ᡣ𐭩 hello!! thank you for looking at my account! my name is aspen :3 i'll be posting/reposting lots of fanart, fanfic, edits, poetry, and really anything i enjoy at the time!! ^_^
ᡣ𐭩 i'm getting back into writing fanfics! but i also enjoy reading any type of romance, sci-fi, and realistic fiction!
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ᡣ𐭩 some of my favorite things are fashion, anime, manga, jewelry making, doing my makeup, bedrotting, staying up late, poetry, psychology, anything pink, CALICO CRITTERS ^_^, video games, talking to friends, and more!
ᡣ𐭩 basic dni's, but see more in my carrd!
ᡣ𐭩 thank you for reading this! feel free to send any asks revloving fanfic prompts or things about my life! <3
osamu miya who learns from a very young age that you’re not willing to touch most foods. he (not so) secretly watches at lunch everyday to see what parts of you lunch you end up neglecting.
osamu miya who never teases you about being picky, after all that’s what makes cooking for you more rewarding right? nailing the flavors that you love and hiding the ones that you have no taste for.
osamu miya who attempts (and succeeds) at wowing you through bringing you lunches that he knows you’ll enjoy.
osamu miya who spends the rest of lunch trying not to grin ear to ear while watching you happily eat the lunch he brought you.
osamu miya who knows it’s now his life’s mission to make sure you enjoy food as much as possible.
osamu miya who loves the way your face lights up when he finds a place with lots of options for foods you like. whether its due to dietary restrictions, allergies, or a distace for certain foods, he will make sure there’s many options for you everytime you eat out.
osamu miya who cooks for you as often as you like. if you're ever feeling unmotivated and unwilling to cook he will show up and help you.
osamu miya will reach out to your parents for childhood recipes and loved dishes you may not have told him about. he wants to have your comfort foods at the ready whenever you're craving them.
osamu miya who never fails to wow you with how well he remembers your favorite foods. craving a certain cuisine but don’t know what you want? trust me, he knows way before you do and politely suggests it.
osamu miya loves seeing your reactions to new foods you discover. he’s always so proud when you try something new, and is even happier when he watches your face light up from the flavors.
osamu miya will order for you if you need to sub out items on a dish but are to embarrassed! food is meant to be enjoyed! not picked apart to avoid certain aspects of it.
osamu miya who will do anything to make sure you’re happy, healthy, and not hungy!!
A/N: projecting so hard onto this fic i am so picky about foods!! trying to be better but i fear i am doomed for life :( osamu save me
found this beautiful fanfiction last month where viktor is adopted by silco and vander, and that changes their relationship and their plans on revolution
there's also baby jayce... I love baby jayce
"this devotion my contain side-effects" by @owepossum
Thanatos (Hades) x Kindred (League of Legends) crossover!
Ramblings on the piece below the cut!!
I'm really happy with the colors I used for this one this time. I've been trying to keep things cohesive, and putting a purple/grey wash on all the colors I used really helped to keep things visually together.
The one thing I was really experimenting with this time was composition, as I'm really not confident in structuring my pieces. Ultimately I'm not super satisfied with it, but I am nothing if not a chronic sufferer of sunk cost fallacy.
I'm thinking of making Kindred in Hades as a companion piece, but we'll see!
If you read this far, thank you!! And would you be interested in this as a print? I'm trying to get into vending my art and it would be nice to know ^^
another night where you fight, another night of silence. another night where miya osamu sleeps with his back to you.
the realization that there is not much more you can do to save your relationship clutches at your chest with an iron grip.
the gravity of it makes you whimper. pressing your lips together, you shakily push yourself up to sit blinking back tears while blindly stepping around for your slippers, willing yourself not to sob—not here, not where he can hear. your toes touch the fluff of them, and you hurry to slip them on. you need to get out of here.
as quiet as possible, you leave your boyfriend in your shared bedroom.
you stumble to the couch and kick off your shoes, blindly searching until your fingers catch the lampshade switch. you yank it to provide some light, rattling as it flings back into place.
you pull your knees to your chest and press your forehead against your kneecaps. a numb part of your brain thinks oh, so this is where this was, when you think of the misery that quieted itself, replaced with a numbness that overtook you during the fight you had with him earlier.
the numbness that made your limbs feel like ice when he clicked off the phone call without even hearing you out.
you wanted to tell him so much, but in the face of his blank gaze and dismissive demeanor, you shut off. you have more fight in you, you know that. but tonight you just couldn’t. couldn’t listen to him tell you that he needed more from you—more support, more time, more patience.
you’ve given him that, right? your brain runs with thoughts you can't keep up with. you gave him yourself. you have, for months, for years. you did what you could. you’ve withstood lonely anniversaries, forgotten birthdays, broken promises. you’ve done everything you could. you gave what you could. you gave everything you could.
i want you to come home, you wanted to tell him eatlier tonight. come home. you’re never home. i know you’re busy at work and you’re doing what you love but please, ‘samu. please.
love me, too.
your body wracks with a sob, the hurt fresh, as if the words that you never got to say wounded your insides instead. you wanted to tell him that, you wanted to beg for it, beg for his time, beg for his attention, beg for him to love you back. but time and time again he just turns and says he’s tired, he doesn't want to hear it, and the moment is gone, and now the fear of knowing that leaving things unsaid will destroy you, will destroy him. will destroy both of you.
you huddle closer into yourself and sob, a sharp sound in your ears making your head pound.
