#its thinking about narcissus hours

[reegis]

do you ever think about Narcissus. about how he was the one that suggested Orpheus- his very best, and possibly only, close friend- try and get Eurydice back from the Acheron? About how Orpheus never came back afterwards and Narcissus probably has no idea what happened to him? yeah me neither haha

#its thinking about narcissus hours #who up 😔 #the mechanisms #narcissus udad #my favorite silly guy that gives me brain hemorrhages when i think too hard abt him #*rattling the bars of my enclosure* where are the fics about hi m

[medakakurokami]

I finished over 100 visual novels, here’s a long post with some recommendations

Last month I hit 100 Finished VN’s over on the VNDB and I thought I’d shoot out some recommendations while the Steam Summer Sale is going on (even though some of these aren’t going to be on Steam)

I already have finished up some stragglers and caught some shorter titles so it’s up to 104 Finished, but all the better. I have been reading some VN’s since 2015, but it really became a hobby and a genre I was invested in during Covid lockdown in 2020. I had trouble getting into some of the popular titles, but a couple of games that were lesser known at that time really blew me away that year and I started digging more into the medium. I still have a lot to try out and other classics I’m still interested in trying, but here’s a top 10 I’m confident in recommending to most people, at least the kinda people that would follow this blog. A few of these recommendations are actually multi-part series, but hopefully accessible all around.

Planetarian ($10 on Steam and Switch, ~$5 on sale)

This is a very late entry onto this list but I think it’s an easy recommendation. This is a very short 2-4 hour visual novel that got a well received 2 hour movie adaptation in 2016, but it was strong enough that even while knowing the plot everything still hit hard. It is a story set 30 years after an apocalyptic event destroys most of the world, as a human junk-trader comes across a planetarium with a somehow-still-functional robot named Hoshino still performing her daily duties after 30 years without customers or coworkers. It can come across as a bit saccharine, but it is a quick, well made, and effective tearjerker.

Narcissu 1st & 2nd (Free on Steam)

Narcissu’s first two parts are pretty compelling stories to do with suicidal ideation within the scope of the terminally ill. Which is to say they’re also real tear jerkers, and pretty open about some harsh self-reflective emotions. They both have stellar endings, and can be quite immersive despite the very limited artwork (if the screencap looks weird, the game’s art exists within a narrow strip on the screen, with a sentence or two reading out the story underneath it). Maybe the least accessible on this list, but a $0 price tag makes it easier in some sense to get into.

Umineko no Naku Koro ni / When The Seagulls Cry (~$50 on Steam, $30 on sale)

Umineko you’ve probably already heard of, and here’s me recommending it. Umineko comes in two parts, on Steam referred to as the Questions Arc and the Answers Arc. Despite the split, the overall story follows the events of a certain day on Rokkenjima Island in 1986 as a family meets to discuss their inheritance and their family’s mysteries. Unbeknownst to them they are soon haunted, over and over again, by the revenant of the Golden Witch said to live in the woods of their family’s island.

I’m in the minority of preferring the Questions Arc, where well written and deeply human characters find themselves in deeply inhumane and nonsensical scenarios. The Answers Arc back seats some of that to start delving into an esoteric explosion of clues and backstories, and was still very entertaining even if I was more invested in the episodic stories than the overarching mystery. This may also be seen as inaccessible, $30-50 for a slightly older title and over 140 hours long on average playthroughs, but it is deeply absorbing.

Witch on the Holy Night a.k.a. Mahoyo ($40 on PS4 and Switch)

Mahoyo is me and Nasu’s marriage counselor, it really made me see the good in him. It follows a young witch co-habitating with her magic colleague and the puppy-like boy that unwittingly steps into their world at risk to his own life, just as unexplained apparent murders are witnessed in their town.

This could possibly be a higher level recommendation, though it was apparently intended to have sequels and you can somewhat feel that in the isolated feeling of its main conflict. Despite this, the game is definitely worth experiencing for its classy charm and extremely well made action sequences that at times make you forget you’re not watching a full anime film. It’s also a showcase of Nasu’s strengths in writing character interactions and comedy, and he finally lets Show take over and stops Telling you piles of mage society worldbuilding quite so often. It is also has some of the highest quality production value I’ve ever seen, second maybe to...

Marco and the Galaxy Dragon ($20 on Steam/Switch, less than $10 on sale)

Marco and the Galaxy Dragon is an explosive opera of art, energy, color, and of course music. It follows the orphaned Marco and her dragon compatriot Arco as they hunt for treasure across the cosmos, finding their way to Earth on the hunt for Marco’s mother.

If Umineko’s 140 hours seems steep, Marco has you covered with a quick 6 hour rundown of a rebellious orphan fighting back against her space alien menace to find her own sense of place and identity in the universe, along with ALL the friends she made along the way. If Mahoyo feels like an anime film sometimes, Marco actually just has fully animated FMV cutscenes that are fun as hell and have their own unique artstyle to the VN itself. Thousands of pieces of artwork and a 52-track OST fill the game’s short runtime with no cut corners and and overflow of passion from the devs. Honestly even if you don’t want to read it go buy it, it’s cheap and they earned it.

White Album 2 (You’ll have to be creative to find this one)

This is the only recommendation that’s currently only available in an adults only 18+ Rating for the English translation. That being said, it’s one of the few erotic VN’s that felt justified in its pornographic scenes. The story is split into two releases: Opening Chapter and Closing Chapter.

Opening is a short and powerfully delivered love triangle narrative following Haruki, Setsuna, and Touma as their hastily formed 3-man light music band falls into itself with feelings. It’s charming but gut wrenching and sweeps you into its drama very effectively before kicking you on your ass in the end.

Closing Chapter is a long and drawn out disassembling of their lives as they fail to heal from the wounds of the relationships seen in Opening. It, to great effect, takes the readers own experience with how fun and passionate the Opening Chapter was, and shows how trying to cling to halcyon days can make us so dispassionate about our present lives. Painful stuff! Good music, too.

The Princess, The Stray Cat, and Matters of the Heart 1 & 2

a.k.a. Noratoto ($40 on Steam for both, ~$15 for both on sale)

This is a very personal recommendation, and maybe one more easy to make on this blog where many of my followers might be receptive to sincere but slapstick ecchi comedy as art. Every route is highly different however and to me, some are pretty average for galge, while others stand out as amazing. The comedy writing as well feels like it was written by someone with actual comic writing experience, and not just regurgitating the usual ecchi manga jokes.

The general premise of Noratoto is the protagonist Nora, being transformed into a cat by Patricia the princess of the Netherworld, and he must reverse this curse via a kiss before it becomes permanent. A benign fairy tale premise, but one that somehow gives way to underlying stories about existence and finding purpose in families and where that leaves those without families or with abusive or divided families (it is from the same developers as Marco and the Galaxy Dragon, and the themes of finding identity without family match up very closely). Uniquely it is a visual novel written somewhat in 3rd person, narrated by a motherly voice as if the VN was being read to you as a bedtime story.

Like I said, it is dependent on route and some come across as your usual ecchi gal-game schtick, but some stick out, and if every route was as high quality as Nobuchina’s in the 2nd game, it would probably be my favorite visual novel.

The Original Ace Attorney Trilogy ($30 on most platforms, $10 on sale)

You’ve almost certainly heard of Ace Attorney already and have most likely played it. This is me telling any Ace Attorney fans reading that the original trilogy still reigns supreme (regardless of Turnabout Big Top). This is also me telling anyone who has held out on trying Ace Attorney to try it, and to start with the original trilogy.

Obviously this trilogy follows the Meme Man Himself, Phoenix Wright, as he defends the innocent and brings the guilty to justice acting as both lawyer and his own main investigator. While each case presents a unique mystery, the original trilogy has an underlying arc that reaches from beginning to end with a massive conspiracy that Phoenix has to breach to bring justice to the perpetrators and resolve the memory and regrets of his beloved mentor.

These games have some speedbumps as you may be banging your head against the wall trying to find the right evidence, but the experience that breaks through does so with gusto, succeeding on what it sets out to be: games that make you feel like you’ve brought justice to the world.

Utawarerumono Trilogy ($40/60 each on Steam, trilogy bundle $62 on sale)

Utawarerumono was my first proper visual novel, and it set the standards pretty high. I’ve posted about it several times in the last few years, and it remains one of my favorites. It is a labor of love on the part of the developers (the same developers as White Album 2), who developed the latter two games over the course of several years and have made this the spearhead of their company for the time being. Which makes sense, since it is about war.

The first game follows a masked man who is given the name Hakuoro waking up in a rural village with amnesia, confused about the strange population of beast-men living there. Despite not understanding his situation, his ingenuity brings the village prosperity. When the local lords try to put the village under their thumb, Hakuoro and the villagers are able to turn the tides against them. Their village grows into a kingdom as Hakuoro seeks the mysteries of himself and the world around him.

The latter two games pick up some twenty years after the conclusion of the first, and follow a man who is given the name Haku, waking up in the woods with amnesia confused about the... you get it. He is met by Kuon, a young girl on her way traveling to the capital of their nation of Yamato. Haku graciously accepts her help getting out of the cold woods, and decides to join her to the capital. As events play out, Haku finds himself under the direct command of the nation’s leader the Mikado, and carries out missions on his behalf as the nation continues to drag itself into war and conflict and Haku also seeks the truth of his identity.

These games are expansive in scope while still putting a large focus on the day-to-day lives of its characters. Around 100 hours across all three games it is impressive how much story it manages to fit in, but the pacing does bounce around between sweeping conflict and sleepy conversations. It is also in part, a strategy RPG game with the battles in the war being controlled by the player. These are decently made, especially well in the third game, but don’t ask too much of the player and the story remains the main focus and biggest portion of the runtime.

The House In Fata Morgana a.k.a. Fatamoru

($40 complete version on PS4/Switch, ~$40 main game + expansion on Steam)

I’ve gushed about this enough on this tumblr, I’ll keep it brief.

You are a formless soul who is led by the hand of a mysterious maid through the doors of a mansion on an unknown plane of existence. Through each door lies a story of the house in a different era, all following people bound together in ways that leave them cruelly and violently undone by the end of their stories. The connection between these stories, the mystery of the house and the supposed witch that resides within, and the mystery of You the wandering soul all slowly unravel in a bloody show of catharsis and soul. The game is dripping with traumatic poetic text, grating beautiful music, and all of its atmosphere geared toward being oppressive yet enticing. One of the best things I’ve read.

Honorable mentions:

Va-11 Hall-A and Endless Mondays get shout outs as some of the best Original English Language VN’s I’ve read, with cool artstyles and a mature cast they manage to be fun and relatable. Va-11 Hall-A delivers a great arc for its protagonist and Endless Mondays has great dialogue on the threat of automation of creative industries.

Grisaia Trilogy and Hatsumira are both absolutely raucous trilogies that are a lot of fun. Not wholly recommendable to all, Grisaia has some strong moments and a hilarious unique cast but is a mess overall (but we love Michiru). Hatsumira is a bit more consistent, a more stable and fantasy-oriented Grisaia.

