meowmeowwrites

please be patient with me, as i am a student and get really anxious over my writing. i really appreciate interaction and this is a place to just have fun with writing!

i’ll probably write anything from x readers to real works.

(actual writing stuff below!)

inspired by me making fruit bowls for me and my sister and then making very poor quesadillas. and crying. because both came out poorly.

—————————

Neoma is coming over at 12:00. Get ready.

That’s the first reminder that fills my vision when I pick up my phone.

Summer had just started. June 11th. The first day I had gotten to sleep in for what felt like years.

The sun shone brightly through my curtains, the sky was bright and blue, the birds chirped through my window; it was entirely peaceful, and worth celebrating because it had been nothing but rain in the last month of May.

The weather was reflective of my emotions. Even if the suns heat made me sweat and the light made it difficult to see, it was better than the forlorn days and nights of raining and flooding, having to run around in the rain to make it home because I kept forgetting my umbrella.

With the bright weather, there was happiness. There was confidence. And with that confidence, I invited Neoma to my house.

Neoma is a good friend of mine. One of my best friends, even. That’s a little embarrassing to say and maybe a bit of an overstatement, since we only met in the second semester.

We met when I tripped and fell down the stairs on my way down the staircase. She helped me to the nurse in a rolling chair. She’s really kind.

She’s pretty and has nice hair and she’s really cool and… I insisted she come over to my house today and we could go have a picnic at a park near my house.

I also insisted I prepare all the food and drinks. Which I planned to do when I woke up at 9:00.

And now it’s 11:00. And I have nothing prepared.

Nothing. Zero.

I must be the worst host in human history.

I chuck my phone off to the side, it falling off the edge of my bed, and quickly swing my legs up and hoist myself out of bed, my legs hitting the ground and standing up as fast as possible, which I had to sit back down because my vision when black.

“Oh no… no, no, no…” I groan. I don’t know how I’m going to get this all done in an hour.

No way I can cancel. That would be rude. And asking her to come later would be improper, she’s already making the attempt to come from her home on a Saturday. I can’t mess this up.

I also really, really want her to come over.

With a sigh, I get up a lot slower and make my way to my bathroom to go shower and clean my face.

Wash my face, put on sunscreen, wet my hair, painstakingly comb it through, and go back to my room to make my bed and change.

I’m trying to look my best. I have to look my best. She needs to see my best. She deserves my best.

I smack my cheeks, throwing opening my closet to pull out various shirts and dresses and skirts to try on.

A white crop top with a pretty short blue skirt? No, definitely not, it’s too short.

A black shirt with grey sweatpants? No, it’s too hot for that, and I’d look underdressed.

A white sundress? It’s… not half bad. It’s pretty. I wonder if Neoma will think it looks nice?

…

It doesn’t take me more than a minute to put it on.

Okay, next order of business. I have time, it’s only… 11:30.

Why is there never enough time in the day?

Right, business. I need to… I need to get the fruit! I wanted to make fruit bowls and bring chocolate and honey to eat them with. Neoma says she loves eating strawberries with chocolate, so I should buy those.

Alright, so hand-made fruit bowls. I can do that—

I don’t have fruit.

Why don’t I have fruit? Because grocery shopping is only for people who have grocery lists—as in my parents went on vacation and I had to shop and ended up buying everything wrong due to the lack of a grocery list.

So now I have to buy fruit.

And my driving skills are subpar at best.

And the grocery store is five minutes away if I run.

…

I run out of my room, almost tripping and falling flat on my face by the time I make it to the my front door because of my socks. I put on my sneakers, and run out the door.

It’s really more like speed walking, because I keep tripping over my own feet and it’s close to scraping my knees open.

I really wish my mother had taught me better motor skills. Because by the time I’m through the front door of my local Publix, I’m on my knees (because I tripped on the bottom of the door, panting and sweating.

Why does it have to be like a million degrees outside? And people are staring. At me. On the floor. Understandably so.

I quickly get to my feet and continue my quest into the store.

I have a bit of a mental list of what I need as I make it through the produce isle with a shopping cart; pineapples, kiwis, strawberries, honeydew, mangoes… etc. etc.

