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karasimpno · 3 years

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{Day 20} Run Away With Me | Suga x Reader

Pairing: Sugawara Koshi x Gn!Reader

Genre: fluff, chaotic, impulsive Suga

WC: 1k

Warnings: none :) I’m in love with this man :)

⍋⋆*❅｡. 25 days of fic-mas mlist .｡❅*⋆⍋

California dreams here we come, Romeo is calling for Juliet, ready, set.... — Run Away With Me; The Mad Ones (music and lyrics by Brian Lowdermilk and Kait Kerrigan)

The sharp, insistent rap on your front door startles you from your position on the couch.

When you open the door, your boyfriend stumbles through the threshold and straight past you into your front room, looking a little uncharacteristically disheveled.

“Suga!” you exclaim, perplexed but happy to see him. “What’re you doing here? I wasn’t expe–” he cuts you off with a firm kiss, your words dying in his mouth as his hand comes up to grasp your cheek. Warm breath whooshes against your lips and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his waist, prolonging the kiss. His lips are feverish, insistent against yours and you sense an urgency to them.

When Suga pulls away, your lips disconnecting with a sweet pop, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours and your entire body feels warm and fuzzy despite the way your heart had started to beat faster at the whirlwind of his appearance. You smile up at him but his chestnut eyes stay closed. His hands move up your sides and over your arms, coming to rest on the outsides of your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing shakily back and forth across your collarbone.

“Let me catch my breath,” he starts, eyes still closed. You disconnect your arms from his waist and wrap them around his neck instead, taking a deep breath with him.

“This is really hard,” his voice is soft, making your heart drop into your stomach. You swallow. What’s going on?

“Do you want to sit down?” you ask, your voice lower than you expect. He presses his lips together and nods, his mouth tense. You’ve never seen him quite like this before. You want to take his hand and lead him over to the couch but something about his posture dissuades you. Instead, you take hesitant steps back to your seat. The air feels tighter around you and you just want him to tell you what’s going on.

Suga sits down and faces you, tucking one foot under his knee as his other leg remains planted on the ground. He takes another deep breath and his hands find yours, comfortably resting between your adjacent knees. You feel some of the tension in your shoulders release at the touch of his soft fingers. You wait.

“Y/n,” he starts. His sepia-colored eyes are intently focused on your face and you almost find it hard to hold his gaze, tempted to glance down at your connected hands instead. “I don’t always have the perfect thing to say, but I want to try—I want you to know...what I’m thinking.”

“I do too,” you encourage, rubbing your thumb over the back of his knuckles. His thoughts are moving a thousand miles per hour and God, this should be so simple for him to say. It should be as easy as waking up, because though this impulse is new, he’s felt this way about you for so long now. He wants to move a hand up to cup your face, to bring you closer—maybe kiss you again—but the feeling of your hands in his grounds him a little, so he just squeezes your fingers a little tighter. He sucks in a deep breath, his eyes glistening.

“Run away with me,” he says abruptly, his body tensing as he leans forward to gauge your honest reaction. You blink twice, barely managing to keep your jaw from falling open.

“I wanna be your ride out of town,” he continues quickly, attempting to smooth over any of your doubts. “I’m serious, let’s just get out of here!” His grip on your hands is even tighter now, his eyes glassy.

“I—what—where??” you stutter, incredulously, unsure if this is all an elaborate joke just to see what you would say. You wouldn’t put it past him.

“Anywhere—it doesn’t matter—America, Texas, Germany—wherever we want!” he’s excited now, his eyes crinkling in the way you love. His smile always fills you with warmth and despite the insanity of his words, now is no exception.

“Let’s go,” he says with an emphatic shake of your hands, “just get on the road and drive. We can go anywhere. I’ll figure it all out baby, I just want you with me,” Suga’s heart races as he spills his dream to you, desperate to be anywhere you are, the idea of driving down an interstate, one hand on the wheel and one on your thigh as you listen to the radio is all he’s been able to think about the past few weeks.

“I know it’s fast, and yeah it sounds crazy but....God, I’m just so crazy for you, Y/n!” he practically gushes, bringing his other leg underneath him eagerly and shifting so he’s sitting on his knees. His chest seems to swell and he falls back onto the couch a little, shaking his head and smiling. “I just...” he exhales, gently tracing his fingertips up your forearm. “I can just see us...running away, and finding somewhere we wanna be, and building a little house there and just...baby I love you so much it makes me nuts,” he half-laughs through the last sentence, his eyes holding fast to yours, brimming with love. “C’mon, don’t you wanna run away with me? We can just get out of here!”

Your eyes must have been wide, because just as you open your mouth to try to formulate some semblance of a response, Suga jumps in again, which you are grateful for because your mouth had yet to catch up with your racing thoughts.

“I’m not trying to make you a wife or anything—yet—I mean, I don’t want to tie you down. I just want to try it. To up and leave and figure it out as we go and maybe make some new kind of life for ourselves.”

Suga pauses, giving you a chance to think. His body softens as he relaxes into the couch, feeling as though a weight has been lifted off his shoulders even though he hasn’t heard your answer yet.

“Say the word, and you know I’m already there, baby.” He brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Wherever it is, as long as I’m with you, I’ll be happy,” he assures you, his smile full of warmth.

“What do you think?” he asks.

A/n: this song makes me WEEEEEEPY and the idea of Suga singing it to me?? I haven’t been the same since. To be fully honest I don’t know a THING about the musical it’s from other than it’s about Samantha Brown. But God this song is just so expressive....Suga IS my comfort character and I DO imagine him singing this to me ALL the time. Good night folks.

taglist: @slutawara @musicgetsmeoutofbed @azo-musxas @tsumurai @ghostlydiamond135 @animeboysimppp @starshaped-raindrops @harokat

#suga #sugawara koshi #suga x reader #suga fluff #sugawara koshi x reader #elle writes #25 days of ficmas

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bastardtetsu · 3 years

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{day 15} light my candle | iwaizumi x reader

pairing: iwaizumi hajime x gn!reader

genre: fluff, meet cute, seducing ur hot neighbor during a power outage

wc: 1.2k

warnings: lightly implied stripper!reader, heavy flirting, wax play if u squint, swearing, mention of bondage (handcuffs)

⍋⋆*❅｡. 25 days of fic-mas mlist .｡❅*⋆⍋

we could light the candle oh won’t you light the candle?

