#paper cranes

[a-silly-poll-side-blog-yay]

838 paper cranes, gonna finish them tomorrow because tomorrow is the true deadline and I set it on this day because I'll be having a biopsy

Be mentally prepared for a pretty long post once I'm done! I mean after I fold the cranes and put them on strings like you saw before with some of those i made

Planning to share the lore behind the cranes :D why I decided to do it, the stories that followed my journey like my friends trying to learn how to make paper cranes just for me, recycled paper etcetc

[kuroken-divorce-arc]

Tsukishima Kei — Paper Cranes

(fluff / established relationship / quiet romance) │ he’ll never say it outright, but every tiny fold is just another way of saying he loves you.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

the night is quiet except for the soft hum of your movie in the background. it’s one of those calm evenings you both fall into easily—no big plans, no noise, just the steady rhythm of living together.

tsukishima’s sprawled on the other end of the couch, glasses slipping down his nose, long legs crossed at the ankle. he’s reading something on his tablet, half-listening to you talk.

you’re fiddling with a receipt from the grocery store, folding it into uneven triangles. “i used to love doing this as a kid,” you say absently. “origami. i’d make these little paper cranes and line them up on my windowsill. my grandma told me they brought luck.”

he hums, eyes still on the screen. “did they?”

“i mean,” you say, smiling, “i’m still here. so maybe.”

he glances up at that, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly before he looks back down.

“you ever make any?” you ask, leaning your head against the back of the couch.

“no.” his tone is flat, but there’s a flicker of amusement there. “i didn’t have the patience for… delicate crafts.”

you laugh. “you say that like it’s a personal flaw.”

“it is,” he says, dry.

you toss the half-folded receipt at him. “you’re impossible.”

he catches it easily, looks at the mess of creases, and mutters, “you can say that again.”

the moment passes like it always does, slipping into quiet comfort. but he keeps the receipt.

a few nights later, you find a tiny paper crane sitting on your dresser. it’s clumsy, uneven, one wing bent awkwardly inward.

you smile, assuming you must’ve folded it half-asleep and forgotten.

but then, a few days after that, there’s another one—this time tucked inside your book, marking your page.

and another, sitting beside your coffee mug in the morning.

and another, perched neatly on the bathroom counter next to your toothbrush.

you start finding them everywhere.

they’re all folded from whatever paper’s around—old receipts, torn notebook pages, the corner of a museum brochure. none of them are perfect, but each one is folded with care.

you try asking him about it once, holding up a small green one you found in your coat pocket. “hey, where’d this come from?”

he barely glances up from his phone. “no idea.”

liar.

it’s sunday when you finally figure out how many there are. you’re cleaning up your desk when you realize half of it is covered in cranes. small ones, big ones, ones folded from sticky notes, even one from the wrapper of your favorite chocolate bar.

you laugh softly, collecting them into a pile. when you turn to the fridge, you spot a yellow post-it stuck to the door—folded into a small crane, just like the others.

on its wing, in his small, neat handwriting, it says: “i read that a thousand cranes make a wish come true. don’t get any ideas.”

your heart does a slow, soft somersault.

he gets home just after sunset, smelling faintly of cold air and coffee. you’re waiting for him in the kitchen, a handful of paper cranes cradled in your palms.

“hey,” you say lightly. “you busy making wishes behind my back?”

he stops mid-step, eyes flicking from your hands to your face. “you weren’t supposed to find those.”

“you say that like you didn’t scatter them across the entire apartment,” you tease, laughing. “there’s one in my shoe, kei.”

he groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “they’re just paper.”

“mhm.” you tilt your head. “and the note on the fridge?”

he mutters something under his breath about sticky notes being too obvious.

you step closer, smiling. “you did all this because i said i liked them, didn’t you?”

“i was bored,” he says, voice quiet.

“sure you were.” you grin. “you’re kind of romantic when you’re not trying.”

he exhales through his nose, eyes darting anywhere but at you. “don’t start.”

you laugh, setting the cranes on the counter before looping your arms around his neck. “too late.”

he hesitates for a second, then lets his hands settle on your waist. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re sweet,” you say softly, kissing his jaw. “though i think you’re officially out of paper.”

“good,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss you back.

the cranes sit between you on the counter—small, imperfect things, folded with care by someone who swears he doesn’t believe in luck.

later that night, when you crawl into bed, you find one more sitting on your nightstand.

this one’s folded perfectly, its wings smooth and even. across one edge, in tiny handwriting, it just says: “wish granted.”

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

this one is for @pincheputapinche

[ringdingdingcar]

My franco fanart made for #MilgrullasporFranco from tw

I wanted to make a franco fanart for a while now and this gave me the inspiration I needed

[incognitoburritto]

Paper Cranes

It was always dark in the cupboard. The bit of weak light that managed to seep through the crack around the door was swallowed by the gloom, a dark much too deep for such a small space. Harry didn’t mind so much though, because his friend only came to him when it was dark, when he was alone, so very, very alone. Harry knew, in his heart, that his friend wasn’t real. He wasn’t a stupid child like his aunt and uncle often accused him of being. He knew that you couldn’t just pop into another space whenever you felt like it. And even if you could, why would anyone want to come here? Harry didn’t want to be here himself.

And yet his friend came, at first just occasionally, usually after one of Uncle Vernon’s tempers had gotten out of hand and Harry was struggling not to cry as he cradled whichever body part was most injured. Then, more often, until he was coming most every night. It took him ages to speak to Harry the first time. He supposed that figments of your imagination only said what you wanted them to say.

Then one day, when Harry lay curled around the gnawing hunger in his stomach, his friend spoke. “Here.”

An apple, at least Harry thought it was an apple, it was too dark to properly tell, lay on the thin cot in front of him. He shrank back in fear. Aunt Petunia would have him locked in here for a week for stealing food. She’d said so the last time. As if the friend could read his mind, and yes, of course he could, he said, “I brought it. It’s not stolen. It’s from my lunch.”

Harry didn’t reply, but ate the apple hungrily.

His friend almost always brought food with him after that. Sometimes Harry devoured it right away, other times he squirreled it away beneath a pile of old rags to be taken out when he needed it more.

The boy talked more and more. Stories of living in a grand house, having creatures that served his every need, fantastical stories of riding on a broomstick and playing games of chess where the pieces moved on their own.

Harry often fell asleep listening to these tales. When he awoke, his friend would be gone, but the ragged blanket would be pulled up tight around Harry’s shoulders and a small paper crane would be left on the floor.

Each time, Harry would unfold the crane and read the words: See you soon.

The visits went on for years and years. Sometimes, Harry thought, they were the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

Then one day, days before his eleventh birthday, the visits stopped abruptly and his world went mad.

Then, as he stood, bewildered and overwhelmed, being fitted for robes to attend a magical school far away, a paper crane was pressed into his hand.

He looked up to see his friend smiling at him for the first time, in the light of day. When he spoke, Harry’s heart sang. “I told you I’d see you soon.”

[pixelsjar]

paper crane pixels

[dangerphd]

beginning a fresh 千羽鶴 (senbazuru) with a wish for a mutual's grief to be cathartic and healing. they mentioned they love the tiny cranes. a version of sending good vibes.

🖤💔❤️‍🩹

[thatpollguy]

Can you fold a paper crane? I think they're also called wishing cranes

Thanks for the poll request, anonymous! Keep 'em coming, folks.

Do you know how to fold a paper crane (also known as a wishing crane)?

Yes

I used to know how to, but I forgot

No

Voting ended onMay 1

[fatchance]

Untitled.