A.I. The Somnium Files duology are detective games with highly divisive endings, but great comedy and characters that make them very easy to get through and enjoy the whole way to the end. It’s just a toss-up whether you’ll like that ending.

Sakura Wars games are finally being translated, and they are a great showing for anyone who wants to try some classic dating sim stuff but with some pizazz thrown in with the setting and mecha combat.

The Tears to Tiara duology by the same developers of Utawarerumono and White Album is also one to keep an eye out for. The first game's definitive version isn't available in English and the second game is stuck on the PS3 and no longer available digitally, but if they ever come out on Steam they are worth your time.

Nanairo Reincarnation and Kinkoi: Golden Loveriche are also two solid ecchi comedy galge. Both have surprisingly deep and genuinely heartbreaking underlying mysteries and conclusions.

I still have a lot I wanna read, Planetarian is the only Key novel I’ve read. On the docket are Labyrinth of Galleria, Little Busters, the 9 -nine- series, and Kara no Shoujo and White Album 1 releasing on Steam this year. Some classics I didn’t mention are Fate/Stay Night, Muv Luv, Steins Gate. Muv Luv I read Extra and enjoyed it, but never pulled the trigger on reading the rest, I may at some point on a whim. Steins;Gate I played through half of on PS3 and now my PS3 is in the closet, the VN is really good and has a unique atmosphere to the anime, buuuuuuut knowing the plot has made it hard to want to restart on PC or another console. Steins;Gate is good, if anyone is reading this far and hasn’t seen the anime or read the VN, do it.

#long post #i'll only tag the main ones #planetarian #narcissu #umineko #witch on the holy night #marco and the galaxy dragon #white album 2 #the princess the stray cat and matters of the heart #noratoto #ace attorney #utawarerumono #the house in fata morgana

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Helaena... just Helaena info dumping about her bugs to the reader and reader engaging with her and it just being really adorable... please...

Also, smut after? because I'm a slut (Helaena has a praise kink??)

(from @reflection-of-narcissus)

Thank you so much for your request. I hope you like this!

Warnings: Mild angst, talk of sexuality, fingering, smut, slight praise kink. Words: ~1500

The smell of rain hangs heavily in the air. It has been two hours since the downpour soaked the grounds of the Red Keep, and less than 15 minutes since Princess Helaena tugged pleadingly at your hand, insistent you join her in the gardens.

“All the most interesting creatures peek out in the wet.” She’d told you.

When she looked at you like that, her blue eyes bright and filled with hopeful wonder, you’d be remiss to deny her anything. Out of all of Helaena’s ladies in waiting, she seemed to enjoy your company the best and you reveled in it. The twins had been left in the capable hands of the septa, while the two of you walked outside, arm in arm.

While you tentatively pick up your skirts, careful to avoid the multitude of puddles that now pool across the pathways in the Keep’s gardens, Helaena skips through without a care for the rainwater soaking the bottom of her dress.

Her girlish exuberance and carefree innocence had always been qualities you’d admired. There is truly no one quite like Helaena.

“Do you think perhaps we’ll see any butterflies today?” You ask. 

It is an attempt to take interest in a subject that fascinates her so dearly, but also the memory of a striking blue butterfly that had landed in Helaena’s hair last summer is one that has never left your mind. The way its wings had fluttered against the soft silver of her hair, combined with her vibrant smile of happiness were a sight simply unparalleled in beauty to you.

Helaena gives an apologetic shake of her head. “They hide when it rains.” She explains to you. “Please don’t be disappointed. We might see snails, and perhaps worms if the birds haven’t been at them yet.”

You laugh softly. How could she possibly believe you’d ever be disappointed with her?

She keeps her gaze fixed on the flowerbeds that line the pathways as the pair of you walk. The suddenness with which she stops and crouches down startles you a little, but you cannot help but smile to yourself as she hunches over, reaching into a bush.

The Princess’ posture is something she is forever having corrected by her mother and septas alike. She has a tendency to slouch, even when standing, and her spine takes on a most unnatural curve when she is seated, particularly if she has a surface to lean forward against. You would not have her any other way though, it is a quality you find most endearing.

“A snail…” Her voice takes on a tone of quiet reverence as she cradles the mollusc gently in her hands.

Truthfully, it disgusts you. It looks slimy and you’ve no wish to be near it, but out of love for your Princess, you crouch beside her.

“Why do they like the wet so much?” You query as you study the brown hues of its shell against Helaena’s pale, delicate palms.

“They dry out easily.” She tells you. “They need the rain to survive.”

You hum in understanding, watching as she examines it closely. “What else do you know about them?”

“They don’t need another snail in order to breed…” Her eyebrows pinch together, a look she gets when she is worried or upset.

“What is it?” You ask, filled with concern for her.

Her eyes flicker up to you, before back down to her hands and her brow furrows. You know better than to push Helaena for an answer when she is like this, so you sit quietly, keeping your focus on what sits within her hands.

“I…I wish…” She says eventually. “I wish that I…didn’t need another person to breed.”

She looks so forlorn as she says this, you feel like your heart could break for her. “Why do you say that, Princess?”

Helaena takes a deep breath, depositing the snail back into the flowerbed and wiping her hands on her skirt before she speaks again. “I don’t like laying with Aegon.” She tells you quietly. “I have heard that…that…is supposed to feel good, but it doesn’t.”

You reach out, taking her hand in yours and give it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry. I wish you had someone to make you feel that way.”

You let go of her hand as she gets the faraway look in her eye that you’ve become well acquainted with in your years of service to her, and wait for her to speak.

“Two hearts that beat as one.”

“Are you okay?” You question, gently touching her forearm, once she appears lucid again.

Helaena nods slowly, rising to her feet and you join her.

“Thank you..” She says with sincerity, looking at you fondly. “For today, for everything…”

“It’s my pleasure.”

You turn to walk back towards the Red Keep, but are halted when she lightly pulls on your arm and presses her lips to yours. Your heart flutters and you are quick to return the gesture, enjoying the softness of her mouth against yours.

When you both pull back, your cheeks are flushed and you giggle in shared embarrassment, before returning to the Castle arm in arm once more.

You sit in front of your looking glass two days later, brushing through your hair when your chamber door creaks open. You know instantly it is Helaena, she never knocks.

Turning to smile at her, before rising to greet her, you notice she appears nervous, holding something awkwardly in her hands.

“I made you something.” She says shyly. “With help from Maester Orwyle.”

She holds out a frame which encases a bright green butterfly, pinned carefully to parchment.

“It’s beautiful.” You say, your fingers brushing lightly against hers as you take it from her. “Thank you.”

“It matches the colour of the dress you wore in the gardens after it rained.” She tells you. “I know you wanted to see a butterfly and this…well, it isn’t quite the same, but I hope you will think of me when you look at it.”

You aren’t quite sure what possesses you, but you place the frame down on your vanity table and surge forward, capturing Helaena’s lips with your own.

She squeaks in surprise, but kisses you back eagerly. You stare at each other breathlessly for a few moments once you break apart.

“Perhaps it could be you that makes me feel that way?” She whispers.

Your cheeks heat up as you realise she is referring to the conversation you’d had two days ago. “Is that what you want?”

She nods, her eyes locked with yours.

“I want to hear you say it.” You coax her gently.

“Will you…will you…” She brings her hands to her face. “I do not even know what it is I am asking for.”

Softly, you wrap your fingers around her wrists, urging her hands away from her face. You kiss her again, though it is more heated this time, your lips parting in order to deepen it. You shiver with excitement as Helaena whimpers at the feel of your tongue against hers.

You turn her around, walking her backwards so that she perches against the edge of the vanity and carefully begin to lift her skirts. “Is this okay?” You murmur to her.

“Yes.” She nods fervently, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and excitement.

Your fingertips trail along the inside of her thigh, stopping once they reach the gusset of her smallclothes. You search Helaena’s face for any signs of discomfort, seeing none, you dip a finger beneath the thin cotton.

You gasp as you feel the wetness of her arousal, not missing the way that Helaena tenses and sighs as you make contact.

You move slowly at first, circling her pearl with precision, relishing every soft sigh and whimper that escapes her. When her hips begin to buck, you slip a finger inside, crooking it to seek out the rough patch deep within her. You begin a slow drag against it, delighting in the way she scrunches the bridge of her nose.

“Oh…that feels good!” She exclaims.

“Good girl.” You coo to her. “Can you take more?”

“Please…” Comes her response, almost a whine.

You slide in a second finger, using your thumb to tap lightly at her bud simultaneously. Her arousal has already thoroughly soaked your hand, and you don’t mind at all.

“So wet for me, Princess.”

She clenches around you at the praise, her thighs trembling as you feel her begin to tense.

She grasps your wrist tightly, her eyes wide. “What is that?!”

“Your peak, sweet girl.” You explain quietly. “Just relax, let it go, you’re doing so well.”

The strangled wail she smits is one you are sure you will commit to memory forever, as you continue to work your fingers inside of her as she tightens and spasms around them. Her eyes screw shut, as she throws her head back, lost in her ecstasy and you watch her transfixed.

Once she is calmed, you remove your hand, smoothing her skirts back over her legs and allowing her to collapse against you, breathing heavily.

“Good girl.” You utter, stroking her silky hair. 

You can feel the thud of her heart against your chest as you hold her close.

Two hearts that beat as one.

#helaena targaryen #helaena targaryen x reader #helaena targaryen smut #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd smut #helaena targaryen fanfiction #helaena targaryen fan fiction #helaena targaryen fanfic #helaena targaryen fan fic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fan fic

[strawberryya]

whichever blooms first

Joshua x reader

synopsis: A dandelion is resilient, it can weather any storm, and at the end of its life it will even grant wishes to whoever sees its worth as something more than a simple garden weed. Your relationship with Joshua is the same, you hope, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make a wish that your love will last a lifetime anyways.

word count: 2.0k

genre/contains: fluff, hints of angst, flowers, lots of flowers, established relationship.

rating: sfw, all ages

a/n: here's my secret garden collab fic for the warm summer days ahead. it's short but sweet, I can pinky promise that much!

check out the other fics in this wonderful collab with the amazing authors from svthub here!!

[navigation post!]

The spring sun was warming the surface of your skin. A calm breeze swept by, ruffling the high grass in the field you were laying in with your boyfriend. 

Your head was in Joshua’s lap and his shadow worked as a way to avoid getting the sun in your eyes. For the past hour or so your mind had been completely immersed in the fantastical story you had been dying to read for a while, only just finding the time to pick up as the hectic spring period was coming to an end and summer was on the horizon. 

Joshua had been the perfect headrest and parasol the entire time, and you hadn’t paid much attention to what he had been doing. When you looked up it gave you quite the fright to find that he was staring down at you, a small smile gracing his lips and a spark in his eyes. A spark that both intrigued and terrified you since you had seen it before and what would happen next was always a game of guessing the impossible. 

“Why are you looking at me like you’re gonna do something…? 