—light my candle; rent (music & lyrics by jonathan larson)

the moon and the city lights outside are the only things illuminating the apartment as iwaizumi settles into the couch, patiently waiting for the power to come back on. he just heard the door shut behind his roommate as he left to go to his friend’s place, but only a few seconds have gone by before a harsh, urgent knocking on the front door makes him jump. slightly exasperated, iwa gets up to answer it.

“what’d you forget?” he gripes as he swings the door open, expecting to see his roommate being too lazy to get his keys out. instead, he is faced with a perplexingly familiar, but distractingly attractive figure standing at his doorstep, tightly clutching a small tea light.

“got a light?” you ask. you didn’t expect your neighbor to be this attractive when you knocked on his door. even in the dark, his sculpted physique and intent stare are enough to catch you off guard.

“i know you, you’re…” iwaizumi trails off, trying to connect your face to a memory, before he notices you twitch. “are you cold?”

“it’s nothing,” you wave him off dismissively, “can you light this?”

iwa doesn’t answer, too busy searching his brain for where he knows you from. he can’t help but notice how pretty your hair looks under the soft glow spilling through the windows of the dim stairwell.

“what are you staring at?”

your question breaks him out of his reverie.

“nothing,” he responds, “you just look familiar. you can come in if you want.”

you oblige, waiting in the kitchen as he fetches a matchbook from one of the drawers. he strikes a match and you hold out your candle for him to light. as he holds the flame to the wick, waiting for it to catch, iwaizumi can’t help but stare entranced at the glint of fire reflected in your eyes. you stare back at him, taking in the angles of his face washed in the warm glow.

“well…” he trails off again as he extinguishes the match, unsure of what to say yet unwilling to break from your gaze.

“yeah?” you prompt him. suddenly, a hot sensation stings your hand. “ow!” you yelp, looking down to see the melted candle wax spilling onto your fingers.

“oh, the wax—“

“its dripping,” you say, before grinning with that glint of fire still in your eyes, “it’s ok. i like it. especially between my—“

“fingers!” he blurts out quickly, trying his best to ignore the distinct twitch he just felt in his pants as he turns away from you, “i figured. well, goodnight!”

iwaizumi prays it’s dark enough that you can’t see that his face is beet red. he hears you stifle a giggle behind him and his ears burn even redder. you decide to have some fun.

“it’s out again.”

iwaizumi sighs. overcoming his embarrassment, he turns around and carefully takes the extinguished candle from your hands so you don’t burn yourself again.

“i got it.”

“ah, i think i dropped something in here too,” you add as he re-lights another match. he doesn’t remember you having anything else when you came in, but doesn’t say anything as you begin to look around.

he still can’t remember where he knows you from - you’re like a moment of deja vu, a spectre that he can only grasp at as you remain lodged in his brain.

“i know i’ve seen you before,” he says, keeping his eyes locked onto you as the flame catches the wick of the candle.

“is it on the floor?” you mutter to yourself, dropping to your hands and knees. as you crawl away from him, you make sure to arch your back in just the right way for his eager gaze. you can feel his eyes drinking you in from behind, mesmerized. “they say that I have the best ass below 14th street… is it true?” you ask, throwing a coy glance over your shoulder.

“what?”

“you’re staring again.”

“oh, no— i mean,” he sputters, a jolt of embarrassment and another twitch in his pants causing his face to flush, “you do, have a nice—uh, i mean—you look familiar.” this is going very poorly for him.

“right,” you muse as you stand up. charmed by how flustered he is, you decide to sate a bit of his curiosity. “i work in a club not far from here - i dance. maybe that’s where you’ve seen me before.”

“yes! i went there with some buddies a while back,” he exclaims, finally remembering, “they used to tie you up!”

“it’s a living,” you smirk back dryly. iwaizumi’s face is still flushed as he thinks back to the image of you in the club, scantily clad with your wrists secured above your head.

“didn’t recognize you without the handcuffs,” he quips.

the two of you are met with silence again as you stare each other down. iwa is practically in a daze as he takes you in, finally connecting the person in front of him to the memories of your body twisting gracefully under tinted stage lights. the dim glow of the club isn’t too different from the light illuminating you through the windows of his apartment now, as if it were trying to remind him all along.

“so…” you ask, breaking through his trance, “you gonna light my candle?” he hadn’t even notice it went out.

“ah,” he says, “that was my last match.”

“our eyes’ll adjust, i guess,” you say with a shrug and another smile, inching slightly closer to him, “thank god for the moon.”

“maybe it’s not the moon at all,” he responds, bashfully avoiding your intoxicating stare, “i hear spike lee’s shooting down the street.”

“bah humbug,” you tease. your hands flit delicately over his as they grip the countertop. iwaizumi takes a deep breath, catching a whiff of your scent as you hover closer to him.

“cold hands,” he mutters, almost to himself, entranced by the movement of your fingers across his.

“yours too,” you respond softly. taking his hand in yours, you press your palm against his, comparing their sizes. “big. like my father’s.”

iwa can feel his heart pounding in his chest now, and he can only pray that you’re not able to feel it too from where you’re standing. his hand really does make yours look so small and dainty in comparison. he notes how soft your skin is.

“you wanna dance?” your voice snaps his attention back to your magnetic gaze.

“with you?” he asks, caught off guard by your boldness. he swears he can still see the glow of the flame reflected in your eyes.

“no,” you reply, grinning at his cluelessness as you place the hand you were holding on your waist, “with my father.”

iwa lets out a small chuckle. your touch and your enticing smile is quick to melt away some of his nervousness as he takes your cue, drawing you closer.

“i’m hajime.”

