pinned post because iâm just feeling so talkative this morning đ¸
𪡠general info:
- 24, afab, american, married, shitty writer ;)
- i work a full time job and have a terrible lack of motivation so posts will be sporadic and inconsistent
- nsfw and cw will be tagged, but also consume content at your own risk, your social media habits are yours alone, blah blah you have free will
- uhhhhh general dni content, i suppose. i have no tolerance for bullshit, take that as you will.
- new(ish?) destiny player that has just consumed so much lore content and needs somewhere to dump the brainrot
đˇ acc info:
- will most likely turn into a blog because i canât shut up but i will try to post my writing if people wanna see it
- typically good at keeping shit organized with my tags but iâm sure more will come about the more used to tumblr i get/content i put out
- i have a couple of ocs, but since destiny is about the only thing i can sit down and consistently write, thatâs what ive turned this account into
- feel free to ask about my other ocs tho i luv to talk about them <3
- i have little bits drafted for other ocs, but if i ever decide to post them theyâll be tagged accordingly
- kakashi is the only exception, he will 100% make it into my content but like have you seen him can you blame me?????
đş destiny info ;)
- big big eris morn fan (season of heresy brought me back i canât help it)
- other favs include savathun (auntie savvie), crow (obv if you spend 0.5 seconds here), cayde (rip the homie), and failsafe (thatâs my girl she cracks me up)
- started playing with my now-husband during lightfall and have since completed almost every available DLC/campaign to do :)
- prismatic hunter main (tho i use my titan a lot too) w pink armor
- graviton lance enjoyer (bungie is feeding us rn đđźđđź)
- mostly pve but iâll play crucible every now and then
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Relationships: Igarashi Sayaka/Ikishima Midari, Igarashi Sayaka/Momobami Kirari, Igarashi Sayaka/Momobami Ririka
Characters: Igarashi Sayaka, Ikishima Midari, Momobami Kirari, Momobami Ririka
Additional Tags: Character Study, Light Angst, Introspection, Falling In Love
Summary:
Tides are the rise and fall of sea levels, caused by the combined effects of the gravitational forces exerted by the Moon and the Sun and the rotation of Earth.
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The first, the second and the third time Sayaka Igarashi fell in love.
Been having some fun with this sandbox of an idea that emerged from a GO Discord server.
A GO AU where Crowley is an apple-tree-dryad (or tree monster? whatever) and Aziraphale lives in the quaint cottage outside Crowleyâs orchard.
My friend @call-of-the-oceanâ has been making some really neat illustrations based off the premise. I even made a playlist for it which you can listen to here if youâre into that sort of thing. I also wrote this little ficlet that Iâm only sharing on Tumblr. With all this preamble.
*********************************************
Crowley sits in the circle on the cliffside. It is the middle of the night, the moon is high and full above him, and there is a breeze that shushes the trees.
Crowley sits in the circle and looks beyond its perimeter, out at Tracy and Anathema dancing around him. They swing their arms around in odd circular patterns. Their skirts are a swirl of hues and the beaded fringe on the edge of Tracyâs jacket cuts the color of the moon into brief flashes of light. Crowley is hypnotized by it as he watches her and Anathema dance a rhythm around him.
He is on his knees and his hands are deep in the dirt. He looks down at them, buried up to the wrists, and thinks for a brief moment that he should take them out. When he tries, they donât budge.
Crowley looks back up and now Tracy and Anathema arenât really there. He can hear them chanting some nonsense language he doesnât recognize. He doesnât look away.
Tracy and Anathema continue their swirling dance and their alien song. They sweep around Crowley, kneel deep towards the dirt, raise their hands up towards the moon, then coast them down by their feet in a deep bow.
When Anathema finally catches Crowleyâs eye, sheâs crying. Crowley canât figure out why. He canât figure out much now because everything is becoming a strange phosphorescent blur. Tracy and Anathema have become a swirl of rainbow colors and the moon is a burning ball of light and the cold dirt around his fingers feels like a good place to set up roots.
So he does. He sets up roots.
When he opens his eyes again, the sun is out and the birds are chirping and there is a delightful crisp smell of apples in the air. He breathes it in deep and his chest creaks against the motion.
Crowley moves to stand and oh how tired he feels, his whole body rebelling against him. His knees ache and the joints at his elbows ache and somehow his hands hurt to unfurl, as if heâs been clenching his fingers for too long. Yes, heâs aged, but surely this is a bit excessive treatment, is it not?