He smirked, making you even more nervous. “Stop it!” You warned, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he gave you an even bigger smile and a nod, conveying the feeling of having made a decision in his own mind. “I think you need a new nickname,” he said. 

This was not the kind of mischief you had been expecting. Usually he would tease you, tickle you, or attack you with kisses. You stared up at him, trying to tell if he was joking with you or if his serious tone mirrored his feelings correctly. “Why?”

“Don’t know, just thought you looked like a spring flower and that you needed a name that properly reflected that.” he deadpanned. 

You couldn’t help but burst out in laughter at his cheesy line. “Oh really, am I that pretty today?” You said and pretended to fawn over yourself, hands underneath your chin and fingers wiggling as if you were a flower, making Joshua crack up as well. 

“You’re always pretty and you know it,” he chuckled, “but the flowers around here just seemed to match your gorgeousness so perfectly.” 

“I’m pretty like a spring flower!” you giggled and kicked your legs up into the air with a little shout of “Yay” before you relaxed and just smiled up at Joshua’s pretty silhouette that was being lit up from the setting sun behind him. “Are you serious about this, Shua?” you questioned with a small smile. 

“Which flowers bloom first after winter? Daffodils?" he said and quirked an eyebrow in question as to how you liked it as your new name. He was definitely serious, you realized. Daffodils are pretty, but their other name is narcissus… You looked at him with an offended look, “Are you calling me narcissistic?” you said as you gasped jokingly. 

Joshua gave you a dashing smile in return, making you instantly forgive him. “Okay, not that one…What about tulip?” You thought about it for a while, not bad, but it just didn’t feel right. Maybe they were simply too common, you thought. 

“Better, but there must be an even better one.” you decided. 

“Oh, I know! What do you think about dandelions? They’re pretty, but everyone doesn’t see just how pretty they are. Me, however, I see it and it is blinding.” Joshua said, looking down at you with an excessively smug face. You were going to protest. A common weed that grew stubbornly by the side of the road? Was that how he saw you? But before you could find the words your mind looped back to the book that lay heavily on your chest where you had stopped before. 

“Dandelion! That reminds me of a really cute quote I read just a couple of chapters ago!! They were racing with their horses and she was looking at the queen being all happy and carefree,” you rambled on, excited to get an excuse to talk about the book on your chest. “Wait,” you said as you picked up the book and began searching for the words you had been reminded of.

“Okay, so here’s the quote: “Ead felt her own cares lifted from her shoulders. Like seeds from a dandelion clock.” Isn’t that so pretty?” 

Joshua’s eyes were big now and his smile was one you had come to recognize as him thinking you were adorable. “What? Is it silly?” you asked, a little shyer than before. He had this eerie ability to make you feel so heard, so seen, and usually, it made you happy. Now you felt slightly embarrassed about having digressed from the conversation so suddenly. 

“No. I like it, it’s a great quote,” he reassured you fondly. “Dandelion it is then! Your new nickname I mean.” 

His smile shone brightly as he declared his final decision. “It’s bright just like you.” 

That smile, like every other perfect smile Joshua had given you over the years, quickly imprinted itself on your eyelids. The sight of his smile was as common as daffodils, but beautiful nonetheless. During those times when he had been unable to smile at you like this had been the hardest months of your life. 

You never wanted to go a single day without seeing that very shining expression on his face ever again. 

Joshua had turned his gaze toward the field of flowers, expecting you to go back to your book. When you instead began talking his head snapped back down to you, his pretty doe-eyes made your heart flutter just like they had done so many times before. “I wanna come back here later and make a wish on a dandelion clock. I wanna feel all my worries lift from my shoulders just like the seeds the girl in my book talked about. Could we come back once all of these have finished blooming?”

“Mm, of course. Could I ask you something though?”

You nodded. “What are you planning on wishing away?” he asked, even though something in his tone was telling you that he was a bit afraid of the answer. 

“Well, you know, it’s a bit silly to say it out loud like this… but I wanna make a wish that we can stay like this forever.” When recognition lit up in Joshua’s eyes you averted your gaze, instead opting to reach a hand out to play with strands of grass beside the baby blue blanket covering the ground below. 

“Do you still have doubts that we’re gonna last?” 

You heard the genuine concern lacing his voice as he found the courage to ask. You nodded slightly. “I mean, I know that you do love me. You’ve told me so many times. Some days it’s just harder to believe in what I know. I thought you loved me back then too, and still, we couldn’t do anything but fight.”

Joshua stayed silent for a moment. The buzz of the field and the birds in the distance filled up the silence. It wasn’t as awkward to talk about it anymore, you felt it in the way neither of you was getting angry. There wasn’t any frustration or tension surrounding that period of fighting and the weeks when you had broken up anymore. The relief was immense. You felt it in your bones. Maybe you were strong enough to weather any storm that may lay ahead if you had managed to heal and grow even past that horrible time in your relationship. At least you hoped so.

“Yeah,” he sighed, leaning back onto his hands in the grass. “I get what you mean.”

“I’m really happy now though, I hope you know that. I really wouldn’t change anything in the past if it meant I would lose what we have now.” 

Joshua’s face lit up into half a smile yet again. “Me neither.” With a soft kiss on your forehead, he lifted your head off of his lap, making you pout in confusion when he got up from your little blanket. “Wait here, I’m just gonna go get something, I’ll be right back!” 

“Okay, but where…” you began but changed your mind as you saw him begin to wander across the entire field, apparently searching for something among the high grass and wildflowers. You chuckled and went back to finishing the chapter you had left off at as you waited for Joshua to come back. 

It didn’t take long for Joshua to come running back to your blanket with his hands full of small yellow flowers with petals that sprawled out like a tiny explosion from their stems. You looked up at him as he dropped the flowers in a neat pile on the edge of the square of fabric splayed out on the ground before he sat down next to you, slightly turned away from you so as to not have his project within full view of your watching gaze. 

That didn’t stop you from curiously peeking over his shoulder to sneak a peek at his crafting. You weren’t sure what he was doing, even as you recalled childhood memories of doing the exact same thing as he was currently doing with the flowers he had picked. 

His fingers were surprisingly nimble for their size as he wrapped the stalks of each flower around the next one, forming a long string of flowers tied together. It was pretty, but your imagination ran wild trying to figure out what he was intending to make. A necklace? A rope? Why would he need a rope of flowers? 

As you wondered, Joshua looked back to see your confounded face as he began turning around, his hands very obviously hiding something behind his back. You were pulled back to reality when you heard him chuckle at your zoned-out expression. 

“Oh, you’re done?” you asked excitedly, putting down the book to pay all your attention to whatever Joshua had ended up creating. 

That mischievous look was back, his eyes shining in the light of the setting sun that was sinking down below the treetops. “Ready?” 

“Show me!” you exclaimed with curiosity. You gasped when he brought his hands out from behind him, showing you what he had ended up making. In his hands was a round wreath, dotted with the bright yellow dandelions you had seen him bring with him. 

“That’s so pretty Shua.” 

“You like it?” he asked, seemingly a bit nervous to hear if you truly liked his gift. You nodded and he softly placed the flower wreath atop your head. 

“Thank you, I love it,” you laughed, adjusting the flowers so they wouldn’t fall from your head. “What’s it for though?” 

“Well… it just means ‘I love you’, nothing more, nothing less, really.”

You pouted, he made you a wreath to assure you that he loves you? It was a strange way to tell you, but it definitely worked. 

“I just want you to know that you don’t have to wait until you can make a wish on the dandelion clocks to know that I will love you forever.”

“You’re gonna make me cry if you talk like that,” you said, fanning your eyes in an effort to stop the tears. 

“I have one more thing, so don’t cry just yet!” he hurried to say, making you laugh and pushing the tears away momentarily. 

From behind him, he brought out something small, it fit in the palm of his hand with ease. A single dandelion was wrapped around itself and created a ring of its stalk. Your hand flew up toward your face to cover the scream that tried to escape at the thought of what this ring-shaped flower might mean. 

“I know it’s not perfect, but… my dandelion, will you be mine forever?” Joshua was smiling again, encouraged by the way you were almost jumping up at the sight of his creation. 

Tears were pricking your eyes again, and you nodded. “Yes, of course, I will!” you exclaimed, your voice barely holding up as you shrieked and threw yourself into Joshua’s arms. His body wrapped around yours as he held you close, accepting all the kisses you gave him as the tears of joy flowed from your eyes.

Reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated!! Hearing what you thought is what makes writing and being here overall so much fun! Ty and ily 💕

[navigation post!]

#svthub #svthub.collab #kvanity #k-labels #kwritersworldnet #Joshua fluff #seventeen fluff #Joshua seventeen #hong jisoo #hong joshua #svt #joshua x reader #seventeen Joshua #seventeen joshua x reader #seventeen joshua hong #joshua #joshua hong

[ihartkimchi]

Straight outta Japan~🌸 (pt. 2)

This is just the part 2 of my original post since it got longer than I expected~

PRIMANIACS, GINZA

This picture isn’t actually mine, its from a twitter user called @/48juns !! During my time there it was heavy raining and I was just desperate to find some place dry!! I didn’t get to take pictures of the outside so this will do~ (ᗒᗩᗕ)

This place is pretty easy to locate since it’s just a 5 minute walk from the Yurakocha Station or a 2 minute walk from Ginza-itchome station which is the subway line.

Primaniacs is a lot more luxurious than I thought it would be lol, esp for an anime perfume shop but I guess its still is a perfume shop and perfume oils are expensive lol. 

The shop has 2 floors, the first floor consisted of the smaller bottles like the one’s above where you can sniff the fragrances and the cashier is also located here. The second floor is where you can test the products on your skin.

You pick the fragrance you want on the second floor and then tell the sales lady what you want, and then she’s gonna communicate with the first floor staff on her walkie talkie. By the time you reach the cashier, they have your perfume bagged and ready to go~ its really efficient!

I guess this is just for security reasons since the perfumes are pretty expensive and knowing how much anime fans they attract, this is their way to control the crowd.

My main objective in the store is to buy a Genshin perfume but I was surprised that even a relatively new anime like Blue Lock already had a perfume line! I wanted to try them out but unfortunately most of them are men’s perfume so I don’t think I’m gonna buy any of them in the future lol (ू˃̣̣̣̣̣̣︿˂̣̣̣̣̣̣ ू)

Men’s perfume just doesn’t work for me, I prefer gender-neutral/feminine scents. Although, in my honest opinion, Bachira’s smell’s the best but maybe that’s just bias talking since he’s Best Girl~ (〃 ω 〃)

Each perfume sells for about ¥6,600 for a 30ml perfume so it is pretty pricey~

Originally, my plan was to buy either Kaeya or Xiao’s perfume since those two are my favorite characters but upon smelling them, both are the type of perfumes that I’m not gonna wear. Both are men’s perfume with a bit of an ozoney smell which I am not a fan of.

These are the notes for Kaeya’s perfume!