“y/n,” you smile back at him, “thanks for the light.”

iwaizumi smiles back. it’s him who should be thanking you.

a/n: okay this one was tricky for me to write lmao, mostly because this number is so juicy and layered in a way that only really works within the context of the show. it gives you exposition, tragic backstories, delicious subtext, and a sexy meet cute all in one — but i wanted to boil it down to just the sexy meet cute so this didn’t turn into an angst fic about substance abuse and death lmao. i used will chase & renee elise goldsberry’s bway performance as my main reference. i hope you all enjoyed it!!!

taglist: @izagraceee @musicgetsmeoutofbed @azo-musxas @tsumurai @ghostlydiamond135 @animeboysimppp @starshaped-raindrops @harokat

#haikyuu!!#iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwazumi x reader #haikyuu x reader #25 days of ficmas #.txt

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uwmspeccoll · 3 years

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Typography Tuesday

On this first #Typography Tuesday of 2021, we thought it would be particularly appropriate to begin the year with typographic broadsides celebrating our own Hamilton Wood Type & Printing Museum in the Lake Michigan coastal town of Two Rivers, Wisconsin. This selection comes from a portfolio of 28 posters by 34 printers celebrating the 20th anniversary of the Hamilton Museum, HAM at 20, produced for the 11th annual Hamilton Wayzgoose, November 8-10, 2019, that three of our staff attended (a wayzgoose is a traditional gathering of printers and designers, usually after the end of summer, to talk shop, enjoy each others’ company, and to just eat and drink a lot).

The first nine images are from the portfolio. The last image, however, is a letterpress broadside designed by Jen Farrell of Starshaped Press in Chicago and printed by John Horn at Shooting Star Press in Little Rock, Arkansas, for the 2020 Hamilton Wayzgoose. Of course, because of the 2020 coronavirus pandemic, the 12th annual gathering could only be held virtually, so they retitled it as an Awayzgoose!

The other nine broadsides, from the top, were designed and printed by:

1.) Bob Kelemen, Black Walnut Press: Cleveland-based graphic designer and artist specializing in letterpress printing. He manages Type High Press at Kent State University and is Associate Professor of Instruction at the University of Akron. In his spare time, Bob teaches letterpress workshops and tinkers in his own studio, Black Walnut Letterpress, in his backyard barn.

2.) Cathy Batliner and Nick Larson of the iconic Hatch Show Print in Nashville. Of the wood type used at Hatch, Batliner writes, "the bulk of our type collection was manufactured at Hamilton . . . . Without the wood type that we use to make posters, perhaps we wouldn't be making them. . . . Type that was manufactured at Hamilton has passively become the stability that surrounds my livelihood."

3.) David Wolske: type and graphic designer, artist, and faculty member in the College of Visual Arts and Design at University of North Texas.

4.) Katie Garth: Philadelphia-based artist and designer. We've tried to decipher the images Garth uses in this poster: box - not sure, but the curators have often talked about their surprise every time they open a new box of materials to add to the collection; ice cream sundae - beside being the home of world-famous Hamilton Wood Type, Two Rivers is also billed as the "Birthplace of the Ice Cream Sundae." Did you know that?!; brayer - obvious, to ink the type; lighthouse - the Lighthouse Inn is across the street from the Museum, and is owned by the Museum's founder and guiding spirit Jim Van Lanen; printer's apron - also obvious; head - we're not sure, but this might be a caricature of the Museum's head curator Jim Moran, maybe - we don’t think he’s that bald; bottle of liquor - alcohol, always alcohol; log - wood, always wood; duck - sure, ducks, why not; smokestack - reference to the iconic Hamilton factory smokestack where their wood type was first manufactured in the 19th century and where the Museum was first established, but was torn down several years ago -- which we are still sad and angry about.

5.) Amy Redmond of Amada Press: Seattle-based designer and artist who also teaches letterpress at the School of Visual Concepts.

6.) Kathleen O'Connell: a visual and book artist on faculty at Middle Tennessee State University. She writes, "Hamilton is people and type . . coming together to make something bigger . . . ."

7.) Jen Farrell of Starshaped Press and Raychel Steinbach of Current Location Press: Steinbach writes, "When living abroad, I planned my trip to the States around the Wayzgoose, as the community have become my second family."

8.) Jessica Spring of Springtide Press in Tacoma, Washington: one of our favorite letterpress artists in the Northwest. Follow her on Tumblr @springtidepress.

9.) Tracy Honn: the legendary, long-time director (now retired) of the Silver Buckle Press at UW-Madison (now housed at Hamilton). Tracy created this poster using all of the "Legacy Types" recently designed for Hamilton by some of the most noted type designers working today. All of the typefaces are named after individuals associated with the Museum and/or who worked at Hamilton manufacturing wood type.

The portfolio collection is accompanied by a catalog designed by Jennifer Farrell, which may also be found online.

View more posts on the Hamilton Wood Type & Printing Museum.

View our other Typography Tuesday posts.

#Typography Tuesday #typetuesday #Hamilton Wood Type Museum #wayzgoose #awayzgoose #Ham at 20 #anniversary #broadsides #posters #wood type #letterpress printing #portfolio #printers #designers #Typography Tuesday

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essays-for-breakfast · 3 years

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When the Daisies Bloom

Kiane Week Day Two: Flowers/Daisy

Diane has never cared much for flowers. Most of them, while pretty to look at, don’t fill her stomach. And whenever she spent too much time marveling at the blossoms, yellow and white, vibrant pink and soft blue, with small petals and elaborate calyxes, the daylight would fade too soon, and she would have to fetch water in the gloom of the night or endure the thirst. In Megadoza, no one had an eye for these short-lived bursts of color when they turn a dull stretch of grass into a painting. Even if she had cared to ask before she left her people and their mindset for an autumn adventure, no one would have told her the names of these blossoms. For the longest time, she doesn’t know they have names.

Until she finds a Fairy by the riverside.

He has trouble remembering his own name, just like she has trouble pronouncing the complex syllables the first few times. Harlequin. Unlike anything a Giant would call their child, almost like a piece of foreign music. But he gives each flower they stumble across a name and a story.

The yellow, starshaped ones that like to show their faces to a crowd of same-looking blooms – daffodils.

The tiny buds in blue and purple that are the first to crawl out of the earth after the cold – crocuses.

The pack of upside-down tankards that will turn the ground between the forest trunks a short walk south of Diane’s cave into an indigo carpet – bluebells.

Whenever Diane goes to the river to fetch water, Harlequin flies beside her and points at a shrub here or a bush there. Some won’t produce buds before a few more months. But Harlequin describes them in such detail, from the way the blossoms will rustle with the wind to the scent they will share with the world, that Diane can imagine it all. This way she learns to identify broom, bluebeard, and summer lilacs before they change their green attire for a colorful dress.

