears always give him away. 

Still, there’s a comfort to it. It doesn’t go away, even as you simply circle around each other, caught in each other’s orbit once more. This time, at least, you know that you’ll stay this way. 

Except two months after you go your separate ways, you’re assigned to work on a project together.

Your hurt has waned; it’s a healing bruise, now, only flaring to life when you press on it. The hopeful look on Takao’s face barely even causes an ache. You stay in your seat, but he gets to his feet and comes to you as the teacher leaves.

“Hi,” Takao says, fidgeting with the strap of his school bag. “I’m—if you want to switch partners to someone else, I understand.”

“Do you want to switch partners?” you ask.

“Not really,” he blurts out, and this time, his blush is bright, the apples of his cheeks dusted in heated red. “I mean, no. I don’t.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. It feels nice, somehow, looking at him, at his small, timid smile and the way the sun catches golden on his skin. “I guess I’m fine with it.”

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’m—I’m glad.”

“Let’s talk after clubs,” you say. “We can figure out our topic then.” 

He nods. He stands there for a moment; it’s only when you raise an eyebrow that he jolts and heads back to his desk. When you look over, he’s got his hands pressed against his face. You think you see him mutter “idiot” to himself.

The smile tugs on your lips without you even realizing it. 

***

“I miss you,” Takao says, fifteen minutes into your third project session. “I miss you so much.” 

You go stiff. 

The project has gone well so far. You’ve found yourself falling into easy communication with Takao, but you’ve kept it strictly to the project, rarely going into your lives outside of school. Still, it’s easy in a way it hasn’t been in a while. You find yourself smiling, and sometimes he even makes you laugh. 

“Okay,” you say, sounding wooden even to yourself. “I—I don’t know what you want me to say to that.” 

He winces. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says.

You mean to say okay, but what you say instead is—

“I miss you too.”

Takao blinks. And then a smile is spreading across his lips, slow like the dawn and just as warm. “Really?” he asks.

Your cheeks heat, but you nod. 

“Do you think we can be friends?” he asks, almost shy.

You bite your lip. “I think…I think we can try.” 

“I’d like that,” he says softly. “I’d really like that.”

You smile at him, slow and sure. “Me too.”

He smiles back, and the two of you turn back to your project.

You find that it takes time to learn how to be friends with Takao. It’s not like Abe and Yoshikawa with the fluid ease of childhood friends, forged by years and years at each other’s sides, memory after memory built into a firm foundation. Nor is it like your other friends.

Takao seems to inhabit a space all his own. Maybe he always will. It seems right that he would; it doesn’t surprise you that he carved himself a place in your world without even trying. 

It takes time. Eventually, even Abe and Yoshikawa warm up to him, until the four of you are spending summer nights together, popsicles melting down your fingers in the heat. You laugh through sticky lips and sit side-by-side despite the heat.

It feels good to have him back in your life, and high school goes by in a whirlwind of seasons, the years melting together until you graduate. He’s by your side when you do ,along with Yoshikawa and Abe, the four of you taking pictures on the school lawn surrounded by your peers. 

The four of you spend as much time as you can together before you head off to college, just a few scant weeks after graduating. 

It’s easy with Yoshikawa and Abe; the three of you are woven together, a tapestry of home. College is just another stitch, with the three of you attending the same one. You find a cute apartment just off campus, in a slightly worn building with wisteria dripping down the sides like honey. Yoshikawa and Abe like to hang laundry from the balcony; they says it comes back with a floral scent. The dishwasher is broken more often than not, the rooms are tiny, and you love it. So do they, and the three of you build a home together.

With Takao, it’s harder. You drift away from each other in college, pressed in on all sides by classes, studying, and local friends. It feels hard to find the time to breathe, let alone text Takao anything other than a fleeting check-in or a picture of something that reminded you of him.

Unlike before, it feels natural. It isn’t without its edges but they’re dulled, so that they press against your skin instead of cut. He simply fades from your everyday life until the ding of his text message is a surprise instead of a given. 

When he walks back into your life in your third year of college, it’s like getting hit by a lightning bolt.

***

The izakaya is tucked away at the edge of the city, sandwiched between two small apartment buildings that have ivy spidering up the side of them. You watch as a sheet billows on a clothesline, rippling like water, the clothespins holding firm despite the strong breeze. 

The fat tabby lazing on the edge of the izakaya steps doesn’t even lift its head to look at you. It’s sheltered under a verdant fern frond, part of the little forest of plants clustered around the entrance. Some of the plants are spilling out of their pots, sprawling out in great clusters of leaves, the tiny flowers dotted in them barely visible in the light of the nearby vending machine. 

You crouch down by the cat unable to resist, and it blinks itself awake slowly, turning slate gray eyes your way. It sniffs at your knuckles when you reach out to it. It rubs its cheek against your hand once, and then gets to its feet, stretching mightily as your friends laugh from just inside the entrance. You try to pet it again but it pointedly turns away and curls up again under the frond, further in than before, a little forest deity hidden amid lush scenery. 

You stare at it for a moment longer, looking at how its cheeks squish up against its paws. 

“Pouting doesn’t affect Momo,” someone behind you says.

You look up, and then go still.

“Hi,” Takao says, warm like the early morning sun. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” you say, as if he hasn’t knocked the breath from you. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good. You?”

“Are we really going to do this?” you ask, standing up from your awkward crouch. 

He smiles, and you think he might be swallowing down a laugh. “Do what?”

You scowl at him. “You know what,” you say. “The small talk.”

“It’s polite.”

“Is that your main concern? Politeness?”

This time, he does laugh, low and sweet. “No,” he says, his eyes glittering. “You are.”

Your cheeks heat. “You can’t just say that.”

“Just did,” he says. “Are—are you here by yourself?”

“With friends.”

“Do you think I could steal you away for a drink?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I think you can.” 

He smiles at you. “Good.”

He ushers you into the izakaya. It’s warm inside despite the open windows, and the scent of fried food lingers in the air. People’s chatter fills the room up to the rafters, little laughs peppered in like champagne sounds, little pops of joy. There’s another cat curled up on a barstool tucked away in a corner, a ball of white fluff that makes you think of dandelions. 