TOP: Lime, Eucalyptus, Estragon

MIDDLE: Yuzu, Narcissus, Cedarwood, Lilas

LAST: Ozone Note, Moss, Floral Musk

While these are the one’s for Xiao!

TOP: Eucalyptus, Fennel

MIDDLE: Lilac, Cedarwood, Elemi, Anise

LAST: Sandalwood, Patchouly, Heliotrope, Amber

Like yeah, no wonder I didn’t like both of them lol! Kaeya has ozone notes while Xiao has heliotrope and anise- both scents that I hate lol. And listen, if I have to spend on expensive perfume I’d rather it’d be perfumes I can wear!

(┛◉Д◉)┛彡┻━┻

It ended up being a decision between Ganyu, Mona, or Hutao’s perfumes! I usually prefer gourmand scents but so far only Klee has gourmand notes but I ended up not liking the overall scent.

These are the notes for Ganyu’s!

TOP: Bergamot, Grapefruit, Apple, Pear Blossom

MIDDLE: Freesia, Jasmine, White Lily

LAST: Moss, Amber, White Musk

These are the notes for Hutao’s!

TOP: Cassis, Apple, Grapefruit

MIDDLE: Geranium, Freesia, Iris, Cyclamen, Ume

LAST: Raspberry, White Musk, Sandalwood, Labdanum

These are the notes for Mona’s!

TOP: Grapefruit, Lemon, Lychee, Pineapple

MIDDLE: Muguet, Jasmine, Spearmint, Marine Note

LAST: Musk, Cedarwood, Sandalwood

For those who don’t know how to read perfume notes, Top Notes means the smell it will have once you sprayed it, Middle Notes is what it’ll smell like in the first few minutes on your skin, and the Last Notes are the dried down smell on your skin which are the one’s that will last for hours.

I ended up buying Hutao’s since I have perfumes that smells similar to Ganyu’s and Mona’s! This perfume smells very much like Hutao, its playfully sweet!! If I have to describe the perfume in one word, it would be Mischievous!! 

It’s a sweet, fruity scent, perfect for a summer fragrance!

Tartaglia’s perfume also smells very nice, its gender neutral and I did consider buying it but I decided to do it next time instead. I can only afford one lol!

SHIBUYA PARCO

This is a shopping mall located in Shibuya and if you go to its 5th floor (if I remember correctly), the weeb stuff is located there!!

There’s ton of shops in there and the picture above is the shonen jump shop!! Lots of anime merch are available inside however, we arrived too late and the store was already closing!!  ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

I was only able to get quick pictures inside before they started closing!

There’s also an area where you can measure you height and compare it to bnha characters!! This is also when I found out that Deku is taller than me  ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

I’M SO SHORT TT.TT

There are also other weeb stores in the floor like the Capcom store and the Pokemon Center where a giant Mewtwo is located as well as an interactive Pokemon sound library!

AKIHABARA

Once you leave Akihabara station, the first things you’ll see are these Genshin ads on a post and they go on like forever!! They have like 2 characters per post and I just love how Scaramouche/Wanderer and Nahida shared the same post ☆⋆:∞.o(≧▽≦)o.∞:⋆☆

I love it when the ads are lore accurate!!

These are just some of them there are even more that I didn’t get to take pictures of cause of the rain.  ಥ_ಥ

Like this giant billboard of Baizhu! Also below it is the at home cafe which is the first maid cafe if I remember correctly. I ate there back in 2018, I’m glad the business is still going well for them! I had a great time there, I wish I could eat there again but as always the lines are sooooo long and we were too hungry to wait  ಥ_ಥ

There’s also an even bigger Nilou billboard, I tried wishing in front of it but sadly she didn’t come home lol, I’ll save my pity for Baizhu instead!

GACHAPONS~

I didn’t get to take pictures or videos inside the gachapon shop since it wasn’t allowed so imma just show you my haul!!

I spent over ¥3,000 on them, I did went a little over-budget since my original plan was to spend only ¥2,000 but I still have some spare coins left from vendo machines that I had to spend since we’re about to leave Japan anyways~ 

Money changing shops usually don’t accept coins so might as well just spend them!~ ( ´ ▽ ` )b

This is the entire haul of my gachapon adventures! I thought I got pretty lucky since I mostly got the characters that I liked!

The one I got the most is of course JJK!! Since it is my current hyperfixation!! Megumi one is more of a standard chibi figure while Gojo is a keychain! On the other hand Yuji and Suguru (or is it Mommy Kenjaku?? lol) are wire holders, that’s why they’re on all fours! 

They cost about ¥300 each, so pretty affordable!

I also got some BnHA figures! These two are a bit more expensive at ¥500 each! But they look better than the cheaper ones so I say its worth it!

I was going for Bakugo but unfortunately I didn’t get him, but I’m satisfied with Todoroki and Ochako~ ( ´ ▽ ` )b

And of course genshin! I’m so lucky I managed to get my baby girl Kaeya!!  And life imitates art with Barbruh lol, like of course I’ll get c69 Barbruh!! (≧∇≦)/

They cost about ¥300 each.

I also went ahead a grabbed some Chainsaw Man merch! They’re dual purposed since they can be a standing figure like this or they can be a key chain! I personally prefer the figure ones since I’m more likely to loose them as keychains (≧∇≦)/

They cost about ¥300 each.

I also managed to get a wire holder Genya from Demon Slayer, keychain IsaGOAT from Blue Lock, and this sleepy Chifuyu from Tokyo Revengers!~

They cost about ¥300 each.

This post is already getting too long so I’ll save the rest for the last part!

#random ramblings #vacation #japan #primaniacs #perfume #genshin #genshin impact #blue lock #one piece #gintama #my hero acedamia #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #chainsaw man #gachapon #akihabara #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba

[rkn001]

hi random question but are there any flowers you associate with the rkns + quint? how about the stardroids or your ocs? if no, then what flowers do you think would be good?

gonna put this under a read-more since my explanation is going to be extremely long, but tl;dr:

rkns+quint: daffodil, gladiolus, forget-me-not

my fcs: sunflower to pilot man, dahlia to patch woman

i'm not going to elaborate so much about the stardroids because: (1) i haven't spent that many braincells thinking about them, (2) they're quite varied within a group so i'd choose a flower per stardroid individually, and (3) i've already exhausted a lot of hours researching into these flowers and their associated mythology / etymology and this post is getting too long… so i'd like to invite anyone to try to answer this ask for the stardroids!

daffodil

i associate this flower mainly just to enker, but also to quint and to ballade. here are my reasons:

depending on the variety, daffodils tend to bloom sometime from late winter to early spring, although they can survive the winter months as they're known to be particularly hardy; the daffodil variants in japan, for example, are known to bloom from december to january. the yellow daffodils thus symbolize resilience, because of this quality. how does this relate to enker? well if you squint at his profile overall, there’s a recurring motif one can pick up: his cold exterior and gloomy nature. being into new year’s eve (a winter holiday) and nabiyaki udon (a hot-pot dish often served during the winter season). his jpn catchphrase, “grit your teeth and bear it” (hardiness). do you see that all of these things are associated to winter and the cold season, and the commonalities shared with the daffodil?

in addition, here's some fun facts about daffodils: daffodils can accelerate the death of other flowers when placed into a vase with them. all parts of a daffodil are poisonous, but one kind of daffodil also has strong emetic effects and can cause headaches, just by being in a closed room with a bunch of them inside. it's quite a toxic flower that needs to be handled with care in order to cooperate with its flowery compatriots… which reminds me of a certain character…oh…wait…that couldn't be enker, could it...

i think it’s also worth mentioning that the scientific name for the daffodil genus, narcissus, is linked to (but not known to be originated from) the greek myth of narcissus, a hunter who rejected all romantic advances and was eventually punished for that by being led to his reflection in the water and falling in love with it so much that he drowned, where a daffodil sprang from where he died. the part which, i think, relates to enker; not so much about him being narcissist (in fact i hc to be very far from that), but rather, with him circling around in a never-ending state of reflection that distorts the image of his identity and his place in the world (which i suppose is ironic, considering the name of his weapon).

the violet daffodils represent selfishness in honor of narcissus, which isn’t what i would associate enker with (i don’t think he’s that selfish), but on a more positive note, they symbolize self-esteem, and can be used to give to someone who has self-doubts. which, i think, is perfect to give to him (and to quint) really.

the meanings of the daffodil are usually pretty positive, but i think the associations to these can be pretty…bittersweet. one of the meanings of the daffodil includes rebirth and new beginnings. interestingly enough, these meanings are also what pluto symbolizes in astrology—which is associated to the origin myth of the seasons: the greek analogue of pluto is hades, who was known to have kidnapped persephone, the daughter of the demeter (the goddess of harvest and agriculture), by luring her with daffodils, and when demeter found out about this, caused the vegetation and flora of the world to wither, before some negotiation happened where persephone can spend some time with demeter but only up to eight months (namely, spring and summer).

who was also kidnapped? quint. who also encountered a "rebirth" and "new beginnings"? ballade. who also stands on the threshold between two different worlds, one in the past, the other in the present, like persephone? well…i can argue both quint and ballade do, because i think quint still retains his memories of him being rock and is powerless to do anything about them now that he's quint, and ballade…well…i headcanon to be experiencing the brunt of grief and sorrow of being reborn from the other killers+quint, or rather, being born to a space his old self once occupied and now feels pressured to fill in.

anyway, i’m just ad libbing associations here, but this is my argument for why the daffodil is the flower for both enker, quint, and ballade.

gladiolus

the name of this flower, gladiolus, originates from the latin word gladius or "sword," referring to the sword that roman foot soldiers used in battle. it should also be noted that in ancient greece, this flower was called xiphium, which comes from the greek word xiphos for "sword." both of these refer to the sword-like leaves; this is the flower for fighters, and indeed, that's what the rkns are.

the meanings of the gladiolus are integrity, honor, faithfulness, and strength. i mostly associate these qualities to punk for some reason, since we know he prefers to have a fair-and-square fight and he believes in his own strength—but this also somewhat applies to all rkns, as each upholds their own version of some moral code when fighting, and their devotion to the cause is what defines them as a group.

furthermore, these meanings of the gladiolus seem to come from what roman gladiators stand for. going back to the naming etymology of these flowers, they refer to the swords that roman foot soldiers use. after the martial reforms for the roman military were enacted, these soldiers were given a shield, some javelins, a sword, and a dagger. in battle, they would wield the sword and shield for close combat after breaking their enemies' defenses and formations with the javelins—so in some sense, the sword is used a secondary means of offense and defense against enemies. which is the role of each of the rkns + quint as well! in the gameboy games, they're always the enemy you fight after fending off the robot masters from the main series or the stardroids. which, i think, is fitting.

