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faunandfl0ra · 9 months

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TIMING: Backdated, somewhere in late summer LOCATION: Inflorescence PARTIES: Conor @faunandfl0ra & Inge @nightmaretist SUMMARY: Conor and Inge work on making some seed bombs to increase biodiversity in town and chat about a variety of things, from ventures into art to how the Youths ™️ speak these days. A soft start to a friendship. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

It was near closing time when she arrived, her bag clinking with the sound of glass bottles as she got in the store. A wave of green and bright colors burst around Inge as she glanced around, her lips curving appreciatively. Sure, as an artist her color pallet was darker and a lot more desaturated, but that wasn’t to say she didn’t like a burst of color in real life. That of plants especially was welcomed, her apartment filled with dark and lighter greens. When she’d move, she’d get rid of most of the plants save a few, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t always down to add another to the collection.

As she perused Inflorescence’s wares, she considered the online conversation she’d had with the shops owner and their mischievous plans. There wasn’t a lot besides art Inge was passionate about, but since the nineties – when she’d stopped eating meat – she had grown a lot of heart for the environment. If she was to inhabit this world forever, she’d rather not see her home country sink and everything go to ruination because of the greed of a rich few. Which wasn’t to say she was passionate enough to make their lives hell, as art still took a precedent over all other things — but she had once tried very hard to try and find Jeff Bezos’ house from the plane.

At the sound of footsteps her head popped up, falling on the man she’d spoken to online. Conor did, at least, look like his profile picture. Inge waved, fingers tickling the air. “Hiya. We spoke online? I’m here for the seed bombs.” She lifted her bag, which made a clinking sound once again. “And I made good on my promise.”

—

“Sorry, I was working in the back,” Conor took off his gardening gloves, shoving them into his apron to approach her and shake her hand. “Ah, yes. I remember,” he glanced down at his wrist. Where had he put down his watch again? Patting at his apron, he found it there. It was five minutes before closing time. He doubted anyone would show up in that time lapse, still, he didn’t feel like it would be fair to close early.

“I’ll get everything ready,” his eyebrows furrowed. “You wanna work here or outside?” he motioned toward the door he came from, his fingers slipping through his hair as he attempted unsuccessfully to tame it. “Considering the time of the year, we’ll be doing aquilegia, campanula, coreopsis, delphinium, myosotis, penstemon and pansy seeds,” that’s what made the most sense to him, at least. “Though if it doesn’t rain at all until September, I doubt we’ll get much out of these,” his nose wrinkled at the thought, and he gave Inge a look. “Still worth a try, though.” A smile etched itself on his lips. That would hardly be the worst he had done for the good ol’ planet.

___

She shook her head at his apology, rejecting it on sight. “No need to apologize. I’m a little early.” When Inge’s cold flesh met Conor’s warm, she hoped there was no part of him that cared to notice. “Good to meet you in real life, Conor. You’ve got a nice shop here. I’ll have to get something for my place.”

Her hands traveled, fingers rubbing the rubbery leaves of a plant. Maybe these were the only living things she could be trusted to take care of. She wanted no more children, the gap Vera had left too significant to even consider it, and there were no pets that tolerated her. Plants, however, were easy enough for an immortal. Besides, with plenty of care they could grow and live with her. “Just let me know if you need any help. And I’d prefer to work inside, please.” The sun was hard on her eyes and skin on these summer days, and Inge had already walked here the regular way. “It will rain. This is Maine. They named it so to make it rhyme.” She grinned at him, winking. “And otherwise we’ll just have to rebelliously water them.”

___

She ran a bit cold, but it wasn't what troubled Conor the most, nor was it the clear lack of a heartbeat. He'd seen it before.

He tried to conceal his puzzlement, eyes fixating on the floor briefly as he attempted to try and make sense of it, of this feeling of unease he had had as she had approached him, like something crawling underneath his skin. Conor tried to relax his stance. They'd spoken online, Inge seemed nice then. Even better, she seemed great. It was one of those times he didn't want to trust his gut feeling.

"Alright, I just hope you're not allergic to cats," he mentioned, in passing. The animal wasn't around now, probably too busy hunting mice in the backyard or far beyond his fences. "Taoiseach will probably be back later though," with a shrug, he took out a tray, setting down a couple of large plastic bowls, powdered clay, and a couple more things for them to get started. He picked up another apron beneath the counter. He never used it, it was here in case his current one ended up ruined or too dirty for the day, but Conor for all he was clumsy, was clever enough to get an apron that was dark green.

"Alright, put this on, and then we can get started."

___

Godver, this guy had a cat? Inge let out a breath of air, frowned a little. “I am a bit allergic, yes. We’ll figure it out when we get to it, hm?” There was no cat around as of yet, and so she had no interest in forcing the two of them outside where the summer sun was sure to tire her out. Maybe they should have set this appointment after sundown.

As Conor continued wha he was doing, she produced two bottles and opened them by using a third, extending one to him as he held out the apron. That was hung around her neck and tied behind her back with ease. Inge took a sip and looked at the other expectedly, eyebrows raising.

She didn’t want to admit to it, but it was nice to have a goal for the summer. To do something that could be considered a contribution in another way than art was. Selflessness hardly fit her, but she liked projects. Whimsical spontaneousness. A little act of eco-rebellion was exciting. “Let’s do this. Tell me what to do, chief.”

—

"Ah. Well, I'll just have him go upstairs then, it's alright," he brushed it off. She said she was only a little bit allergic, so it couldn't possibly be that bad. "Don't worry, he won't be back for a bit. It's not his hour yet," funny how cats managed to have a schedule despite being asleep most of the day. Conor wondered if that was what the cat did out there, just sleeping somewhere cozy only to return back home for food and pets.

She'd brought drinks along, which he found rather considerate. He took the beer she gave him with a polite nod, having thrown thanks to the bin and replaced them with more fae friendly phrases.

"Alright, so. It's quite simple. We're gonna be mixing up one cup of soil, one of clay and one of water for each pack of seed. As you can see, I have prepared a bunch of them so," they'd have to make a sizable batch. "Lots of work ahead of us, but hey, we're in good company, with excellent food," he motioned toward her beers. "Should be fine."

—

That was a point in his favor, she decided. “I appreciate it. Cats are cute, but I just … don’t respond to them very well. Biologically speaking.” Technically true, though it was more accurate to say that the cats didn’t respond well to her. Annoying and dull, she thought it, the way animals were afraid of mares. She liked them in dreams, though. People dreamt of their cats a ton. “What kinda cat do you have, though?”

With her apron tightened and instructions being delivered, Inge found herself smiling despite herself. This was going to be fun. She took a sip from her beer and put it away for now, grabbing a measuring cup.

“Doable.” Good thing she didn’t get tired and didn’t need sleep, she figured. Left plenty of time for activities like these. “And hear, hear!” Lips spread wider as she dug into the soil, getting ready to mix it with clay and seeds. “When should we drop them, then? This does need a sequel, I think.” Inge glanced at him. “We can’t keep our efforts limited to just one night.”

___

“That’s a shame. Cats are great companions,” her misfortune earned her a sympathetic smile. “He’s a red cat, his coat is fluffy, full of long hairs, you know?” Overall, he’d have described the little animal as regal.

While she was getting ready, Conor headed to the front of the shop to turn the We’re Open sign around and pull onto the curtain. Even with that sign, he knew for a fact people would try to get in if they saw him on the other side of the front windows. How perfectly normal.

“Doable? Music to my ears,” his smile broadened. It was nice to have met someone who took issues such as biodiversity so seriously. Picking up a bucket behind his counter, he set it there and turned around to pour water into a jug. “Go on, add everything in, we’ll stir and then we’ll make bombs the size of a golf ball. They’d put them on a tray and leave them to dry in the sun tomorrow. “Oh this won’t be enough to get the city back on tracks,” he agreed. “We could meet once a week if you want, change seeds depending on the season.

—

Sure, cats were great companions, except when your sheer existence had them flying in curtains or attempting to claw you open. Inge had had a cat when she’d been a girl and she’d loved the thing, despite it’s grumpy nature. But four decades of immortality had put her off the creatures. “He sounds like a beauty,” she said, which wasn’t entirely insincere. Pretty cat. Nice to look at. That’s it.

As she started mixing everything, the familiar feeling of solids mixing underneath her hands made her smile vaguely. Inge worked with clay with regularity after all, molding it into shapes meant to terrify and inspire. (To her, those words were often synonyms.)

It was good work, easy work. She glanced up at Conor. “Indeed. And maybe do more than just seed bombs. I’ve always wanted to do some lobbying.” She had done lobbying. Back in the 00s and the 90s. She’d gone onto the streets, had huddled together with like minded people, Sanne on her side. Wicked’s Rest was not the epicenter of the world and thus not the place where most change could be made, but wouldn’t it be fun to try and shake things up? “Those lawns must change. The common needs to change, too, while we’re at it.”

“He is. I’m not sure why he decided that this was his home though,” he wasn’t Conor’s cat. Or well, he was now. He had even checked with the vet to get him IDed. It was his cat, officially so.

Watching her work with her hands, he noticed that she wasn’t shy about it, or afraid to make a mess. She wasn’t making a mess, which had to be the most impressive part. Conor might have worked with plants for a long time, he was always making a mess, moving too abruptly, too urgently. He’d have preferred being agile, careful, but that wasn’t him. “That’s not your first time doing this?”

He looked at her, and her words made him smile. “I would love that. I haven’t been doing activism in a bit, but I’d be up for it,” now the objective wasn’t to make an enemy out of the city council, but Conor agreed that the town could have done a lot more for biodiversity, starting with the god awful common. Grass and a bunch of trees. Boring. “How much are you willing to bet people would like it better covered in wildflowers?”

—

“So he’s like a stray that just decided to settle here? Adopt don’t shop, huh? Or, I guess he adopted you in that case.” She would like a pet, sometimes. A pair of large hounds would suit her well, or a siamese cat. But alas, Inge only had her birds in the dreams she gave others.

His observant comment was pleasing, and she looked up as she nodded. “No. I work with clay a lot. I’m a sculptor.” And how her works had transformed! There had been that line of bowls and vases when she’d just started taking things more seriously, glazing them in furiously bright colors. Now, Inge was sculpting birds, molding wings and scary beaks, hundreds of them.

“Quite a lot of money, honestly. People must come here for the nature, and then right in the middle of town there’s just that large piece of green grass. Dull! We humans want to frolick in the flowers.” With we humans she did mean herself, in this case. Desires like these were very human after all. “We need to get more people on board. And we do need a name for our initiative. Should get one of the youths to do social media for us, even.”

“I suppose he did adopt me,” he agreed with a small smile. The cat stubbornly showed up in his flat every day, not even asking for food, but rather offering up mice and a set of unlucky birds Conor had buried in the backyard. He now had a plate of food in the backroom of his shop, and his watering can had become a drinking source of choice for the red haired feline.

That made a lot of sense, he thought. “Oh, you’re an artist !” The realization seemed to please the faun, who hadn’t smiled so bright in a while. “That’s great. I’d love to see those sculptures of yours sometimes,” he beamed. It wasn’t often that he smiled, no, but the subject of arts always brought out the warmth in him.

“The worst part is, they must spent even more than that maintaining it in that condition,” because he might have hated what that entailed, he didn’t hate the look of it all that much. It lacked verticality, sure, but it didn’t lack skills. A great lawn was hard to achieve and Conor admired people who could achieve that perfectly even coverage, but it was too damaging to bugs and biodiversity in general for him to sit and applaud those green surfaces. “I’m willing to bet there’s a bunch of young people who would feel invested. The new generation is a lot more aware of these issues, right?”

—

“Cats are known to do that,” she said, though the words were empty. Cats only chose Inge to hiss at or scratch, with little interest for scritches of her manicured nails. She was just glad the creature wasn’t here, because she definitely didn’t want to insult Conor by telling him his cat was an annoying creature with bad judgment. (All animals had bad judgment, for not liking mares.)

She smiled at his next words, of course, her ego something that was always clamoring for some more applause. “You could always come by my studio sometime. I have an online portfolio, but the real thing …” She shrugged. “It’s better. Ah, like the plants, you know? Better in real life. Do you make art yourself, or anything of the sorts?”

Inge nodded, “Of course they do. Such perfection takes effort, even if it looks absolutely dull. Perfection often is, if you ask me — why would we want such boring symmetry in our nature, anyway?” She tutted. “Absolutely, they’re the ones who will have to inhabit the world down the line.” Along with her, of course, and her unaging body. Inge cared for the planet because she intended to live on it forevermore. “It shouldn’t be hard to recruit, but we need something snippy. The seed bombs will definitely be a good way to get people’s attention, too! Who doesn’t like wildflowers?” Well, plenty of people, but fuck them.

“Art? Like painting or sculpting? No,” he wrinkled his nose. Conor didn’t have much of a culture regarding those things. Visual arts were nice to look at, he supposed, but he didn’t get much of it. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but he lacked the codes required to understand it. “I mean, I play music, but I don’t really make the partitions. I play them,” he rubbed at the back of his neck. “But anyhow, I would love to have a look at it. Let me know when’s a good time to stop by.” Because he agreed that plants weren’t the most interesting in photographs and he was intrigued now.

Nodding along, Conor picked up a handful of the mixture and tried to roll it into a ball between his palms. “I’m gonna add a bit of water and then I think we’re gonna be good to start the fun,” fastidious, repetitive, “part of this.” At least they’d be doing something good here. Saving the town from being dull, one flower at a time. “I spoke to this guy the other day who seemed interested. He didn’t sound young. As in, I understood everything I was saying. Young people are…” He cut himself off. He didn’t look much older than 35 and he supposed she didn’t need to figure out just yet that he wasn’t entirely normal, or that he was plain weird. “Anyway… I don’t care if people don’t like wildflowers if I’m honest. I’m mostly doing it for insects and biodiversity in general,” with a shrug, he poured the water in, and left it to her to stir and make the first seed bomb.

—

She was still glad he did something that was artistically inclined, “But that’s wonderful, too! What instruments do you play?” She went for plural, because she hoped for the best. Inge wasn’t much of a musician herself (she could not carry a tune, for one), but she was a big enjoyer of music. There had been plenty of concerts she’d snuck into over the years, after all, and her record collection was quite vast. “I’ll let you know! And if you’re ever down, I’d be thrilled to hear you play whatever music you’re fond of playing.”

The fun part would be going out on the streets and pulling off some kind of creative process, but rolling up seed bombs was far from a boring way to spend one's time. “Sounds perfect,” she said. She considered what the other was saying — he looked her age, perhaps a tad younger. Inge didn’t want to think too much of it. “Oh, I get it. I feel removed from the younger generations at times too.” Which were most generations, at this point, and it wasn’t like Inge felt particularly connected to her fellow boomers, either. “Ha, agreed. If they like them that’s sweet, but it’s not for us.” She started stirring once the water had been poured, only stopping when she figured everything was mixed well enough. She took some of the mixture and started rolling it into a ball. “So, you’re like an old soul, then?”

“Oh, I play the violin,” and he could dabble with a viola and a cello (he’d never tried the bass) but that wouldn't have counted as being able to properly play those. “I’ve played it since I was six years old,” old enough to hold a fiddle with his chin alone and let his mother pass onto him all she knew about it. Up until he left the house in a hurry in the midst of his teenagehood and selfishly took along with him his instrument as a rare souvenir of people he’d never see again. He regretted only taking one picture of his mother along with him. Not even them together, just a portrait of her. Yes, Conor had a lot of regrets regarding his early life, but not any bigger than having ruined his chance of seeing his mother grow old and letting her see him grow. She had his brother, and his father in law, she was not alone. That was his consolation.

“Well then I'll just bring my violin along. One way to break two windows with one stone.” Because he’d never liked how cruel the original expression was.