Neoma may or may not be allergic to one of these. I knows Neoma told me, but I’m now really struggling to remember; my brain is all fuzzy from running. I’m isn’t sure how I managed to fumble this bad and it’s only morning.

Speaking of which, it’s 11:40 now.

Life is cruel to girls like me.

I shovel in a bunch of more fruit in my shopping bag (while taking too much time with trying to figure which end of the plastic bags to open) and make my way to the checkout. As in, the self-checkout. The last time I had a cashier I ended up having to use cash because all my five credit cards rejected.

Even if it’s more time consuming that every time I put in the monumentos amounts of fruits I have on the scale, a person has to come and scan their id for me. I manage to stutter out a thank you every time, at the very least.

I can never go to a regular cashier. They are going to throw rocks at me.

By the time I finish and manage to check my phone and it’s 11:45 and there is no way I am going to make it back in time to do everything.

How I managed to mess up so badly even though I had everything planned to the wire, is well beyond me.

I take a deep breath and quickly begin making my way back home, trying to match the same pace I was at originally, just with less tripping and more actual running.

It’s a little difficult when you’re carrying a pound or so of just about every single fruit a person can imagine, but I just have to make do.

Staying positive is one of the thing I unfortunately need to have going for me. Maybe I can make it on time. Maybe I can prepare everything I need too in the span of however much time I have left by the time i get home. Maybe I won’t fumble every single attempt I have ever made towards Neoma.

Neoma…

She makes my head spin. And not just because when I met her I had hit my head on the pavement.

I really want to impress her this time around. Make her think that I’m not ditzy and clumsy and anxious, because I’m not—well, I’m not that much. I think. Maybe. Probably?

Regardless, I really want her to think I’m cool. Maybe if I show her a good time, maybe she’ll want to come over more. And maybe if she wants to come over more she would want to be friends, and maybe if she wants to be friends we could be—

I accidentally ram my head into the door to my house thinking about Neoma.

“Ow, ow—“ I rub my forehead, stepping back and opening the door, running back inside.

It’s currently 11:50. I can make it. I have to make it.

I begin running into my kitchen, setting all the bags on the counter, which some of the contents spill out and I manage to pick up before they rolled off to the side.

Grab a bowl, grab a cutting board, and grab a knife. Finely cut the fruit into small pieces—

“Ah, ow, ow.” I drop the knife on the cutting board.

Maybe cutting fruit is hard than I thought. My index finger is bleeding.

I put it in my mouth and sigh. This is a lot more difficult than I anticipated. Is this karma for trying to impress a pretty girl I like?

I begin the arduous task of walking to my bathroom and bandaging my finger, and then going back to my kitchen to continue cutting fruit.

This leads to the repetitive task of cutting fruit, accidentally cutting my fingers because I don’t know how to cut fruit, go to my bathroom to get bandages, and continue cutting the fruit. This happens to all ten of my fingers.

Mangoes, oranges, blueberries, raspberries, anything and everything I can to make it look appetizing and delicious. I even put honey and cinnamon on it.

I do manage to finish, without getting blood on the fruit, somehow. It… doesn’t look great. It’s not nearly as appetizing as I anticipated.

All this effort. All this work. And it doesn’t even look good. And my fingers are all bandages and a faded red color.

The door rings.

Did i mess up?

I walk to the door.

Did I lose my chance of having the best possible day with one of the most amazing girls I know?

I slowly open the door.

There’s no way she’ll like me now. I’m sweaty, I’m bleeding, and I don’t even look nice. I wouldn’t like me either. I don’t even think I do to begin with anyway, but this is just infinitely worse—

“Good evening, Tameline.”

This sucks.

“It’s, nice to see you, Neoma! Th-Thanks for coming.”

She’s dressed so nicely. She has a really large black jacket and low-waisted black pants. She looks so good, she even halfway put her hair up. She’s so gorgeous. And I look like a wreck. It’s taking a lot out of me not to cry.

“Come in! I, uh, cleaned the place, so it’s not a total wreck, haha. Uhm, I woke up kind of late and I ended up not getting everything ready, but I promise I can get it done if I—“

“Are you going to cry?”