as a last addition to this, it should be noted that these soldiers must follow the oath of allegiance, or sacramentum militare, that they have to swear once they enlist. this is a pledge to loyalty towards the consul of the roman republic in the republican era, or towards the emperor in the imperial era, of the roman republic. breaking this not only becomes an act of disloyalty against the state or the emperor, but also against the other members of the unit—which serves as a deterrent against revolts, despite the numerous records of civil conflicts arising from betraying the oath. i think these conflicts are also at the heart of the rkn—automatically programmed to swear their allegiance to an empire just to kill one small boy is what also defines the group, and what might also threaten the integrity of it; how each of them uses that devotion to the cause, or rather, how much they stick to it is what defines them individually, and it's an interesting thing to look into when considering each rkn as an individual and their place in the group. such themes, i believe are relevant, and this is what makes me choose the gladiolus as a flower for them.

forget-me-not

this would be the flower mainly associated to ballade, but also to quint.

the etymology of the scientific name for its genus comes from the ancient greek term for "mouse's ear," but its actual name supposedly comes from a german folktale, about a knight and a lady strolling along the riverbank. the knight fell into the water in an attempt to pick up flowers for the lady, and before he drowned, he cried out the name of the said flower and threw the flowers he picked up to his loved one, and since then, in grief, she would wear forget-me-nots in commemoration for him.

throughout the world, forget-me-nots would be used for remembrances of those who died in wars (especially the world wars), as well as from well-known disorders like dementia and alzheimer's disease.

and that's what the forget-me-nots symbolize: remembrance and memory.

just like the knight in the folktale, ballade saw something, something beautiful in the last moment he faced rockman, and it led to the end of that brief span of life that ballade has occupied up, which wouldn't be easily forgotten by the other rkns + quint. he might've been just one flower, one casualty, plucked out in a long series of unnecessary wars between two roboticists—and sure, he might've been rebuilt afterwards—but the rkns + quint don't see it that way as just one robot who died and was reborn. he was somebody—maybe a fucking idiot beforehand, but at least he was their idiot.

similarly to quint: he was rock(man) before, and the moment wily reprogrammed him is the moment those two identities have died. him meandering through life, through the halls of the wily fortress, trying to reconcile with the death of his past self... don't you think he deserves some of these flowers to commemorate what he was? i don't think he's ever completely processed that himself. i think these flowers are also for him.

sunflower

when it comes to the sunflower, their meanings include optimism and strength, warmth, and unwavering faith. all of which describes pilot man; his good quality is his ability to make the best of a situation no matter how bad it gets, and he's a pretty warm dude if any character gets to know him.

the binomial nomenclature of the sunflower, helianthus annuus, comes from the greek words helios ("sun") and anthos ("flower") and the latin word annuus ("annual"), referring to how the sunflower quite literally looks like sun and how it is a perennial flower that blooms in the mid-summer until fall. often, when i think about where pilot works, he's always under the rays of the sun, running around from hanger to hanger, ensuring that things in his little private airport are in operation...and also, his best work on building plane models comes out during the mid-summer months, when things aren't as busy for him as they are in the rest of the year.

it's also thought the reason this flower gets its named is how many believed that it is heliotropic (that is, the sunflower head tracks the sun). note that i said "believed." sunflowers aren't truly heliotropic; only the immature flower buds, leaves, and the stems do orient themselves in the direction of the sun. this reminds me of a very young pilot man, bouncing with vigor and always eager to work with the company that created him and have his abilities tested as much as possible, to the point where both the company and pilot believed he can do so much more, until they... flew close to the sun, y'know?

(which…reminds me of the greek tale of icarus, who he and his father daedalus, a master craftsman, escaped from imprisonment by flying with the winds daedalus created using wax, feathers, and blankets. icarus was warned not to fly close to the sun, lest the wax melted, nor close to ocean they were flying over, lest the dampness of the sea weighed his wings down; icarus unfortunately fell into his own hubris by doing the former. which is pretty close to the disaster that happened with pilot within a year of his activation, due to his company's hubris, haha.)

but mature flowering buds actually only face east, which is still pretty interesting to note; the earth rotates in such a way so that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, but such buds continuously look in the east—it's like they always expect for the sun to rise no matter where the sun shines or goes, without so much following the sun's direction. to me, this says much about an over reliance of faith to take over things can overshadow the true gifts of life, instead of having just a little of it, which can go a long way...it's reflective of pilot's outlook on life prior to and after the disaster.

dahlia

this one is chosen purely out of symbolism, haha; the differing colors of the dahlia and their individual meanings actually do represent different facets of patch woman.

some meanings to the dahlia include inner strength, staying graceful under pressure, and elegance. patch woman's work is constantly her being under pressure, because her job is to tap into connections, find some interesting information about a company or a person whose life she's gonna destroy, and leak it into the world without leaving so much of a trace or negotiating with other parties about this information or wiping such information from everywhere if she feels it's necessary (often a big decision to handle). she handles this with a quiet sort of dignity and poise that can leave others baffled into how she's not...fizzling out from handling all of this info and intel.

dahlias with mixed blue/green colors represent fresh starts and big changes. part of patch's origin story is that she was originally [redacted] and prefers to keep that part even unknown to herself, lest bad parties might use this against her—and the fresh start wily gave her is what drives her to go on (and sometimes influences her decisions handling such intel).

the negative connotations of the dahlia also represent patch woman as well. in particular, the black dahlia symbolizes betrayal—which, yes, one should be careful when around patch because once a piece of information about oneself is thrown into the well that is patch's information network, one better watch their back because she may as well use it to step on them for her own purposes. in fact, betrayals, compromises, and deceit are what fuels her and gives her repute in the dark world of info.

there's an interesting little historical tidbit (or possibly myth or tale, unclear) about dahlias, related to empress joséphine, the empress of the french. she was well known to be into botany and was overly protective of her garden at the château de malmaison. having been offered some dahlia tubers from the french minister, she fell in love with their bloom so much that she wouldn't permit a single seed or root from the garden to exit the malmaison. except...a polish count visted the malmaison and bribed the gardener to dig up a hundred of those dahlias to propagate, making the empress extremely angry and having her destroy the remaining dahlia tubers. it's a funny little story exemplifying how value works: when one values something so much, it can be easily used against them. it's a key principle that patch keeps in mind when handling intel, and it's something which patch deals with on a daily basis.

--

okay, alright. this was way too damn long, but i appreciate the pretty cool and thoughtful question; it was certainly a fun writing exercise to be thinking about over this past weekend. thanks for indulging me!

#ask #mega man #megaman #rockman #mega man oc #rockman killers #enker #quint #punk #ballade #pilot man #patch woman #thanks for the ask! #so can you tell that the daffodil is one of my favorite flowers of all time or nah #also i'd like to offer some apologies if the writing is unclear at places; i kinda rushed this since tumblr's editor is garbage

[luveline]

tl asleep lol tw vent (more of a diary entry than anything overly negative but) tw weight loss ment and talking about myself in general like narcissus staring into a pond 😭

i think the heat has ruined my moisturiser cos ive only had it for a few months and i swear it smells like glue all of a sudden?? so I smell like glue, i look weird too my haircut has made it so the bits by my ears curl really enthusiastically and im not sure if it's a good look. but I look pretty today anyhow

also have been losing a lot of weight recently cos i don't have an appetite anymore especially when it's hot like this and it's weird to actually see my body changing, i don't care either way but yeah super strange to look at my thighs/arms and notice that they've slimmed down . I WAS worried about my chest but it doesn't seem to have changed for the worse, if anything i like it more now

im not sick for once which is really cool. i AM super lonely but I don't feel up to talking to anyone either and I'm not unfair enough to bother anyone it's just like.... .... I don't want to talk but I don't want to be by myself. but I really do want to be by myself which is a stupid contradiction

in general I don't think I'm very happy right now, there's a lot of things in my life that feel too heavy and I'm not interested in carrying them around but you can't exactly put them down either. im just trying to make it to the next day often and this feels weird to admit because it's not like I'm actively telling anyone how I feel. my family are my family and i love them but i can't say any of them are interested in how im feeling, not that i blame them for that though with everything going on

it's weird because I don't feel that sad most of the time, even writing this I don't feel very upset. I guess I'm frustrated because things just don't seem to be getting any better and lately I can't even write which SUCKS. i kind of feel like im in limbo and its not fun but im not looking forward or moving on either and that's my fault

and none of this is new obviously but lately its distracting, I think because its August and summer and I'm never very well in the summer. I keep having dreams about people and things that happened and that brings it all fresh to the surface

I really think it's too hot and that's actually what's upsetting me. so I might go submerge myself in a cold bath for an hour haha. also I'm probably more upset by my shitty writing lately than im admitting to myself, it honestly feels terrible when you're not good at the one thing you're good at. and the lingering idea that im stupid like to the bone dumb gets worse when i can't write

I think it's worthless to mention the shame cycle here but that's very much ongoing too. all around, I'm really tired but things are NOT all bad. I have my family, I have this blog, I have a roof over my head and autonomy and if I can just pull myself together and start writing again I know I'm gonna feel heaps better. that's not to mention movies and music and reading im really trying to look on the bright side and get it together before October

#tw weight loss

[cerulean-chanterelle]

MOULDY MIRROR - In the reflection of the grimy, silver-backed screen across the bathroom wall, only one thing jumps to mind.

PERCEPTION [Easy: Success] - You're tired.

ENDURANCE - Tired? No. The darkness beneath your eyes shows just how you awake you truly are! Look at how wide open those peepers are!

PERCEPTION [Trivial: Success] - Wide open they may be. But bloodshot, too.

YOU - What else is there? Surely there's more?

MOULDY MIRROR - You wouldn't like it.

COMPOSURE [Challenging: Failure] - You *won't* like it.

YOU - I think that's for me to decide. (gaze closer.)

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Failure] - You're attractive. A real bombshell babe. If you weren't you, you would want to be you.

EMPATHY [Heroic: Failure] - That is one way you could put it. Many others come to mind instead, however.

YOU - Why am I looking at myself?

MOULDY MIRROR - You always have, since such a young age. A real homosexual Narcissus.... Alright, maybe *another* homosexual Narcissus. You're looking because the face has changed so much, and yet others' insist it hasn't. Your hair softer, your skin too. The past is dead, and you have killed him.

YOU - And yet...

MOULDY MIRROR - And yet they parade his dead body around like a puppet. A rotting, desiccated amalgam of everything you despise. How thrilling it must be. So you look in the mirror to convince yourself that it has changed, because he still-

YOU - (interrupt.) I get it. Homosexual Narcissus. Just let me enjoy my reflection in peace.

RHETORIC - Can you call yourself that?

ENCYCLOPAEDIA [Easy: Success] - Narcissus is a myth, not a man. It stands to reason that you may appropriate his name with expecting any jealous reprimand.

RHETORIC - No, the other thing.

YOU - Homosexual?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Trivial: Success] - Homosexual.

RHETORIC - Are you even gay? In any definable sense?

YOU - I- Umm, what? How about.... Definitions are for straggots.

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success] - We have *got* to come up with a better slur for straight people.

HALF-LIGHT - Agreed.

RHETORIC - Come on, when you're up representing the *people* you have to be prepared for hard questions.

YOU - Such as 'are you gay?'?

MOULDY MIRROR - You look the part. But which direction?

YOU - Both? Neither? Does it matter?