“Yeah… the younger generations are … well they are a lot of good things, but I often wonder if they're not just trying to make us confused on purpose with their lingo. Nothing quite like that to make me feel like a bozo,” he shook his head, and dug his hand into the container, aligning on a plastic platter the seed bombs he made. An old soul. The expression made him pause. It felt a bit pretentious at first but he couldn't precisely deny it without lying and suffering for it. “I suppose I am. Me, and my violin, my flowers, my cardigans and my baseball games,” he realized he could have just been someone's grandfather with those sorts of interests. Owen didn't hold back on the old man nicknames for sure, which wasn't very nice, but it wasn't a lie either and Conor figured that was a joke anyway.

—

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” It was. Inge loved a good violin in all kinds of music, thought its versatility and dramatics were the perfect ingredients to a good song. “I wish I’d learned to play an instrument at that age.” But with one dead and four alive kids and too little money, there had been little space for creative pursuits at home. Maybe that was why she had ventured into drawing: that only took a pencil and some paper, or even her writing slate back at school. None of those drawings had survived, she figured, or maybe they were rotting in some storage box of her deceased parents. It was more likely that her siblings had thrown it out, though. “A great idea. Don’t actually break my windows, though.”

She tried to stay with the times, which she succeeded in in some regards — but when it came to the lingo, even Inge was often quite lost. “Ah, don’t let them make you feel inferior! That’s how they win. Besides, plenty of their lingo makes absolutely no sense.” She was amused by his answers, figured he really was an old soul – either figuratively or literally. She continued to roll balls. “My students, they make me feel ancient. Every week it seems they’ve introduced new words to their vocabulary.” She chuckled. “I do like to think I’m hip. And flowers, violin-playing and cardigans are perfectly fine.” Albeit a bit boring. “But I guess there’s always gonna be a new generation to shake things up, huh? Can’t really complain about that.”

The faun tilted his head down and smiled. “It’s not too late to learn, you know.” He paused. “What would you have liked to play?” His eyes darted toward her and he brushed his hands together above the mixing bowl. “I won't, I pro-” his lips pursed into a line and he cleared his throat. “I prefer not to upset you.”

It was unlikely that he would have ever broken one of her windows but he didn't want to find out what would happen if he accidentally did.

“Oh no, not inferior,” feeling that way didn't make much sense to Conor. You couldn't grade people or organize them by worth. That was unethical and rude. The only place where he accepted and understood hierarchy was within orchestras. He’d been in one and he knew how these things worked. He supposed it made sense in the army too, or in institutions, but out there? Absolutely not. “Maybe you should just hit them with archaic or obscure words. You seem like the sort to have extensive vocabulary,” the commentary was neither meant as a compliment or a complaint. It just was how he felt about her. She seemed clever. Anyone who taught had to be.

“It’s fine. I don't care much for being hip,” as long as his bouquet stayed up to date, he was more than glad to keep on making more. “Generations should work together for things to properly shake. There's not much weight in a divided mass,” he noted, setting down the last seed ball of another row.

—

It probably wasn’t too late to learn, especially not in her immortal state of being. But it was frustrating to not be good at something when she was skilled in other areas. “I would really like a bunch of synthesizers and master them all. Or the piano … or the cello …” She thought for a moment. “Bass.” Inge squinted slightly at the way he cut off his own sentence, not sure if it implied anything. “I appreciate that very much.”

She shrugged, “Bozo sounded inferior,” she pointed out, but it didn’t matter much to her. “But if that’s not how you fell, all the power to ya.” At his compliment (at least, that’s how she decided to take it), Inge let out a sound of amusement. “That would be one way to go about it, yes. I don’t know if I do, but I have always had a bit of a knack for languages. I enjoy learning them, in and out. The bad and the ugly, you know?”

She laughed in agreement, “Neither do I. It’s much better to be yourself, however cliche that is to say. I think I’m plenty for my age, anyway.” In this case she was speaking of her actual age, of course — the one where she was nearly 78 years old. Not the thirty-something years she appeared to be. “Exactly. This pitting boomers against the current youths is not helping anyone. We’ve been shouting about the environment needing improvement for decades.” Inge hoped that sounded like she was talking about humanity in general. “Every generation has those who don’t care, though — but ever generation has those who do, and we should move together. So, more youths in our group are needed, yes?” As if they weren’t both relatively young-appearing themselves.

“I could teach you the cello,” he glanced her way. “Don't tell anyone I said this, but it is like playing with a big violin,” with a couple differences. He found it easier, perhaps because by the time he first touched a cello, he had already mastered using a violin. There was also the fact that you needed to be seated to play it, and had a better view and control of what you were doing, at least during the first few years of learning. Bass worked the same so he didn't bother repeating himself. Instead he smiled and went back to their hard work.

He supposed Bozo wasn't such a kind word to hear these days but back in the 60s when he was a little boy, he’d found the expression more amusing than anything else. With a shrug, he let her know it was alright. “Yeah? I’d be the opposite I guess. I ain't got a fucking clue on how to write half the shit my family taught me about Irish. I can speak it, but I can't write it.” Come to think of it, he wasn't sure whether his grandparents or his mother ever did. “I suppose I never saw the point in learning. Or learning any other language,” which might have appeared like close mindedness. And maybe it was. Conor hadn't been to school for that long and that might have killed some of his curiosity. That, and realizing monsters were real, because both things occured at the same moment.

“I don't know about cliches but the status quo never really ever was my thing,” which wasn't to say that he was a marginalized person in society (though he once had been) : Conor had missed being around people even if some of them were dickheads. “I know. Back in the 90s people were already commenting on that shit,” he brushed his hands together above the bowl again, and turned around to rinse them over the sink. “Do you want a cup of tea? I’d offer coffee but it’s terrible.” Pause. “ When I make it. You’re allowed to like coffee.” He grimaced. “Anyway. Tea?” He figured that might be nice to have on hand while discussing the terrifying fate of their planet.

—

“Now that’s an idea. I must admit I don’t have a great sense of rhythm, though. Can’t be good at every area of art, huh?” Inge laughed despite herself, not that bothered with her inability to hold a note. She had at least managed to find a good way to move her body on music, and that was what mattered most. “I’ll keep your secret though. And maybe I can teach you some things about my trade.”

She tried to withhold judgment against his disinterest in learning languages. Different worlds, she reminded herself. “Fair enough. English isn’t my native tongue to begin with, and I traveled a lot around Europe, so there was always a push for me to speak the language of the country I was in.” It was crucial to at least know the basics: some flirtation, how to order a cab and the directions to the museum. “But you know, English is widely used. I understand not really bothering.”

Inge nodded and let out a chuckle, “Nor was it mine.” A woman who left her husband in the 70s, who shared a home and life with a woman after her divorce, who was dead but still roamed this earth. She had once minded being an anomaly, but her days in Wanneperveen had long passed. “Even earlier than that, mind you.” She rolled a final ball, patting it lovingly as she put it down. It would do great things. “Tea sounds good. I don’t tend to drink caffeine this late, it keeps me up.” How delightfully human that sounded! As if it was caffeine that kept her from sleeping. “This is nice, Conor. I think we’ll do great things together.”

“I suppose not. I’ve never really given drawing much thought but I reckon I’d be terrible at it,” he was however quite a gifted dancer, or so he had been told. It was a shame he refused to indulge into the activity. Too much excitement could easily lead to a feeding accident, also referred to as mass murder. Once was too many times for a lifetime. It happened over 40 years ago but Conor couldn’t shake it off of his mind.

He believed that he most likely never would.

The papers at the time spoke of a cultist event, unexplainable deaths. Conor didn’t linger around and at the time sworn off feeding himself like this. Believe it or not, this made it even worse.

“Meanwhile I’ve never left New England states,” he commented. That didn’t exactly push someone to try and learn another language. “So you can easily understand why I never really bothered,” the occasion never prevented itself, and Conor might have had a life span that allowed him to learn a lot more things than the regular person, most of it had been dedicated to learning all he could about crops, flowers, the violin, and the Red Sox.

“I’ll fix us a cup of rooibos then,” he offered with a slight smile, and catching a towel to dry his hands, motioned her to follow behind. “I have great hopes for our collaboration,” he agreed.

#faun and flora | threads #inge threads #flower power #wickedswriting

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regicidal-defenestration · 2 years

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Mechtober Day 23 - Aurora

@mechtober2022

What does it mean to live?

The fucking first mate lives, on average. He’s dead a lot, usually through his own fault, but in between those times he lives viciously, tearing through every sensation he can find, a savage song on his lips and a smoking gun in his hand.

The weird toy soldier lives, technically. It talks and eats and sounds like it breathes, all of which usually indicate life. Then again, it only talks because it stole the Angel’s voice, it eats despite having no throat to swallow with, and some days it forgets to breathe. Is that life? It calls itself alive, which is probably good enough.

Aurora lives, in a hundred thousand ways. Her engine, all the mechanical parts of her, hum with a form of life. Electricity flashes across circuits and data is constantly on the move. She is truly a marvel of engineering, every angle precise and calculated and every wire sparking.

Aurora lives in time with the beating heart in her engine room. Pulsing and thumping, a steady one-two, one-two, one-two, a sound that fills your head until there’s no space left for anything more. Place your hand on her warm flesh and feel how the great behemoth surrounding you moves and shifts. What’s it like, being in the maw of the beast? What’s it like, being consumed by what loves you?

Aurora lives as her flowers bloom, vines wrapping around her heart and spreading through the corridor and dropping leaves where they trail. Small insects live in the moss coating the walls, the floor, the ceiling, a whole ecosystem carried inside a starship. Bright orange daylilies bud around the door to the gunner’s room, the archivist makes a point to only ever call her forget-me-nots myosotis and the weird toy soldier spends its time making daisy chains for the crew.

In dark corners, fungi grow; yellow ones and blue ones and red speckled ones. Huge ones that you can sit under, tiny ones that poke out between patches of moss, bioluminescent ones that light up the roof above like living stars. Some of them are delicious, though all of them get eaten at one point or another, even the fatal ones. Such is Aurora’s crew.

The fucking first mate claims that Aurora trips him deliberately with her vines, but Nastya says he should stop being such a twat then.

Nastya..

Aurora lives in Nastya’s smile, in her laugh, in her heart. Aurora lives as Nastya’s music fills the air, as Nastya makes a flower crown from the chrysanthemums she grew specially, as Nastya declares this crop of sunflowers the best yet.

Yes, Aurora lives.

#okay so you know fleshrora? fleshy spaceship? right do that but plants. mossrora #the mechanisms #mechtober 2022 #writing

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jardaddy-a · 2 years

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@theircurse delivered a letter ! ( ❝ let’s try throwing something at it ! i’m sure that’ll work ! ❞ ( Myosotis ) ) ┊ 💫 THE WEEPING MYOSOTIS ┊ 🧸❀ ━ 𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 // ACCEPTING !

how exactly did they get into this situation ? myosotis doesn't know .

˗ˏˋ💫❀┊ ( * THE WEEPING MYOSOTIS ) ━ THE GOLDEN BUTTONS ADORNING HIS ROYAL COLLAR FELT HEAVY , a thick sort of miasma permeated the air that did nothing to ease his trickling anxiety , ❝ um . . .❞ WARILY , he eyes the fragile-looking lock , doubt fills the prince's features . HE FEELS as though it'll combust at the slightest force &&. he's not quite keen on getting permanently imprisoned in a dark cavern with his older sibling's friend . FORTUNATELY , at least it was him instead of them , Existence knows how much they hate enclosed spaces .

˗ˏˋ💫❀┊ ( * MYOSOTIS ) ━ HE'S NERVOUS , Magnolia hadn't told him much about Yumeno , he wasn't sure what to think of them at first glance , but he trusted his sibling , therefore he needs to cooperate with them . HE SWALLOWS whatever was lodged in his pharynx , adjusting his collar , he cautiously approached the shining lock , ❝ let's not . . . do that ? it might break and you know . . . we might not get out . ❞ HE TIMIDLY SUGGESTS , ❝ i think we can get a closer look to see how we can unlock it safely uh . . . who's taller between us ? the shorter one can climb on the other's back . . . i think we can reach it that way . ❞

#( lord the beta editor pains me but here you go WWWWW )#* beta editor #theircurse #˗ˏˋ┊💫 * ( 𝐌𝐘𝐎𝐒𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐒 ━ &&. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 × )#˗ˏˋ┊💐 &&. * 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒. ( 𝐈𝐂 )#˗ˏˋ┊💐 &&. * 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃. ( 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐘 )

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daimonclub · 11 months

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Halloween death poems

Halloween poems on death and souls Halloween death poems, dead spirits and departed souls with the passed away essence of our ancestors existing around the living by the World of English that is English-culture.com Halloween for the year 2022 is celebrated/observed on Monday, October 31st. What the dead had no speech for, when living, They can tell you, being dead: the communication Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living. T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone. His significance, his appreciation is the appreciation of his relation to the dead poets and artists. You cannot value him alone; you must set him, for contrast and comparison, among the dead. T. S. Eliot Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness - for then The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are again In death around thee, and their will Shall overshadow thee; be still. Edgar Allan Poe From “Spirits of the Dead All Souls’ Night You heap the logs and try to fill The little room with words and cheer, But silent feet are on the hill, Across the window veiled eyes peer. The hosts of lovers, young in death, Go seeking down the world to-night, Remembering faces, warmth and breath - And they shall seek till it is light. Then let the white-flaked logs burn low, Lest those who drift before the storm See gladness on our hearth and know There is no flame can make them warm. Hortense King Flexner Petit mort pour rire - Poem by Tristan Corbiere Va vite, léger peigneur de comètes ! Les herbes au vent seront tes cheveux ; De ton œil béant jailliront les feux Follets, prisonniers dans les pauvres têtes… Les fleurs de tombeau qu’on nomme Amourettes Foisonneront plein ton rire terreux… Et les myosotis, ces fleurs d’oubliettes… Ne fais pas le lourd : cercueils de poètes Pour les croque-morts sont de simples jeux, Boîtes à violon qui sonnent le creux… Ils te croiront mort - Les bourgeois sont bêtes Va vite, léger peigneur de comètes ! Tristan Corbiere For Annie Thank Heaven! the crisis, The danger, is past, And the lingering illness Is over at last - And the fever called "Living" Is conquered at last. Sadly, I know I am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move As I lie at full length - But no matter! - I feel I am better at length. And I rest so composedly, Now, in my bed, That any beholder Might fancy me dead - Might start at beholding me, Thinking me dead. The moaning and groaning, The sighing and sobbing, Are quieted now, With that horrible throbbing At heart: - ah, that horrible, Horrible throbbing! The sickness - the nausea - The pitiless pain - Have ceased, with the fever That maddened my brain - With the fever called "Living" That burned in my brain. And oh! of all tortures That torture the worst Has abated - the terrible Torture of thirst For the naphthaline river Of Passion accurst: - I have drank of a water That quenches all thirst: - Of a water that flows, With a lullaby sound, From a spring but a very few Feet under ground - From a cavern not very far Down under ground. And ah! let it never Be foolishly said That my room it is gloomy And narrow my bed; For man never slept In a different bed - And, to sleep, you must slumber In just such a bed. My tantalized spirit Here blandly reposes, Forgetting, or never Regretting, its roses - Its old agitations Of myrtles and roses: For now, while so quietly Lying, it fancies A holier odor About it, of pansies - A rosemary odor, Commingled with pansies - With rue and the beautiful Puritan pansies. And so it lies happily, Bathing in many A dream of the truth And the beauty of Annie - Drowned in a bath Of the tresses of Annie. She tenderly kissed me, She fondly caressed, And then I fell gently To sleep on her breast - Deeply to sleep From the heaven of her breast. When the light was extinguished, She covered me warm, And she prayed to the angels To keep me from harm - To the queen of the angels To shield me from harm. And I lie so composedly, Now, in my bed, (Knowing her love) That you fancy me dead - And I rest so contentedly, Now in my bed (With her love at my breast). That you fancy me dead - That you shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead:- But my heart it is brighter Than all of the many Stars in the sky, For it sparkles with Annie - It glows with the light Of the love of my Annie - With the thought of the light Of the eyes of my Annie. By Edgar Allan Poe Annabel Lee It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love - I and my Annabel Lee - With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me - Yes! - that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we - Of many far wiser than we - And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling - my darling - my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea - In her tomb by the sounding sea. By Edgar Allan Poe