The days grow longer. An orchestra of crickets gives daily concerts, and as long as Diane doesn’t have to see the bugs, she can enjoy their play without a disgusted shudder. Even at night, the air outside her cave tickles her bare arms with warmth.

She lies on her back and plays with a flower crown Harlequin made for her. A few turns of his forefinger, and the blossoms of the meadow across the river have danced in the air, held the hands of their neighbors, and formed a circle of merry ball guests in pink and white and violet.

“Harlequin?” Diane asks, and he sits up to look at her. “How do you know so much about flowers?”

He tilts his head, a move he always performs when he ponders. “I grew up surrounded by flowers, I think. Everyone there knew them by name, and some people took the names of flowers they liked for themselves. It must seem like a weird thing for a Giant…”

Diane shakes her head. “I don’t find it weird. I would have rather learned about flowers than about weapons and the different ways to gain honor in battle. That’s why I went away. Everyone at Megadoza only cares about fighting for the sake of fighting. Why did you go away?”

“I don’t remember. I think I wanted to help someone… but my head’s all fuzzy.”

Diane rolls over until Harlequin’s face hovers mere inches away from her nose. Her breath distorts his hair, and a pink shimmer covers his skin.

“Maybe you wanted to help me!” Diane says. “Since I found you, you have helped me to tell the good fruits from the ones that make my stomach all twisty. And you have taught me everything about flowers. I would have never found the little waterfall or the stone circle on the other side of the beech forest without you. It’s been a lot more fun than anything I did back with the other Giants. Can I tell you a secret I never told anyone?”

Harlequin has forgotten to blink, and he almost forgets to nod too. Diane fights down her giggles. What she is about to tell him is important.

“In the third night after I found this cave, a snowstorm roared outside. My fingers wouldn’t move because of the cold, and I forgot to collect wood for a fire. The rooms of Megadoza aren’t warm, the stone always spreads this cold that seeps through your toes and then your entire body. But at least there were other people around, many orphans who huddle close to each other. In this cave in the middle of the storm, I didn’t have anyone else. That’s when I made a wish. I held my lips close to the earth – because that is the only way your wish will be heard – and asked for the earth to send me someone to help me. A friend to share this cave with. And since that night, I always whispered the same wish to the earth. I only stopped after I found you. You fulfilled my wish, Harlequin.”

Again, he has forgotten to blink. His eyes shimmer as she looks at her.

“I’m sorry,” he says with a hoarse voice.

“Why?”

“For the horrible things you had to go through.”

“You apologize too much.” With these words, Diane plucks a white freesia from her crown and shoves it into his hair, knocking him over in the process.

The next morning, a ray of sunshine caresses Diane’s cheek. For a handful of heartbeats, she snuggles deeper into her bed made out of dry leaves and squeezes her eyes shut. But then she sits up. Harlequin’s slow breaths have maintained their rhythm. He can sleep for hours, probably days on end without growing tired of it. A shame considering all the amazing new things the day may have in store for them.

But when Diane crawls out of the cave, and her eyes adjust to the brightness, she shrieks.

Snow. In the middle of summer. The meadow in front of her cave, a vast plain of grass blades yesterday, has disappeared under a white blanket. Weird yellow blobs are sprinkled across the snow. Diane reaches out with a finger and shrieks again when the contact lacks the expected cold.

Harlequin races outside, still a little confused after the sudden theft of his sleep. “What is it, what happened, are you alright?”

And he would have continued his barrage of questions if Diane hadn’t grabbed him out of the air. With both hands she shakes him, up and down like an oversized rattle.

“WHAAAA!” she screams. “I shouldn’t have told the story about the snow, I never wanted to make it snow, I take everything back, forget I said anything in the first place. And then do your magic and lift this course from meee!”

Harlequin’s head bobs back and forth, but the pats he gives her fingers to calm her don’t spare him from more violent shakes. “Diane, Diane, stop, please. Diane! Okay, I promise I do my magic. Everything will be alright. Just hold still for a moment.”

Diane obeys but presses her eyes shut right away when the weird snow attacks her vision. If she doesn’t look for long enough, maybe the white will go away.

A strange sound comes from Harlequin. By the eternal earth, maybe he is dying. The snow is killing him. And it’s all Diane’s fault because her story summoned the white devil to their threshold.

She needs several moments to realize he is laughing.

“Diane, it’s not snow,” he says, and the joy clings to each of his words. “Look again.”

Maybe he has gone mad. But in the end, Diane trusts Harlequin and cranes her eyes open. The ‘snow’ still covers the meadow, despite her best attempts at wishing it away. Only that it isn’t snow after all. Uncountable white flowers have sprouted overnight, an entire ocean of them, and the yellow dots make up their heads.

Harlequin wiggles free of her loosened grip and plucks one of the flowers to offer Diane a closer look. “They are called daisies. We had a cool early summer, so they are a little late. You can find them all across Britannia on plains and hills just like this. That’s… what someone told me at least. I’m not sure.”

“Next time, they should be more considerate than to scare me so much. I want a heads-up before they invade our lawn,” Diane says and makes a face. But it’s hard to stay mad with the funny-looking flowers for long.

Harlequin kneels down and brushes the flowerheads. “I like them. I didn’t get to see them often in the forest, but when the daisies show their petals, you know summer has arrived. They also taste great in company with wild salad and beetroots. Did you know that they follow the sun with their bloom?”

“I didn’t even know they existed until this morning.”

A flash of pink colors Harlequin’s cheeks. “Oh, you’re right. Sorry.”

“You apologize too much,” Diane says with a snort. “But I like them too. As long as I don’t have to think of them as snow. And I like summer even more. Let’s make a promise, okay? At the beginning of every summer, we will watch the daisies in full bloom. Then we can celebrate a year of our friendship.”

Harlequin smiles as he looks at Diane. A hint of distant sadness swims in the amber of his eyes, another promise broken, another life forgotten. But in this moment, he is happy. That’s what Diane wants to believe.

He uses his entire hand to grab her outstretched finger and shakes it. “It’s a promise.”

Summer comes and goes. All while the daisies bloom on the fields surrounding their home, Diane and Harlequin find an excuse to waste time outside, chasing each other across the hills, spinning in senseless dances, or lying amidst the ocean of white flowers. Harlequin weaves another flower crown for her, a gift she tears apart in her endless enthusiasm and cries over the broken remains until he tinkers a new wreath, even lovelier than the last. She tries the salat he mentioned, but politely declines a second serving in favor of another piece of pork.