“…Huh?”

I stop talking when she interrupts me. She’s looking at me weird. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and her head is tilted to the side. She looks… worried.

Is she worried about, me?

“N-No,” My voice cracks. “It’s, it’s fine. I’m fine. Really I’m—“ This isn’t good. No, no, no. Not now. My eyes swell up with tears. My vision gets blurry. It feels hard to breathe. “I’m f-fine. Just fine.”

She just keeps looking at me. She’s looking at me, and I’m crying. This is embarrassing. She’s just watching me cry.

This was the worst mistake of my life.

Neoma, without warning, takes my hands into hers, and just holds my hands. It makes me stumble backwards from the shock.

She doesn’t say anything, she just… holds my hands. My bandages hands from cutting fruit and accidentally cutting myself.

Her hands are soft. They’re really soft. And she’s so pretty up close.

“I-I’m sorry—“ I hiccup. The tears slip down my face, I feel humiliated. “I’m really sorry.”

And there I am, crying. Crying at my front door with one of the prettiest girls I know that’s holding my hands.

“Don’t apologize.” Neoma’s tone of voice is soft, gentle. She’s so kind.

“I-I totally messed up.” I sniffle, and it’s hard to speak, it feels like my throats going dry. “I woke up late, I-I had to run to the store to buy everything so now I’m all sweaty— then I suck at cutting fruits, a-and I wanted to make you fruit bowls, but I know you’re allergic to one of them but I can’t remember which— a-and everything looks horrible and it all sucks and I just wanted t-to show you a good time and sh-show that I’m not such a loser—“ I ramble the entire time as my crying only gets louder, and Neoma only listens to me patiently. “A-And now I’ve messed everything up—“

Neoma looks at me a little longer, and then she… laughs? It’s more like a quiet chuckle. Is she laughing at me? Or is she…? Honestly I’m not even sure. Crying impairs my train of thought. “That’s… nice of you. I can help you out, we can still have a good time.”

“We… we can?” She took that… surprisingly well. It’s giving me whiplash. I wipe my nose with my arm and sigh shakily. She sounds hopeful. “I-I thought you’d never want to talk to me after this.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Neoma tilts her head, still holding my hands in her own as she stands at my doorway, looking at me with an expression I can discern. “You talk a lot about how you never wake up early. I figured it might happen. I’m not upset.”

It almost feels backhanded, but I get the point. She’s really accommodating for me. “I uh.. haha,” She’s not upset. She doesn’t look the slightest bit mad at me. I let my hands free of hers and wipe my tears. “I’m sorry. That’s… that’s really nice of you. You should— you should come in. I would really like it if you helped me.” I step to the side to let her in.

“Thank you.” Neoma goes inside and I close the door behind her. “It’s fine. Really. Please, don’t stress yourself out.”

I sniffle and take her to my kitchen, letting her follow behind me and not responding besides a faint ‘mhm’. I need to wash my face. And these clothes. And maybe myself. This is embarrassing, Neoma doesn’t even seem to mind. She must really be cringing on the inside.

My kitchen is a bit of a mess. There’s the paper towels with dried blood and fruit juice, one and a half bowls of fruit finished, fruit set out, groceries bags on the floor and some falling out onto the floor.

My face feels red. “Sorry, uh, it’s messy.” I want to push Neoma out of my kitchen—out of my house—right about now.

“I can clean.” Neoma offers, going to my side, only taking a quick glance around before back to me. “You should go wash your face. Your eyes will get all puffy.”

“Oh—, right.” I probably look like a mess. It would be nice to change. “I-I’ll be right back! I promise I’ll come back to help.” I nod quickly, making my way back to my own bathroom while Neoma goes to my kitchen.

I lock the door and slump onto the floor.

I feel bad still. Neoma offered to clean, it looks like a mess in my kitchen, and it’s all my fault. At least… she’s not too mad. I think she would’ve left otherwise.

She was so kind the entire time, it makes my head feel fuzzy.

And she’s probably waiting for me, so I should make this quick… after I spend a minute on the floor.