Halloween poems on death, spirits and souls Halloween Upon that night, when fairies light On Cassilis Downans dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, On sprightly coursers prance; Or for Colean the route is ta’en, Beneath the moon’s pale beams; There, up the cove, to stray and rove, Among the rocks and streams To sport that night. Among the bonny winding banks, Where Doon rins, wimplin’ clear, Where Bruce ance ruled the martial ranks, And shook his Carrick spear, Some merry, friendly, country-folks, Together did convene, To burn their nits, and pou their stocks, And haud their Halloween Fu’ blithe that night. The lasses feat, and cleanly neat, Mair braw than when they’re fine; Their faces blithe, fu’ sweetly kythe, Hearts leal, and warm, and kin’; The lads sae trig, wi’ wooer-babs, Weel knotted on their garten, Some unco blate, and some wi’ gabs, Gar lasses’ hearts gang startin’ Whiles fast at night. Then, first and foremost, through the kail, Their stocks maun a’ be sought ance; They steek their een, and graip and wale, For muckle anes and straught anes. Poor hav’rel Will fell aff the drift, And wander’d through the bow-kail, And pou’t, for want o’ better shift, A runt was like a sow-tail, Sae bow’t that night. Then, staught or crooked, yird or nane, They roar and cry a’ throu’ther; The very wee things, todlin’, rin, Wi’ stocks out owre their shouther; And gif the custoc’s sweet or sour. Wi’ joctelegs they taste them; Syne cozily, aboon the door, Wi cannie care, they’ve placed them To lie that night. The lasses staw frae ‘mang them a’ To pou their stalks of corn: But Rab slips out, and jinks about, Behint the muckle thorn: He grippet Nelly hard and fast; Loud skirl’d a’ the lasses; But her tap-pickle maist was lost, When kitlin’ in the fause-house Wi’ him that night. The auld guidwife’s well-hoordit nits, Are round and round divided, And monie lads’ and lasses’ fates Are there that night decided: Some kindle coothie, side by side, And burn thegither trimly; Some start awa, wi’ saucy pride, And jump out-owre the chimlie Fu’ high that night. Jean slips in twa wi’ tentie ee; Wha ‘twas she wadna tell; But this is Jock, and this is me, She says in to hersel: He bleezed owre her, and she owre him, As they wad never mair part; Till, fuff! he started up the lum, And Jean had e’en a sair heart To see’t that night. Poor Willie, wi’ his bow-kail runt, Was brunt wi’ primsie Mallie; And Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt, To be compared to Willie; Mall’s nit lap out wi’ pridefu’ fling, And her ain fit it brunt it; While Willie lap, and swore by jing, ‘Twas just the way he wanted To be that night. Nell had the fause-house in her min’, She pits hersel and Rob in; In loving bleeze they sweetly join, Till white in ase they’re sobbin’; Nell’s heart was dancin’ at the view, She whisper’d Rob to leuk for’t: Rob, stowlins, prie’d her bonny mou’, Fu’ cozie in the neuk for’t, Unseen that night. But Merran sat behint their backs, Her thoughts on Andrew Bell; She lea’es them gashin’ at their cracks, And slips out by hersel: She through the yard the nearest taks, And to the kiln goes then, And darklins graipit for the bauks, And in the blue-clue throws then, Right fear’t that night. And aye she win’t, and aye she swat, I wat she made nae jaukin’, Till something held within the pat, Guid Lord! but she was quakin’! But whether ‘was the deil himsel, Or whether ‘twas a bauk-en’, Or whether it was Andrew Bell, She didna wait on talkin’ To spier that night. Wee Jennie to her grannie says, “Will ye go wi’ me, grannie? I’ll eat the apple at the glass I gat frae Uncle Johnnie:" She fuff’t her pipe wi’ sic a lunt, In wrath she was sae vap’rin’, She notice’t na, an aizle brunt Her braw new worset apron Out through that night. “Ye little skelpie-limmer’s face! I daur you try sic sportin’, As seek the foul thief ony place, For him to spae your fortune. Nae doubt but ye may get a sight! Great cause ye hae to fear it; For mony a ane has gotten a fright, And lived and died deleeret On sic a night. “Ae hairst afore the Sherramoor, — I mind’t as weel’s yestreen, I was a gilpey then, I’m sure I wasna past fifteen; The simmer had been cauld and wat, And stuff was unco green; And aye a rantin’ kirn we gat, And just on Halloween It fell that night. “Our stibble-rig was Rab M’Graen, A clever sturdy fallow: His son gat Eppie Sim wi’ wean, That lived in Achmacalla: He gat hemp-seed, I mind it weel, And he made unco light o’t; But mony a day was by himsel, He was sae sairly frighted That very night.” Then up gat fechtin’ Jamie Fleck, And he swore by his conscience, That he could saw hemp-seed a peck; For it was a’ but nonsense. The auld guidman raught down the pock, And out a hanfu’ gied him; Syne bade him slip frae ‘mang the folk, Some time when nae ane see’d him, And try’t that night. He marches through amang the stacks, Though he was something sturtin; The graip he for a harrow taks. And haurls it at his curpin; And every now and then he says, “Hemp-seed, I saw thee, And her that is to be my lass, Come after me, and draw thee As fast this night.” He whistled up Lord Lennox’ march To keep his courage cheery; Although his hair began to arch, He was say fley’d and eerie: Till presently he hears a squeak, And then a grane and gruntle; He by his shouther gae a keek, And tumbled wi’ a wintle Out-owre that night. He roar’d a horrid murder-shout, In dreadfu’ desperation! And young and auld came runnin’ out To hear the sad narration; He swore ‘twas hilchin Jean M’Craw, Or crouchie Merran Humphie, Till, stop! she trotted through them And wha was it but grumphie Asteer that night! Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen, To win three wechts o’ naething; But for to meet the deil her lane, She pat but little faith in: She gies the herd a pickle nits, And two red-cheekit apples, To watch, while for the barn she sets, In hopes to see Tam Kipples That very nicht. She turns the key wi cannie thraw, And owre the threshold ventures; But first on Sawnie gies a ca’ Syne bauldly in she enters: A ratton rattled up the wa’, And she cried, Lord, preserve her! And ran through midden-hole and a’, And pray’d wi’ zeal and fervour, Fu’ fast that night; They hoy’t out Will wi’ sair advice; They hecht him some fine braw ane; It chanced the stack he faddom’d thrice Was timmer-propt for thrawin’; He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak, For some black grousome carlin; And loot a winze, and drew a stroke, Till skin in blypes cam haurlin’ Aff’s nieves that night. A wanton widow Leezie was, As canty as a kittlin; But, och! that night amang the shaws, She got a fearfu’ settlin’! She through the whins, and by the cairn, And owre the hill gaed scrievin, Whare three lairds’ lands met at a burn To dip her left sark-sleeve in, Was bent that night. Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, As through the glen it wimpl’t; Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays; Whyles in a wiel it dimpl’t; Whyles glitter’d to the nightly rays, Wi’ bickering, dancing dazzle; Whyles cookit underneath the braes, Below the spreading hazel, Unseen that night. Among the brackens, on the brae, Between her and the moon, The deil, or else an outler quey, Gat up and gae a croon: Poor Leezie’s heart maist lap the hool! Near lav’rock-height she jumpit; but mist a fit, and in the pool Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, Wi’ a plunge that night. In order, on the clean hearth-stane, The luggies three are ranged, And every time great care is ta’en’, To see them duly changed: Auld Uncle John, wha wedlock joys Sin’ Mar’s year did desire, Because he gat the toom dish thrice, He heaved them on the fire In wrath that night. Wi’ merry sangs, and friendly cracks, I wat they didna weary; And unco tales, and funny jokes, Their sports were cheap and cheery; Till butter’d so’ns, wi’ fragrant lunt, Set a’ their gabs a-steerin’; Syne, wi’ a social glass o’ strunt, They parted aff careerin’ Fu’ blythe that night. Robert Burns, 1759 - 1796 Download the pdf file about Halloween History Other poems on Halloween Here www.poets.org/poetsorg/halloween-poems If you like Halloween you can also read the following articles: Halloween great and famous quotes Halloween or All Hallows’ Eve Halloween quotes and aphorisms Halloween death poems Read the full article

#Annabel #Annie #artists #Burns #communication #Corbiere #dead #Eliot #Fire #Flexner #FourQuartets #halloween #Lee #living #loneliness #mort #night #Poe #poets #rire #silent #solitude #souls #speech

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kiri-tired · 2 years

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Who’s gayer? Eugeo vs Kirito compilation:

Remember how i said that i sometimes don’t know who's the gayer one between Eugeo and Kirito?

Well, time to end that dispute once and for all. I've listed the gayest things the two of them have done for us to see.

Alright, here we go:

Eugeo

Acts like a mom

Says that hes been waiting almost his whole life for kirito

Says it was destiny that they met/best thing that ever happened to him

Said he cant imagine life without Kirito/says he brightens up his day

Thinks that Kirito's eyes are pretty

Compares Kirito to the night sky

Prone to have separation anxiety with Kirito/Can’t be without him

Blushes and/or jumps when Kirito touches him

Often cries/tears up when Kirito does something nice for him

Can't stay mad at Kirito

Leaned on Kirito's shoulder to cry on

Would gladly die in Kirito's arms

Calls Kirito "my hero"

Gave "his love" to Kirito

(Day)Dreams about Kirito (of their childhood)

Thinks about Kirito's smile/grin

Admits to himself that he has a similar kind of love for Kirito that he'd have with Alice (light novel)

Felt a sting in his chest that he calls wistful and sweet upon seeing Kirito again after his synthesis (light novel)

Only awakened/recovered from his synthesized state when seeing a memory with Kirito, not Alice

Says that he never feels alone with Kirito and call him his "home" (Lycoris)

Says that Kirito illuminates his path (Unleash Blading)

Says that remembering & reuniting with Kirito means everything to him and filled the hole inside his heart (Lycoris)

Said that he would've fallen for Kirito if he were a girl; with a certain look of adoration on his face (Myosotis)

Looks natural in girl clothes and hugged a plush of Kirito (Integral factor)

Was flustered when Kirito asked him to come meet his family (Myosotis)

Fell on/Rested his head on Kirito's lap (32/33 CrabCakeverse)

Said that Kirito swept him off his feet (Fatal Bullet)

Fell on top of Kirito while smiling and stating that it felt/made him feel "strange" (Unleash blading)

Blushes when Kirito says that they'll always be together/friends forever (Unleash blading)

Gets sad when he hears/sees that he's not Kirito's first and only male friend (Myosotis & Matricarica)

Admitted that he felt envious of how close Asuna and Kirito are (Lycoris)

Kirito

Likes to tease Eugeo

Often puts arm around Eugeo or hand on his shoulder / is touchy-feely

Describes Eugeos eyes by "Sparkling emerald, warm & bright, gentle"/notes whenever it glitters

Got so lost in Eugeo's eyes that he forgot that he was in a simulated world

Calls Eugeo by Eugeo-kun / (my) little eugeo" sometimes & Calls himself onii-san / big bro sometimes

Pokes/plays with eugeos cheeks while hes sleeping

Often (starts) tickling Eugeo

Princess carried & tucked Eugeo to bed several times

Checks out/narrarates about Eugeo's muscles

Invites Eugeo to look at the stars and walk with him at night

Was anxious about bathing with Eugeo for the first time

Called Eugeo poetic, romantic and dreamy (Lycoris)

Called Eugeo his second sword (Myosotis)

Used Eugeo's arm as a pillow (would use his lap too)

Is said to get strong feelings/sting in his chest when Eugeo asked him to be his teacher and when hes sad about parting with him

Has a sixth sense for Eugeo whenever hes in trouble

Feels it all over his body whenever Eugeo whispers

Brags about their bond to their juniors/pages ("we share a common destiny, we opened our hearts to eachother")

Sometimes does low chuckles and deepens his voice around Eugeo

Teases Eugeo about how lonely he'd be without him ("Big bro would never abandon you'", "i know you could never leave me behind", "Could it be that Eugeo-kun gets lonely if i fall asleep before him?", "if me not leaving yet fills you with relief you should just be honest and say it~")

Likes being called "onii-chan" by Eugeo (Matricaria)

Admits to himself that he opened up easier with Eugeo than with Klein/Agil and even Asuna (sao light novel)

Confirmed that he loves the underworld and the people in it, including Eugeo

Only managed to wake up from coma through Eugeo's voice

So...whos gayer? Make your decision in the replies.

#sao alicization #eugeo #kirito #yujikiri #gayest moments #theres probably more to these but i cant think of them so feel free to add #compilation

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forabeatofadrum · 3 months

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers (except me because obvs I have done it). Spread the self-love ❤

Hi Dre!

I'm switching it up, cause I think my fave fics that I've written are known to be my favourite (recap: yada yada my big five All the pretty things that we could be, Myosotis series, Mendacious, I’d cry a river just for you, Paradiso) but YOU KNOW WHAT DRE, I have written more stuff that makes me go "aye, that actually slapped" so self-love time to fics that don't make that list!

In no order, sorted by fandom:

Just Some Guy (Carry On, Snowbaz, sorta (and Matt/Leslie??))

THE MAN, THE MYTH, THE LEGEND HIMSELF. No, I'm not talking about Simon "Chosen One" Snow, but about our boi Matty Chris D. He is just some guy. It's Simon and Baz's canon 7.25 years at Watford from a perspective of an OC who couldn't care less about them, which led to some humourous situations. Dre, you actually motivated me to finish this story by giving me ideas for certain situations. I think this is one of the funniest ideas I've ever had and I'm glad with how it ended up.

Time After Time (Carry On, Snowbaz)

Time to go to the other MCD: Major Character Death. This idea had been in the back of my mind ever since Wayward Son got released and we didn't know whether Bazzy was immortal, so I played with it. Simon dies in the White Chapel and is Capital D Dead. No magic can bring him back kind of dead. He and Baz meet every 20 years when the Veil lifts. I think this fic was really challenging, because I had no idea how to end it, but I am glad that it kind of got 2 endings and it works. fatalfangirl on AO3 called this "upsettingly romantic" and I am inclined to agree. There's just this ache of looming heartbreak over the entire fic.

make a fire out of this flame (Carry On, Snowbaz)

Step aside MCD (Matt Christopher Davis), because I think this is the funniest thing I've written. It's a non-magickal textfic. I am a sucker for textfics/epistolary fics so it's wack I've never tried one myself. It's, uh, filled with Little Numbers references because I can. I just loved writing the gang (Penny, Shep, Niall, Dev) being batshit insane at times and I loved adding ridiculous memes and lines to this. Even coming up with groupchat names was a hoot. AND since it's a textfic, I didn't have to worry about typos! Formatting was hell, though, but it was so worth it. Also, Simon/Fish OTP.

All shall know the wonder (Check, Please!; Zimbits)

This is actually, probably, my favourite Zimbits fic that I've written. It's the oldest on this list. I published it in 2020, but I think I started on it in 2019. I had a huge interest in Deaf culture in the late 2010s (I hate writing it like that) and that led to this fic. Jack is Deaf, so never joined the SMH. He still likes to play, though, and he and Bitty, who is on the team, meet at Faber at 4am on a Sunday. I loved writing this fic and I am glad that other people who know more about Deaf culture and ASL (yes, Jack is Canadian, but it's explained why he also uses ASL) also liked it. Oh, and I am a bitch for Camilla Collins, so I am glad I was able to give her a role in this fic. Camilla/Shruti is probably my Check, Please! crack ship.

Ljubim te (Glee, Klaine)

I genuinely love this fic, which is why I am so bummed about the fact that the sequel isn't going as swimmingly. Kurt and Blaine meet in Ljubljana, since I used to live there for 6 months, so it's a great way for me to reminisce over my time there. The story is mostly about comphet and the idea of exploring comphet actually came from Simon/Agatha. In this fic, Blaine and Quinn totally believe they're straight and into each other, ignoring the signs that *narrator voice* they are, in fact, not straight. I loved writing Blaine/Quinn (AS FRIENDS!).