“babe?” you hear through the ringing in your ears, and suddenly warm hands are on your arms. “babe, what’s wrong?” his voice is calm against your turmoil. “are you having a panic attack?”
“’samu, i’m—” you shudder and he leaves for a moment, flitting to the kitchen to grab you some water.
“drink, please,” he tells you, gently unfurling you to sit. you comply with shaky limbs, taking the water he’d given you in your delicate grip. a few sips are enough to calm you down, but the fear is still there.
he gingerly takes the glass and sets it aside. he kneels in front of you, taking your hands and soothingly rubbing his thumbs against your skin. his fingers are hot, almost like a furnace, but when you realize that he's not, he's fine, your hands are freezing, you resist the urge to pull away as he warms your palm.
when he looks up to smile at you, you see the exhaustion on his face, and, instantly, you hate yourself for it. for this.
"i'm sorry," you blurt out, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.
his hand leaves yours and cups your cheek. "for what, baby?"
“i love you so much, osamu,” you tell him without thinking, voice thick and wet and miserable. you press the palm of the hand he let go of against his cheek, hiccuping when he closes his eyes to lean into your touch.
“i love you, too,” he says, ready to apologize for the fight, but it's not about that.
not anymore.
you pull away. the confusion and hurt on his face is making everything worse.
“i love you so much,” you tell him, desperately wishing that he could understand. “but i—” you sob, “but, osamu, i can’t anymore.”
osamu presses his lips together, saying nothing. you hear him sniffle, and his fingers come forward to brush at the tears on your cheeks and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.
“i love you so much,” you confess. “i would do anything for you. and i have, i have for years. i’ve tried my best, but osamu, i’m so tired,” you sob. your voice feels like its giving out but the desperation makes the words claw themselves out of your mouth. “i’m so tired, i'm so tired and i'm so lonely, and—and—and i love you so much, but i have nothing left to give.”
you pull your hands away to hunch over and cry into your palms unable to face him. messily, you wipe at your face and push your hair back. you give him the most apologetic smile you can muster, but you're unable to see his face through your tears. “i’m so sorry i can’t give you more, osamu.”
you hear him sniffle and when you wipe your tears away with the backs of your hands, his eyes are glassy. then he closes his eyes.
the pain that washes over his face is absolutely unbearable. the furrow of his brow and the wrinkle of his chin, the lines by his scowl that you know is him trying his best to keep it together.
when he opens his eyes to look at you, his eyes are no longer glassy. your heart breaks for the pain he refuses to show. “what’s next?”
your smile is sad and wet with tears. “i think you know.” you brush his hair back and cradle his face with your hands. “let’s… let’s do this in the morning, okay?”
he nods, looking away. he licks his lips and shakes his head, and he turns to face you with a furrowed brow and a little more composure despite his watery gaze. but it doesn’t take long before his face crumples and he rushes to hide his face against your legs. his quiet sobs are pained and miserable, his chest shaking as he cries.
you press your face against his hair and cry with him.
—
the morning greets you kindly, the soft sunlight bathing your room in a sweet glow. it’s early, but you can’t keep sleeping. there’s a lot to pack.
your eyes feel hot and swollen, and bones feel heavy beneath your skin, weighing you down from getting up from the bed. still, you fight. you push yourself up to sit and notice that you’re alone. unsurprising, really; osamu has been leaving earlier and coming home later. onigiri miya needs care, needs nurturing, so it’ll blossom and grow. you need to stop begrudging him for it.
you finish your morning ablutions in the bathroom and head out to the kitchen, but when you open your bedroom door, the smell of food hits your nose like a smack to the face. your stomach twists when you see a familiar broad back—osamu didn’t leave—and your fingers turn cold.
the door slides shut behind you and he turns. “good mornin’,” he says quietly, shutting off the stove.
“good morning,” you say, walking to your kitchenette. when you see the spread on the table, you gape despite yourself. “osamu. what is—what.”
he flushes, sliding a delicious looking steak unto a plate and setting it alongside the other plates—nearly every single plate you own, you note—and your dining table is bursting with food. “cooked breakfast.”
“for how many people?” you ask, incredulous.
“i tried t'remember everythin’ you liked,” he said with a sniff, and your heart crinkles at the edges, because that means something.