Yoshikawa sees you first; when she sees Takao behind you, she raises a single elegant brow before turning back to your group of friends. She says something with a lazy roll of her shoulders, and suddenly, all of your friends are trying very hard to not look at the entrance. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter.

Takao laughs, the huff of air stirring against your nape. “They’re pretty obvious,” he says. “Should we go say hi?” 

“Later,” you say.

He follows you to the bar. He’s close, and under the scent of fried food you can make out the faintest hint of his woodsy cologne. 

You sit side by side, close enough to feel each other’s warmth but without touching. The bartender brings you your beers, and you look to Takao as he taps the neck of his bottle against yours. 

“It’s so good to see you,” he breathes, his dark eyes soft.

“Yeah,” you say. “It is.” 

One drink turns into two until you’re both sliding closer to each other in your seat, pressing into each other’s sides. You barely keep yourself from curling into him. He leans in close when you’re speaking, so that his voice is rumbling low in your ear. 

You share some takoyaki and then one of the biggest okonomiyaki you’ve ever seen, the pancake stuffed to the brim with filling and heavily topped. When the food arrives, so does the white cat, meowing quietly at your feet as it winds its way around the rungs of your barstool. Takao holds you steady when you lean down to pet it, his hand firm on your lower back. 

By your third beer, Yoshikawa and the rest of your friend group leaves. She gives you a little wave on her way out the door. 

“Sorry,” Takao says. “I didn’t mean to take up your whole night.” 

“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s been…really nice.”

“Just nice?”

“Great,” you admit. “It’s been great.”

He smiles, and it’s that same dandelion fluff smile you remember, sweet and fleeting. 

“Good,” he says, taking a sip from his beer. You watch the way his forearm flexes. “Listen, do you want to meet up again?”

“Yeah, I would.”

His eyes crinkle. “Great,” he says.

You bite down on your smile. 

The two of you finish your beers between lazy chatter. It’s comfortable, as if you never fell out of touch. 

When you leave, Takao waits as you pet the white cat once more, delicately bumping your knuckles against its cheek as it rumbles out a purr. It meows pitifully when you stop, opening its blue, blue eyes with a disgruntled look on its face, and you laugh to yourself, kneeling to give it a few more pets. 

You look for the tabby as you exit the izakaya but it’s gone, likely curled up amid some of the planters further back. You and Takao both stop at the sidewalk, carefully making sure you’re out of the way of any pedestrians, and for a moment, you just look at each other.

“See you soon?” Takao asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “See you soon.” 

“Good,” he breathes, with his eyes so soft that it makes your cheeks warm. 

You say goodbye, and each of you heads home. When you glance back Takao is already looking back at you from the street corner. You give him a little wave, and he jolts before hurrying off.

You smile your whole way home.

***

“It’s so hot,” you complain, flopping down next to Takao on the park bench. “Can we go to the conbini?”

“Popsicles?” he asks.

“No, I want onigiri.”

He raises a brow. “How does that help with the heat?”

“It doesn’t,” you tell him. “The aircon does.”

He laughs. “Oh, of course.” 

You head to the closest conbini, practically swimming through the humid summer air. The air is so thick that you could cut it; there’s rain on the horizon, promised in the encroaching gray-blue clouds hanging low in the sky. 

Inside it’s blessedly cool, the aircon hard at work. The two of you scour the aisles, picking out varying snacks and pointing out new flavors to each other—you try to make him buy a cream stew Gari Gari Kun popsicle, but he refuses—before you head to the cashier.

You settle in at one of the tables, opening your drink as Takao unwraps one of your onigiri, handing it to you before he busies himself with his own food. He gives you a little swat when you reach out for his snacks, making you retract your hand with a laugh. As you pull back, you wonder when the two of you fell back into rhythm.

It’s close to the one you had in high school, but not the same. There’s something new twining through the rhythm, a swirl of notes that resonates through you. It’s an easy flow, a soft ebb and tide, like the calmest of seas. 

“Hey,” Takao says gently. 

“Hmm?”

“Where did you go, just then?” 

You blink and take a sip of your peach tea. It lingers sweet on your tongue as you meet his stoic gaze. His mouth tilts, just slightly, something tucked up secret in the corner of his soft lips. 

For a moment, you just look at him. He meets your gaze easily; he lets you look your fill, as patient as ever.

“Sorry,” you say. “Nowhere important.” 

“Okay.”

You shake your head. “You’re so—” you break off.

“I’m so?”

You bite at your lip. “You,” you say. “You’re so you.”

His smile is small, but it grows, as steady and sure as the sun’s rise.

“I hope so,” he says, almost flippant, but there’s something soft in his gaze; it brushes over you like silk.

“Shut up,” you tell him.

He just laughs, quiet and low.

The two of you chat as you eat, talking about Yoshikawa’s upcoming art show at a trendy new gallery. You’ve been waiting patiently ever since the curator first picked her up as a featured artist. It’ll be nice to go with Takao, for the four of you to be side-by-side again, something that’s becoming as constant as it was in your high school days. 

When you’re finished Takao takes all the wrappers and folds them up neatly, creasing them until they’re practically origami. You bite down on your smile.

The summer air rolls over you as you step back into it, licking across your skin as only wet heat can. You shudder with it. 

Still you meander through the nearby park, ducking beneath low-hanging branches hanging heavy with fruit, the citrus of them permeating the air. It’s quiet, with just the distant shouts of the playground and the whisper of the leaves in the stirring breeze to accompany you both. 

You find yourself at the koi pond without meaning to and Takao wordlessly heads to the food meter as you settle yourself on the rock wall that edges the pond. The surface ripples, orange and gold scales muted in the murky water like a sunset covered by clouds. You trail your fingertips over the surface, and giggle as they mouth at them. 

Takao presses some feed into your palm when he comes back; the heat of him lingers there. Your mark glimmers in the light as you toss in the feed, a needlepoint flash of silver. You can feel Takao’s eyes on it. But then the koi come up in great, arcing splashes, the quiet pond roiling like the angry sea in their fervor, and you laugh as you dodge the worst of it.