There is a peculiar feeling budding up within him. Something akin to hunger, this sort of aching emptiness, but itâs relieved when he steps out of the shadow and turns his face up to the light. Facing the sun feels like drinking and Crowley certainly cannot remember the last time that the heat had felt so good.
Oh but that smell of apples, that delicious crisp and bright smell still permeates his senses. He turns away from the cliffside and ambles into the wood, following his sense of smell that eventually leads him to an orchard and an empty cottage.
The scent is even stronger here and he can see, dangling heavy from the branches, bright red apples, gleaming in the sunlight. He reaches out a hand to pluck one delicately (had apple trees always been so short?) and watches as five twigs unwind in front of him, curl around the body of the fruit, and tug it off itâs stem.
Crowley raises the apple to his lips, opens his mouth to take a bite.
He stops and brings the apple in front of him. Turns it around in his gnarled hand.
Five twigs.
Wrapped there. Brown against red.
Is that a little leaf off the index?
He doesnât drop the apple, instead lowers his arm to rest heavy and wooden by his side. Crowley peers down at himself and takes in the flat bark scales that cascade down his chest, over his hips and pelvis, the large trunks of his thighs and calves. There are little sprigs of green shooting off him at the joints.
The sun is bright and hot and high and it feels good against his back as he slowly sinks to his knees against the cool dark earth.
A/N: as promised, hereâs a Bucky imagine! Originally I imagined it with Steve because of the dance he promised Peggy, but I thought that Buck should have his dance too! Pure fluff (finally, am I right?) I hope you all enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed imagining and writing this!
The song that goes with this fic is this one.
~~~
You sat on the counter of the kitchen, your ukulele in hand. Bucky was running around the kitchen, attempting to make dinner (although you predicted that it would most likely end poorly, as he refused to use the internet). If this meal was anything like its predecessors, then the night would end in going out for pizza in the Bronx.
The first time heâd tried to cook he attempted to make chicken - which ended up really raw. The second time, heâd made fish, and practically burned it to the bone. The third time heâd insisted not using the internet, and attempted steak. It wasnât too bad, except for the fact that it was impossible to cut through. Things kept going down hill after that.
Sure, youâd tried helping, tried fixing his mistakes when he wasnât looking. But he was so goddamn stubborn. He wanted to do it on his own. He didnât want your help.
Especially when you were as good as a cook as you were. You practically ran the kitchen when you cooked, working on three dishes simultaneously. You let him help but tried to keep the knives away from him. For a super soldier, he was very clumsy when it came to anything other than hand to hand or firing a gun.
It was his last night in New York for the next week or two. He was heading to Wakanda at TâChallaâs request to help rebuild. The Wakandans had taken a liking to him, which you had found rather entertaining. He insisted he make dinner, since you were typically the cook out of the two of you.
Tonight he was going to try making pasta, and he had practically banned you from the kitchen; well, until you had climbed onto the counter with your uke. He could easily pick you up and move you, but there was just something so adorable about the way you crossed your legs and hummed to yourself as you played. Plus, the music was good, and your humming made it even better.
You played chords mindlessly, trying to figure out what to play. Youâd already teased him enough with 40s music this morning, and there was the large gap of music that he missed. You were still trying to help him get through each decade - right now you two were stuck on the Beatles - so anything from the past sixty years wouldnât work.
Maybe it could.
You leapt off the counter, running to the living room and returning with your laptop. Before Bucky could exclaim that for the last time, he wasnât using the âdamn interwhateverâ, you had pulled the video up, setting your ukulele down somewhere safe.
The song played from the computer, soft uke melodies coming from the speakers. Minutes before, he had dumped the pasta into the boiling water, and had been watching the timer carefully. Still, you took his hands, making him dance with you as the song played.
Initially, he protested a little as you moved him away from the stove top. Nevertheless, he gave in quickly, his smile reaching his eyes as he let you move his hands.
âI know, I know, you belong to some-body new, but to-night, you belo-ong to me.â You sang as he twirled you around the kitchen island. âAlthough, although, weâre apart, youâre a part, of my heart, and to-night, you belo-ong to me.â You spun into him, and he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, still swaying to the melody.