Thanks!

#ask #cutestkilla #fun fact: time after time and textfic have similar word counts #altho obvs textfic also has a lot of 'empty' text like names and dates etc.#but for some reason it amuses me #also center ice almost made the list #i actually almost swapped it with all shall know the wonder #i think those two fics are on par but i suppose i love wonder a bit more

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yuji-thirsty · 2 years

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All the statements where Eugeo and Kirito had moments of LOVE/tight feelings in their chest:

In the light novel: When Eugeo finally reunites with Kirito in the Cathedral after getting seperated. The novel says: "Something deep inside him throbbed with an emotion he couldn’t even name." and that it was "gentle, wistful and sweet."

After Kirito's heartfelt speech in the SAO Lycoris DLC (Myosotis). The two watch the stars together while sharing a blanket in the desert. Kirito asks Eugeo if he could stay by his side forever--which seemed to have stuck with him ever since. After that, Eugeo later goes on to tell Silica that he felt something in his chest and that he would fall for Kirito if he were a girl.

Following on the previous scene: Silica told and confirmed with the other girls that Eugeo had the look of a girl in love when describing that night with Kirito in the desert.

In the SAO Light novel, When Eugeo asked Kirito if he could teach him the sword: Kirito felt something indescrible inside that he had to try and fight down.

During the Cathedral arc when Eugeo was seperated from Kirito, he goes on to think about both Alice and him. The light novel quotes this: "My most beloved person. That would be Alice, the girl who was taken by an Integrity Knight before my eyes eight years ago. ...And while it might not the same type of love, I also had a partner, a friend as important to me as Alice. Kirito." He also describes Kirito's eyes and hair the same affectionate way as Alice. And also describes his smile.

The final fight with Administrator, where Eugeo crafts the red rose sword for Kirito. (red roses typically symbolize romance btw.) Kirito in the light novel goes on to say: The cold emptiness at the center of my breast evaporated in the midst of blazing heat.

"Love is not something you seek, it's something you give."...were one of Eugeo's last words to Kirito as he passed on his life and love to him.

War Of Underworld (part 2. ep 8) the Eugeo that lives in Kiritos heart : "If you didn't want to leave (the Underworld), it wasn't for your own sake, It's because you love the people you've met here." the Light Novel & SAO Unleash Blading Eugeo even goes to add "....And perhaps me."

Myosotis prologue, where Eugeo narrarated this: "i spent much of my time fumbling through the dark, looking for light to hold onto. The darkness was parted, and yet still i struggled. I was doing all i could now. Even if my footing was shaky, we were finally on the right path. And in my hearts of hearts, i know who i want to walk this path with. There was a young man at the heart of everything that transpired.

In Memory Defrag story event "A Rest Day For Swordmen": Tiese notes that Eugeo might love Kirito with the amount of times he talks about him.

The prologue of Myosotis, Kirito says that he'd want to get stronger in order to protect Eugeo. Asuna goes on to say "You must really love (suki) Eugeo-kun and the rest don't you." Kirito replies with "Yeah. I love all of you." (this was mistranslated in the localization to "you mustve really been shaken up."

In SAOUB during Tsukimi--a Japanese Moon-viewing holiday, Kirito on your homescreen will blurt out "The moon looks really pretty". That quote is actually an old japanese way of saying I love you. In the localization he adds "It's so romantic...".

Kirito sounds like he was about to confess to Eugeo in the 4th chapter of Myosotis: the scene where Kirito hugs Dark Rose King Eugeo. After saying that he needs him--he sobs out: "ore wa itsumo...omae ga...itsumo..." which translates to "I always....you...always.."

In the last SAO Lycoris bedscene with Eugeo, he tells Kirito that remembering his childhood with him and having them reunite again means everything to him. (This was mistranslated in the localization to "im glad you're here") He goes on to say things like there was always a hole in my heart, that Kirito eventually filled.

#sao alicization #sword art online #yujikiri #kirito #eugeo #compilation #moments #lore

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keigosbirdie · 3 years

Text

Myosotis Pt.1 (ao3)

HawksxPersonal Assistant Reader. Multichap. Heroes sacrificed every part of themselves to keep civilians like you safe. But, when they lay alone in the quiet of the night, who would be there to save them? For Hawks, it would be you.

Nsfw in future chapters. Hurt/comfort and depictions of PTSD. Codependency and a little forbidden love between a hero and his PA.

Prologue

The hallway door was cracked slightly open to allow a long band of light to lay across your bedside. It was a comfort to you then. It's funny to remember your innocence. If only imaginary monsters and the absence of light could be your worst fears again. In those days, though, you’d yet to know the sting of the real world. You were ten, and safe in your childhood bedroom.

The stripe of light broke across your blanket and your door creaked gently open. Your father's voice called your name in a whisper, and you perked your head up to see his face in the crack of your door. This was a ritual you both cherished. Your father was a florist, and he often worked late into the afternoons. It was usual he got home after dark. He’d often wake you in the middle of the night to watch hero news with him, to make up for missing your day.

"Your boyfriend is on TV," he teased, and you jolted up in bed with reddened cheeks.

"Hawks?" You blurted. It was embarrassing you knew exactly who he meant. Even more so when he laughed at your pinkined face.

"Hurry up if you wanna see him, that kid's gone in the blink of an eye-"

You already stumbled out of your bed. Your father stepped back into the light of the hall. His shimmering white wings dragged on the floor behind him as he followed you to the living room.

Hawks was only eighteen then, and he’d been on the scene for only a few months. Still, he quickly became you and your father's favorite face to see in a battle. For your father, it had everything to do with Hawks being a bird, just like him. And just like you. You didn’t meet others with wings on their backs often, so it was nice to see a hero with a similar mutation. Hawks was a talented young man filled with promise, and your father loved to live vicariously through the kid's endeavors.

For you, Hawks was your favorite simply because he was cute.

A fact your father loved to pick on you for.

"Remember to be quiet, your mother will pluck my wings if she knew I let you out of bed so late again," your father quipped as you sat beside each other on the living room couch.

You tucked your feathered limbs against your back and nodded, but your eyes were trained on the television. You didn't miss him this time! The live camera had a hard time keeping up with him as he darted between buildings. Especially in the dark of night. The villain this time appeared to be made of liquid, so Hawks was opting to lure the enemy away from civilians as he formulated a plan.

He didn't look bothered in the least when the camera caught a glimpse of his face. The guy almost looked bored, even, as the villain tried desperately to snag him out of the sky. He was definitely a force to be reckoned with, but you couldn't help but wonder if Hawks ever got scared out there.

"You know, you could be a hero, too… If you really wanted to,” your dad said as he nudged you with his wing. “I mean, with that replication quirk of yours, you’d be a hard one to beat.”

Ah, your dad brought that up a lot. You loved talking heroes. Keeping up with their exciting careers was your favorite shared pastime. He seemed to like the idea of seeing you on the television one day, but every kid you knew wanted to be a hero. To follow in the footsteps of the people who sacrificed everything to look out for the community did sound exciting and glamorous. You couldn’t help but wonder, though, who looked out for them?

"There are already lots of strong heroes," you said, rubbing your upper arm in thought. "I want to be something else.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“I wanna be a PA.”

“A what now?”

“You know… a personal assistant, the people who work with heroes to make their jobs easier and stuff. I wanna get into the business course at U.A. and learn to do that,” you said as you ran your fingers over your white feathers. Those were some pretty ambitious dreams for a child to have. “I know it’s not as cool as being a hero, but I think I’d be good at it.”

The television flicked faint light across your father’s face as he smiled at you. That little cockeyed grin of his was always enough to put your heart at ease. Whether it be monsters in the closet or anxiety over an exciting and mysterious future, your father’s gentle kindness kept your heart whole.

“Sounds pretty cool to me,” he assured you, his voice almost a whisper to keep from waking your mother in the next room. “You’re gonna do great things, Chickadee. I can feel it.”

...

The air was crisp on your lips that night. You buried your face a little deeper into your scarf to battle the cold. The setting sun cast shadows over the darkening city streets. Dusk cast the world in its beautiful blue hues. It was a weeknight, so few people were out. It was only you, your mother on one side of you, and your father who was on the other. One of his wings lay lazily over your shoulder to keep you warm against the bitter chill.

You were suffering through your awkward teen years at that point, but life was going as planned. You were fifteen and working on your first year of the UA business course. Getting in wasn’t easy, and getting your Personal Assistant license by eighteen was an even greater endeavor, but you were on your way.

Your folks took you around town that night to celebrate your grade average, and, of course, your florist father congratulated you with a surprise bouquet of lilies. The white arrangement was complemented by the powdery blue of your favorite flower, forget-me-nots. Your nose was in them half the night to savor their smell, likely a habit of the bird in you.

All was usual, and you believed that night would be like most others. Pleasant, but forgettable.

That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. It became the most vivid memory you had of life before the war.

Your father slowed his steps, his wing gripped your shoulder just a little to get you to match his new pace. He leaned down and mumbled low enough for just you to hear.

“Do you see who I see?” he asked as he gestured his head up the street. You looked up from your phone to peer forward, and you stiffened to a stop. Up the street, no more than thirty feet, perhaps, the color red stood out against the gray blues of the city. A brilliant set of wings attached to a familiar man you’d never met before that night. At least not outside of your daydreams.

He leaned against a light pole and tapped at his phone, but he noticed your family before you were close enough for him to hear your footsteps.

Your mouth went dry as he caught you in his sights, and your wings instinctively wrapped around you to hide yourself from his view. Your dad laughed at you, because of course he would, before giving you a little tap to try and nudge you forward.

“He doesn’t look busy, we should say hi,” he suggested, and you shook your head no. That was HAWKS. Your favorite hero since you were like ten. You couldn’t just walk up to him and start blathering like a lunatic.

“No, what if I embarrass myself or- dad, I- dad, come back!-”

You yanked your mom’s sleeve as if asking her to back you up, but she just gave you a stupid little grin before she muttered, “You know I can’t stop him when he gets something in his head.”

Your heart pounded against your rib cage like a wild animal. He was not gonna just prance up to the number two hero. Oh god. Your face flushed as red as Hawks’ wings. The hero lowered said feathered appendages until they touched the sidewalk beneath him. He then stood up straight to greet your father, a polite smile on his face. Go figure your dad would be the person to just walk up to a celebrity and start talking as if they were old buddies. You cringed in embarrassment at first, but it melted away when you realized Hawks kindly returned the sentiment.

You couldn’t hear them, but your dad’s wings puffed up and fluttered behind him as he spoke. He was always bad about talking with his wingspan. Hawks tipped his head back and laughed, which made your heart thump a little in a different kind of way. He was twenty-two, then, which was a bit too old for you at only fifteen. That didn’t stop your innocent little crush from fluffing up your wings.

Your dad turned around to gesture towards you and your mother, and then… Jesus, they walked your way. You were jealous of your father’s courage. You could hardly handle Hawks even looking at you, obvious from your puffed feathers, and there your father was making friends with the guy. Their voices echoed against the buildings lining the street, and the approaching murmur of Hawks’ voice made goosebumps raise on your arms. Your wings clenched tighter around your torso the closer they got, so your mother placed her hand gently on your shoulder to keep you from flying away.

Which you very likely would have.

“That was wild, seeing you and Endeavor up against that freakish hood guy. We were scared for you guys there for a minute!” you heard your father’s deep voice reverberate as they approached. Hawks replied with something or another. He was practically right in front of you. Your ears rang as blood rushed to them. You couldn’t have imagined how big his wings really were in person. Those brilliant crimson limbs of his made even your father’s look pitiful in comparison.

“Here she is,” your dad said as his hands gestured out to you. That dumb look of pride was plastered on his face. Oh, great, he probably gushed about you through most of their conversation.

“Hey, kid,” Hawks said as he lifted his visor to his forehead. He looked right at you. Those amber eyes were unobstructed and soft. White haze ghosted from his mouth from the chill in the air, and his nose and cheeks were dusted a faint pink from the cold. Jeeze, he was pretty. "It's not every day I meet other birds- nice to meetcha!"

You could hardly will yourself to reply. God, how did your dad keep such a cool head with those angular eyes staring at him? You surely weren't capable of it.

"You're my favorite hero,” you squeezed out of your throat, though it came out like a whisper. Surely it was something he heard every day. That made a part of you feel better about being bashful, but there was another part that was disappointed you didn’t say something more memorable. You spent years daydreaming about what words to put together for him if you had the chance, but when he was there in front of you those pre-planned phrases slipped away.

“Ah, me, really?” he chuckled as a gloved hand scratched the back of his neck.

His sweet, relaxed demeanor calmed you a little. Though the bottom of your face was buried beneath your wings to hide the redness in your cheeks. Your feathers stood on end, too, giving your nerves away. Surely a fellow bird would be able to pick up on your pitiful body language.

White specks fluttered down from the darkening sky as you yanked the straps of your backpack out from under your wings. This moment wouldn’t last much longer. Even if he didn’t remember you the next day, you wanted a memento of your meeting.

“Could you… sign my backpack?” you asked. Your wings finally unfurled to reveal all of yourself to him. But they fluffed right back up when he glanced at all the pins and charms that adorned your bag. Of course, they were modeled after his likeness. Your admiration was presented to him in a pitiful display. God, all of the regret! The humiliation! The poor thing made a sound in your fist as you squeezed it with whitening knuckles.

“‘Course I can,” he replied, and his gloved hand grazed yours as you begrudgingly handed the bag over.

His gaze dusted over the thing. As he lingered over your charms his joyful expression faltered. He still smiled, but a hint of a different emotion settled in his eyes. Your flustered disposition faded when you recognized what it was: a solemn, bittersweet sadness.

You were the only one who noticed, it seemed, as your family talked amongst each other behind you. The concern you felt for Hawks outweighed your anxiety. Why did a look at your bag bring out such emotions for him?

"Hawks, are you okay?" you pondered, and he blinked at you. “You look… sad.”

For a moment his smile failed him. The emotion he tried to hide broke through in all its glory. His mouth went slack, and his eyes lowered. But only for one vulnerable moment.

"Sad?" He said, and then his head tipped back as he let out a laugh. "How could I be sad in the presence of an angel?"

It wasn’t the first time someone called you that, on account of your wings. But hearing those words from the mouth of your favorite hero, of Hawks. It left your heart stinging in the most beautiful way. Again, you hid behind your wings with red cheeks.

Jesus Christ, you were gonna cry. If his goal was to distract you, he did a damn fine job.

He popped open the cap of a sharpie he pulled from his pocket and scribbled his name across the cloth. A hint of that expression returned to him, as if he was unworthy of your admiration. What exactly gave you that impression was unclear, but that look of his lingered like a bad taste. You wished there was something you could do or say to alleviate whatever was hurting him, but you knew you didn't have that kind of power.

"Here ya go, Feather," he chimed as he returned your newly signed backpack. Really, no charm or pin could mean as much as those black sharpie stains. HAWKS, they read in messy, thick letters. You smiled faintly. It was nice to know he was just as laid back and kind in person as he was on television.

And that little nickname. Feather, god it made your young heart swoon.

"I hate to run, but I'm afraid I have some business to attend to. It was wonderful talking with you folks," Hawks said, and your heart rattled again.

"W-wait!" you said as your fingers fumbled with the bouquet that'd been aloft in your hands. You pulled some of the arrangement free from the plastic, a lilly and several forget-me-nots clutched in your hand. "Take these."

Graciously, he extended his hand. To lay the stems of your father's flowers in Hawks' gloved palm felt like a dream, but a genuine smile returned to his face as he looked them over.

"Oh, they're so pretty," he said.

"T-they're my favorite. Forget-me-nots," you replied, cheeks pinked with the realization of how on the nose the flower choice was. "My dad grew them at his shop."

He tucked the small bundle of flowers into his jacket pocket, and then gave it a pat.