Takao chuckles, and he settles down next to you to hand you the last of the feed.

You curl into him despite the heat, skin against skin, a slick slide of a touch before you fall still. The koi are still churning up the water, their gaping mouths breaking through the surface, and you give them what they want. Scales flicker by, a mesmerizing firework show caught beneath the surface, and so it catches you off guard when Takao suddenly says—

“I’m sorry.” 

You go still.

“For what?”

He shifts beside you; when you glance at him, he’s staring into the distance, his dark eyes caught on something that only he can see.

“For high school.”

You breathe out through your nose. “So you’ve said.”

“I was scared.”

“So you’ve said,” you repeat.

He glances at you, then, and his eyes remind you of the vastness of the unending night sky, dark and glittering.

“I’m not scared anymore.” 

You suck in a sharp breath. He waits, ever patient.

“Me neither,” you say, curling your pinky around his, twining around him like thread. 

He cups your cheek, his touch almost reverent, and presses his forehead to yours. “Okay?” he asks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

He leans in and kisses you. It’s careful and sweet.

It feels like coming home.

He breaks the kiss when you’ve stolen each other’s breath away.

 “Our soulmates—” he starts.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say breathlessly, kissing him again. He’s smiling against your lips.  Warmth floods you. You love him, you love him, you love him. That’s all there is. That’s all you need. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you say again.

He presses his forehead against yours. “You’re right,” he says. “It doesn’t.”

Until suddenly, it does.

***

You and your soulmate—Shinsuke, you think, still tasting the honey of it on your tongue, Shinsuke Shinsuke Shinsuke—watch each other. 

The only sound is the steady fall of the rain. 

It’s picked up again, sending the hydrangeas eddying, spinning in a lazy current as their puffball blossoms catch the droplets. More petals flutter to the ground. The blue of them is stark against the dirt, and you think of what a storm leaves in its wake.

Shinsuke lets out a deep, slow breath, and you wince. His amber eyes have dimmed and the last of his smile has washed away, leaving just the dregs of emotion behind, too faint for you to read. 

You feel too small for your skin; your heart is fluttering, a hummingbird thing, trying to press through the gaps in your ribcage. You take in a shallow breath. It tastes of the earth, of drenched soil and summer heat. You choke on it. 

Shinsuke’s brow furrows as you take in another breath, even shallower than the last, and your heart is thrumming, and his eyes are so sharp, so knowing, so kind. You’re caught in the amber of them, the resin of his gaze pouring over you. 

Even the rain seems quiet now. 

His lips part.

Your ribs start to crack; your heart thumps harder against them. Too strong, too fast, too loud. 

His lips part, and you do the only thing you can.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp.

You run.

[arrayoflightarchives]

Kagehina yap because I can't get them out of my brain even tho I need to go to bed bc I have a full day of lectures tomorrow,,,

(be warned yall that this is a long one, which is why I've put the big explanation under the cut)

Okay so Kagehina shouldn't be getting together before Brazil Arcc. If you wanna write them before then, go ahead I love a good bit of hs kghn or long-distance kghn as much as the next person. However, for their characters at the end of HS, I feel like they need to have the Adlers v MSBY match before they should be in a relationship:

The end of 3rd year:

At the end of their third year, Kageyama is still not fully open with Hinata, let alone anyone else. I'm not saying that you have to be completely open with everyone before getting into a relationship, but I think for their dynamic, he needs to learn to be more open with his emotions than he is at that point before you can have two personalities like him and Hinata in a relationship together.

At the end of third year, Hinata is still nowhere near Kageyama's skill level in volleyball. Again, I'm not saying that they need to have equal skill levels to be in a relationship however, Hinata does have a major inferiority complex about this specifically when compared to Kageyama and I don't think that, with he skill level he is at in 2015 (when they graduate). He can't catch up with Kageyama by becoming a skilled player in his own right without going to Brazil, we know this, but going to Brazil also develops his personality as well as his vb skills. He is now more confident and has learnt a lot and so he is able to be on what he considered equal footing with Kageyama (what he considered is the important part here bc of his issues with comparing himself to Kageyama, which we see the whole way through the story).

Now flip to post Brazil:

At this point, Kageyama has begun to open up a bit more by spending time with his teammates, mostly on Adlers, but you can assume JNT as well - we just don't see much of that bc Hinata is the protag, and he's busy sulking over Kags not visiting him atp. Like we can see this in small things like him showing Ushijima the photo of Hinata and Oikawa. He is now more open than he was in hs but he hasn't talked to (at least not much more than maybe like a couple two message interactions) Hinata in a couple years as far as we know. Because of their whole soulmate thing because Kageyama is still somewhat alone because of his skill level (see Kazuyo's promise)

At this point, Hinata is finally confident in his skill level, I mean, he was practically unknown and got into the MSBY D1 starting line-up. However, I think it's important to note that atp he has not beaten Kageyama so although he has definitely improved - he's earned the title of Ninja Shoyo, which is his own compared to the little giant (I can also yap abt that honestly) - he doesn't know whether he has caught up with Kageyama who, for all he knows could have improved just as much as he did in the time they were apart. Hinata might now have many brain cells, but he knows enough that it's silly to think that Kageyama has not improved at all while playing with the JNT and being in VL D1 since high school.

Post-Adlers v MSBY match:

Kageyama has now opened up. This bit is less about opening up to those around him (although he has, see "took you long enough") and is more about him being open with his own emotions. Obviously, he's not suddenly fixed years of emotional repression in one match, but he's chosen to open himself up to Hinata (see being happy/smiling at losing a match) and therefore also open with the audience (we finally see his backstory - that idea is not mine it's from this post it's rlly good u should read it). At this point, I feel like he is ready to have a healthy relationship with Hinata while still working through his other issues. He isn't going to be magically perfect now, but still, he's at a maturity point where he would be able to be in a relationship with someone as competitive as him and Hinata are together.

