#frivolousbartender

Tall, blond, sunglasses, scarf--

Oh, no fucking way. This was that guy Wenhe would talk about whenever she came back from her photo shoots over in-- Shit, what was that city name? Shizume, right?

Then, that could only mean...

Oh shit.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

This was that Kusanagi guy that she'd always talk about being her "oji-san" or whatever, right?!

HOLY SHIT.

"K-K... Kusanagi... San..?

;;; Imagine teen (used to be womanizing) Izumo trying to convince Ryoko that he has changed, and during one of the school’s celebrations for Valentines, she gets kinda abducted. And then boom flash date and -insert some mushy details here- and then it ends up with Izumo playing “Kiss Me” by Ed Sheeran for her. Hihi. Hihihihi. <3

     ——-;      Well, it doesn’t help that it was one phoneme away from being called a grandpa, and then there she goes with her overly-catchy clothes which surely had caught the attention of some gangly teenagers downtown. Did she seriously walk all the way through his bar? Alone?

     Uncle Izumo isn’t exactly overjoyed. ❝ Wenhe, s’been so long. ❞ He motioned to the lady’s outfit , disguising a mix of pride and concern with a beam. ❝ …Are laces the latest fashion trend these days, ne? ❞

"Un, un~!"

With a little twirl the ravenette couldn't help but give a bubbly little smile. It had been too long since she'd been able to see the blond behind the counter, but he never failed to make her feel welcomed even when the rest of the city seemed... Rather intimidating, to walk around alone on her own.

"Manager-san said that it would be very cute to wear lace in the catalogue for this week, and it is very cute, yes?" Never mind the fact the little bunny never seemed to notice that the lace was particularly sheer in some parts that the girl didn't seem to mind. Ah, innocent naivety...

frivolousbartender:

{♔} {♔} {♔}

     It wasn’t peace, after all. It was simply an armistice for an impending nightmare.

          [ A nightmare he had already experienced firsthand before. ]

     ❝ Every second that a man spends in stayin’ up at night is slashed off from his lifetime, ne. ❞  

          The mellow voice echoed in the dark halls, bouncing back and forth hauntingly until it reached in the inner room where the figure whose reputation was as immutable as his poise stayed. His tone was mildly poignant, a notch away from being aptly perturbed—and yet he remained stationary against the wall in his back, not expecting any response as of yet. 

          ❝ Y'need no watchin' over… or rather you don't want t'be watched over, Ao no Ou. ❞ The man followed up with a quiet amused huff which was brought about by resignation.  ❝ But y'know why am here…❞ Not because he's still hoping that something is left for him——-

                         ❝ Because you’ll never stop bein’ a god.                                              A sacrificial one… How troublesome. ❞  

——————

*(Continuing the S4 verse. Also… hello… and sorry ;n; )

Sensation so alike to a faint touch of a warm hand, caressing skin until it would reach the lids of tired eyes-- it made him halt in his position for a little longer, using the calming effect of steeping tea and the opportunity to stand for a little longer after being forced to sit down for such a long time already. One hand used to stir moss-colored water, the other one used to take off his glasses. Scent of matcha already filling his nostrils, yet it should take a little longer for it to be ready to drink. 

It was when he supported his body against the cupboard that something appeared to be off all of sudden. Head raising the moment his glasses had been back on the bridge of his nose, vision clear once again, though his eyes wouldn't notice something strange.

To take a look at the screen considered unnecessary and useless, it was figured quite soon upon analyzing that feeling a little longer, flames ignited from his own body would never stay unnoticed, even though cameras might be avoided for as long as possible. Boots against carpet might be not as noticeable, a damp sound making it impossible to determine the actual location other than knowing a simple wall would be keeping them apart as for now.

A sigh leaving slightly parted lips, before he took a hold of his cup, slow steps used to approach his office desk to sit down once again.

Sitting down and taking a long breath, and it almost maybe appears to be exhaled with a shaking undertone.

          Arriving without an appointment or a note in the mid of the night-- how troublesome, but so very much like you.

And there the solider stood, and all the king wanted to do (for a moment), was to reign and to judge, to end and to crush... a single flare in his eyes would indicate thoughts and feelings so very much unlike his true usual self. 

Do you take pleasure in promising so much and giving none? He became tired all of sudden, the lack of sleep finally taking a toll on his mind, but only for as long as he would allow him to slip-- another blink and composure would be regained. 

« Sacrifices are meant to be made, running away had never served anyone. » Finally he spoke up himself, tone mild and smooth, maybe weak, maybe simply composed. Brows become furrowed and hands clenched for the split of a moment. His current state of mind, his thoughts and feelings, not even his own amount of vocabulary, not all of the languages he was able to speak in, would suffice to explain a single thing.

« Laborieux, does your visit indicate permanent return, short stay or a simple passing-by? » Averting his gaze for the sake of his own clear consciousness. Faint creaking sound of the office chair as he leaned forward, elbows resting on dark wood of a massive desk, hands folded whilst supporting his chin, lids lowered until they ended up closed completely. 

          The absence of sleep has made me hallucinate-- or dream. How bitter-sweet.

A faint feeling growing with every second passing, memories igniting within his mind of past meetings, fading situations, the current moment so weak it could break apart every second, the fear of reaching out only to find his hand empty once more so very much present so real and current-- he could not bear to speak up once more. However, the kind dared to open his eyes once more, making sure his mind hadn't fallen apart of a moment simply due to sleep deprivation, and wishful thinking.

--

"Why, so forward, doncha think?" Clearly a ruse, an otherwise fitting response to the intimacy from a long-term friend. Izumo could only shake his head once in feigned dismay and reach out before a quip: "Like me t’give you a proper squeezin’, ne?"