"Sounds like a good luck charm if I ever heard of one," he said, grinning. "Thank you. I'll see you guys around!"

With That, his visor fell back down over his face and his wings stretched outwards, reaching high above you and your parents. His wingspan alone was intimidating. To be in their shadow made you feel vulnerable and small.

"Hey, thanks for taking the time!" Your dad replied. Hawks waved before vanishing into the darkness of the evening sky.

You were completely ecstatic about the chance meeting, naturally, but that broken look on his face haunted you with unanswered questions. Little did you know your life would one day revolve solely around finding the answers.

…

Chapter 1

Life goes on, they say. Many parts of the city remained in ruins as reconstruction efforts heaved on for years after the war, but things slowly began to look the same again. You could walk down the street without being reminded of that terrible time, which was good, because today was supposed to be one of the best in your life.

You were an adult, well, sort of, finally having turned eighteen and graduated from school. You were the top of your class at UA, a goal you worked tirelessly to achieve.

That’s what earned you the right to take the PA certification exam the week before. Hundreds of hopefuls went in for testing. Only a fraction left with a license. And, honestly, you weren't surprised you were the only one to achieve a perfect score. It could be no other way if your dream was to be realized. To become the most saught after personal assistant in Japan.

Looking after someone in the hero field isn’t a job for the faint of heart, and there’s a lot more to the title than most people realize. To keep heroes on task and handle their business dealings was only a small part of the job. The other chunk of the was what got you interested to begin with. The human part. Every PA is required to act as psychological support as well. You took four years of psychology through school to even be allowed to take the certification exam.

At the end of the day, heroes sacrificed every part of themselves to keep civilians like you safe. They got hurt. Their loved ones died. A heroes' job was to do the saving. But, after so much had been lost and they lay alone in the quiet of the night, who would be there to save them?

For some hero out there, you would be by the end of the afternoon.

The Safety Commission administered your exam and that day they’d be assigning you to a hero. Anxiety coursed through you, of course. This was your first PA assignment, so you’d probably be placed with a lesser known hero who just needed some extra help around the office. At least until you proved yourself worthy of handling more serious cases. A rookie like you won’t be placed with the likes of a top ten or anything, but that thought helped ease the anxiety.

You hummed pleasantly to yourself as your dress shoes clicked against the pavement, daydreaming about who you could end up assigned to. But the daydreaming halted when you realized the footsteps behind you got persistently closer. Your head turned to glance around your wings, but your steps got faster. A man lingered behind your stride, and it seemed he was following you. He could've had bad intentions, or he could've just been in a hurry. Your side of the street is rather sparsely populated, however, and he never walked past you.

You made eye contact, but his legs moved in tandem with yours, inching closer and closer with each step. He would've stepped on your tail feathers if his dirty sneakers got any closer. Your wings puffed in preparation to take off in flight if the guy tried anything. As he got close enough for your wings to pump in warning, a large, dark shadow glided over you. Your eyes shot upward, and your heart settled comfortably when you saw a pair of red wings block out the sun. It was a hero. The number two hero, Hawks, specifically.

His wings pumped before his boots slammed into a utility pole not far ahead. He squatted and lifted his visor for a better view as the footsteps behind you slowed. You never stopped walking, even as you watched the hero land. Your flight instincts were too strong to stop even for a good look at Hawks. With one more glance between your feathers, though, you noticed the man who’d been on your tail turned onto another street.

Whether that stranger actually had any ill will or not you couldn’t be sure, but you were happy to accept you’d never know. Thanks to Hawks’ keen eye keeping watch over you.

You stopped.

You looked at Hawks.

He looked at you.

He was probably thirty feet above you. His scars were easily seen when you were so close to him. Remnants of the war that still lingered on his flesh. The left side of his face was framed with thick, damaged tissue. The state of his left wing looked about the same. Much of the red plumage never grew back, so the poor thing looked gimpy compared to its twin. Somehow he still managed to retain his charming looks despite those things, you noticed.

He smiled, and you tried to scan his face for any hint of recognition. Though his eyes lingered for a long moment on the shape of your face he didn't seem to remember you.

You hesitated, but raised a hand to wave a silent thank you.

You wished he was close enough to hear your voice. To see your vaguely familiar face. You’d be able to speak with more confidence than the younger version of yourself had all those years ago, but your words wouldn’t reach him.

His visor fell back over his face as he stood. And, just as quickly as he swooped in, his crimson wings lifted him back up. And he was gone.

It took several moments for you to collect yourself. Despite not knowing him personally, Hawks felt like an old friend in a way. The connection you lost with your father was mirrored in your feelings of the number two hero. Having seen those red wings brought you a cocktail of bittersweet sadness and gentle relief that was hard to swallow. Hopefully he didn’t notice your old backpack that'd been repurposed as a work bag.

You tucked the thing against your side to hide his faded signature on the front, then continued on your way.

...

The commission was bustling, as always. It was one of the first facilities rebuilt after the war, and the new management was determined to be at the forefront of restoring peace. Thanks to government funding it became a hub of cooperation and progress. Thankfully, the PA program received a lot of that investment.

When you stepped into the lobby your senses were assaulted with sight and sound. People in suits scrambled about and the sounds of ringing telephones and keyboards being furiously typed upon echoed against the walls. You were told over the phone to go upstairs into a meeting room to be briefed. You didn’t have to check in or wait in the lobby, they told you. So it was a surprise to see the other newly licensed PAs doing exactly what you were told not to.

Nine PA newbies sat in a circle around a table as they waited to be called back for their assignments. You recognized them all from the exam. This was your first clue something was off about your briefing. Especially when the other PAs watched you walk towards the elevators in confused silence. Somehow this was even more nerve wracking than taking the exam was.

Tenth floor, third door on the right, you were told. When you slipped into the little meeting room your palms began to sweat. You were expecting only the man who scored your exam results to be present for your assignment. Instead, you stood in a claustrophobic room surrounded by him, the acting president of the commission, and three other people you don’t know.

The president, a man named Mera, greeted you by your full name. Your hair stood on end. Why the hell was he here? You were just getting placed with a hero today, right? Right?

“Thank you for coming, could you close the door behind you?” the president requested. You leaned back against it until it clicked shut. Your cheeks tinted a slight pink in your anxiety and your palm sweat felt gross in your hands. Was this an interrogation or something? The air of the room was so thick it was hard to breathe in.

You willed yourself to take the seat across from the group. Questions ran through your head. One hundred thousand questions, but you were too intimidated to ask any of them. Your wings curled up tight to your back as one of the men cleared his throat.

“I know this is a lot you didn’t expect. We don’t mean to be intimidating, so take a breath,” he said, and you quickly expelled the one you were holding. “We have a hero to assign to you, but this is an unorthodox case. A meeting with the president is a requirement before we can place you together.”

Jesus christ, were they asking you to pull All Might out of retirement or something?

“You’re talking like you’re placing me with number one,” you managed to quip with a nervous laugh, but you regretted speaking out of turn when the group of suits sat in serious silence.

“Number two,” the president corrected, and it was suddenly hard to swallow.

“Come... again?” you said as your wings slumped to the tile floor.

“We’re assigning you to number two- Hawks,” he repeated himself.

Of course. How could it have been anything else?

It took everything you had not to bite hard into your bottom lip. To keep composure was your first lesson in your PA coursework, so your face remained soft despite your pounding heart. It made no sense why you would be their pick to look after a hero like Hawks. He’d been in the game since you were in grade school. The man spearheaded a war for god’s sake. What help could a newbie PA be to someone like him?

Even the universe was making fun of you for your childlike attachment to him.

“I’m honored you’d consider me for such a position, of course,” you began cautiously. Should you tell them this wasn't the job for you? It'd be impossible to properly council someone you spent the better part of your life being invested in. From an ethical standpoint, anyway. And this would be your first ever assignment. “I just passed my certifications last week, though. I have no field experience yet. With all due respect, why me?”

"You're a bird," the president said. Again, you released a small laugh. And, again, he didn't reciprocate. Was he being serious? You sat up a little and held your tongue as he continued. "You also accomplished a perfect score on your exam. Of this year's new PA batch you seem the most promising fit… Not to undermine your skills, but, if I’m being transparent, placing you together is a last resort. We’ve assigned several experienced PAs to him, but it’s done no good.”

Your brow furrowed at that bit of information. From the outside Hawks seemed like a PAs dream with his squeaky clean reputation and friendly demeanor. You couldn’t imagine why he’d have issues getting along with anyone. But that only proved how little you really knew him.

"It sounds like he doesn't want the help you're giving him."

The president sighed.

“As you probably know, he took a year hiatus after his involvement in the war,” he continued, and you nodded.

Of course you knew. What kind of superfan would you be otherwise? Still, it was his reintroduction you remember moreso. Purely because of the excitement and relief you felt to see him back in action. There was no announcement of his return. One day, he was gone. The next, his agency doors were back open and his silhouette once again graced the streets below him.

Despite all the buzz around him the year he was down and out, his condition was kept an illusive secret. Even now, after two years back on the job, no one really knew the specifics around his hiatus. An impressive feat, considering his wiki article alone was ten miles long.

"Yes, I remember when he took time off."

"It wasn't of his own volition, I'm afraid. We suspended his license that year."

The confession floored you into shocked silence, and again you battled your heart to stop drumming so hard. This was something no one knew. Not the media, his fan pages, and not even other heroes if their interviews were genuine.

"Why?" you managed.

"This is strictly private information and considered a confidential part of your briefing, whether or not you accept the position."

What the hell were you getting into?

"I understand."

The president leaned into the table with his elbow and pinched the bridge of his nose. You'd seen many of his television appearances. He was portrayed as a strong-willed man who never faltered. The only one with enough guts to rebuild the HPSC despite the damning rumors circulating about it's previous administration and their dealings. If only you knew back then how deep that rabbit hole went.

"Hawks wanted to jump back into the thick of hero work once the war was over," he began, "but he developed psychological burdens that hindered his ability to perform, hence the revoking of his license. We tried to admit him to our recovery program, like we did for every hero who fought in the war, but his turbulent relationship with the previous HPSC administration made it difficult for us to help. He doesn't trust us, and I can't blame him."

"He had personal issues with the HPSC?"

"There's a lot the public doesn't know about his story. Unfortunately, most of it is tragic."

Your eyes became a bit misty. You knew everything there was to know about Hawks, or so you thought. Every confession from the president made you realize you really knew nothing at all.

“He recovered better than we anticipated in that year. He passed our exams and his license was reinstated, but his performance is suffering again. We fear it’s only a matter of time before he slips up in the wrong moment. We don’t want to lose him, you understand?”

You did, somehow. He spoke so vaguely it was hard to form a big picture. But a memory invaded your thoughts. It was an old one you often found yourself reliving in quiet moments. When you met him in the chill of winter all those years ago, and he signed your backpack with that empty sadness that plagued your thoughts. Looking back now, you realize that moment took place not long before the war. Was that the cause of his grief? He knew it was coming? Did he never escape from that sadness?

You thought back to only an hour or so before this tense meeting. What a wild coincidence it was you saw him that day. Though the predicament you were in that morning could have easily been overlooked, he stopped for you. He made sure you were safe. It only felt right to do the same for him in return.

Thinking of this assignment as returning favors to him made it easier to swallow.

“So, my assignment is to correct behavioral issues?” you asked. Your voice had more confidence now, as if this was something you’d done a hundred times before. Internally, you were quaking. “Can you give me some specifics to work with? Having a plan before we meet for the first time is paramount if I'm going to get anywhere with him.”

The group looked at the president, who let a sigh slip from his aged lips. Frustration was on his face, but it wasn’t aimed towards you. His mind seemed elsewhere as he reached into his work bag and extracted a manilla folder. Hawks' case file. Seems your cool head and straightforward demeanor paid off with the president.

"His judgement is impaired," he informed you as he held the case file out for you. "He was at one time our most reliable hero. But now… well, he can be a liability even to himself at times. He uses excessive force against targets when not necessary, and other times he's unable to engage at all. He often can't keep up in life or death situations- he's lucky he's squeaked by the last couple years relatively unscathed. Because he's been so resistant to his past assistants we aren't sure how to best help him… hopefully you'll make him comfortable enough to find out. Everything we know is in that file."

He trailed off as his eyes narrowed with an emotion you couldn't decipher. His expression teetered between uncertainty and hope when he watched you crack open the folder handed to you. Despite the long list of previous PAs detailed on the first page, the stack of paper was rather thin. Apparently they only lasted long enough to report back a handful of times.

What the hell was he doing to those very experienced assistants to make them flake out in just a few weeks? These files were going to be an interesting read. It peeked your interest as a dutiful PA as well as a curious long time fan.

Another suited man you'd yet to hear speak piped up. "This is a lot to ask of you, we understand. Don't feel pressured to accept the placement if you don't think it will suit you."

"I'm still reeling from the suddenness of all of this," you confess. And, honestly, there was nothing you could offer Hawks that his previous PAs couldn't. "But I wanted this job so I could help heroes, so I'll do the best I can."

#hawks #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero acedemia #hawks x reader #my fic

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starstruckkittensweets · 3 years

Text

i. eglantine || myosotis

Summary: You’ve searched for him for as long as you can remember. And finally, it seems as though you’d found him.

Fandom: Attack on Titan Pairing: Levi x Reader Words: 6.2k

A/N: I wanted to wait to post this until most of the chapters were written, but this story has taken up most of my mind and mental energy lately, so I couldn’t push it off any further. This is the first chapter of my angsty Reincarnation AU fic that I’ve been working on since mid-February. I don’t want to say too much about it, since I don’t want to accidentally give spoilers. But I hope you guys enjoy! :)

Warnings: Season 4 spoilers, angst and feels, mentions of abusive/negligent parents, brief mentions of past relationships, age difference (younger woman and older man)

“Myosotis” Masterlist

“Sasha, put it back!”

“I didn’t take anything, I swear!”

“Come on, I saw you! Put it back, damn it!”

You roll your eyes, fingers tightening around the stick of charcoal in your hand. Jean and Sasha are fighting again, probably over another roll of bread. Sasha has a habit of stealing them from the pantry every now and again, even in broad daylight of her friends.

Jean chases her through the kitchen, around and around the little wooden table. Sasha shoves the roll of bread into her mouth before continuing her sprint; every time she passes your seat, a gentle gust of wind ruffles your hair.

“Damn it, Sasha, put it back!”

A muffled “Never!” is his answer.

You lean over the table, shielding your sketchbook from the two younger cadets. A rough drawing stares back at you—a drawing of the little cabin your squad has taken refuge in. You managed to capture the outline of the cabin, and now you’re adding the little barn beside it. But before you could get to it, Sasha had burst into the room, with Jean and Connie hot on her tail.

Connie leans against the doorway and sighs. “Come on, Sash. Just give it up already!”

You rub your temples, accidentally smudging a bit of charcoal on your skin. “It’s been in her mouth. You don’t want it back now.”

Connie grimaces, and Sasha gives him an evil smile. But then Jean lunges forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and stopping her in her tracks. She screams through the roll of bread in her mouth, voice muffled and eyes wild.

A heavy sigh passes through your lips. You came into the kitchen for some peace and quiet. You’ve only got about another hour before switching with Mikasa at the lookout post, and you want to enjoy it as much as possible. But right now, you can barely think with Sasha’s grumbling and Jean and Connie’s screaming.

You need a break.

Without a word, you grab the book and charcoal and head out the door, silently moving past Connie (who continues to beg Sasha to give up that damn roll of bread). Your best bet for silence isn’t anywhere near the house, so you go to the next best spot.

Eren and Mikasa are at the lookout posts. Armin and Historia are probably down at the lake, washing up the laundry for tomorrow. Sasha, Connie, and Jean...well, you already know where those three are. So that leaves you with an area you know is empty: the barn.