Hinata has now won against Kageyama. He now knows and feels confident with his skills as a player of his own right and worth, and so now his competition with both people like Hoshiumi and then especially with Kageyama is not going to be him seeing himself as the small junior high version of him who got beaten in 30 minutes still trying to prove himself, but the amazing Ninja Shoyo who is an amazing all-rounder and a wing spiker (the position he's wanted to play in order to be ace which he didn't get a chance to play before). He has grown as a person already while in Brazil, but this win is simply confirmation that he has done what he went there to do. He can trust that he made the right choice to leave Kageyama and the trust and dynamic that they had created (which was a major worry of his through the first part of the Brazil arc - with the homesickness and seeing Kageyama in the Olympics) and is better for it. this game proves it all to him, and he can welcome Kageyama and a possible relationship with him now that they are equals, rivals and a team at the same time.

Finally, onwards:

We finally see that they are together, whether you want that to be as teammates and best friends/platonic soulmates or as romantic soulmates it's up to you, but we see that they have improved both in vb and in their relationship together (see one of my fav panels to ever exist with their fist bump in JNT uniforms).

They are on the same team together, except stronger, when they go to the Olympics together. And then when we see after that, they still have a strong dynamic with them both declaring they're going to win in the Ali Roma v ASAS São Paulo game which makes me think that they keep in contact a lot better than they did while Hinata was playing beach - only bc there seems to be less of the tension that is there when they meet before the MSBY Adlers game.

Anywaysss that pretty much concludes my yap on why they shouldn't get together until after the Brazil arc. I could probably say a billion more things about this, but this was the best way to get any sort of coherence from me about this. I will probably do more yaps so if people want, feel free to ask me questions in my ask box or in the notes!!!!

(Also I hope yall appriciate the colour coding, I chose the purple over the blue cause I felt it was more Kageyama coded, at least on my phone it is)

[snazzyturtles]

ngl when i watched hq for the first time & kiyoomi showed up, i thought his moles were an awkward forehead piercing

[bbytamaki]

coming out of hiding to say that aran ojiro should pursue a professional career in snowboarding

[gam3ov3r]

𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝘼 𝘿𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙎𝙄𝙈 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙈𝙐𝙇𝙏𝙄𝙋𝙇𝙀 𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝘼𝙍𝙄𝙊𝙎! (𝗙𝗘𝗔𝗧. 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗗 𝗛𝗔𝗜𝗞𝗬𝗨𝗨 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦)

[❕] 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐅 …

⇨ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓: 𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘢, 𝘮𝘪𝘴��𝘨𝘺𝘯𝘺, 𝘱𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢, 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘦𝘵𝘤. 𝘦𝘵𝘤.

⇨ 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎: 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 (𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘰𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵), 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥/𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘣𝘰𝘹.

[❕] 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 & 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 …

⇨ #𝟏: 𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸. 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵.

⇨ #𝟐: 𝘪’𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 (𝘴𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺) 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴.

⇨ #𝟑: 𝘪’𝘮 𝘢 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪’𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬-𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦, 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵. <3

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒: 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍!

[arrayoflightarchives]

Holy shit holy shit holy shit I love when people meta and analyse the manga eeeeee

The relationship, almost soulmates dynamic between Kageyama and Hinata will never not mean everything to me

Hinata allows Kageyama to truly be himself but in his [Kageyama's] own pace. He does it the whole story even though Kageyama takes the whole story to fully open up to Hinata (and by that to the audience).

Kageyama's backstory only being revealed near the very end of the series is really interesting from a meta perspective.

For reference, his chapter is 387 out of 402. That's 96% of the way in.

To contrast, other characters like Tsukishima and Yamaguchi's backstories are shown in Chapters 87-88.

Now, we do get the explanation for his "King of the Court" title in Chapter 6, at the start of the series, but we don't see how he got to that point, or why he started playing volleyball in the first place like Tsukishima's and Yamaguchi's stories show.

It creates this situation where, despite being the deuteragonist, the character our protagonist, Hinata, is practically glued to the entire series, we barely know anything about him.

We don't even know he has a sister until that point whereas other characters' siblings like Natsu, Saeko, Akiteru, Alisa have all made appearances way before then. Even Oikawa's sister, though we don't see her, we at least know she exists because of Takeru.

He's both closed off to us (the audience) as well as the other characters in the series, and this results in them finding him rude or disliking his character in general (see: the "Kageyama is abusive" discourse that somehow keeps popping up even now).

Chapter 387 takes place in 2018 and was published in 2020 so it takes him 6 years of in-universe time and 8 years of irl time to really open up.

And the catalyst for all of this is Hinata fulfilling his promise of beating him.

You see, another thing to note is that, whenever Hinata thinks of Kageyama, he's always looking at him from behind.

His internal image of him is someone who's always up ahead, someone he needs to catch up to, meaning Hinata can only see one side of him, he cannot see all of Kageyama until he catches up and passes him.

Which he finally does here.

In this shot Hinata is finally the one who's looking back at Kageyama. At this moment, Hinata (and by extension the audience) can see him for all he is, can see how he was just a lonely boy who's been waiting for someone to meet him where he is, to keep running alongside him and not quit the race.

Someone he doesn't have to go easy on. Someone who would actually tell him to hurry up instead of slow down for a change.

His someone better.

[osleeplessflowero]

Oneshot Masterpost

A collection of my oneshots! Series gradually being updated. These links are specific to Tumblr, BUT I have also posted quite a few of these on my Ao3! I also have fics on there, which I will also be making a masterpost for!.

Neighborhood Series

A timeline where the skeleton duos all live in their own houses in a singular neighborhood, after being pulled into the timeline by a strange anomaly..

Contains skeleharem elements, as well as individual oneshots for equal screentime.

🪓Scares and a Sudden Friendship🎃

A fic/series mainly themed for Halloween where Reader has a chance encounter with Horror while going to a Haunted House with their partner. Takes place in a Post-Pacifist Horrortale timeline, so Horror goes by Sans.

📖Fairytale Series🪄

A series of miscellaneous fairytale-based scenarios featuring your favorite skeletons. Some may have connections to others!

Cowboy!Stretch/Reader🐎

An AU where Stretch and Blue live on a ranch and work as cowboys. The other skeletons ARE present in other areas, but this mainly just focuses on Stretch and his growing relationship with Reader. Could be considered Farmtale inspired.