Diane has never cared much for flowers, but daisies in particular spread their roots inside her heart. All because of Harlequin.

Summer comes. They craft a garland of daisies and decorate the cave with it. Okay, Harlequin does most of the work, Diane’s fingers struggle against the fragile shafts in vain, but she supplies him with bucket after bucket of new flowers to the point where he can’t keep up anymore and has to admit his defeat with a laugh.

Summer comes. Diane lies on her back amidst the daisies and watches the stars. Their soft scent lingers in the air, even though they have closed their blooms. Harlequin sits on her stomach and points at the bright freckles in the sky’s dark face, a few of which he recognizes from before she knew him. The small lights dot the sky like daisies in an endless blue field.

Summer comes. The air has warmed over the past days, and Diane no longer needs the blanket Harlequin made for her after she lay sick with a fever. And when she returns from the river with an armful of hunted boars, the first daisies stretch their heads towards her. She giggles and picks the prettiest one out of the gathering to surprise Harlequin with the good news.

But the cave is empty.

“Harlequin?” Diane asks. Her voice echoes from the barren stone walls. She drops the meat, and turns over the loose rocks, hurls them outside, even though she knows he would have answered her.

Gone. Has he remembered his past? Did the people he knew in his old home feel the same numbness in their stomach when he disappeared? Has he forgotten her the same way he had them? Harlequin promised to watch the daisies with her.

He promised.

Diane fails to realize she has crushed the daisy between her fingers until the petals rain to the ground. Like snowflakes they cover the place where Harlequin went to sleep last night, right next to the big mold in the pile of leaves where she sleeps.

A hiccup cramps Diane’s throat, and her eyes sting. Rubbing them doesn’t help. Her fingers are cold against her face. He promised.

And that’s when his voice sounds from the cave entrance, and Diane’s heartbeat jumps so high it pounds in her head. “Look what I found, Diane, it’s the first—”

She suffocates the rest of his words as she plucks him from the air and squeezes him, so tightly that he could never possibly leave her side ever again.

“Are-are you crying?” he asks in between desperate coughs for air.

“Don’t leave me, you promised to stay with me.” The tears streaming down her face muffle her voice, but it doesn’t matter. Harlequin hasn’t left her. And when this realization grabs hold of her brain, Diane eases her grip just enough to let him breathe.

“I won’t leave you. We promised to watch the daisies together, don’t you remember? I found one at the back of the cave. It’s a bit dented, but it still means summer has arrived, right? I’m sorry I made you cry, I thought I would be back before you noticed.” Harlequin offers her the flower, and when she ends her stranglehold around his torso, he places the battered daisy in her hair. “Can you forgive me?”

Diane sniffs. “Of course. As long as you make sure to hold your promise from now one.”

“I will.”

Summer comes. Summer comes and goes many times, way past the point where Diane can count them with her fingers. One field of daisies blends into the next and the next, and the one after that. But no matter what happens, Diane and Harlequin always celebrate the beginning of the warm season surrounded by daises. If she could make a wish to the earth so that life went on like this forever, Diane would do so in a heartbeat.

But no flower can blossom forever.

The sun slowly climbs over the mountain peaks and bathes the meadow in soft pinks and oranges. Diane sits in front of the cave and taps the ground in an endless drum play with her feet. The early rays of day warm her skin, but instead of the pleasant feeling, her mind only focuses on the implications the morning carries with it.

Harlequin has been gone for a long time.

When he left, the moon has painted his skin in a ghostly white. Like the porcelain plates Diane once saw a merchant sell.

Now, the moon has gone to bed, and she searches the sky above the northern hills for a sign of Harlequin in vain.

She sighs. Harlequin promised to return, and he has never broken a promise he made to her. Still, she kicks the ground to give her feet something to do other than fantasize about running after him.

A blob of white beside her catches her eyes. The smile tugging at her lips comes on its own. Lured forward by the warmth of the morning sun, a single daisy has spread its petals and welcomes the summer. Around midday, the meadow might already wear its yearly dress of white flowers. Diane strokes the early daisy with her pinky, careful not to crush the small plant. All will be good. Harlequin has promised to watch the daisies with her. Even if he is a little disappointed that he didn’t find the first flower, they will soon laugh and forget about it.

The birds shift into a new tune as the sun rises higher.

And then Harlequin emerges from the hills, and Diane’s heart beats faster the closer he comes. He smiles that smile ridden with half-remembered pain and stretches his hand towards her.

He came back, he came back like he promised, and they will watch the daisies together, celebrate the beginning of summer, and they will chase each other across the field of snow-dotted grass, and everything will —

Summer comes. The stone walls of Megadoza emit a little less cold than throughout the rest of the year. Diane has nevertheless seized the opportunity to escape her training when another Giant distracted Matrona with a report on the last successful battle.

Outside of the Giant capital, a mild breeze brushes the dry grass, and the scent of wild roses and thyme greets Diane’s nostrils. How wonderful to finally trade the endless combat sessions for a simple walk. There is nothing to worry about, except for the nasty butterflies bobbing across the plain in search for nectar. Diane narrows her eyes. Just because they top the ranks of the least disgusting insects doesn’t mean she welcomes them to ruin this perfect afternoon.

One of the confused yellow butterflies discovers the sweet plant juice it is looking for, but Diane’s Giant shadow succeeds in chasing the bug away. In its place, a white flower amidst the clover remains.

A daisy.

Where did she learn that name? The person who first taught her about this flower must have been someone important. But Diane’s head is all fuzzy.

She kneels down and brushes the delicate petals. “You apologize too much,” she says, but she can’t figure out what this sentence means or why the words sprung to her mind just now.

Diane has never cared much for flowers. But something about daisies and the first days of summer sparks a warmth that makes the days at Megadoza more bearable.