The horses snort upon hearing your boots scuffle against the dirt. You close the door behind you and head further in, passing each stall and bidding hello to the horses inside. There’s Eren and Armin’s dark bay geldings, right beside each other. There’s Mikasa’s buckskin mare, and Historia’s bay roan filly. Finally, you come to your own mare’s stall, and she pokes her head out through the top of the door.

She’s a bit younger than the other horses, not quite a mare but no longer a filly. Her coat is a gorgeous shade of chestnut, and when the sun hits her at a certain angle, she looks like a red wisp of fire. In fact, she was one of your first models when you bought this sketchbook; the first ten pages or so are filled with drawings of her—her mane, her coat, her body, everything. From when you raised her as a foal to the grown mare (more like filly) she is today.

“Hi, Rose,” you whisper, brushing a hand across her long nose. “You behaving in here, I hope?”

The chestnut snorts again. With a huff, you sit down outside the stall with your back against the bars of the door. Rose glances over your shoulder as you open your sketchbook, ready to continue from where you left off.

Despite the crazy antics of your younger friends, you like this little cabin in the forest. It’s an unfortunate situation to be thrown in, having to take refuge this far away from any other towns or cities, but you try to make the best of it.

You finish the sketch of the barn, shading in the doors and the roof with the little stick of charcoal. It’s no longer a stick, but a tiny broken nub. You’ll have to get a new one once you go back to the house later tonight.

The door of the barn slides open with a creak. Rose perks up, snorting at the sound of footsteps against the rough dirt. Eventually, a deep voice flutters through the walls, echoing in your ears.

“I thought I’d find you in here.”

The newcomer stops right in front of you, arms crossed over his chest. With a soft smile, you place down the nub of charcoal and glance up at him. The sketchbook rests heavily in your lap, and a blush dusts your face when you see his silver eyes flicker down to the opened page.

“Sorry, captain. I had to get away from the noise in the house.”

“Tch, I don’t blame you. I could hear them all the way from the well. Fucking dumbasses.”

He huffs before settling down in the dirt beside you. As much of a clean freak he can be, the natural grime and musk of the barn and its horses has never bothered him.

He nods to the page in your sketchbook, the same one splattered with dark charcoal. “New sketch?”

Your blush worsens beneath his silvery gaze. “Something like that.”

“Hey, you awake over there?”

You lift your head from your elbows and glance off to the side. A yawn bubbles up in your throat and cuts off whatever you were about to say. A few feet away, Mikasa shakes her head and smiles.

“You fell asleep again,” she murmurs, folding yet another one of your shirts and placing it in the suitcase on your bed. “You sure you got enough sleep last night?”

You yawn again, propping your arms up and onto the surface of your desk. Looks like you fell asleep while doing some last-minute homework again. You were waiting for Mikasa to come to your room, but you must’ve dozed off while waiting for her to get here.

“Sorry,” you mumble into the palm of your hand. “I was just...thinking.”

“About what?” She folds another shirt and packs it away. “Is everything okay?”

“Y-yeah, everything’s fine.”

She eyes you cautiously. Damn it. You were screwed the moment you stuttered. Mikasa is incredibly observant, and when she suspects you’re not telling her the truth, she will stop at nothing to get the full story.

She sighs before turning around to face you, leaning against the edge of your bed. Your face heats up beneath her brilliant gray gaze. Shit. Even though she’s younger than you, she’s still so intimidating. How many times have you been stunned into silence because you were too frightened of her seemingly cold and unfeeling nature?

“What are you thinking about? There’s something on your mind, isn’t there?”

You stare down at your palms on the desk. Not really, you want to tell her. You don’t want her to worry about you. She has much more important things to concern herself with. Passing her classes, keeping Eren and Armin out of trouble, and dealing with the typical angst of being nineteen years old. You remember what it was like when you were her age.

Both in this world and the other one.

When it becomes clear that you’re not going to talk any time soon, Mikasa shoves the suitcase off to the side of your bed and hops up onto the mattress. She leans forward on her elbows, keeping her eyes fixed on your body.

“Is it the memories again?”

You thank every god and goddess above that Mikasa knows about your memories. She’s experienced them, as well, and so have Eren and Armin. In fact, everyone in your little friend group remembers their past life in some way or another. You can’t really explain it, but it’s comforting to know there are multiple people out there who know what it’s like.

“Somewhat,” you finally answer, and a weight settles over your chest. “I’ve been...thinking about them lately.”

They come in dreams or flashbacks, both during the day and in the middle of the night. Ever since you were twelve years old, you’ve remembered bits and pieces of a life you used to live, in a world vastly different than this one.

You were scared at first, when they started resurfacing in your childhood. You didn’t know what to do. All of a sudden, you remembered faces, places, items—things you hadn’t seen in this world, but you remembered them all the same. But over the years, you’ve grown used to them coming and going at random times. It’s just a part of life now, and you have to make the best of it. At least, that’s what Mikasa and the others tell you all the time.

“What are you thinking about?”

Leave it to Mikasa to try to coax the full truth out of you. You hide a smile and turn around in your seat, finally facing her head-on. “They just...stop.”

Everyone remembers what happened in the old world, the one you see in your memories, to a certain extent. They remember everything involving themselves, or in some cases, their deaths. One of your friends, Marco, talked about this when you first brought it up. He couldn’t recall any of the events Armin and Jean and the others were talking about; he could only remember up to a certain point in the past. And for that reason, he suspected that he had died somewhere along the way.

It’s a scary thought, but you can’t think of any other explanation. You remember a violent battle in another country, one whose name you can’t recall at the moment, and then it goes blank. That was a particularly painful memory to recall at first. You had lost good people that day, including Sasha. After you remembered her death, you ended up calling her at three-thirty in the morning, just to hear her groggy voice. At least she was still here with you in this life.

But that’s it. There's nothing after that.

It’s not uncommon for memories to resurface a few months or years apart from each other. But this last memory of that battle, and of Sasha’s death, resurfaced about seven months ago. Ever since then, you haven’t experienced any new ones.

Have you reached the end of your line? Did you die in that battle? You don’t remember dying; all you remember is pressing down on Sasha’s wound as hard as you could, trying your best to stop the blood flowing from her chest. Maybe you died of grief soon after?

You don’t know, and that frustrates you to no end.

Mikasa remains silent. It’s clear she wants you to keep talking, but there’s nothing left to say. She’s probably the only one who knows of your current dilemma with your memories. As far as you know, no one else has trouble remembering what happened after that battle—well, apart from Sasha, that is.

But she remembers her death. It’s foggy, but she remembers her last words and her last thoughts. Even if you died yourself, you can’t remember what your final moments looked like.

“...Do you think my memories will come back eventually?”

Mikasa hums in agreement. “I think so. It'll come back to you, I’m sure of it. You just have to be patient.”

Easy for her to say. Mikasa has never had trouble exercising patience when the situation calls for it. But you on the other hand? You’re always rushing into danger without any concern for your own well-being. It’s a trait they weren’t able to beat out of you back in the cadet corps.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right...”

You shake your head. You can worry about that later. Right now, you have to finish packing. Campus will be closing in a few hours.

You push yourself up and out of your seat. “Move over. Let me finish packing.”

Mikasa shakes her head and leaps down from the mattress. As you continue to pack up your clothes and stuff them inside your suitcase, you can feel her eyes burning into your back. She's still worried about you, and she has a hard time of hiding it.

She doesn’t have to worry about you. You'll be fine. You always have been.

It’s colder than usual when you head out of the dorm. With a shiver, you cross your arms over your chest, but not before tugging your black scarf up and over your nose. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Mikasa smile softly at you, before doing the same with her own red one.

“You should be used to this weather by now,” she murmurs, running a hand through her short black hair.

“You know me.” Your voice is muffled by the black fabric. “I hate the cold.”

Well, that’s the understatement of the year. Hell, you were freezing all the way back in September, when the first autumn breeze made its way across campus. Forget this mid-November weather. You’d rather just stay cooped up inside with a blanket thrown over your lap, and a steaming cup of coffee between your palms.

But no. As much as you want to linger behind, you know you can’t. Campus will be shutting down for the next week or so, for Thanksgiving break. Then, it’s two weeks until finals, and then you have a full month to relax before the next semester starts in February.

“Need a ride to the airport?”

Mikasa shakes her head as the two of you approach the parking lot. Your trusty car is on the far end of the lot, sticking out like a sore thumb against the shiny convertibles. It’s clunky and the paint’s chipping away, but you still consider it to be your buddy. You’ve relied on that thing for the better part of four years, and it hasn’t failed you yet.

“I’m alright. Eren should be done in a few minutes. We’ll head down there together.”

But as the words leave her mouth, the sound of a car horn fills the air. A familiar green-eyed boy leans out the window of a silver convertible on the other side of the lot, waving over to the two of you. Both you and Mikasa smile at him, and you can’t help but chuckle when you see a light dusting of pink on Mikasa’s face.

“Looks like your ride is here,” you tell her, and she nudges you hard with her elbow. “Is Armin coming with you?”

“Not this time. He’s spending break with his family. But I think he’s coming over for Christmas.”

You nod, glancing down at the pavement below. It’s hard not to be jealous of her and her friends. She gets to spend Thanksgiving with her family halfway across the country, in the warm southern areas with plenty of sunshine. It’s better than being stuck in this hellhole, with only the gray sky and snowy winds to keep you company.

You pop the trunk of your car and throw your suitcase and duffel bag inside. Once the trunk’s latched up, you open the driver’s side door and throw your backpack onto the passenger’s seat. Before climbing in yourself, you give Mikasa another look from over your shoulder.

“Tell your folks I said hi, alright?”

“Okay. Drive safely.”

“I always do.”

She frowns, and you can’t help but laugh. No need to bring up that unfortunate accident you and Eren got into in the summer of your sophomore year of college, which involved way too much ice cream and a sudden swerve to the right. Neither of you were seriously injured, but the car had a few scrapes and bruises from the collision with the stop sign. Ever since then, Mikasa has never let you live it down; in fact, she refuses to let you drive when Eren is in the car with you.

“Call me when you get to the airport, okay?”

“I will.”

You climb into the seat and slam the door shut. As you rev up the engine, Mikasa knocks on the glass of the window. You slide it down, shivering as another gust of cold wind seeps into the car.

“Don’t worry about those memories too much, alright? It’s not healthy.”

Of course, leave it to Mikasa to be concerned about your health. For as long as you’ve known her, both in this life and the last, you’ve always joked that she’s the “mom friend” of your little friend group. Much more mature than anyone else at her age—and certainly more than you were when you were nineteen—she takes it upon herself to watch over everyone. It makes sense that she wants to look out for you like this.

“I’ll try my best.”

“Promise?”

You smile. “Yeah, I promise.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She’s got something on her mind. But before you can ask her about it, she starts to speak once more.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us? You know you’re always welcome.”

It's hard to look her in the eye when you answer. “No, I’m alright. My mom probably wants to see me. Haven’t seen her since August, you know...”

An awkward silence settles over the two of you. To pass the time, you turn the knob on the dash, and a blast of heat hits your arm. Only a few minutes until the car is all warmed up for you.

You want to go with her and the others. The Jaeger family has always been kind to you. Grisha is quiet but reliable, and Carla is an absolute sweetheart. It’s hard to refuse the offer and turn them away, but you can’t help it. It’s been months since you’ve last seen your own mother. It’s best if you go home and see her—before she gets even angrier with you.

“I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

Mikasa wants to say more, you can see it in her eyes. But she only nods, tugging her scarf further up her face. “Okay. Stay warm, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

You give her one last smile before rolling the window back up. Within moments, you pull out of the parking lot, stealing one last glance at her waving form in the rearview mirror. A second later, you’re on the busy road, heading south towards home.

Your fingers tighten around the steering wheel. It’s hard to focus as you drive, your conversation with Mikasa still ringing in your ears. You start to regret not taking her up on her offer. But you know you’ll be in some deep shit if you choose your friends over your mother. Again.

It’s been weeks since you’ve last talked to her, and months since you’ve actually seen her. Part of you wants to suck it up and forget about going home in the first place. But it’ll only make things worse for you further down the road.

You run your hand down your face as you come to a stop at a red light. As you watch the line of cars pass you by, your mind starts to wander. Back to your childhood, with Mikasa and Eren and Armin. Back when the days weren’t great, but you were all happy.

Back when all you knew was a walled city, caged in a pen like cattle.

You were close to your thirteenth birthday when you finally reunited with Mikasa and the boys. After some prompting from one of your teachers, Miss Brzenska (who also remembered bits and pieces of the world you kept seeing), you approached them on the schoolyard at lunch one day. You had never felt so nervous in your entire life.

Would they even remember you? Did they know who you were? Would they be glad you had sought them out, or would they be annoyed? There was no way of knowing, unless you took that risk and found out for yourself.

But the moment they saw you, their jaws dropped, and their eyes went wide. And almost immediately, the black-haired girl rushed forward and swept you into her arms. The two boys followed close behind, the four of you embracing right there in the middle of the schoolyard.

It was the first time in your life you actually felt like you belonged somewhere. Your place was with these three kids, watching over them and protecting them from the dangers of the world.

But these memories stayed a secret between you four. No one was allowed to know about them—except for Miss Brzenska, and maybe Eren and Mikasa’s parents. Armin’s grandfather also remembered bits and pieces of the old world. But that was it. No one else, end of story.

At first, you were scared to talk to your parents about it. But one too many prying questions from your father about your newfound friendship with three kids three years younger than yourself had led you to blurt it all out. And surprisingly, he listened to your stories—to every memory you could recall, with his eyes lighting up with each one.

He never patronized you for having these strange dreams, or memories, whatever they were called. In fact, on Christmas Eve one year, when your mother was still at work, he came clean to you. He remembered the walled city, as well.

He remembered walking through the streets, kicking up dirt with his boots and whistling soft music to himself. He remembered heading to the marketplace and browsing through the stands of fruit and fish and accessories. He even remembered you in some of them, and he recalled holding your hand as he led you through the city, when you were no more than seven years old.

You knew your mother would never understand, so you never told her. Besides, she was too busy arguing with your father over bills and food, or making comments about your outfit or homework habits under her breath to pay you any mind. You were not about to trust her with this little secret, not if you could help it.

The days dragged by, and when you reached thirteen years old, you all remembered that day—a day of horror and bloodshed, of broken homes and high-pitched screams. It happened when you were spending one summer afternoon at Eren’s home. All of a sudden, the four of you froze up, and you started remembering that cursed day.

There was a reason that city had been walled up. And when that monster had appeared on the other side, with its giant skinless head poking up over the top, it all made sense. Titans. They were the reason humanity was hiding behind these Walls. They were the reason so many humans were dead now.

Eren had to rush downstairs to see if his mother was alright. That was when you realized that not everyone alive today in this world had made it in the old one.

Your account was different than theirs. No wonder—you hadn’t been in Shiganshina that day. You had been busy training with your peers towards Trost District. You had been spared the sight of the Colossal Titan peeking over the edge of Wall Maria. You hadn’t seen Eren’s mother get eaten, like he and Mikasa had.

There’s an obnoxious honk of a car horn behind you. The light just turned green. You roll your eyes and step on the gas, continuing to drive down the road. It’s tempting to lean out the window and scream at the driver behind you, or at the very least flip him off. But you restrain yourself, for the time being.

It takes about an hour to get out of the city. Once you’re in the next town over, it’s only another half hour to get back home. You have a long drive ahead of you, but it doesn’t bother you in the slightest. It gives you more time to think, to be alone with your thoughts. At least for just a bit longer.

God knows you won’t be able to get a wink of sleep or silence once you’re back home with your mother.

You flip the radio on and turn it to a station you know all too well. A classic rock and roll song fills the car, and with the added heat from the dashboard, the atmosphere is just a bit warmer and more comforting. It reminds you of home—and not the one you’re heading to.

You take the next exit on the left and head down the back roads. Another hour of weaving through these, and you’ll be back in your old hometown. Might as well enjoy it while you can, right?

So you lean back, loosen your grip on the steering wheel, and let your mind run rampant.