💚Nightmare/Multiverse Traveler!Reader✨

A seemingly endless game of Cat and Mouse, where Nightmare chases Reader across the Multiverse in order to finally be with them, meeting various universal variants of them in his quest to find the true one he'd fallen for. Mutual pining, we love to see it!!

AmalgaMATE

A scenario where Reader is an amalgamate of several different Reader souls, and is hopelessly in love with an interpretation of Science Sans.

🖤Bad Sanses🔪

A collection of scenarios with everybody's favorite villains.

🎃Pumpkin Carving! (was originally a part of a now cancelled Halloween writing challenge series.)

☃️Snow Day! (Christmas Special)🌨

🛌Sleepover!

🛝i'm here. (Dust Comfort)💜

🔪"Knife" To Meet'cha (Killer/Reader #1)🍻

🌹Falling For Ya (Killer/Reader #2(?) ) 🌃

🔒Cornered (Dust/Reader) (Kinda steamy)💜

🌌Alone With You (Dust/Reader)💕

📚Tired (Nightmare/Reader, Reverse Comfort)🍵

Standalone Oneshots

Oneshots that haven't been made into series yet/are intended to be by themselves.

☔️Chance Encounter (Dream/Reader)🚍

🎶Dream/Fem Reader (Requested)🌳

💌Messages + Confessions (Error/Reader)📄

🛍First Meeting (Fell Papyrus/Edge!/Fem Reader)🐾 (Requested)

🫧Into The Sea (Merman!Blue/Reader)🌊

☕Home (Cross/Reader)🏠 (Requested)

Star Sanses HQ Shenanigans(Star Sanses & Reader [Platonic]) (Requested)

Flirting With Death (Reaper/Immune!Reader) (Requested)

🎡Carnival Date (Classic!Papyrus/Reader) (Requested)🧣

😱Frightening New Friend (Horror!Papyrus & Reader)🎃 [Halloween Special]

🌊A Light In The Depths (Mer!Nightmare/Reader)🤿

😳Crushing (Cross x Swap Universe!Reader) (Requested)💜

🛞Immune (Siren!Nightmare/Reader)⛵

🩹(Platonic)Fell Sans & Reader Hurt/Comfort (Requested)❤️‍🩹

🌑Bittersweet (Flirty Vampire!Nightmare x Vampire Hunter!Reader)🗡️

Pocky Game (Error/Reader) (Requested)

Muse (Ink/Reader) (Mainly Romantic Implied but can be viewed as Platonic)

My oneshot requests are currently closed, but I will let all of you know when/if they're open again! Feel free to send in Asks otherwise :]

[daisy-pixels]

🍂🤍📖📓🌼Midnight Manuscripts (Set) 🍂🤍📖📓🌼

Download: Patreon | My Blog (public, July 21st)

(Just me trying to revive my Tumblr because I miss it so much😭)

Hey! I made something 🥰.

This little set has 5 things in it! A little set of a big big skirt and a nice sweater. A dress (that I love) and of course some socks 🤭. Why am I super excited about the socks? You might be asking. Because they're different! The same but different.

The V01 are translucent socks and I made them in different levels of opacity so you can have exactly what you need 🤗 (only in black and white).

The V02 contrary to its previous described sister, has 50 swatches (😮😯) because I just wanted to have a set of socks and never anything more lol.

Hope you like it, please let me know which one is your fav ☺️.

More info:

📓Nicole Sweater

New Mesh | Top.

Base Game Compatible.

15 Swatches.

Proper LODs.

Custom Normal and Shadow Map.

HQ Compatible.

📓Nicole Skirt

New Mesh | Bottom.

Base Game Compatible.

20 Swatches.

Proper LODs.

Custom Normal and Shadow Map.

HQ Compatible. 

📓Fallon Dress

New Mesh | Whole Body.

Base Game Compatible.

20 Swatches.

Proper LODs.

Custom Normal and Shadow Map.

HQ Compatible.

📓Socks 01

New Texture | Acc.

Base Game Compatible.

10 Swatches.

Proper LODs.

HQ Compatible.

📓Socks 02

New Texture | Acc.

Base Game Compatible.

50 Swatches (😮).

Proper LODs.

HQ Compatible.

[mooooonnnzz]

Masterlist!

i have been inching to do a masterlist and i finally got the energy to make one!

Avatar Way Of Water ཐི♡ཋྀ

❥ Neteyam:

🐚 What Love Would Do To You ~ The stages of getting to know Neteyam and falling in love with him <3

🐚 If you go, I'll stay. ~ Neteyam has to say goodbye to the one he loves the most

🐚 I've never been in love before ~ Neteyam HC of him falling in love

🐚 Under The Moonlight ~ A moment shared between two lovers

🐚 The Lamp Is Low ~ More HC's of Neteyam

🐚 Neteyam tail HC ~ Metkayina reader who's very amused by his weird tail

❥ Kiri:

💙 I won't say (I'm in love) ~ You confess your feelings towards her and she doesn't know how to respond

💙 Kiri's tail HC ~ Metkayina reader who is very amused by Kiri's weird tail

❥ Lo'ak:

🌊 Perfect Pair ~ Lo'ak HC

Spiderman Across The Spiderverse ꔫ

❥ Miles Morales:

🕷️ Don't text and swing! ~ Miles loves texting you, what could possibly go wrong?

🕷️ I'm Spiderman!...Surprise? ~ Hcs of you finding about miles which ultimately leads to him telling you his “secret”!

❥ Miguel O'Hara:

🕸️ How do I do this? ~ Miguel attempts to tie up your hair and fails miserably. (bad attempts of me inputting Spanish in the story is ahead, be warned😭 )

🕸️ Miguel takes his daughter to HQ ~ Miguel takes his daughter to HQ! How bad could it be?

🕸️ Babysitting Mayday! ~ Miguel has a daughter who adores Mayday

🕸️ Manicure ~ You paint Miguel's nails!

lowkey wish i wrote more for dad miguel hes so cute as a father

The Legend of Korra ཐི♡ཋྀ

❥ Korra:

💧 Nervous ~ You want to ask Korra out but you're to nervous. With the help of Bolin and Mako you finally ask her out.

i wrote like one fic for her and dipped i apologize

Gravity Falls ꔫ

❥ Stanford Pines

📖 Who Knows How Long I Loved You ~ Stanford Dad HC's!