The tempo sped up, and so did you, turning back around and intertwining your hand with Buckyâs metal one. âWay down, by the stream, how sweet, it will seem, once more just to dream, in the moonlight.â He tugged you closer, and you put your arms around his neck, his hands settling on your waist.
âMy honey, I know, I know with the dawn, that you, will be gone.. But to-night, you belo-ong to me, just-a little old me.â You sang, moving one of your hands to cup his cheek, your thumb rubbing over the slight stubble that littered his face.
The trumpet interlude rang out and the two of you stayed that way until it ended, swaying gently. After the song was finished the timer went off and you laughed as he rushed to strain the pasta.
You maneuvered around the kitchen, grabbing placemats, plates and utensils as he finished dinner up, taking slightly burnt garlic bread out of the oven and pouring a can of red sauce over the pasta.
Neither of you were big on drinking, preferring water instead. Bucky didnât like the way the alcohol could make him forget; it reminded him too much of his time as the Winter Soldier. You just didnât like the taste.
You took a forkful of your dinner, testing to see if it was edible before getting more.
âHowâd I do?â His voice was low, eyes full of anticipation. You teased him, going in for a second bite and pretending to think thoughtfully before you told him your decision.
âGood. A little overcooked, butâŚâ You laughed, shaking your head. âI should have taught you pasta first.â
âWhereâs that song from?â He always tilted his head a little when he asked you questions. When he had done it enough times when you started dating, you had pointed it out, saying he looked like a little puppy. He did it less often now, but enough to make you smile every time he did.
âA movie from the 1970s called The Jerk. Steve Martinâs one of the main actors.â You smiled. âBut itâs actually a much older song, written in 1926. I thought it would sound familiar.â
âIt did. Just not the way the records did back then.â He said thoughtfully, and you looked down at your plate.
âYou like it?â You asked softly, your head still bowed a little but your eyes flickering up to his.
âYeah. Reminds me of dancing every Saturday night beforeâŚâ He trailed off.
          â have you ever tried living in a house with nine overgrown babies ? â he flops comfortably on the couch and rests his head on their lap. â because let me tell you, itâs hard work taking care of children. â
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      lungs compressed from the lack of air, neglecting to take his inhaler along with him. it was ironic, a pulmonologist with asthma. it provided another reason for his colleagues to tease the doctor, harrassment a common recurrence since childhood for him. since then, he hasn't had many close friends to confide in. out of all of his social circle, jimin's one of the few trusted people. he's had a rough day at the hospital wanting some form of reprieve. he's not one to drink or go out at all for that matter â instead calling his friend to request coming over. once the invitation has been granted, he's heading there directly after his shift. bleary eyes greet jimin, exhausted enough to collapse into his arms. he doesn't, instead settling for a light embrace. his head lays on jimin's shoulder, comfortably resting for a minute. after returning back to his senses, he peels himself away from the man's sturdy frame, â sorry, i just had a long day, â sang explains, a drowsy smile sweeping over his lips, â i didn't think i'd be getting here when it's almost dark. it's beautiful though, isn't it ? want to go outside and stargaze ? â
Minhee seemed to always find herself at the bus stop. Whether it be day or night, she was waiting for the bus to take her out of her way to go to school, to go home, to get some cheap, convenience store food--anything really. Her usual bus stop wasnât too crowded, especially by the time she was standing there. It would be late and she would be off of work, so sheâd be left alone in her thoughts.
That night, the familiar schedule changed. It had been only about a few seconds after she herself walked into the enclosed bus stop, when he arrived. She didnât take much notice of him at first but it was hard not to notice the only person beside her. She sat down her bag full of her teaching supplies, rummaging through it looking for her water bottle.
But alas, the said water bottle rolled out from under her and right to his feet. Embarrassed, but too tired to actually care, she reached forward and snatched it up. A rather seemingly forced smile appeared.
âSorry about that,â and suddenly she was straight as a stick again. Embarrassing indeed, once she started worrying about it.
jaehwan sighed as he stepped out of his dorm room, having had no desire to go out to his classes today. however, he had promised his mother that he would try harder in his classes, and so, here he was, making good on his promise. he was looking down at his phone, trying to see where on the campus map his class was ( just goes to show how many times he had been before ) when he felt his shoulder brush against something. eyes widening, he looked up and bowed his head. âiâm so sorry, are you okay?â he asked, hoping that he hadnât hurt the girl.