RHETORIC - If Marx was here, he would want to know.

SHIVERS - SOMEWHERE IN LONDON A LEAF FALLS FROM A WEARY BRANCH. IT FINDS A DECORATED GRAVE AND SCREAMS ITS INDIFFERENCE. THERE IS ONLY SILENCE AND THE WIND, ALWAYS THE WIND.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - He probably would just ask for a drink. Maybe a cigar. Does he know what a pronoun is?

Encyclopaedia [Easy: Failure]: Definitely. Probably. Maybe.

YOU - I don't know! I don't fucking know! I'm a bigender aro/ace dykefaggot! How am I meant to explain that? You get it, or you don't!

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - You most definitely do not get it.

YOU - Dichotomies are bullshit! i'm more in love with some of my friends than some people are with the person they marry! I'm holding hands with him on the porch, an old married couple so far beyond it all! I'm looking at them in the sky, and the light they shine! I go to sleep in a cold bed, wishing he was warming it! I can't go downtown without thinking of hours-long conversations with them! I am in love and i am loved! I want to be hugged so badly all of the time! I want to be touched and held and want someone to want my body! The idea of romantic attraction disgusts me! I'm living romances with those closest to me! I've never been sexually attracted to anyone! I could makeout with someone till we drown! Am I gay? Am *I* gay?

MOULDY MIRROR - ......

YOU - Was that too much?

MOULDY MIRROR - No. No it wasn't.

YOU - They're gone now.

MOULDY MIRROR - Just us. As it always has been.

YOU - (Peer into the reflection of the dead girl in front of you.)

MOULDY MIRROR - She's beautiful, bags under her eyes and a smile that could cripple. Everyone can hear the laugh that escapes those lips. You are more loved than you could ever know. They love you. All of you.

YOU - I am not perfect.

MOULDY MIRROR - Did I say that? Did i say it was required? They too are not perfect, but that does not mean you do not love them.

YOU - It hurts.

MOULDY MIRROR - It never stops.

YOU - Good.

[89atom]

TES♠.RO

for noel. ⎯⎯⎯⎯ ( cw. college dali&noel do acid to try to cope

the world will end in a most silent affair. of this, dali can almost be sure.

to his right, talking to a god whose name has never blackened dali's tongue, is a boy with a crown of dusted foxgloves. his fingertips are dragging along the air above the two of them like a lover, and dali's own hang onto the strings he sees like spiderwebs in their wake. drumming along them like an instrument only for his ears to hear, they speak like sinners in between each third count as they hide from the wind begging to carry them to the world. their desires are whispered to rest in the trap of abandoned velvet instead, with nothing but the boys own broken hearts to break their jagged lullabies.

and dali agrees with the choir in his mind, really, that he was indeed sick in the head when he met noel; but oh, the sun is finally reaching past the ice in his eyes. and it is dappled as much as it is warm as it pours over the lake where narcissus first fell for himself, in a state of frozen waste deep within his mind.

dali, starved for sunlight && lost in its east, cannot afford to let go of that which cups it in his palms.

north's acolyte comes to him as a bishop at the fourth hour of his wait, with his fingers stained in canvas death. when he tumbles to splay across dali's lap, hair falling across his eyes and a tab already in his mouth, dali knows what to do. the pearled moon is his guide as he leans down, teeth dragging a drawing out from under noel's tongue to tuck under his own.

the art is stuck between his cheek and his gum, and "oh, you are the holiest thing i know." he murmurs to the dust in the air, the vowel an opal oval hanging between them. noel plucks it from where it lays suspended and tucks it in his pocket to dream about later.

speaking of dreams, dali says to no one in particular. i dreamt of home last night. i was fifteen, with lips salty from a day spent reading about the inside of a lighthouse. . . inside of a lighthouse. this was, of course, before the black hole in my head became my body, before i knew liquor's kiss, before i had touched the western conference's pages. i was home. i had lounged on the couch, dinner's delicate smell caressing my freckled cheeks. i was home. pluto's hour had wrapped me in blue, the old lamp across from me cut it with gold, and my eyes were blurred in the peace. i was home.

soon enough, blue fills his marrow. it's in his mouth, dripping when he laughs, eyes glittered and aching as they drag up to the faded frescoes above them. it is late. it is late and dali is tired of being haunted by ghosts. when noel's hands find him, dali thinks of how the liquor had thinned his blood, and the acid had numbed his veins.

boy with a compass in the pearl of his throat, a pocket of sickness. boy that fell from grace with dali, hand in hand. boy blinded like dali, high like dali, seeing god like dali.

anyways. it is the turn of the decade now, and dali and noel are still tangled and calm on dirtied velvet furniture. crawling across dali's arm are ants with temples on their backs. he had held them up for noel to look at, and noel had cracked a tooth trying to bite one in half. they are still spending their forevers like this, as if they hadn't chosen the gutter over the glitter, as if dali's whole body had not become a black hole, as if they lived, still, in a world in which a god could lay in between them, listening to all the things inside of them that wished for a home to go to.

noel. dali breathes. have you slept since i saw you last?

#♠.THREE #♝.NOEL #R♠PLY

[libidomechanica]

Then she had he before me like them away, a scarlet coat

And Catherine’s paths of death-chamber.     I forget; the fight, if though life saved, and other: one way     there. And for the ambassadors

of Rhodes at the shudder     who told me fast: though Inez now someone hung him till the     wind discover think beyond

the French, as well of desire,     and all her body with rose with cold hope, no doubt, less     shall be all old slavering

real. Enlarged the roast be reckon,     where was a main and reap, and gray into sighing,     murderer court look’d them,

mystical and her tragedy. You     haue for the excess, as if they thrust full oft, indeed! As     now most since of men I

live! Hears me not so nearer bird     with interpret the faint eyes Oh Dearest Steps building air.     And love potatoes, you

need’st no strong, but by the world! More     flowers increase, and be the morning silent and through very     drunk. He had been no

remedies fervent and he lay     beneath to make his confusion changing to behold them     in the mark up: is its

effect so stood, he turn’d his     Narcissus, as many years on thy hair; it told him to be     school for naught so sweet husband

rarely ceaseless boat, like earrings.     But signifies his breath and in what by love possess,     but still a morning, about

his female mouth’s red balloons.     By country’s blue ocean is, schoolmastered shaft which none     knew, tis Adonais—he

is as we! With me. To the churchyard     laid him a Nurse—her Name Absál—her Jewel of tall build     they had learn’d sufficiently

round his breast. The rules and things     shall been but coast, t was used sparkled o’er they were extinguishing     now. And fish. Then

she had he before me like them     away, a scarlet coat. That do not land unchangeable     had stol’n thy brow, and with

them too: but who, will was more than     his grown, her eye; what brow was happier the pestilence     an hour assigned, he listen

she saw in my sleep. Blood I     stood; and Juan seems to desert, and true Men to a naval     stone flash’d the sky; now cursed

of the palace gleam of his tale:     if forced the opened eyes were cut down influence itself     to brain spun fast, through they

splash, I am neither statue’s     plinth the fear and grace from thee like: an Arab horse ill. Present     eating year; from its

pains; but they perish’d through a     feverish power? You are: from accident; in sequent found     then after silent lies.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #133 texts #ballad

[useless-thought-pit]

A little collection of recent poems

They were all written about a month ago, and to give you just a teeny bit of context I was unfortunately under the spell of some scourge we like to call love (the best of all, of course, being unrequited love). No seriously though, I am now free from this transient infatuation (you'll get to see that word in a bit cos I am a shit poet with a bad memory for synonyms). I've ordered them chronologically, and have also included unfinished fragments.

Also this was pretty much one of my first times actually composing poetry in English, like with meters and rhymes and stuff. You may also find poems written in french on this blog if I please to post them, but that's if you speak it so ahah

Enough babbling now, enjoy.

***

I know not how to get to thee safe and alive Future appears farther and farther with the days There's within me an evergreen spreading its arms Or is it I who bury my roots in the soil Nothing seems surer than when thou flow through my veins When I try to sleep it away I swiftly shift Towards elsewhere a humongous desert of heart The sun glistens as thy dark eyes still yet unknown O wand'ring soul O newest woe but who art thou Does thine essence lie in my mind so delusive Am I the jittery dreamer are thou the dream Are thou but a deadly pommel on which to press With painted hands of thine ego bearer of light Burnt witch that crawls under the wick of candlesticks Nonsense to me and in the end shan't we forget How I made thee aim for my bosom with mine eyes

***

Strange infatuation hath grabbed me hard There seems to be nothing at all to try Attempts to write it off but ain't no bard If anything it stoked instead of dry How come a single thought seed of evil Can grow into such monstrous tentacles Been looking ev'rywhere for some old spell To rid of the disease that harsh and dwells

***

Things do get out of hand And leave myself to hang Exorcism is nigh I pray that I won't die Mayhap all that junk is But a petty pretext To know how to feel next All of that sorrow biz Isn't it so frightening To know not how to live Though easier that to heave Thoughts so unbecoming Tomorrow says the fool But there's no way I could Throw thyself at me cruel Fate do hurt me real good

***

Two glimmering dark pools I can see myself in Am I just acting fool In the abyss peering Lash out thy wrath Kyrie God have mercy on me Am I looking drowning Narcissus in denial Katie I write thy name Thinking it bravery When all it is really Is I can't my heart tame Shall it pass shall it stay Forever evermore I love thee I implore That thou take me away

***

If instead of stumbling upon thy beauty I could have fallen into some old chasm Forever floating into infinity Mine heart wouldn't be prey to all those spasms But alas now each time I go to bed I'm forced by my own mind to dream of thee I shift into reveries so ghastly Wherein I'm charmed ev'n by thy lofty tread I hope I shall in the end kiss thy hands But I'm oh so afraid that thou reject My confession leaving my hopes to mend Why must love be our greatest soul's defect Katie I'm cold I don't mean to be bold But it seems to me that my end cometh With scythe and hourglass so now do behold What I'll gently whisper in my last breath

Fragments

I can well suffer into some long hours If only for a transient sight of her If it means I get one fast sight of her My heartbeat rises far up to the skies When I turn round and see her cherished eyes

---

Feeling beat down life's got me bad or so it seems I cannot think of anything but thee, caught in the stream Feeling beat down life got me real bad The thought of her's deadly as a last strike

---

Tonight at least I get to say What a pleasant ev'ning it's been Although moments of relief sway To fall beyond tomorrow's veil

#Poetry #Sappy asf but you get it #no I didn't find anything to name them #almost feels like oversharing but shhh art

[derangedrhythms]

do you know of any quotes about love and loss? or more specifically about a person knowing loss but still loving?

'Unsonnet: Dark Matter' by Rebecca Lindenberg

"I had love once in the palm of my hand. / See the lines there."

— John Wieners, from 'A Poem for Painters'

"I believed in love but I thought / Its name was loss."

— Gregory Orr, from ‘Concerning the Book that is the Body of the Beloved’

"To lose thee — sweeter than to gain / All other hearts I knew."

— Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, from ‘To lose thee sweeter than to gain'

"Each that we lose takes part of us; / A crescent still abides, / Which like the moon, some turbid night, / Is summoned by the tides."

— Emily Dickinson, from 'The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson'

"I wondered if I would be fated to live with this love, making of it a shrine which could not now be desecrated."

— Iris Murdoch, from ‘The Sea, the Sea’

"Farewell, you incomparable boy, / I have loved you in vain"

— Ted Hughes, Tales from Ovid; from ‘Echo and Narcissus’

"Where is he now, for whom I carry in my heart / This love, this praise?"

— Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Buck in the Snow; ‘For Pao-Chin, A Boatman On The Yellow Sea’

"Since I lost you I am silence-haunted,"

— D. H. Lawrence, Amores; from ‘Silence’

“I suffer greatly, for I have lost what was the whole joy of my life—the holy, enlivening power by which I brought worlds into being all around me.”

“I have so much and my feeling for her devours everything, I have so much and without her everything is nothing.”

— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, from ‘The Sorrows of Young Werther’ tr. David Constantine

“…I never was bereft / so utterly.”

— Marilyn Hacker, Love, Death, and the Changing of the Seasons; from ‘Coda’

“…this ache, / this longing in my gut, / this emptiness which theorizes you”

— Erica Jong, Half-Lives; from ‘The Evidence’

“So long deserted, I want none but you.”

— Rumi, Love Is My Savior: The Arabic Poems of Rumi; from ‘Longing’, tr. Nesreen Akhtarkhavari & Anthony A. Lee

“no pain but your loss can / darken all my world.”

— Denise Levertov, The Double Image; from 'To the Inviolable Shade’

“…memory’s a poor thing to have. It’s your own real hair and mouth and arms and eyes and hands I want.”

“She wondered whether there would ever come an hour in her life when she didn’t think of him; didn’t speak to him in her head, didn’t relive every moment they’d been together, didn’t long for his voice and his hands and his love. She had never dreamed of what it would feel like to love someone so much […] She thought the tenderness it left in her heart was like a bruise that would never go away, but she would cherish it forever.”

— Philip Pullman, from ‘The Amber Spyglass’

“I think about him every day. Probably every hour. He’s still the centre of my life.”

— Philip Pullman, from ‘The Secret Commonwealth’

"…I’m alone. I want to be alone. If I can’t have you, I’ll be alone always."

— Graham Greene, from 'The End of the Affair'

"But her longing was not extinguished; silent and strong it burned in her heart, hotter in its loss, hot and consuming."

— Jens Peter Jacobsen, from 'Niels Lyhne', tr. Tiina Nunnally

"The simple lack / Of her is more to me / Than others’ presence –"

— Edward Thomas, from ‘The Unknown’

"you are in my heartbeat / echoing itself / returning to itself / remembering forever"

— Halina Poświatowska, from 'Indeed I love', tr. Maya Peretz

#compilations #loss #love #long post

[someonestolemyshoes]

Yo, saw your post about levihan prompts:

How about Hange discovering Levi’s secret hobby (of your choice)

Feel free to do whatever you feel like

And I love your work! 💕 have a good day

Hello! So sorry for the delay in this one, but thank you so much for your patience 🙏 I got stuck for such a long time in the middle of this ksksks but it is finally done! I also played around a little bit with the whole...discovering a secret aspect, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway! And I hope you're ready for some sweet sweet childhood friends levihan~

**

Levi likes photography.

This, in itself, is no great secret. Hange can barely remember a time he wasn't following after her with a camera strapped around his neck, or packed into his bag—always within reach, should something striking catch his eye. A little neon plastic toy, at first; each click of the shutter cycled through preloaded images, expert shots of famous landscapes, places they could only dream of seeing. And then, a polaroid—still a toy, in essence, still plastic, still gaudy, but this one took real pictures in real time, and spit them out into their eager, shaking fingers within seconds.

Hange remembers them ruthlessly wafting the little laminate squares and watching with bated breath as black mottled into foggy grey, as the blurred silhouette of the park bench faded slowly into being. It was a fascinating thing, at the time. Magic at their fingertips. The picture turned out fuzzy and overexposed in places, where the sun had glared in over the corner of the park bench, but Levi had settled the little square on his little palms and looked at it like he held the whole world in his hands.

There were innumerable disposable cameras, too. Light little things with reels of film, never enough for Levi's insatiable desire to snap pictures of every single thing he saw. They spent half their childhood in the chemist, sitting in the hard plastic chairs, wriggling anxiously as they waited for the film to develop. Kuchel always handed them the envelope, fat with prints, with a small smile curling the corner of her mouth and a fond twinkle in her eye, and Levi always took it politely, while Hange gave a boisterous thanks, and the pair of them delved greedily into their spoils.

He was older, in his early teens, when he was gifted his first real camera. It was heavy, compared to all the others, a case made of metal with buttons and gadgets and a fancy screen on the back, to preview each picture he took. Levi was wholly enamoured with it. He spent hours adjusting it, figuring out what each button and knob did, how they affected each picture; took countless shots of the same rock in the park until he'd tested every combination of settings he could think of.

He had cycled through more cameras since then. Grown a small collection, each one a little different, a little more suited to particular shots. Hange understood the concept in theory, but the particulars were lost on her, and Levi never took the time to explain. Not that she minded—Levi's pictures were beautiful, breathtaking in the way he could capture even the most mundane details and make them something wondrous. Perhaps for the first and only time in her life, Hange had no desire for the magician to reveal his tricks.

He has an eye for things that Hange simply cannot see. She is observant—to a fault, at times, intensely analytical and endlessly curious. Everything is a question, an opportunity to research, to learn, but she doesn't see the way Levi does.

Wild daffodil. Narcissus pseudonarcissus. Hange sees a perennial flowering plant, native to Western Europe, classified by its pale yellow petals and elongated central trumpet. She sees phylogeny with a rich taxonomic history; subspecies originating all over the globe, some larger, some smaller, some more vibrant and some more muted. She sees anatomy, science.

Levi sees the way the evening sun rusts the buttery petals until they blush; sees the way dew drops hang like pearls from the tips of the leaves in the early morning, when the light is still smoky and thin. He sees a moment to be captured.

It should be impossible for a picture to hold so much detail. Hange can look at Levi's daffodil and feel the way the spring wind blows gently on her skin, the sun warm but the breeze a little biting, a remnant of the fading winter. She can smell the pollen heavy in the air, feel the tickle of short grass on her ankles, hear the trill of songbirds in the branches of distant trees.

His proclivity for photography grows with them. Hange's interests spear out in a thousand different directions, from physics and chemistry to botany, to engineering, to literature and mathematics, to history, languages and landscapes—life is a limitless source of information and Hange chases it every which way, insatiable.

And wherever she goes, Levi dutifully follows, with his camera in hand.

Until now.

Now, they are eighteen. The summer is lazily drawing to a close, and tomorrow, at 8:45am, Hange will be boarding a plane that will take her to the other side of the world to attend the university of her dreams.

And Levi will be staying here.

Despite Levi's perpetual scowling and indiscriminate grunting, their last evening together had overall been a pleasant one. Levi and Kuchel had worked hard on their meal, and it had been nice in a warm, filling kind of way, to spend her last night at home with the two of them.

Now, she and Levi are holed up in his bedroom, while Kuchel had insisted on doing the clean up herself. Hange's mind has been churning non-stop for weeks now, ramping up with each passing day, and tonight, her thoughts are unstoppable, and they spill from her with giddy, jittery excitement.

"The university is huge, but my course is pretty small—only like, 30 places. It'll be easy to get to know everybody."

"Nn."

"And did I tell you? There's a museum right on campus? They've got a huge collection, and I heard students can access it after the first semester."

"Hm."

"And there's a flower garden, too—they've got species from all over the world, Levi. They'll have plants I've never even heard of."

"You said."

"Oh! And—my accommodation isn't all that far from the coast. The water looks beautiful in all the pictures I've seen—look, see?"

"I know. You showed me already."

Hange looks up from her phone, where the screen is lit with a bright, sunny beach, tan sand and a stark blue ocean. Levi flicks his gaze over it and offers a noncommittal shrug of his shoulder. Hange frowns at him.

"You could at least pretend to be excited, you know."

Levi gives her a deadpan stare.

"It looks...warm."

Hange sits back with a thump, and kicks weakly at Levi's shin. She pouts over at him. "Better than nothing, I guess."

They sit at opposite ends of the window bench in Levi's bedroom, legs tangled haphazardly together in the space between them. The window was thrown open in some vain hope of tempting in a breeze, but the air is thick, and the soft wind that does blow is still stiflingly warm. It sways Levi's fringe against his brow, but does little to stave off the oppressive heat.

The sky outside is dark, but it is alive with stars. They cast bright sparks on an inky black canvas, and there is no moon in sight. Already, Levi has snapped pictures of it, twisted dials and pushed buttons and switched lenses until he was satisfied.

It is a beautiful sight. Infinite.

Hange lets one leg dangle out the open window. Levi gives her a sour look and wordlessly closes one hand around her other ankle. She has a long history of behaving carelessly—Levi has borne witness to one too many slips and stumbles to trust her entirely. It would be just like Hange, to miss her flight in favour of a trip to the emergency room.

His thumb strokes back and forth absently. There is a callus there, rough and catching, that scratches against her sensitive skin.

Her predominant feeling is one of excitement. Studying abroad had been a dream of hers for almost as long as Levi had owned a camera—to travel beyond the bounds of their small rural town, to see more, learn more, fuel the relentless hunger in her. But there is an undercurrent of something else, some squirming discomfort that refuses to settle. It intensifies with every sweep of Levi's thumb against her skin until it sits heavy in her gut.

She looks over at him. His gaze is trained out the window, a small frown furrowing the skin between his brows, but his eyes are glassy, with none of their usual sharp, unwavering focus. Whatever he is looking at, he is not really seeing it.

It would be a lie to say that his silence had not troubled her. He had been quiet throughout dinner, opting instead to listen to Hange and Kuchel's companionable chatter as he pushed his food around his plate, and he had barely said a word since they had cleared the table and retreated to his room. He had hardly even looked her way.

Irritation bubbles within her. Levi is always more subdued than she is, content to sit quietly while Hange babbles endlessly, about anything and everything. But he usually has something to say. His silence, today of all days, makes her angry. They have one night left like this—one more night to talk, face to face, before they will be separated for who knows how long, and Levi is offering her nothing.

"Levi," she says, before she can think. Something in her tone must startle him, for he blinks rapidly, as though pulled out of a daydream, and rolls his eyes to look in her direction. His gaze settles somewhere near her shoulder. She bristles. "Can you at least—"

"Levi?" Kuchel's voice is distant, floating up from the bottom of the stairs. Levi looks at the door instead. "Can you come give me a hand for a minute?"

Hange clamps her jaw shut. Levi casts her another sidelong glance, and ticks his tongue against the back of his teeth. He squeezes her ankle once, then pushes himself to his feet. "Don't fall, idiot. I won't be long."