📖 You Know I Love You Still ~ Stanford Dad HC's + inclusion in the ep in "not what he seems"

📖 Heartbreak, Heartbreak ~ Stanford Husband HC'S

📖 Forwards Beckon Rebound ~ Ford's unsatiable hunger for knowledge almost costs you your life and ultimately lead to his demise.

📖 World/Insured ~ Ford pushes you in a portal accidentally!!

📖 World/Insured Part 2 ~ Stan and Ford bust their ass trying to get you back.

📖 World/Insured Part 3 ~ Stan and Ford bust their ass trying to get you back. 2x

📖 2010 Toyota Corolla ~ HC's of Ford reacting you having a partner.

📖 I'm Glad There Is You ~ HC's of Ford reacting you getting broken up with!

📖 Mable’s Surprise Birthday Special ~ It's your birthday! And Mable couldn't help but rope everyone along and record the whole thing.

❥ Stanley Pines

🎱 Love You Forever and Forever ~ Stan Dad HC's :3

🎱 Clean Slate ~ You try to bring back Stan’s memories after the memory wipe.

🎱 World/Insured ~ Stan watches Ford pushes you in a portal.

🎱 World/Insured Part 2 ~ Stan and Ford bust their ass trying to get you back.

🎱 World/Insured Part 3 ~ Stan and Ford bust their ass trying to get you back. 2x

🎱 2010 Toyota Corolla ~ HC's of Stan reacting you having a partner.

🎱 I'm Glad There Is You ~ HC's of Stan reacting you getting broken up with!

🎱 Far From The Weight Of The World ~ Making a deal with Bill wasn't one of your smartest ideas.

🎱 Mable’s Birthday Special ~ It's your birthday! And Mable couldn't help but rope everyone along and record the whole thing.

🎱 Dream about me ~ Stan never really accounted for how similar you are to Ford.

❥ Mable

🌠 Heartbreak, Heartbreak ~ Her Grunkle Ford is married to you?! How did he not scare you away?

🌠 By Your Side ~ Trying to shield them from danger was proved harder than you thought.

🌠 Mable’s Surprise Birthday Special ~ It's your birthday! And Mable couldn't help but rope everyone along and record the whole thing.

🌠 Endless Season ~ WIP

❥ Dipper

🌲 Heartbreak, Heartbreak ~ He believes Grunkle Ford did some hypnotism on you. There's no way you willingly married him.

🌲 By Your Side ~ Trying to shield them from danger was proved harder than you thought.

🌲 Mable’s Surprise Birthday Special ~ It's your birthday! And Mable couldn't help but rope everyone along and record the whole thing.

credits to headers: natsusaki and anitalenia

i wonder if anyone catches that some of my titles r songs/lyrics. i usually name them after the song that i listened to while writing them

my summaries lowkey suck

[b-oovies]

CATÁLOGO DE LIVROS 📓📖

todos os livros estão em ordem alfabética.

observação: se algum link não estiver funcionando, por favor, avise na ask, que iremos mudar o link.

A Canção de Aquiles

A Divina Comédia

A Equação Perfeita do Amor

A Menina Que Roubava Livros

A Mulher em Mim

A Pequena Pianista

As Virgens Suicidas

Amêndoas

Belladonna

Boy Erased: Uma Verdade Anulada

Carmilla: A Vampira de Karnstein

Cat Diary

De Volta a Taipei

Demonologistas

Disney Animation: The Ilusion of Life

Donnie Darko

Emma

Gossip Girl

Isso Que a Gente Chama de Amor

Kim Jiyoung, Nascida em 1982

Leitura de Verão

Meninas Selvagens

Nimona

Não Nasci Para Agradar

O Bom Filho

O Meu Pé de Laranja Lina

O Retrato de Dorian Gray

Pachinko

Persuasão

Pessoas Normais

Querido Diário Otário

Querido Evan Hansen

Razão e Sensibilidade

Scott Pilgrim HQ

Sete Anos de Escuridão

The Spanish Love Deception

Um Drama de Verão

[prettyiwa]

Alright, I was tagged by both @blondeboyfriend & @mydiluc to talk about five of my favorite fics. It's definitely a good practice in self-love and appreciation!

In no particular order:

» 1. You Bury Me — Iwaizumi/Reader, 5k, pure ANGST.

This one has a very special place in my heart because of how succinctly I captured their relationship and the fear and devastation of their situation. I've spent some time trying to get a handle on angst as I have it here. That it brings out strong emotions in people is all I want as a writer.

» 2. Sweet Possession — Erwin/Reader, ~1k, Dubcon, Demons, Sex Under the Influence.

It's one of the few SNK pieces that doesn't have me gnawing on my fist anymore. I had quite a bit of fun while writing it and it was a story I wanted to do more with but I'm happy with how it came out in so few words.

» 3. In This Together — Matsukawa/Reader, ~4k, Yandere, Consensual Smut.

I received one of my favorite comments on this fic and it's never left me. It's another fun concept for me to explore because it's not a dynamic I usually write about. I would like to return to it once I find motivation and inspiration (once writer's block and burnout stop kicking my ass).

» 4. Still Stuck On You — Iwaizumi/Reader, ~3.5k, Mutual Pining, Reunion, Falling in Love Again.

Again, this one received another really impactful comment that made me appreciate it in a different light. It's actually the resolution of the main conflict of a long fic I had once plotted, the first I was going to write for Haikyuu!! The fic itself was scraped, but the relationship I had plotted has stuck with me. I think part of what makes this special for me is that I know the depth of the conflict that drove them apart, but I'm happy with what I finished.

» 5. Promises We Exchanged — Miyuki/Reader, ~12k+, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort.

The first series to make the list, and an incomplete one at that! There is a lot of work that's been going into this one and a lot of emotional weight, too. There's a lot about this fic that I won't get into, but I'm really proud of what I have so far. I'm looking forward to finishing the story and seeing the final product.

For this, I'm going to tag (no pressure) @tyga-lily, @princesskazuya, @no1frogfan, @humanitys-strongest-bamf, @fionarara, @poursomesunaonme, and everyone else who would like to participate!