So I spend the next minute staring up at the ceiling from the floor. Staring up my flickering light that has a lot of dead bugs in it.

I should learn how to clean it.

After mentally counting more or less of a minute, I stand up, feeling a little woozy from standing up so fast before turning on my sink. I splash the cold water on my face, once, twice… a couple times until my hair ends up getting a little wet too.

I look at myself in my mirror. I don’t look as bad as I thought I would. It (me in the mirror) almost looks manageable. I can make it look better.

Quietly I turn off the lights and open the door, slipping into my room.

It takes me not too long to freshen up. Put on deodorant, brush (more like tug) through my hair, change into a different dress, and apply some perfume.

I look to my mirror leaning against my wall. I…don’t look half bad. I even say I look presentable. I do a little twirl and strike a couple of poses just to make sure it looks nice from every angle.

Then I realize it’s definitely been more than a minute.

Neoma has probably been waiting.

I quickly run out of my room and into my kitchen. “Ah, I’m so sorry! I lost track of time again, I wanted to change and—oh wow—“

“It’s fine. I just did some cleaning, I hope it’s okay.”

The counters aren’t covered in shaven off fruit. The plates and cups in the left side of my sink are now clean and in the right side. Some of the clean dishes have been put away.

And Neoma was grabbing various knives and utensils and I’m assuming they’re to finish with the fruit.

…She did all of this?

“Uh. Mhm. Yeah.” I don’t know what to say. I haven’t cleaned since my parents left. And she cleaned the moment she got here. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I’m not really sure what you wanted to make other than fruit bowls, so I’ll listen to whatever you ask me to do.”

Neoma almost seems eager to help me, she had everything set out and ready to go. I didn’t realize she felt so strongly about helping me. It’s odd, but it makes me happy.

“Alright! So, I wanted to start off with the fruits, obviously…”

We spent an hour or so preparing everything for the picnic, from the fruit bowls to a cake I wanted to make but I didn’t know how to. Neoma, just as she said, helped me with just about everything. She taught me how to cut the fruits without cutting myself, how to properly whisk the ingredients, and sometimes she did it all herself when I got tired.

I could never be a housewife at this rate. But, at the very least, I had a fun time in the kitchen with Neoma, and maybe it wouldn’t go so bad from here on out—

And then that’s when it started raining.

I was washing the plates and Neoma was putting everything in the respective containers and plates, when there were small bouts of pattering from my ceiling. And then I looked out the window. And it was pouring. The clouds were black overhead and entirely forlorn—there was no way they could go outside and have a picnic. I could even smell the petrichor from inside my house.

Did I forget to check the forget the weather when I set the date for this technically date not date?

…

Why am I the stupidest girl on this earth?

“Oh dear.” Neoma follows in suit when she noticed the rain beating down into the ground. “Ah, that sucks. I hope it stops. I walked here.”

And then, it didn’t stop. We waited, and waited, and waited. I even pulled out a deck of cards my father played with his colleagues when things got awkward in waiting rooms. We played cards together. War, blackjack, go fish. We even tried playing uno with them.

And the rain didn’t stop.

It took me about another ten minutes as we played war on the kitchen countertop to come up with a proper solution.

“We could have the picnic in here,” I try to mention as casually as possibly, acting as if it doesn’t sound like the stupidest idea in the world. “I could set the blankets on the floor and we could pretend. It, doesn’t look like the rain is going to stop.” I want to bite my nails. I don’t want Neoma being bored. I don’t want her to feel like she wants to leave.

“That’s… not a bad idea.” Neoma looks up at me from her small pile of cards. “It’ll just have to make do. I’ll get the food out.”

“I’ll get the blankets!” I sound a little too happy saying that, and that’s because I am. I want Neoma to have the best time possible. I’ll do anything for that.

I run to the bag I had with all my supplies for the picnic, picking it up with a huff and dragging it to the middle of my living room. I push everything away so we have more space, and set down the blankets. Neoma has to help me, because I struggle to get it right the first couple times.

Everything’s entirely set up the same way it would be if they were outside. And if there wasn’t rain. It doesn’t look half bad. Neoma sits down and I follow suit. She opens some of the containers of food first. I grab some and place them on my lap to open them too.

