#old lovers

[minidust093]

Old lovers

redesigns for this AU 🫶

[barbie-bows]

Tresses de-stressors

Art Creds: zzrena_0 on twitter and shloppa on instagram!

AN: This was inspired by two things: that one art of Geto calling his mom when he first arrived at jujitsu tech, and also because his hair is flawless. This is my first time uploading to tumblr btw /(^.^)/

Wc: 1.1k

-

3 months

You stand behind your new boyfriend, nervous and elated heart laughing in coupled beats. 

You place your hands on his head playfully. Bobbling his head side to side jestingly with a giggle. 

He looks at you through the mirror with a boyish expression in his eyes as they squint sassily at you. 

His hair is in a low bun, stands a strew that lay on the sides of his head, hovering over his pierced ears gracefully. His bangs frame around his eyes and cheekbones. Some sparse stands across his forehead. 

You pull his hair tie down the length of his black hair, tresses unraveling down his back right in front of you. 

“I’m ready,” you sing as you pick up one of the brushes he uses daily. You lean over his shoulder towards his dark mahogany vanity in his bedroom. The detangling one first. You start at his ends. Gathering the wad of his entire hair in your left hand, and brush out dainty tangles littered about the ends of his hair. 

Slowly, you make your way up to the mid point of his hair. Your eyes briefly train on his delicate face through the mirror. His eyes are cast down on his lap where his fingers slightly twiddle together. 

Reminding you of a child. 

A child who once felt tenderness through maternal love. 

The sweet childhood nostalgia that can rarely ever be replicated. 

Nostalgia being such a niche sensation that it’s just mechanically mourned. 

Perhaps he remembers his mother doting him and once brushing his hair the same way for him as you are now. 

He is utterly homesick. 

Routine and physical warmth that was once the norm, gone for a long period, forced to do a task as intimate as hair grooming; all by his own means. 

Before you met him you weren’t sure of who he associated with, if anyone true. Or what he was doing, or what losses he had to abide. 

At a place of peace and with intentions of passion. You fabricate a new bond and possibly a tradition in front of the vanity. 

-

5 years 

Early morning, the morning haze still clearing. He sits on the stool waiting for you to do his hair before breakfast. 

He sits gazing off, looking at a picture of his mother that sits on the shared mahogany vanity. 

You touch his shoulder lightly with the tips of your fingers and stand behind him. He straightens up his shoulders and looks at you through the mirrors’ reflection. 

Slightly puffy eyelids from the nights rest he slept away. Warm and fresh, the very early morning hours feel; as he has the privilege of having you next to him. The privilege to reach his hand next to him and still feel the warmth of your hand that is able to interlace. 

He has people who he lost, those of whom he can never hug again or laugh with again. Just a long, lovely rewind of who they were,

What he recalls they look like,

What foods they loved,

Woes that once battered his brain and heart so much he spiraled had all but transitioned into a happy recollection in his mind. 

In being your best friend and lover, he learns how he lives with the losses and grieves his friends. Most everyday he feels normal and loved. Is it because time naturally healed him or was it you who did nothing but simply be there. 

All he knows is that he owes time everything he has for bringing you into his life. 

Eyes as vibrant as purple pansies. Breathtaking vivid colors that lay as his eyes. In the night, they are reminiscent of mulberries; in the day they appear the finest piece of amethyst quartz.

You can’t tell if they were intended to be loud or quiet. He decided that.

You start at the ends as always. You gather his hair in a firm grip in your left hand. This time with a glittering diamond on one of your fingers. 

You detangle, brush his hair back, away from his face, and brush the length of his hair with a boar bristle brush. 

‘For the shine,’ he mentioned once with pink cheeks. 

You didn’t question it. No doubt that it didn’t work. His hair is evidence. 

Starting from the crown of his head and down. Silky sections smoothe and becoming. 

“Which hairstyle would you like today?” You ask quietly, brushing his hair over his left shoulder. Crouching down so both of you are seen in the mirror from your view, you rest your head on his shoulder. Grinning at him, you turn your head and kiss his cheek.

He smiles and nuzzles his nose into yours when he turns his head. 

“Half up,” he simply replies, relaxed, handing you his little black claw clip. 

-

56 years

Opening the blinds, sunbeams glimmering on the carpeted floor. Suguru sits at the edge of the bed, slippers on his feet despite not moving quite yet. You make your way around the bed and stand in front of him, offering your hand to him. His hands cold now, but they still bloom the same warmth they always have in the middle of your chest. 

“Thank you, dear,” he says in his elegant aged voice.

He takes it and your extra hand grabs his other hand to guide him to the stool in front of the old vanity that has sat in his bedroom for too long. 

You drag the other stool in the corner of your shared bedroom, and bring it behind where he is seated. You take his brush and sit behind him. 

The sweet habit you have shared over many decades. 

Since the day you started brushing his hair, he had no other choice in his essence than to let you seize every part of his being. 

Every sunup you took care of his hair. Caressing his heart. Combing out feelings. Rearranging memories stuck to his scalp, unraveling to an untangled image. 

When did his hair start losing his inky pigment?

His hair no longer stygian, now more like a frosty overcast day. 

“Your hair is as beautiful as the day I first saw you,” you comment in the midst of grooming his mane.

He sits with his eyes closed. He hums. Eyes still shut, “what did you say?”

“I said your hair is as beautiful as the first time I met you, grandpa!” you said, projecting your voice clearer. 

His eyes crinkled at the corners, crows feet deepening. Earnest chimes of a laugh leaving his lips. 

He thinks of all the times you trimmed his hair, even the first time he trusted you with his bangs and accidentally went way too short that you were banned from touching his hair for weeks.

When you washed it, 

When you styled his hair,

When you adorned his hair with accessories,

When you took absolute care of him, 

His head was empty except for, “I love you”. 

Which earns him a big fat smooch to his lips.

[celtic-poetry]

I saw you

for the first time

in three years

& honestly wondered,

what I ever did see in you

I mean to say,

I see behind your mask now

there is not much there

to be seen, empty platitudes

mostly, a caricature of a life

you asked me how I had been

‘good, you know, as it is’

as for yourself? ‘it was better now

than it had been’ & life was sunny side up again

-

I had stopped yearning

long before you left town

and to see you again

brought me nothing new

you were still nothing more

than just a blipp

a something that happened

and never again

you and your glasses

and pinstriped sweaters

and well, I should have known it earlier

that you just were a false fasade

just talk and nothing else

hell, you never gave me flowers

while you always could give her plenty

later on

and that’s how I knew

I had just been a blipp

in your world too

-//-

It was a long time since I tried to write to a prompt but I saw this one over at @picklemafia & thought why the hell not so here have a poem written from the prompt word “flowers”.

[crmsnmth]

The Definition of Bittersweet

It’s a beautiful sadness knowing you still exist and knowing we’ll never cross paths the very definition of bittersweet

It’s the shine in the darkness the path ahead may be rough but at least I know I can see just how lost I really am

It’s the poison in the water and even though I know it’s there I drink and drink, like a camel in the oasis I can taste the almonds

It’s just a whisper on a scream unheard and buried deep covered up for more important things like watching paint try

It’s the ice in the fire gone before it even knew it was there A great example of how quick it can be when everything falls apart

It’s a bad attempt at caring It’s easier to just die alone even with the crushing weight of lonliness that follows every single step I take

It’s everything I”m not and all the things I’ll never be

[iliveforaussiegrit]

cc:imago

᯽ Jenson & Mark | British GP 2023

[evilhorse]

Oh, hey, Thor.

(The Sensational She-Hulk Volume 2 #9)

[owlquotablemoments]