[pocket-realm]

COUNSELORS WANTED @ CAMP CLEARWATER

A Pocket Realm HQ Experience

Welcome to Camp Clearwater, a nostalgic, sun-drenched summer camp tucked deep in the piney wilderness… and just a little outside reality. 🍃 Here, characters can explore friendship, mystery, romance, and maybe even a few frights — all set in the hazy heat of an endless summer.

🏕️ ABOUT THE SERVER Camp Clearwater is a 20+ only Discord-based roleplay server with a slice of life focus and just enough 80s summer camp americana flavor to keep things interesting. Whether you want a soft arc about summer love, beating the rival camp at the summer showdown, or you're itching to unravel the strange rumors about who lurks on the docks of Clearwater Lake after dark… there’s space here for your story!

📖 POCKET REALM UNIVERSE Camp Clearwater is part of the Pocket Realm HQ network — a collection of multi-genre, multifandom worlds crafted for roleplayers of all skill level looking for creativity and connection. Each world (like Clearwater!) is standalone, but linked by a shared “hub” that lets your OCs cross over and explore even more if you want.

🎨 WHAT WE OFFER

Flexible pace & active community with both oc and canon characters

semi-literate to literate roleplay expected

Optional events & plot hooks

Dedicated mod team and inclusive community

Aesthetic design, lore-rich setting, and lots of room to grow your characters

🌈 Whether you’re here for sun-soaked slice-of-life, eerie campfire tales, or just a comfy corner to write and vibe with other fans of anime-style RP — Camp Clearwater is open and ready for you.

🎒✨ So pack your bags, find your cabin, and step into the summer you'll never forget.

GENERAL QUESTIONS

is there anything that can disqualify someone from joining the server?

💬 short answer: yes.

first and foremost, like Pocketrealm, this server and roleplay community is 20+. age verification will be required!

We have also limited participant slots for this experience to 30 members-- so once the slots are full, we will not accept new members until our next roleplay opens up! But you're more than welcome to join Pocketrealm's main server to stay up-to-date on all our other projects and partnerships!

how can I join?

you join here by clicking join now below! don’t forget to file a ticket in the mod mail channel for your age verification!

📬JOIN US HERE! 💌 DMs open for questions or an invite!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Look

Series Masterlist

Warnings: dark elements but nothing too graphic in this one.

Please leave me some feedback either in a reblog or an ask! Likes are always appreciated as well. You know I love yall and hell yeah, you love Professor Steve.

You sit against the wall, perched in a nest of textbooks, notes, and your laptop. Jensen's small bed has become HQ for your operation; cramming for final exams until your head splits.

You flutter back and forth, jotting down notes, scrolling through articles on the screen, furrowing your brow until your head hurts. You're encased in your fastidious fit as the door opens, barely breaking through the shell of your focus. It isn't until Jensen says your name that you manage to tear yourself away.

"Hey," you smile at him as the smell of caramel fills the room, two tall cups in a cardboard tray in his hand, "what's all this?"

"I told you. Recharge time," he grins, "and a few extra goodies."

He wiggles free one cup and hands it over, then takes one of the paper bags and sets in beside your laptop.

"Ugh, I'm gonna be so fat," you bemoan, not really bothered by the extra sugar.

"Me too," he sits on the edge of the bed, "so, how's it going? Are you an expert yet?"

"Shut up," you stick your tongue out, "you and your photographic memory."

"Hey, the lord blessed me in many ways," he winks before he takes a sip of his coffee.

"Oh my god, you're a dweeb."

"Well, I was talking about you," he smirks, "but also yes, there is a lot of Jensen to go around."

"Right," you roll your eyes and giggle, "stop trying to distract me."

"I'm not distracting you, I'm teasing you. The difference is that while you're sitting there trying to focus on English Lit or whatever dead guy you're reading about, you're fighting not to think about what's in my jeans--"

You grab your copy of Wuthering Heights and throw it at him. He deflects it as he stands, cackling as you feel your cheeks burning. He barely keeps from dribbling coffee down himself as he strikes a pose.

"So shirt on or off."

"Really! I don't have time for this, Jen."

"Ah, come on, we both know you're gonna ace this shit," he flexes his chest, giving it a look as he watches his tee strain, "and I mean... I'm into the whole bookworm thing you got going on right now."

"Stop!" You shout.

"Alright, alright," he relents, showing a palm as he takes another gulp, "I'll wait... I've waited this long."

"I'm sorry, Jake," you sit back and peel away the plastic tab on the lid, "I'm not meaning to... make you wait. It's just I've been so busy and tired and stressed and--"

"I'm not complaining. Waiting makes the heart grow fonder. That's Dickens, right?"

"I think it's a proverb but I don't know," you shrug, "still, it's not that I don't want to... do stuff it's... I'm... nervous."

He looks down and arches a brow, "heh, me too. I know I talk a big game but, yeah."

"Let's just let it happen whenever it does... oh, did I mention, I'm staying on campus for the holiday. Trip home is too expensive."

"Really? That's great."

"Great?" You wonder.

"Yeah, I didn't feel much like seeing my dad, anyway. He just likes to ask me why I didn't get a football scholarship. And the divorce is a bit intense."

"You don't have to stay for me--"

"Nah, really, you're giving me a solid excuse," he pulls up the rolling chair from his desk and sits, "and I mean, I can't think of a better way to enjoy my time off."

"Uh, yeah, awesome," you smile, pushing your shoulders up bashfully, "well, if I even make it through exams."

📖

Your nerves swirl in your stomach. It's not just your usual pre-exam jitters, but the prospect of seeing Steve --Professor Rogers, after your last encounter. You keep your chin tucked down as you join the queue waiting outside the exam room, hugging your purse strap as you sway back and forth.

Rogers appears down the hall, greeting students by name, as he struts down to unlock the room and props the door open. You wait until a few others part from the wall to join the building wave of bodies shuffling inside. As you pass the professor, he sniffs, almost a tut, as if to deride you in particular.