If only she could remember…

#kianeweek #kianeweek2020 #nnt #nanatsu no taizai #nnt fanfiction #my writing #king x diane #kiane #king #diane #i hope you like FEELS #patterns and repetition are such fun writing tools

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officialmarvul · 5 years

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Oh *they offer her a small, yellow, starshaped device that could fit in her pocket* this will beep every time you need to change the magic. Press the middle of the star to make it stop

{ Undyne stared at the reminder before smiling at them. } ``T-Thank you t-that's kind of y-you.``

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drawdownbooks · 5 years

Photo

RARE! Typograph.Journal Vol. 02 / Available at www.draw-down.com / Typographic musings for curious creatives: Australia's TYPOgraph.Journal is written by designers for designers. The text consists of conversational, experimental, self-generated, personal expressions about design theory, practice and process. This edition shines a spotlight on creative's who embrace technology in their work, investigating the space between archaic design craftsmanship and today’s lead digital practices, and highlighting fascinating projects that combine both old and new mediums. Letterpress, calligraphy and other slow media are prominently featured, along with expressive digital mediums that reference human gestures and the human condition.Featured design talent includes: The Doves Type, Gonzalo Hergueta and Lucas Benarroch, Starshaped Press, Craig Ward, Novo Typo, Dave Foster, Amy Papaelias, Resistenza, Matt Haynes, Jess Cruickshank, Kate Hursthouse, Steve Mitchell, Studio Lowbrow, Jamie Clarke and more. Published by Nicole Arnett Phillips, 2016. Printed in a hand-numbered edition of 1000. 192 pages, 2 color (black and Pantone 325U) #graphicdesign #typography #typographer #typeface #Letterpress #TYPOgraph https://www.instagram.com/p/ButWfcXn-F1/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=drbfq9o0fmgj

#graphicdesign #typography #typographer #typeface #letterpress #typograph

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aquasent · 5 years

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Despite the disaster he’s caused in the kitchen (somehow, he managed to get egg on the ceiling) and nearly burning the cookies after reading the time wrong, the star-shaped treats turned out surprisingly well. He won’t tell Aqua it’s his third attempt at making them, or that he ate half the bowl of icing when decorating— it’s the thought that counts! “Happy Valentine’s Day, Aqua!” Ven calls as he approaches, holding the carefully wrapped cookies out to her with a warm grin. “I made ‘em myself!”

she won’t ask about the lone egg dribbling from its newly acquired spot on the ceiling and the sputters of white flour and blue icing tattering the kitchen here and there ━she won’t ask because she knew it would somehow demean and bring away the focus from the effort the youngest of their unholy trio had put in each one of those starshaped cookies ; she wouldn’t want to at all.

( it was not the purpose of the treat, of the small burns and smudged decors )

rather, the soft beat of her heart and a careful touch cradling the cutely decorated wrap at her sight’s level, the smile on her lips and rident lights in her deep azures ━that’s what was going to speak of her even beyond the tiredness of so many responsibilities weighing over her shoulders, one gloved hand guided towards ventus’ blond locks to give them a loving little ruffle. it was a special gift filled with the love of one who’s lived with her so many tragedies, the care of one whose support was pivotal to her ━she-master loved, appreciated everything oozing from that pure heart, wouldn’t exchange that for anything.

“ you did a great job, ven ━they look really cute. and i am sure they’re also really good. ” and her lips so soft when pressing against the forehead of the younger, as affectionate as a sister in arms could be. “ happy valentine’s day to you as well. ” // @wingbladed

#this was so sweet?? thank you so much for sending?? water mom is pleased #wingbladed #❝ inbox ❞ ━━━〔 🔑 〕

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damonkowarsky · 3 years

Photo

@chicagoprintmakers is pleased to present their⁠⠀ ⁠⠀ 31st Annual International Small Print Show and Holiday Sale⁠⠀ ⁠⠀ 6 November 2020 to 6 February 2021⁠⠀ ⁠⠀ Featured artists include Grazvyda Andrijauskaite (Lithuania), Hiroshi Ariyama, Victoria Marie Barquin, Coco Berkman, Karen Butler, Corinna Button (UK), Jill Chittenden, Melanie Dorson, Casey Engel, Tony Fitzpatrick, Christine Gendre-Bergere (France), Bryn Gleason, Sanya Glisic, Karinna Gomez, Dan Grzeca, Susan Hall, Anna Hasseltine, Eric Hoffman, Mirka Hokkanen, Teresa James, Raeleen Kao, Amos Paul Kennedy Jr., Scott Kiefer, Damon Kowarsky (Australia), Jill Kramer, Karen Kunc, Ammarin Kuntawong (Thailand), Deborah Maris Lader, Kim Laurel, Andrea Lauren, Carrie Lingscheit, Bart Longacre, Beauvais Lyons, Amornthep Mahamaet (Thailand), Michelle McCoy, Andrew Mullally, Maria Mungai, Kumi Obata (Japan), Duffy O’Connor, Dennis O’Malley, Mary O'Shaughnessy, Painted Tongue Press, Sage Perrott, Steve Prince, Jaco Putker (Netherlands), Artemio Rodriguez (Mexico), Jay Ryan, Justin Santora, Jeff Sippel, Yuttana Sittikat (Thailand), Sarah Smelser, Starshaped Press, Raychel Steinbach, Megan Sterling, Jerawit Surtsit (Thailand), Kouki Tsuritani (Japan), Nicola Villa (Italy), Sudtipong Vongsorn (Thailand), Carl Voss, Art Werger, Scott Westgard, Stephen Wiggins, Cleo Wilkinson (Australia), and Catherine Winings.⁠⠀ ⁠⠀ ⁠⠀ #printmaking #chicago #cpc #chicagoprintmakers #chicagoprintmakercollaborative #holidaysale #seasonsgreetings #artinthetimeofcoronavirus (at Chicago Printmakers Collaborative) https://www.instagram.com/p/CHOuq0KgTN6/?igshid=15jvay8ur6ukn

#printmaking #chicago #cpc #chicagoprintmakers #chicagoprintmakercollaborative #holidaysale #seasonsgreetings #artinthetimeofcoronavirus

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odderancyart · 7 years

Text

Want Free Dessert?

Fell Poth AO3

Fell!Goth © @nekophy Rurik © @angexci

The room was dark, the TV the only source of light. Not that that mattered, as Goth’s eye sockets were closed. They were lying at the couch, and he smiled as Rurik’s phalanges absentlymindedly scratched his skull. His soul was beating slowly, contently. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this happy.

Suddenly the phalanges stopped. Goth resisted the urge to look up to see why. He did open his sockets, though. Blinking, as the light momentarily blinded him.