“Thanks for inviting me.” Neoma speaks as she grabs a sandwich and shoves it in her mouth in one go. Maybe it’s an instinctive habit, because in a split second she’s covered her mouth and looked off to the side. She looks like one of those hamsters with the chubby cheeks.

“Thank you for coming!” I grab some grapes in my hand, picking out four. “I wanted to do something special to start summer off. It’s a shame it’s been raining.”

“This is pretty nice too, though. It’s not hot in here. I probably would have been sweating.”

“Mhm, same, that’s why I put this dress on! I only have, about a couple. I’ve been meaning to get some more.”

“Dresses look cute on you. I don’t see you wearing them at school often. You should.” Her voice sounds a little muffled because of the chewing.

“Oh.” My cheeks flare up red. I’m going to wear dresses everyday for the rest of my life. “Thank you! I love wearing them, and they’re really easy for me to wear because I struggle with using buttons and zippers and stuff.”

“You don’t like wearing zippers and buttons?”

“You do? I mean, they just feel weird on my skin, it’s too much texture for my taste, I mean dresses with buttons I can take, but as long as they’re fake and I don’t actually have to button them…”

I think for that whole time I was there I ranted about several useless things that people would never care about once in their lives.

Maybe except Neoma. She listened to every word, or pretended to at least, because she stared at me so fondly it was almost strange.

She cared what I spoke about. From the anatomy of jellyfish to how I found one of my friends smoking in the student parking lot, she listened to every word.

Even when I was incoherent from my jaw hurting too much and I lied down on the blankets because of how comfortable they were. Even when I, was half-asleep.

“And then he just ran off… I don’t really know if he likes me. We’ve never really spoken before but… I want him to like me. It’d make tutoring him so much easier…” I yawn. The stress had been melting off me the last couple hours, and now I was so, so tired. But I couldn’t sleep in front of Neoma. That’d be rude.

“Mhm. I’m sure he’s just shy. You’re bubbly. That intimidates people.” I could’ve sworn I felt Neoma’s hands in my hair, but I couldn’t really tell. I just, didn’t think about it.

“Am I scary…?”

“Not really.”

“Oh… that’s, good…” I think that’s the moment I fell asleep, because when I came to up the rain had stopped, and when I shifted to my side, I saw Neoma’s face close to mine.

Asleep.

She was so close.

I could see every detail of her face.

All the containers and food were moved off to the side too. She was just lying next to me, her arm stretched out above my head from messing with my hair.

…

I gently grabbed her arm, and rested my head on it. Just staring at her, taking in every feature of her face like she was an exhibition in a grand art gallery.

And then I went back to sleep.

—————————

“Your Imperial Highness, thank you for coming to visit the palace. I understand you must be very busy, but I believe all the concubines appreciated your presence, they were overjoyed with your arrival just as I was.

I dearly apologize for falling ill, making your presence feel entirely somber. The company is much appreciated, and I was told I should be able to walk on my own in the coming weeks. I would like to ask you not to worry, I will be fine even despite me being dissonant.

I must admit to you, my dear, that the reason for my behavior is not because I have fallen ill. In fact, I fear it may be the opposite, that the reason I am ill is because of my behavior.

I am not sure if you remember this, but when I first came to your quarters after you ordained me as your concubine, you told me that as I was as beautiful as the water lilies that sprouted in your childhood river. I keep that regard close to my chest. And if you may have noticed, I have a lot of water lilies surrounding my area of the palace.

Why do I care to remind you of this? Well, it’s because when my ladies-in-waiting heard of this, they took care to spread the idea that you consider me as ‘the most beautiful concubine’, which I feel my cheeks burn when I recall such a thing.

And, I believe that’s the root of my problem, my dear. You consider me a beautiful woman, and so does everyone in the palace. But, I do not particularly enjoy the notion. It quite upsets me. It is not as if I do not enjoy it when it comes from you, no, I love everything that comes from you. It is… difficult to explain.