You leave your bag along the front and find a seat along one of the curved rows. The professor waits for the clock to run out as he hands out the examinations, row by row, then starts the usual explanation of the rules, time limit, et cetera. You fidget in your seat, passing down the stack of papers for the next person to take one. You just want this to be done with.

As Professor Rogers calls for you to begin, you put your head down and flip the front page. You're ready. Your confidence in the material isn't undercut by the controversy. You won't let it.

Your hand hurts with the tightness of your endless scrawl. Short answer, then the big essay. The hall is silent and thick with the tension of students sighing and yawning over their finals.

You stop to think about your final argument and lift your head without thinking. You scrunch your brow and nose as you try to untangle the words in your head and your eyes meet Rogers'. You're shaken by the intensity of his stare. He doesn't move, he doesn't look away, his attention bores into you and has you cowering over the paper.

Fuck. He's definitely still upset. Well, so are you. He screwed you out of an income. You just hope you hear back from the tea shop about your resume. It's your last hope outside of commuting to the nearest McDonalds to sling burgers.

You shake it off, or try to. You finish the last portion of the essay but don't get up right away. You don't want to be the first to leave. You also don't want to walk up to Rogers alone.

So you wait, pretending to read over your booklet until you send a shadow rise from down the next row. You watch patiently. The first inspires a second and you get up, sidling down to the aisle to follow the trickle of students. You approach Rogers and hold out your booklet. He stares at it a moment before he takes it and flips to the first page, reading the first question.

He finally looks up as you start to back away, "good luck."

His words hang in the air and you flinch. The stone in his eyes crushes you. There's something in them, a promise, a threat. You back up and turn, fighting to stay calm as you reclaim your bag from against the wall.

At least it's over.

[royalvixxen]

🌧️🧸 Rainy Day Vibes 🧸🌧️

Hey my cloudsnuggles 💙☔

It’s a rainy day where I am, and honestly? I love it. Rainy days are perfect for slowing down, curling up, and leaning all the way into middle space comfort. You don’t have to “do” anything today. Just be. That’s enough. 🫶

🧦 Rainy day moodboard idea:

Cozy socks and oversized hoodies

Watching cartoons or comfort shows with warm drinks ☕

Coloring or sticker books with the rain tapping on the windows

Reading under a blanket with a flashlight like it’s a secret mission 🔦📖

Journaling or writing dramatic pretend stories while the sky cries for you (lol)

🌧️ Rainy day reminders for my middles:

It’s okay to feel extra little or big or in-between today. The rain makes space for all your feelings.

You’re not lazy for resting. You’re recharging. Like a sleepy Pokémon. 💤

Your soft hobbies matter, even if they don’t seem “productive.” Play is healing.

🧸 Comfort ideas if you're stuck inside:

Build a blanket fort and call it your “Rainy Day HQ”

Make a mug of cocoa or tea (with marshmallows, if that’s your vibe!)

Re-watch your favorite middle space movie (Spy Kids? Lilo & Stitch? Big Time Rush??)

Write a letter to your regressed self like a pen pal 💌

Let me know your rainy day routines—I wanna hear all the cozy things you do when the sky is sleepy too 🌙💤

☁️ Big warm hugs, 🌧️ Your big sis 🌧️

[mistress-of-malevolence]

📖 its me again 😈 do u mayhaps have any more ideas,,,

Sure do!~ here's a few more!

1: (Untitled) A Red Son x Reader LMK arranged marriage/rivals to lovers where Princess Iron fan and DBK are unconfident in their son's ability to do anything right- including finding a spouse worthy of carrying on their great family line. so, they pick one for him. you are the finest soldier in the demon bull corps; smart, strong, capable- you have never failed an assignment, and that's not about to change anytime soon. they assign you to their son's side so that you can grow closer under the guise of you being his aid in attempting to retrieve the monkey king's staff- killing two birds with one stone. Unfortunately, you aren't exactly Red Son's biggest fan, finding his haughty attitude beyond irritating. this wasn't fair to either of you, like hell you would let it go forward. Since Iron fan and DBK hadn't told their son what they were up to or straight-up forced him to tie the knot with you, you guessed that they wanted him to choose you of his own free will- something you are certain would never happen. Your plan was to put everything you had into getting that staff back and absolutly nothing into getting red son to like you. Of course youll have to fake some sort of repour when prying eyes are watching otherwise the jig is up and your bosses will find out your disobeying orders. But it should be fine, your confident that you can manage. You can beat up one measely deleviery boy. You can tollerate Red son for as long as you need to. You can get him to cooperate with the neritive without clueing him in. You wont lose.

2:(Untitled) A Micheal Afton x OC FNAF. Ronnie moves in with her grandparents after getting kicked out of her old school for getting into a bad fight with the principals daughter. she hates it. she liked her old school and her old friends just fine, most of all she liked her old house. but she doesn't have must of a choice in the matter, her mom cant drop everything to drive her two hours every morning with her hospital jobs hours, so moving in with her grand parents who live within walking distance of her new school is the next best thing. her first night in town, she goes boarding and accidentally knocks some guy off a bike. they don't make a great first impression on each other, but they'll have to learn to get along as long as they're classmates. the more time they spend together, the more they begrudgingly realize they have in common. this leads to a lot of rivalry, fighting and an unrealized awkward tension between them. also, they meet right before Even/CC dies so... yeah :) angst. :)

3:(The Right Path) a Laard Nar x Navigator Invader Zim fic where Nav saves the massive from sailing into the Florpus at the last second by going against the Tallest's command. everyone lived! however, the tallest we not too pleased with his disobedience. so, they had him thrown in a holding cell and scheduled for a Pak wipe. of course, having literally been born to pilot the massive, he knew the ship like the back of his hand. he escaped to a random planet on a stolen voot cruiser. on that planet he wanders, until he comes upon Resisty HQ by complete coincidence.

BONUS! 4: (All Hail Queen Bee!) a Miraculous Ladybug Re-write/Fix-it where Chloe gets to keep the bee miraculous and her character development because I'm bitter & petty. i... i could give a run down about it but there's just so much and yet not nearly enough to talk about. if i tried, id just end up ranting, it honestly needs its own post but i just wanted to let ya know it exists in my brain.