“thank you,” you whisper, and you quietly take a seat while sets aside the dishware he used.
when he finishes, he turns to look at you, leaning on the counter. it takes him a while. “when you leave,” he says, “i’m going to try again.”
you stare at him, confused. you say nothing and wait for him to continue.
“i don’t want you to leave,” he says, and he rubs his face in frustration. “but i know i’ve—i know i fucked up. i love you, and i never should’ve hurt you.” he inhales through his nose. “but i did, and i can’t change that.
“but i’m not giving up on you. not on us. you—” he clears his throat, and the dark circles beneath his eyes makes your heart feel tight. “i’ll… if i have to start all over again, i’ll do it,” he whispers, walking closer and taking your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “i’ll win you back.”
“osamu,” you whisper, and his face crumples again.
“i love you too much to let you go,” he says, voice breaking as he fights back tears. “and i know that makes me a jerk. but i’m… i love you, so much—so fucking much, and i hate myself for not making you feel that. for hurting you.”
he gets on his knees and tears are streaming down your face. “leave me if you have to,” he says brokenly.
“if you need space, i’ll understand. but please,” he begs. “please don’t give up on me.”
he does the unthinkable. he curls over and bows, back curved and forehead pressed against the backs of his hands, pressed against the floor.
the horror that overtakes you is beyond words.
you drop to the floor to pull him upright, not letting him do this. he won’t do this to himself, you won’t let him. not for anyone, not for you. you pull his face against yours and kiss him as hard as you can, crying as you do.
you won't let him do this.
later, you sit on the couch, arms around osamu’s middle as you lie on his chest. the idea that this could be the last time you held him like this made you want to burst into tears again.
“i’ll make it up to you,” he promises, pushing your hair out of your face, gently guiding your chin up. “please, just… give me another chance.”
you look up at him, and your eyes meet.
—
“hey!” atsumu greets warmly as soon as you enter the restaurant, spreading his arms wide to engulf you in a hug. “it’s so good t’see you!“
“hi, ‘tsumu,” you greet, returning the hug.
he motions for you to sit as he picks up the menu. “know what you want?”
you nod, not even bothering to pick up the menu. “how are you? how’s training?”
“’m good! training’s good. teammates are pretty good, too.”
"yeah? like who?"
atsumu makes a show of looking at the menu. "oh, i don't you know them."
you roll your eyes at his obvious ploy to get you to start talking. “fine. ask me.”
atsumu instantly leans in, conspiratorially covering his mouth with the menu and whispering, “how are you two? it’s been over a month now, right?”
“oi.” you twist your head to smile up at the newcomer. “stop bothering them, ‘tsumu.”
atsumu glares at his twin. “i’m the one who invited ‘em to lunch!”
osamu rolls his eyes and lays down a platter of onigiri in front of you. he snatches the menu and smacks his brother’s wandering hands with it before they get to close. “these are not for you.”
“but that’s a lot!" atsumu whines. "can’t i have any?”
“no,” osamu says resolutely, then turns to you and gives you the softest smile he can muster, pinning the menu by his side and arm.
"i haven't even ordered yet!" atsumu complains.
osamu ignores him. “let me know what you think.”
“okay,” you say with a smile.
“and let me know if you need to take out anything,” he continues, “i’ll wrap it up for you.” he leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple. “enjoy.”
“thank you, ‘samu,” you tell him before he turns to leave.
he smiles back at you and heads back behind the bar.
atsumu has evidently forgotten about ordering, because his eyes shuttle back and forth between you two before nodding considerably. “so i take it things are going well?”
“yeah,” you admit, picking up an onigiri. “going really well, actually.”
“you’ve been…” atsumu searches for the word, “is it still called ‘dating’? you broke up. but… entertaining each other…?”
“don’t hurt yourself,” you joke. “but yeah. let’s call it dating. and it’s going well, thanks for asking.” you take a bite of the onigiri.
“does he still have a chance?” atsumu asks, genuine curiosity on his face.
you chew thoughtfully as you look back at osamu, who’s smiling at a customer. you remember that bright morning, when he helped you pack, helped you move into your friend’s apartment. when he cooked all that food, and you found it neatly packed away in a thermal bag that had a handwritten note, reminding you to eat well.
you remember the next day, when he showed up at your friend’s door, holding flowers and inviting you out to get some ice cream. you remember his messages, his calls, his check ins on you, littered across the days, asking you how you are or if you’re eating or if you need any food.
you could call him if you needed any help, if you needed anything at all.
but reality sets in when you think of how one phone call could be a mistake, it stops you from searching his name each time you pick up the phone.
in your mind, you see his bent form, his begging, his tears. you remember his smiles and his hugs and his ‘see you later’s, his gradually growing list of unbroken promises. you remember the effort, the time he’s putting into you, putting aside for you. you remember how hard he tries for you.
it's like everything is new again.
his eyes catch yours and he gives you a small wave, and you wave back, your stomach fluttering.