You remember training in the cadet corps. You remember graduating. Joining the Scout Regiment—the only branch of the military that even remotely interested you. Maybe it was because your father had been a Scout, before he was eaten by a Titan when you were fifteen years old. At first, you wanted to join to see the outside world. But after the fall of Wall Maria, all you could think about was putting an end to the Titans once and for all. And after watching a Titan swipe your father off his horse, that desire to eradicate those bloodthirsty monsters only grew stronger.

You were sixteen when you met Connie and Sasha in this world. And two years later, you met up with Jean and Marco. A month after that, Ymir and Historia. And by the time you were in your senior year of high school, and the kids were freshmen, your little group was back together.

Well, for the most part.

Your hands tighten around the steering wheel again. Half an hour has passed, and you’re just halfway out of the city. But when the next memory hits, you’re forced to pull over to the side of the road. You don’t trust yourself not to get distracted and crash.

You park the car and lean your forehead against the wheel. Breathe in, breathe out. Count to ten in between breaths. It's a technique you’ve practiced often, every time you start to remember him.

Jet black hair. Dark gray eyes. A forest green cloak, with the hood hanging above his shoulders. Black and white wings embedded on the green fabric, crossed over one another. Twin blades gripped in his hands, flashes of silver nearly blinding you in the sunlight.

You've seen him in your dreams, ever since you were sixteen years old. You know his face. You know his name. You know his personality, his likes and dislikes, his way of talking—everything there is to know about someone, you know it.

But how can you not? You spent a good portion of your past life around that man, talking with him and fighting at his side. It was only natural for you to learn all you could about him.

He was an Ackerman, just like Mikasa. She remembered him, and so did the rest of your friend group. But none of them had a clue as to where he was or what he was doing. For all you knew, he could be dead.

No. Don’t think about that. You don’t like the idea of him dying. You had to deal with it so much in your past life.

You raise your head off the steering wheel and place your palms against your cheeks. A few gentle slaps later, you reach around your backpack for your water bottle. You take a long gulp and tilt your head back.

Save it for home. Wait until you get home, and then you can think about him.

Finally, you shake your head, cap your water bottle, and start the car again. It's not long before you’re back on the road, heading towards the outskirts of the city.

And shoving those thoughts of the gray-eyed man into the furthest corner of your mind.

Your stomach starts to swirl the moment you pull into your mother’s driveway. There’s no car parked in the garage, nor is there one in the driveway. She must be out of the house.

Which means you’re shit out of luck until she comes back. You don’t have a key of your own, after all. She’s never trusted you enough to give you one.

You exhale loudly, pressing your forehead to the steering wheel once more. You hate when this happens. Whenever you decide to come home, you have to wait until your mother feels like coming back to let you inside. And even then, there’s no guarantee when she’ll return. One time you had to sleep over at Mikasa’s house because she left in the middle of the day without telling you. She didn’t think to send you a text until the next day, when she asked you to pick up some milk at the store when she was already back at home.

That had been one of the most humiliating days of your life. Thank God Mikasa wasn’t one to judge. Still, whenever you thought about her dragging you back to her home and explaining to her parents that you were in need of a place to sleep for the night, your face flushed with shame.

You check the time on your dashboard. It’s only four-thirty. Mikasa texted you about an hour ago, telling you that she and the boys had met up at the airport. It wasn’t worth it to try to call her now. No doubt she was already mid-flight.

Well, at least you had some extra time to kill, right? Might as well walk around town to see what’s changed.

The town of Rose Edge is small enough to walk around without a car. You know this town like the back of your hand, having explored it on your own ever since you were ten or so.

So you grab your backpack and climb out of the car, locking the doors on your way out. Once you’re sure everything’s secure, you lift up your scarf and head into town.

From what you can see, it hasn’t changed a bit. The sidewalks are still paved with cobblestone, giving off an old-timey vibe, and the shops are warm and welcoming. Cars drive up and down the streets, and crowds of people flood the roads, chattering amongst themselves. A man in a business suit, talking into his phone. A woman and her child, their hands clasped together tightly. A family of six, with two parents, two girls, and two boys, with one boy perched on the father’s shoulders.

You smile at the sight, even if your heart hurts a little. It’s been almost six years since your father passed away, and while you know he’s no longer in pain, you still miss him.

There’s the bookstore at the end of Krolva Avenue. You used to work there when you were a junior in high school, saving up some extra money for college. There’s the clothing shop Historia and Sasha always brought you to, right across the movie theater. How many nights were spent in that theater, with the nine of you flinging buttery popcorn at each other and laughing along to cheesy rom-coms and pathetic horror movies?

There’s also the café, right on the intersection of Krolva and Utopia. You used to spend every Saturday morning there with Mikasa and Armin—Eren never came, since he always slept in late. They had some pretty good coffee, and even better tea.

Tea.

You tighten your scarf around your face. The word brings back a slew of memories, all of them bittersweet. That man you remembered during the drive here, the one who shared the same last name as Mikasa, used to drink tea all the time. Just black, no sugar or milk. You couldn’t understand why he didn’t like sugar or milk, but you never questioned it to his face. It was what he liked, and that was fine.

Apparently, you used to make a pretty good cup of black tea, too.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and for a moment, you stand there in the middle of the sidewalk, fighting hard to keep the tears at bay. This always happens every now and then. You’ll get a powerful memory of him, and it won’t leave your mind. For the next few hours or so, he’s all you can think about. And if you try to occupy yourself with something else, his face always finds its way back to your mind.

You feel helpless whenever this happens. What ever happened to him, in your old life? You remember he was in that battle, the one where Sasha died, but you can’t remember past that. You never can, and it drives you crazy.

It takes you a moment to collect yourself and start walking again. You wipe your eyes as discreetly as you can. You hate crying in this cold weather—it just takes you even longer to warm up later on.

You suck in a sharp breath and continue to stare ahead. All different kinds of people gather around you. It must be rush hour, and everyone’s heading home from work. You made it home at the right time, didn’t you?

Then you see it. A flash of black in the corner of your eye.

And your heart stops altogether.

People grumble under their breath as their arms knock against yours. But you don’t pay them any mind. All you can focus on is the splash of color to the right—there!

Tears spring into your eyes. Standing on the edge of the sidewalk is a man, fumbling with the cuffs of his winter coat. His black hair is sprinkled with specks of snow from above. His clothes are freshly ironed, not a wrinkle in sight. A forest green scarf is wrapped around his neck, holding the collar of his coat closed.

Is it really him? Or am I just seeing things again?

It's happened before. Too many times to count, you think you’ve seen someone you used to know in your past life, only to find out that it’s not them at all. You don’t want to get your hopes up, in case it’s not him.

But then he tilts his head up, and you get a good look at his face.

Then you know. It's definitely him.

He tugs his coat close to his chest and begins to walk away, further into the crowd. And that’s when your feet start moving on their own.

No way in hell are you losing sight of him. Not again.

You stretch your hand out, and in the back of your mind, you recall carding your fingers through his silky black hair.

Don’t leave me again.

“Levi!”

The man freezes in his tracks, his shoulders tensing up. You slow your pace, coming to a full stop a few feet behind him. You keep your arm out, in case he decides to move again. You don’t want to risk losing him in this crowd.

There's a chance he might not remember you. It's entirely plausible, no matter what you might have shared back in the old world. For all you know, he could think you’re a complete stranger and just walk away from you.

You don’t know what you would do if he did that.

He glances over his shoulder at you, and hot tears stream down your face. He hasn’t changed in the slightest, has he? He still has those overgrown black bangs that part in the right side of his forehead, and that silly undercut you always loved scratching at in the dead of night. His eyes are gray, but at this angle in the sunlight, they almost look silver.

Silver, with a shadow of blue around the edges.

“Levi,” you whisper this time, taking a step towards him. “It’s...me. Do you remember?”

He doesn’t answer with words. He's always been shit at them, anyway.

Instead, he turns around fully and rushes forward. The next thing you know, you’re against his warm chest, with his arms wrapped tightly around you.

Slowly, you reach your arms up and place them around his shoulders. Is he really here, for real this time? This isn’t another hallucination, right? You’re not dreaming, are you?

“...Levi?” Do you remember me?

He hugs you tighter. “I remember you, brat.”

Tears trickle down your cheeks. How long has it been since you’ve heard his voice, deep and commanding, the one that always made you feel safe? How many years have gone by without inhaling his familiar musky scent, smelling of pine trees with just a hint of peppermint? How many nights have you dreamed about this reunion, only to wake up in cold misery the next morning?

Warmth pools in your chest. With a smile, you press yourself against him, lost in his touch, his scent, his heat, and completely disregarding the swarm of people around you.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #reincarnation au #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #levi x you #aot x you #aot x reader #myosotis #aot fics

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askwhatsforlunch · 2 years

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Rosemary and Thyme Butter Broad Beans, Asparagus and Gnocchi

As Jules was not home on Easter, we celebrated May Day yesterday with a bright and flavourful Spring Lunch. I had set the table in the dining room, but it was so lovely outside that, after enjoying our drinks (a Gold Rush for her and a Bee’s Knees for me) with nibbles in the sun, we ate the rest of our meal in the garden amongst the myosotis, by the Veg Patch and the apple tree! It was really nice and so was the poached salmon I served with these beautiful Broad Beans, Asparagus and Gnocchi! Happy Monday!

Ingredients (serves 4):

about 1 1/2 cup plain flour

1 heaped cup leftover Simple Potato Mash, cold

1 egg

1 litre/1 quart water

1 teaspoon coarse sea salt

8 fresh green aparagus

1 cup frozen broad beans

1 teaspoon Dried Lemon Thyme

1/2 teaspoon dried rosemary

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

½ tablespoon olive oil

Parmesan

Lemon

Gadually stir one cup of the flour into the Potato Mash. Add the egg to bind it all and work ingredients together until a soft dough forms, adding more flour if necessary. Roll small portions of dough between your hands (approximately the size of a heaping teaspoon) and place them on a lightly floured surface. Working with one ball at a time, using your thumb, roll ball on the tines of a lightly floured fork. As you work, place gnocchi onto a lightly floured tray. When all gnocchi are ready, store them into the refigerator

In a large saucepan, bring water to the boil over medium-high heat. Once boiling, stir in coarse sea salt until dissolved.

Trim the ends of the asparagus, and add to the boiling water. Cook, 10 minutes, until tender, then lift off the saucepan with a slotted spoon and transfer to a plate. Set aside.

Add broad beans to the salted boiling water, and cook, 5 minutes. Once cooked, remove from the water and plunge into a medium bowl filled with cold water and ice cubes. Set aside.

Finally, add half of gnocchi to boiling water; cook for 3 to 4 minutes or until done (they will rise to the surface). Remove gnocchi with a slotted spoon, and place in a colander to drain. Keep warm. Repeat procedure with remaining gnocchi.

Peel broad beans. Cut asparagus.

Melt butter with olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Once foaming, add Dried Lemon Thyme and dried rosemary, cook 1 minute. Then, stir broad beans and asparagus, and sauté, to coat in butter. Finally, stir in gnocchi. Cook, until hot, a few minutes.

Serve Rosemary and Thyme Butter Broad Beans, Asparagus and Gnocchi hot, sprinkled with grated Parmesan and Lemon Zest, as a side to Poached Salmon or Rosemary and Honey Roast Lamb.

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yuusa · 3 years

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⟡ 十一 | 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑩𝑹𝑼𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 (𝑯/𝑪) 𝑯𝑨𝑰𝑹, sighing underneath your breath as you stretched out your arms. You quietly slipped through the cracks of the crowd, avoiding the busy streets that were filled with workers. Since your workplace wasn’t too far from the shopping district, you decide that it would be a good idea to pass some time there. You weren’t looking for anything in particular. After spending Valentine’s Day with Akito at the local theaters, you’ve realized how out of touch you were with some of the modern entertainments.

You’ve just finished the entire story of Myosotis Alpestris, finding it to be a miraculously preserved book that exceeded your expectations. Every tune and syllable expressed volumes of emotions that you couldn’t comprehend at first. Ophiel’s love for Iaoth blinded her sense of judgment, pulling her closer to the edges of destruction. You thought that she was foolish. The idea of love seemed so foreign to you. There wasn’t much point in falling in love. It made no sense to you after all. Is loving someone the same as loving yourself? You wondered, your fingers fiddling with the edges of your clothes as you continued walking. Were they even meant to be the same?

You tilted your head, turning to the side to see a familiar woman struggling to carry a box. You hurriedly ran to her side, taking the heavy box from her hands as she turned her head to look at you. “Aikyo-san, it’s dangerous to carry such a heavy box. Why aren’t your other employees doing the job?”

“Thank you, dear.” She sighed in relief before stretching her arm, a playful smile forming on her cheeks. “This old lady hasn’t gotten any workers in years, but that doesn’t stop me from doing what I love here!” Yutsuko guided you towards the side of the store, pointing at the empty shelves, “You can leave this box over here. I need to reshelve these books but right now my back isn’t feeling the best today.”

“I see. . . It’s fine, I can help you with that. It’s better if you tried to rest,” you said, peeling open the tape and flipping the wings of the box open. Yutsuko smiled as she saw your eyes widen in excitement. There were several stacks of books left inside, many of them looked as if they had just been printed out just hours ago. You picked up one of the newer collections, brushing your fingers across the cover as you stared at it in awe.

Yutsko resisted the urge to chuckle at your childish behavior, her small laugh being covered by the back of her hand. “Did you already finish reading Myosotis Alpestris? I’m curious to hear about what you thought about the book.”

You stared at her in surprise, your hand nearly dropping the book out of your hand as you awkwardly fidgeted. “I’ve just finished reading it,” you scratched the edge of your cheek as you looked towards her, “I thought it was a beautiful piece of art. Opheil’s love for Iaoth and her greed was quite thought-provoking. I’m happy that you were willing to give me the book for free.”

You politely bowed in front of her, trying to express your gratitude towards the older woman who smiled. She waved her hand around, dismissing you as you straighten your back. “I’m glad that you liked it,” she said, “I’ve always thought that Opheil’s solitude was the most interesting part of it.”

“I’ve never thought much about Opheil’s isolation. . .” You pressed your lips together as you stretched your body forward, leaning against the tall shelves to place your books down. “But, it was her greed and selfishness that had brought her to that point. If she kept her feelings to herself then everything could have turned out fine for her. She was selfish of Iaoth.”

Opheil’s love for Iaoth was selfish. She was selfish to declare her love for him. Your eyes softened as you brushed your hand against a book, rubbing your thumb against the cover. She knew that they would be punished for their actions and yet she still wanted Iaoth to herself. It was selfish of her.

Yutsuko hummed, reaching out to pluck the book from your hands, “We both have different interpretations.”

“A-Ah. . . is that bad?” You asked, turning towards her with a concerned expression.

“Of course not dear,” she replied, setting it down, “just because we don’t see eye-to-eye, doesn’t mean we can’t try to understand each other.”

“I don’t think Opheil’s thoughts were wrong though. She was a reckless child at heart, but she knew what she was doing. Iaoth could have also been at fault for his lack of loyalty towards his own God as well. Could you blame him for falling for Opheil?” Yutsuko explained, smiling at you with her wrinkled cheeks. “She may have been selfish in her actions, but could you deny someone of their happiness?”

You tensed up, your lips pressed together as you carefully swallowed down her words.

Was it wrong to feel selfish about something? Being selfish and greedy. . . it's wrong, isn’t it? You shouldn’t feel selfish for something you don’t have. You shouldn’t ask for more.

It was wrong, but. . .

You turned your head towards Yutsuko’s smiling form. Her wrinkled hands brushed against the top of her cane, her eyes were aged with more than just time. There was something deep within them that you couldn’t understand. They were worn out, exhausted, and yet. . . they held so much light within them.

Were you. . . in the wrong for thinking this way?

You bit the bottom of your lips, tightening your fists as you dug your nails deep into your palm. You narrowed your eyes at the ground, splitting the edges of your lips in frustration.