“Hey, Cupcake?” Rurik’s smug voice came. Goth didn’t need to look to know he was smirking. He nodded, despite the use of that nickname. “Wanna go get free dessert?”

He frowned, and turned his head to watch his boyfriend’s face.

“How?”

He didn’t receive any answer. Rurik’s smirk just grew as he promptly stood up. Goth, who had been lying on top of the other gave away a pained ooof as he rolled of the couch and hit the floor. Asshole. He glared at Rurik, who offered a hand to help him up. He did not trust that. His glare just intensified as he allowed himself to float to his feet. The taller shrugged, and grabbed him, before opening a portal through which they left Rurik and Ink’s house.

They appeared outside a restaurant in Outertale. Goth opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t get the chance. He stumbled on his own feet as his boyfriend dragged him inside, quickly ordering a table for two.

He stared as he realized what atmosphere this place had. It was a fancy restaurant, that was for sure. Yet the thing that captured his gaze the most was the romantic vibe it all had. The lamps were dimmed, roses stood on every table, and the walls were basically windows with perfect view of the star sky. There was a bow trio. This was odd. Not the kind of place they usually went for dates.

Rurik let Goth catch up with him, and placed him by his arm as a waiter led them to a table. As they came there, Rurik held out a chair to him, gesturing for him to sit. Goth stared at him in bewilderment.

“What the hell are you playing at?” he asked, and the other’s grin widened.

“What? Can’t I be nice to my cute pet sometimes without him getting all suspicious?” He lowered his eyelids and pouted in a mockery of hurt. Goth simply raised an eyebrow.

“No,” was all he said, yet he did sit down. He kept expecting the chair to be dragged away from beneath him. Therefore, he had to stop himself from gawking as he was simply pushed toward the table. Rurik took the spot on the other side of the table and quickly told the waiter their orders. Goth rolled his eyes at not being asked but kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t like he objected to the food the other named, Rurik knew what he liked.

He gazed around the restaurant, at all the monsers. They were kind of out of place; neither their clothes nor they really fit in. They didn’t fit in anywhere, though, so that didn’t bother him. He twitched as Rurik’s clearing his throat woke him up from his thoughts. When he turned back, his boyfriend leaning on his hands on the table and wearing a smug grin was the sight that met him. Goth frowned.

“What?”

“Did it hurt?” Goth rolled his eyes.

“Let me guess, when I fell from heaven?” That one was so old. Directly after he had thought the thought, he blinked as Rurik’s grin only grew wider.

“Nah,” he said, leaning closer. “When you fell for me.”

Goth stared at him for a few seconds as he processed. He then shrieked, making multiple monsters turn to stare at them. Leaning forward, he moved to slap the other, but Rurik easily caught his wrist.

“You egomanic jerk,” Goth growled.

“Now, now, that’s not a nice thing to say to the one paying for your dinner,” Rurik scolded him with a smirk. “What about this instead?” He stood up, and with a quick tug on Goth’s arm he pressed their teeth together. Goth struggled for a short moment before melting into it. His soul beat harder and Goth could feel his cheeks flush as Rurik licked his teeth. He parted and let him in. As they broke the kiss, he was gasping. Rurik’s grin had turned into something sincerer, and he smiled as he let go of Goth. Goth had to force himself not to smile back, but with the gaze his boyfriend sent him he knew he didn’t trick him.

Their food came, and they began to eat. It was good. Very good. Not that he’d admit to that, not when Rurik ogled at him with that smug look in his eyelights. Yet he couldn’t help but smile slightly as their feet touched beneath the table. As he stretched over the table for the salt, their hands brushed against each other. It made his entire body tingle happily.

Rurik prattled about his day, and Goth felt content to just listen. It was oddly peaceful here. Normally he didn’t like being among other people much, but he kept forgetting they were there as he watched Rurik while they ate.

“Now then, pet,” the other eventually said as they had finished their food. “Time for the free dessert.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Goth asked sceptically.

“Easy,” Rurik had a cocky smile on his face as he stood up. Despite the cockiness, though, Goth could easily see it was genuine. That was quite unusual, but it made his soul feel warm. It wasn’t often Rurik would let those smiles escape. He rifled through his pocket, taking up something as he walked up to him. There was no way to see what it was.

What it was became incredibly clear as Rurik went down on one knee in front of him. Goth gasped and slapped his hands for his mouth as he held up a small box. His soul began to beat like he had run a marathon as he stared at his boyfriend. His eye sockets widened as Rurik opened it. In the box a silver ring sat, with a starshaped jewel the same colours as Rurik’s eyelights.

“Marry me, Goth.”

It was both an order and a question. Goth stared at him for a few seconds, soulbeats only getting faster. A thousand thoughts went through his mind during these short seconds. He couldn’t believe it. Did Rurik really love him enough to want to marry him? He worried – was this the right thing? Goth swallowed, and looked down at the skeleton kneeling in front of him. At that earnest look he had, and the love in Rurik’s eyelights.

A smile formed on Goth’s face, and he could feel his eye sockets watering. He didn’t care. This was what he wanted.

“Yes,” he almost gasped as he felt the first tear drip down his face. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The smile on Rurik’s face was the last straw. Goth stood up and kissed him. He was trembling in both shock, disbelief and happiness. He laughed into the kiss, and he could feel how the other chuckled back. Neither cared that red tears stained both their faces.

Applauses filled the room as they parted. Rurik grabbed his hand and put the ring on his phalange. The grin on his face was triumphant.

“Now you’re mine, and mine alone.”

Goth blushed, hiding his face in his fiancé’s jacket. Rurik put his arms around him.

“I already was,” he mumbled, slightly embarrassed at all the attention. As the words left his mouth, the embrace around him tightened slightly. A few moments later, the waiter came out with a plate in their hands.

“Free dessert to celebrate,” they told them. Goth’s eye sockets widened, and he looked up at his fiancé who smirked slightly and whispered into his metaphorical ear.

“Told you, love.”

"I hope you enjoyed me being at my knees for you because that won't happen again for a long time." "You dick! We were having a moment!"

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ceo-of-daichi · 3 years

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Zero thoughts. Just thinking abt soft dom daichi coming home to see his baby trying to get off but she’s teary eyed because her little fingers don’t compare to big ones 🥺

Oh my god🥺🥺 i have so many thoughts...