There was a time in life where I snuck out of my home, and I was dressed up as a commoner man to avoid drawing attention. That, was one of the happiest days in my life, or I suppose I should say week. I spent a whole week in town before I was dragged back by my ear by my mother. People held me in high regard even if I wasn’t dressed as I normally am. They revered me, I was likable. I felt likable.

I want you to perceive me as likable, as well. I want my servants to perceive me as someone to hold in high regard, not simply because I am just your concubine, but because I am… I don’t know the word. Apologies. This may not make any sense.

I sound deranged. You adore me for being your most gorgeous woman; and yet I don’t want such a thing. I would adore to remain your concubine, however these feelings are not giving me the will to go on as such. I despise how I look every single day I walk this earth knowing that there was only one day I felt truly comfortable in my own skin.

Please forgive me for feeling this way. I do not know what is wrong with me. I adore being your concubine, being your woman. But the idea of remaining like this makes me sick. I feel guilty for burdening you with my problems, but I am unsure how else to proceed.

I fear I might die if I don’t admit this now.

You are one of the most kind, caring, and forgiving men I have ever met, and the nights I spend with you are one I cannot forget ever. You make me feel safe, and that is why I tell you this, even if it may risk my position as you beloved.

I am sure it is late by the time you read this, so do get some rest tonight. I will see you another day, whenever you choose to visit.

(tw for mentions of suicide!)

My lady, I apologize that you must see me this way, for I know that you care for me just as I have you and I, as your sole lady-in-waiting, was one of the few people who would look you in the eye and hold respect for you. I apologize for my definite absence in your life from now on, and I hope you can forgive me.

A year ago today, I understand you attempted to end your own life just as I have now. You were dressed in this exact clothing, your hair put up the same way as mine, and you had written a letter the same way I have. This is no mistake on my part, I am purposely mimicking you.

You, my lady, are full of splendor and delicacy, one in which I am proud to say I have served for as long as I did. I apologize for being so rude to you in the beginning of our relationship, even despite the fact we were both in similar positions. You never deserved such treatment, and I never deserved the high praise you have given me.

My lady, being by your side has fulfilled me, and I cannot bear the thought of you leaving me as you wanted to a year ago. You have a beautiful heart and soul, one that should be praised to the heavens, not to be wasted by hanging rope. You deserve a life you want to live and so much more.

Everything I have done for you up until this point, is done out of love, even now as I leave you.

I was never a religious person, but for you I would be. You are my god, my universe, you are the one thing I hold dearly above all. You are the one I worship, and I hold no regrets other than the fact that you will be alone after my death.

I have never been able to give you your own jewelry nor dresses, for I was never taught how to sew correctly or make fine jewelry, so please consider this parting as a gift rather than a loss. I’m giving you the chance to lead the life you always wanted.

I left my clothes on your bed. I also left my jewelry and my daily routine in writing. I left every letter I have every written to anyone. Please, take my place in this world. I will act as you. The emperor will assume you have died, and will presumably ask you whether or not you would like to keep working in the palace under the pretense you are me.

I understand you like to draw. You have piles of sketchbooks hidden away; you engrave your drawings on your walls and on rice grains, you are extremely talented. It’s as if your hands bring life to everything you touch. I would like you to pursue this passion of yours, to be the woman you have always wanted to be.

This is selfish of me to ask of you, I could imagine you’re in indescribable pain right now, and I once again apologize. I don’t mean to make you feel more pain than you have gone through. Please know, one of us would have definitely gone this way, and I would rather it be me over you.

I made an oath once I become your lady-in-waiting, that I would serve you diligently and without hesitation. And if I could, I want to do so for eternity. To remain by your side forevermore would be my greatest honor.

Please don’t shed tears over me. You’re too pretty to be wasting tears over someone below you. I would rather you hate me than wish for my return.

I love you.

That is selfish of me to say. I know that. I’m unworthy to even speak to you. I’m unworthy to even touch you if it weren’t for the fact I’m your lady-in-waiting. I’m a hypocrite for loving you.

But I’m your hypocrite. You will always be my lady and I will always be by your side even in death.

I love you even in death. There will never be a moment where you are without me.

I live to serve you, and even in death, I will serve you.

I pray that we will meet again, in our next life.