. . . “I’m tired of this already (M/n)! You need to take her to the hospital!” (F/n) begged, throwing his arms to the side as the (h/c) woman quivered. She leaned back against the wall, gripping onto her incense stick as it blew thin trails of smoke into the air. She rubbed against the bottom of it, staring vacantly at the burning tip. “Are you even listening to me? (M/n)!”

“Every day, you think about yourself more than others! I’m tired of trying to get through to you at this point!” He tugged on his hair in frustration, “Do you even care about us anymore? You never listen to me and it’s pissing me off!”

She shook her head, narrowing her eyes at the taller man, “Then leave me! I told you already that if you hated me then you should just leave already!”

(F/n) stepped back a few feet, grinding his teeth together as he glared at the (h/c) woman, “How many times must I try to get through to you! She’s your daughter, you can’t just pretend she doesn’t exist!”

“She’s your daughter too!” She shouted back, standing up from the ground to look at her husband, “You go on and on about how much it’s all my fault when you don’t do anything either! You don’t do anything for her either so don’t go around pretending that you’re her father too! You’re sick of me? I’m sick and tired of you too! Leave me for another woman, I don’t care at this point!”

“You’re so damn selfish!”

“And what’s wrong with that?” She threw the incense down, stomping on it with her bare feet. Her muscles tensed at the sharp pain, the burning sensation pooling at the bottom of her feet as her eyes welled with tears, “What’s wrong with being selfish! It’s better than dying for something that doesn’t even matter in the end!”

“(L/n)-san,” you froze, slowly turning your head towards the grey-haired woman who smiled at you. Her hand loosened on her cane slightly as she drew closer to you, reaching out with her hand to touch your (s/c) cheek. You stiffened at her touch, not knowing what to do with your boiling emotions and her softening expression.

“You remind me a bit of my daughter,” she said, pulling herself away from you as she slowly raised her hand to touch another stack of books. She brushed her hand against the covers, looking back at them with a fond expression, “She loved books too. She was around your age too, maybe a little bit older? I remember her being in her third year of high school.”

Yutsuko’s smile faltered, “She looked just like you. She would always call me Mama even though she was about to graduate. I guess at heart, she was still a child.”

“. . . I wish time didn’t change.”

You pressed your lips together, unsure of what to make of the situation. A part of you felt guilty and sympathetic to her. You must have brought up cheerless memories with your presence. You weren’t the best when it comes to comforting people, you didn’t even know how to comfort yourself either. Your eyes relaxed slightly, staring at her with your lips pressing against each other.

“Do you miss her?” You started, your hands trembling slightly as Yutsuko turned to you, “Your daughter. . . I mean.” Your voice hesitated, the sound of it cracking at the end of your sentence.

“Every day.” She answered. You looked up at her, blinking twice in surprise as she parted her lips, “Every day, I think about her. I think about her smile and how excited she was about writing her new book. I think about the times she spilled soup on herself and cried about it. I think about her soft little hands she would use to bake me cookies. She wasn’t very good at it, but she tried hard with what she knew.”

Yutsuko wiped away a small fragment of a tear, “Her cookies were really bad but I still ate all of them anyway. I think about the times she would call me mama even in public. . .”

“She would always ask me to look over her writing. Even when it was late at night, she would still be up writing her story because she wanted to finish the next chapter. It made me a bit jealous to see how much energy she had. I think about these moments over and over again. They never leave my mind no matter how hard I try to forget it all.”

“She really was a child at heart,” Yutsuko chuckled slightly, her eyes softening, “I wish. . . I could have understood her sooner.”

“Sorry,” you apologized, feeling her pat your shoulder gently. “I probably reminded you of all of that. . . didn’t I?”

“You did,” your shoulders stiffened, “but I don’t mind it.”

“You’ve brought back a lot of good memories for me. I wouldn’t be me if I forgot about them. I’d just be a hollow shell of a person living underneath the name ‘Yutsuko Aikyo’ without any purpose.” You felt her hand slowly pull themselves away from you, her smile widening as she looked at you.

“It’s time for you to go back to work right? I think I held you here long enough!” She laughed, “Youngsters like you got a lot of energy inside. Don’t let it go to waste by listening to some old lady rambling.”

“O-Oh, you’re right,” you quickly straighten your back as Yutsuko gently pushes you towards the door.

“Hurry or else you’ll be late!”

You gave her a small smile as she guided you to the door. Before you stepped one foot out the door, you spun yourself around to her.

“Is it okay for me to come back here? I could help you out and everything. . .” You requested, fiddling with your fingertips nervously.

Yutsuko let out another laugh, “Of course you’re welcome to come back! Don’t worry too much about me, I’ll be waiting for you right here at this store!” She jokingly held up her thin arm, “I can protect this store!”

Your expression relaxed, “I’ll be back next time.” You quickly turned away from her to walk towards your workplace. Yutsuko waved at you from the door, sending you off with her bright smile.

. . . “(L/n)-san is there something going on with you and your family?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back on his chair. “I understand that you’re one of our top students, but you need to be turning in your slips on time and properly. You’re setting a bad habit for yourself for turning it in so late.”

“Do you need me to contact your parents about this? We can schedule a meeting with them to make sure everything is alright. I’m sure they’ll be proud to hear about your achievements here at Kaibara.”

I’m fine.

. . . “(L/n)-san, you didn’t bring anything today. You were supposed to make your parent’s favorite food, did you talk to them about it? I can extend the due date for you to complete your project but this is irresponsible behavior.” She asked, grasping onto your shoulders as she kept you after school. She pushed up her glasses as she looked down at you. “I’m concerned about your wellbeing. As your teacher, I should know about these things. Are you doing okay at home?”

“It’s okay Sensei,” you replied, smiling, “my parents are just out of town this month for vacation. I’ll finish the assignment by tomorrow.”

“I see.” She pulled herself away from you, dropping her hand to her side. “If there's anything you need, you can always talk to me about it.”

“It’s fine! You don’t need to worry about me,” You strained yourself to smile, “I’ll be fine.”

I’m fine. . .

. . . “(L/n)-san,” your brown-haired teacher crossed her arms, staring at you from behind her desk. She pressed her lips together in an evident frown, watching as you fiddled with the tips of your fingers from underneath the desk. You bit the bottom of your tongue, looking back at her with a small smile.

“You need a parent to come in for a conference. I get that this is your first year in high school, but I need your parents to confirm your classes here. If you have any health issues then I have to contact your parents to make sure you’re fine to take Physical Education. I’ve seen your medical records and I want to make sure everything is okay. I know that you’re more responsible than other students so I trust that you could talk to us about it.”

“Sensei,” You smiled at her, closing your eyes as you dug into your bag to pull out several permission slips, “It’s fine. I already talked to my mom about it.” You hesitated slightly, handing her the filled-out sheets. “She’s abroad right now so she can’t attend any conference meetings, but she was able to sign my papers.”

“I see,” she said, skimming through the papers. All of the information was filled out neatly, the black-colored pen nearly smudged at the corners of the words. She looked back up at you, sighing underneath her breath, “Since you already finished with your permission slip, we can have a parent meeting next time when your mother comes back. Do you know when she will be back?”

You shook your head, “Sorry. I don’t know.”

Your teacher hummed, “It’s fine then. We can talk about this next time when it comes up. You’re dismissed to go.” You politely bowed in front of her, quickly organizing your belongings before sliding the door open to leave. Before you could take a step into the outside world, her voice called out to you.

“(L/n)-san. I’m not going to ask you to tell me about it. . . but if something is going on then you’re always free to talk about it to someone.”

You slowly turned your head to her, your smile growing brighter, “It’s fine Sensei.” Despite your short words meant to reassure her doubts, they sent shivers down her spine. She bit the bottom of her lip, watching as you left the room, sliding the door behind you to close you off from her. She sighed underneath her breath,

You twirled a black-ink pen, pressing it against the base of your finger. Your steps echoed in the hallway, your eyes tilted downwards as you spaced out. Your shoulder brushed against someone else’s, the boy turning their head to look towards your direction. He pressed his lips together in thought, watching as your (h/c) hair disappeared down the steps.

“(L/n)-chan, are you okay?” A voice asked, causing you to flinch as you stepped back in surprise. You turned your head towards Miho with a confused expression. She placed her hand on her hips, staring at you with a concerned expression. “You’ve been wiping the same table for a while now.”

“A-Ah, yes. Sorry about that.” You replied, quickly moving onto the next table with an embarrassed expression. Your shoulders stiffened underneath her gaze as your eyes darted somewhere else.

She chuckled, brushing aside her light brown hair, “You’re always so stiff (L/n)! We’ve been working together here for two years already.”

“Sorry. . .” You apologized.

“You don’t need to apologize so often, it’s fine.” She gave you a light pat on the shoulder. You tensed up at the sudden touch but you gave her a nervous smile. “I was just wondering if you were doing alright. You’ve always been kind of distant from the group.”

“Is that so?” You said awkwardly, the sound of your voice dropping. You turned your head away from her, unsure of what to reply with. “I guess. . . it's mostly because of school.”

“School? Oh, you go to Kaibara don’t you? My little brother plans on going there too!” She let out a little chuckle at the thought of her brother. “I heard he had a secret crush on one of the students there! He didn’t want to admit it to his older sister but I can totally see it in his eyes.” Her chuckle became a quick outburst of laughter. She hardly got through her sentence before she cracked. The thought of her brother had always brought a smile to her face.

You pressed your lips together in thought. Was it fun to have siblings? You weren’t really sure of what to add to the conversation. You’ve always been an only child. Then again, you weren’t too sure of that statement either. A lot of your other classmates had siblings too. You wondered if it was a hassle or something to enjoy.

“I see. . .” You say as your eyes meet back at the table surface you were wiping down. It was almost the shiniest table there, even though its clear coat was almost worn out completely. You walked over towards a second table with Miho trailing behind you. She wiped the table next to you, her smile never leaving her face as you nervously glanced at her. “Do you talk to your brother a lot?”

She scratched her right cheek as she responded, her other hand on her waist. “Not that often since I’ve been taking a lot of time to study for college, but we used to be close.” Once again, the thought of her brother cracked her up and she was once again laughing. “He’s always so serious! I love teasing him about his crush but I’ve never seen her in person before! If I could that would be great blackmail material!”

You frowned but looked at her with a confused expression, “I-Is that normal for siblings?” While you’ve heard something about the competitiveness between siblings, you didn’t think their hatred would span this far.

“It’s pretty normal for siblings to fight a lot and tease each other! Nao-chan gets mad about a lot of things but in reality, he’s really shy around girls! Oh, do you not have any siblings?” She tilted her head as she gave you an innocent look. You blinked several times in surprise at the sudden question.

You shook your head. “No, I’m an only child.”

She let out a loud, long groan. “Must be nice, I have my younger brother Nao-chan and I also have another sister! She’s already in college though we barely see each other! We always used to call Nao-chan ‘Chibi-suke’ because it gets him riddled up.” Miho let out a hearty laugh. Her memories of ‘Nao-chan’ brought a bright smile to her face.

“A-Ah. . . that's quite a lot of siblings.” The conversation was a little awkward because you couldn’t relate to the topic of having siblings. You wiped at the dirty table, staring off into the small crowd that formed in front of the store.

Miho let out an amused sound, “Not really, I heard from some of my other classmates they have up to five siblings!”

Your eyes widened when you heard that big of a number. “Five?” The thought of one or two siblings was nice, but five sounded like insanity. As someone who lived alone for most of her life, you couldn’t imagine having to buy that many groceries.

Miho held up her hand, stretching out all of her fingers as she waved them in front of you. “That’s right! Five! That must be a lot of mouths to feed, don’t you think?” She rubbed the back of her neck as a different thought struck her. “I’m working here and at a local karaoke bar, and yet I still don’t have enough to buy the latest Mogeta figurine!”

“Mo. . . Mogeta?” You started to feel slightly out of place. Was Miho talking about the movie you watched with Akito? You glanced back at her, “Do you mean like. . . the show Mogeta? With the pink rabbit? And this kid was named. . . er. . . Ari?" Your cheeks began to feel hot with embarrassment. “Sorry. . . I’ve only watched the movie.”

"You watched Mogeta?" She let out a long gasp. Her excitement that someone else had watched the show was obvious with the sparkles in her eyes. She practically was jumping up and down. “You’ve seen it? How was it for you? I loved the scene where Mogeta transformed to defeat Evil Man! I’m such a huge fan of the show!”

You didn’t expect to gain such a positive reaction from her. You weren’t familiar with the show or the characters, since you’ve only watched the movie, but you could tell that Miho cared about the show greatly. Her eyes lit up like lights just at the sound of Mogeta. It was sort of endearing to watch.

“A-Ah. . . I can see that.” You let out a nervous smile as you scratched your cheek. “It wasn’t bad? I don’t really have much of an opinion on it. It was my first movie after all. . .”

She couldn’t believe what you just said. She dropped her towel, hurriedly rushing to your side as she held up her hands in a small fist. You stepped back in surprise, her presence becoming more overwhelming. Her jaw dropped with such surprise as her eyes almost bulged out of her skull. “You’ve never watched a movie before that? You should watch the Mogeta show too! It’s a lot better than the movie adaptation! We can go watch it at my house if you want!”

“E-Eh?” You were in trouble now. ‘There was no way of getting out of this,’ you thought. This is the second time someone has asked you to come over to their house.

You restrained a small frown that was beginning to form on your lips. Miho had always been a confident person and it had always surprised you when she decided to talk to you. Even though you’ve known each other for two years, this is the first time you’ve engaged in a conversation this long. You gripped the side of your arm, your nails digging into the fabric of your sleeves.

You’ve only known her for two years and yet she seemed so confident in everything she did. She would laugh so easily at a lot of things, whether it be from unintentional jokes to embarrassing accidents at work. When she made mistakes, you could tell that she was holding in her laughter as the manager scolded her. She would scratch the back of her neck, apologizing multiple times, but still repeating the same mistake she made before. She was a bright person. . .

. . . You were slightly jealous.

"No. . ." You whispered. You quietly squeezed the towel you were holding, nervously stuttering out a forced reply, “I mean, a-are you sure about that? I’ve only been to one of my friends' houses before so. . .” Miho chuckled at your nervous attitude, finding it slightly adorable as you struggled with your words.

“It’s fine!” She put her hands on your shoulders and shook you a little, she couldn’t contain her excitement one bit anymore. You let out a surprised sound, your body nearly turning into jello by her overzealous nature. “I live with my little brother Nao-chan! If you’re free, you’re always welcome to come over to my house.”

“I see. . .” You stiffly turn your head away from her, your lips curving into a frown. Miho silently let go of your shoulders, watching as you stepped away from her. You gripped onto the side of your arm as you stared off into the windows. Miho's eyes widened slightly, her hands instinctively reaching out to you but stopping midway. She felt her skin grow cold as she glanced into your dull (e/c) eyes.

“S-Sorry. . .” She apologized, dropping her hand down to her side as she tilted her head down. She resisted the urge to bite the bottom of her lip, feeling guilty and ashamed for her outgoing nature. You must have felt uncomfortable in the situation and she completely ignored it until now. ‘You idiot’ she cursed at herself, trying not to hit the crown of her head in frustration. She should have known better but she let her excitement overrun her judgment. She frowned, gripping the edge of her clothes, “It must be weird having someone like me try to talk to you, right?”

You looked back at her in surprise, “N-No, that’s not the case.” You waved your arms around, nervously trying to explain to her. “I-It’s not like that!”

“I. . .” Your body stiffened as you stared at her, “I don’t mind. . .” You mumbled, anxiously wondering if she had caught onto your small word.

Miho's eyes lit back up, “Really?”

“Mhm. . .”

The light-brown-haired girl quickly whipped out a notebook from her pocket, writing down her number as she handed it to you. Your manager called out to her, asking for her assistance in the backroom. You stared down at her slightly messy handwriting, watching as she waved at you excitedly before leaving.

“See you later (L/n)-san!”

You tighten your grip around the paper, rereading her number.

#ephemeralwishfanfic #Yuki Sohma #yuki soma #yuki sohma x reader #yuki soma x reader

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