Daichi could hear the light moans and frustrated cries as he entered your shared appartment. The whines and whimpers as he got closer to your bedroom door, the way small curses left your mouth in quick succession was all he heard as he reached the closed door. What he saw when he slowly pushed the door open however was not what he was expecting... You spread on the bed, your fingers pumping in and out of your needy cunt as tears brimmed in the corners of your eyes. You looked tired, frustrated and upset to say the least. ‘Can my poor princess not get herself off without Daddy?’ He cooed as he walked in tossing his bag to the floor and ridding himself of his jacket. ‘Please Daddy...’ You pathetically whined ‘I need your thick fingers, please’ You continued to beg as he unbuttoned his shirt climbing over you, removing your own fingers from inside of you and pressing his softly against your clit. ‘Hmmm you really couldn’t wait for me? Maybe I should teach you a lesson for being impatient?’ He growled lowly as he quickly started to thrust his fingers in and out of you, giving you no warning and no time to adjust. You squirmed beneath him, finally getting the satisfaction that your own fingers couldn’t give you.

A/N ~ 🥵🥵🥵 So yeah my thoughts are pretty clear i think... I love Daichi...🥺🤤

Thirst/Soft Drabble Taglist ~ @harokat @bigbiblebitty @starshaped-raindrops @mrs-kuroojinguji @karasimpno @stcrryskies @gxdlyissei

If you want to be added to my thirst/soft drabble taglist send me an ask!

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en-plein-amour · 6 years

Video

youtube

30 day Blur challenge - Day 14 // favourite Starshaped clip

Of course, I had to pick the Postman Pat scene. I think this video is so freaking cute! The really quick close up of a somewhat confused looking Graham, then Damon looks a bit like an idiot as the ride first starts. However, he looks like a sweet child when he’s singing the theme song and pressing at the buttons. Then Graham pretends at the end. So yeah, I love it a whole lot.

#30 day blur challenge #day 14 #things i post

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quimbys · 7 years

Photo

2016 Dollhouse Gig Posters from Starshaped Press. Comes with 12 tiny 2x3 prints, a flexi from John & Marc of the Coctails, Dan Grzeca temp tatts, P22 Analog lwtterpress print! #starshapedpress #quimbys #quimbysbookstorechicago (at Quimby's Bookstore)

#starshapedpress #quimbysbookstorechicago #quimbys

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redplatepress-blog · 7 years

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Chicago residency - October & November 2016

Artist-in-residence at Starshaped Press, Chicago 18th October to 14th November, 2016 Thanks to an Artists’ International Development Fund grant from Arts Council England and the British Council, I was able to travel to Chicago to spend some time at Jen Farrell’s Starshaped Press. During the month I also went to the Hamilton Wayzgoose in Wisconsin, worked alongside Tandem Felix Letterpress in Chicago and visited several other studios in the city. (Each of these has its own blog post.) However, Farrell was my host for the visit and I want to talk through some of the work I made at Starshaped.

For me, any residency has to engage with the place, the environment around and with the people you’re working alongside. I’d visited Starshaped on my 2015 cross-country US trip and, as soon as I arrived this time around, I was struck by a strange familiarity. The strongest memory by far was the elevated metro system - the ‘L’. Working in the Starshaped studio, the trains constantly rattle past behind the building. You hear them all day and night. (Unless of course we had those classic Wedding Present or New Order records cranked a little too loud.) So, in search of inspiration, I bought my Ventra card and jumped on the brown line to head downtown, into ‘The Loop’.

I’ve been doing a lot of automatic writing while travelling in the past few years. It started while getting early morning/late night coaches to/from my AA2A residency at UCLan in Preston (2014-15) and I’ve continued to use it as a way to generate ideas and unlock new directions. I was also on the look-out for repeat patterns - Starshaped has a reputation for innovative work using metal type and ornament and I wondered how this could affect my own practice.

Underneath the L:

Metal bridge near the Pilsen warehouse district:

Bridge across the North Branch Chicago River, crossed en route to the Starshaped studio each day:

With all these visual stimuli rattling round my head, I began figuring out a graphic representation. Starting with the idea of the L track supports seen from below and needing to get across the idea of repetition, I realised putting wood letters together created pattern from the negative space. The colour scheme looks to represent the degrading of the supports that hold the L - fading paint, rust and decades-old dirt.

I edited down the writing from the Loop travels into a series of memorable images; mishearings, repetitions and signs. The image above shows me figuring where the text elements should be placed. And below, imposing on-press (using the studio’s Vandercook SP15) and printing that text.

Here’s the final piece - ‘Chicago Loop language’. Hopefully it gets across that sense of movement and input to the senses that you get from exploring a new or less-familiar place. It’s an edition of 25. More shots and a link to buy it are on the Red Plate Press site here.

While I was at Starshaped I also missed my father’s birthday back home in England. I know; bad son. In recompense, I made a print for him based on a recent conversation. He’s been retired a long time now, but we were talking about his union membership. He joined the Draughtsmen and Allied Technicians’ Association (DATA) union early in his working life and never left. But, as a lot of unions did between the 1960s and 2000s, it kept amalgamating with other unions, so he was actually a member of five different unions in total.

I wanted to use the studio’s Alphablox to create a sense of the support and connections that unions offer. A hand seemed the obvious image.

The first colour of the Alphablox laid down:

And then the second. You can see the linear and reverse of the Alphablox that allow you to build up and emphasise imagery.

The finished print - ‘Five Decades’. More via the Red Plate Press site.

One last piece that I completed at Starshaped was a record of my 2015 US trip. I kept a record of sage advice, random outbursts and repeated phrases on that trip and turned it into a print made in three layers at the three studios I’ve worked in most over in 2015-16. London Centre for Book Arts (LCBA - kudos to Simon & Ira), Starshaped Press and my own studio. I brought the partially completed print with me to add the final layer: the places visited in 2015 in chronological order.

The title (‘Hot Mess of Letterpress’) - comes straight from Starshaped; it’s one of Farrell’s favourite sayings. A proper situation or a right to-do - that’ll be a hot mess. Is this a mid-West thing? I’m guessing it is.

Huge thanks to Jen Farrell and Josephine Gonda for hosting me and being such great company in Chicago. And thank you to the Arts Council and British Council for funding my trip.

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