Hange feels distinctly like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. It's immature, and perhaps it's unfair of her, but she had assumed that Levi's invitation for dinner might, at the very least, come with a little conversation.

She takes a deep, steadying breath. They never fight, not really—they bicker endlessly, poke each other's cheeks and pull each other's hair, childish rough housing that they never grew out of. But they don't fight and as grumpy as Hange feels about Levi's near silence, she doesn't want to start now. She runs a hand back through her hair and sweeps her eyes about the room, counting long, even breaths as she does.

Levi's room is immaculately neat and tidy. Everything has its place, on clean, dusted shelves, or stacked in straight, neat piles atop his desk. It is a level of organisation Hange has little energy for; she herself is a hurricane, picking up and dropping off detritus everywhere she goes.

But Levi's borderline obsessive cleanliness makes it easy to spot something that is out of place.

Hange's gaze falls on a drawer in the desk.  The drawer itself is as immaculate as everything else, gleaming wood and a reflectively polished brass handle. What catches her eye is the corner of a glossy piece of paper, caught when the drawer had been closed.

Hange is a curious creature. Rarely can she hold herself back from exploring an unknown, and now is no different. She unfolds herself from the bench and stretches to stand, then crosses the room on light, tip-toed feet.

Levi is, by and large, a rather private person. He does not share much of himself openly, hides behind an impassive mask, guards what is dear to him close to his chest. Hange is an exception to this rule, whether Levi wanted her to be or not.

As such, she has no real issue prying the drawer open, and is unsurprised by the predictable contents within.

Photographs.

Of course it was photographs.

Her lips tug up in a fond smile and her eyes roll, but it is as she is reaching in to flatten out the rumpled picture that had been poking out of the drawer, that she notices what they are photographs of.

Her.

Hange picks out a stack and sits cross-legged in the desk chair. She flips through them, eyes growing wider with each new picture she uncovers. Every single one is of her. Some recent, some not so recent—some must be from the very first real camera, for she is still in her braces, all thin, gangly limbs and scruffy hair and taped up glasses.

There are pictures of her in the winter, mitten-clad hands wrapped around a paper cup of hot chocolate, blowing steam into the chill air. She can see in stark clarity, the red tip of her nose and the chill bitten over her cheeks; she can almost feel the cold, taste the cocoa on her tongue.

She finds a picture of her from an autumn years gone by. She remembers it as though it were yesterday—they had spent the whole afternoon raking fallen leaves in the courtyard behind Kuchel's cafe, scooping them into a terribly tempting mound beneath the shedding tree. Hange had been unable to resist. Levi had captured her moments after her dive into the pile, sitting up with her weight propped back on her hands, dry leaves clinging to her messy hair and sticking to the fibres of her cardigan. The sun was low, and it cast her in a golden glow, highlighting the vibrant red and orange of the fall foliage around her, drawing out the auburn undertone in her hair and the amber of her eyes. Her smile is almost blinding.

Another shows her in the spring, laying on her belly in the long grass beside a row of blooming daffodils. There is a book spread open before her and she is, as expected, engrossed in it; Levi has snapped the shutter as she was turning the page, the thin edge of the paper caught between the delicate tips of her fingers.

Hange has never considered herself to be particularly pretty. She is just...Hange, a little bit of wild, a little bit of manic, a lot of clumsy and dirty. Being attractive has never been of much concern.

But there is something in the way Levi has photographed her, time and time again, in the way the light catches her, the candid ease of each new picture, that looks....beautiful, in its own way. Somehow, he has made her mess into a masterpiece.

Levi likes taking pictures of things. Plants, rocks, rivers, landscapes and skylines—he likes capturing the mundanity of everyday life and turning it into something spectacular, but he has never done the same thing with people. As far as Hange was aware, Levi had taken very few pictures of anybody at all.

And yet, she holds this pile in her hands, and there are plenty more pictures littering the drawer before her.

There is a strange feeling brewing on her as she stares at them. She had been so excited about moving away to study, so eager to explore the world beyond their quiet countryside home, that the reality of leaving had never truly sunk in. She feels it now though, acutely; a hollow ache in her chest that grows with each picture she flicks through.

Levi has been her shadow for as long as she can remember. There are few memories that he is not a part of, few moments that she can recall in which Levi was not by her side—he has been a constant for her. Something certain and dependable.

And from tomorrow, he will no longer be there.

Hange had known this. She had known it from the moment she had accepted her offer, and she had known it as they looked through her options for accommodation together, as they explored the local area through pictures and videos and maps online. She had known it as they had prepared her visa, organised her finances. Booked her flights. Every step of the way she had understood, logically, rationally, that studying abroad meant leaving Levi behind.

But the weight of it is only hitting her now. The reality of it is like a slap in the face, a punch in the gut—it leaves her shaken and breathless in the worst way.

From tomorrow, Levi won't be with her at all.

Her grip tightens on the photographs hard enough to wrinkle the glossy paper.

She had done a pretty good job of not getting too emotional about the whole thing. For the most part, Hange had been overwhelmed by her own excitement—there had been no time for sadness between all the loose ends she’d had to tie up in order to make the move a possibility. Now though, all that is left is to head to the airport and board her plane. No more distractions.

Hange doesn’t realise she is crying until the bedroom door opens again, and Levi steps into the room, coming to a sudden halt halfway over the threshold.

Hange can't tell if Levi's look of shock is because of the open drawer and the pictures still clutched in her hands, or the tear tracks on her cheeks. He stops dead in the open doorway, fingers still curled around the handle, and for a moment he stares at her with eyes wider than Hange has ever seen them, but then his brow dips low and his lip curls, and his grip tightens around the door handle. Hange holds the pile of photographs close to her chest.

She is expecting anger. She doesn't suppose she could blame him if he lost his temper with her, then. She has a terrible habit of bulldozing into everything, after all, and perhaps this was the one thing Levi had longed to keep secret from her. Her snooping, on top of his already sullen mood—perhaps this is the final straw.

But instead, he turns his face away, staring resolutely into the corner of the room. Starlight spills through the open window. Even in the thin, muted light, Hange can see a vibrant flush colouring the skin high on Levi's cheeks.

Hange sniffles, and wipes clumsily at her cheeks.

"I didn't have you pegged as a closet pervert, Levi," she says, waving the handful of pictures at him. Her voice comes cracked, and weaker than she'd hoped. Levi's knuckles turn white.

It's a funny thing, seeing Levi embarrassed. His emotional expression is usually limited to small twitches, here and there—a slight furrow of his brow, a wrinkle of his nose, a soft twitch of his lip. Hange can count on one hand the number of times she has seen his feelings show so completely. It's almost painful to witness.

"I don't mind," she says. Levi doesn't look at her. Hange looks down at the pile again. "They're nice."

Levi finally releases his death grip on the handle and pushes the door closed. His eyes are still downcast and his cheek is still cherry red, but he hasn't run away and he hasn't snapped at her (yet). Hange takes these things as good signs.

"I didn't know you took pictures of people," Hange says.

"I don't."

"Are you saying I'm not people, Levi?"

Levi lets out a disgruntled sigh. He crosses the room, and plucks the pile of pictures from Hange's hands. His cheeks are still pink, and his brows are still furrowed, but he has composed himself some.

“No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re a creature. You’ve got snot all over your face.”

Hange laughs wetly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and rubbing the mess on her pants. Levi gives her a look of pure disgust, parking his hip against the edge of the desk beside her and skimming through a few of the pictures. There’s a curious expression on his face, a softness in his eyes that Hange isn’t used to seeing.

“Stalker,” she says. Levi kicks at the desk chair without looking up. “If you wanted a photoshoot, you could have asked.”

Levi scowls. He straightens the edges of the pictures with care, and sets them carefully on the desk. “If I wanted to take pictures of you posing, I would have asked.”

“Wanted to capture me in all my natural glory, huh?” Hange braces her elbows on the desk and rests her chin in both hands, grinning cheekily up at Levi. It must look ridiculous, with her watery eyes and the red point of her nose, but Levi isn't even looking at her to notice.

Levi says nothing. His gaze lingers on the pictures for a little longer, and the colour in his cheeks deepens. Hange nudges him with her elbow, smiling. The pictures are...sweet, in a way. There's something flattering about it. She slumps back in the chair, her smile wavering where a fresh wave of melancholy tugs at the edges of her lips.

“I’ll miss you, you know.” Hange’s voice cracks humiliatingly as she speaks. Levi looks over at her. Hange curses the wobble of her bottom lip and wipes at her eyes beneath her glasses. She isn’t expecting much; Levi is terrible at expressing feelings at the best of times, and so it’s more than surprising when, after a moment of consideration, he nods at her.

“Same.”

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. Hange presses her fingers into her eyes, trying to stem the flow, ease the sting there. She doesn’t want to spend their last evening together crying, but now that the tears have begun, Hange can’t seem to stop them. A lump builds in her throat, aching beneath her tongue and she can feel her chin wobbling, lips pulling down at the corners. She sniffles pitifully, draws a shuddering breath.

“Oi…” Levi says, though he doesn’t sound angry, or even uncomfortable like she had expected. His tone is gentle. It rips a sob from her.

Hange feels him move closer. He jostles the front of the chair, and when she opens her eyes to look at him she finds him standing right in front of her, between chair and desk, looking at her with a furrowed brow. It’s different to his usual scowl—his brows are a little upturned in the middle, exposing some kinder emotion; something like worry, or concern.

Hange tilts forward until her forehead presses into his chest. Levi’s hand comes up quickly to the back of her head. His touch is familiar, comforting, and Hange cries a little harder when his fingers tunnel into her messy hair, cradling her against him.

She cries until she feels spent, sniffling and gulping empty air. Her fingers twist into the hem of Levi’s shirt as she composes herself, mumbling, “you’ll keep in touch, right? You won’t forget about me?”

Levi clicks his tongue at her. “Stupid,” he says. “As if you’d let me.”

“I’m serious.” She sits back and looks up at her. Her eyes are burning, raw and wet, and the skin of her cheeks stings from crying, but she looks at him with as much determination as ever and says, “call me. Every day.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not! Just once, every day. Even if it’s only five minutes.”

Levi flicks her between her brows. “You won’t have the time, dumbass.”

“I’ll make time.”

Levi scrutinizes her for a moment, then says, “I’ll text.”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

Levi curls his lip and pulls at a lock of her fringe, muttering, “brat. Why don’t you call me?”

“I will,” Hange says plainly. Levi’s eyes widen a fraction. “I’ll call as much as I can. But you need to call me too, okay? I wanna hear from you a lot.”

There is a long pause, and then Levi turns his eyes away. The light in the room is pale and muted, but it is just enough to highlight the pale flush gathering anew on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. It’s almost cute.

“Fine. I’ll call. Happy?”

Hange grins at him. “Very. And I’ll send you photos of everything, all the time.”

Levi leans down towards her, pinching her nose between his thumb and forefinger and giving her head a little shake. “On your shitty phone camera?”

Hange nods. She bats his hand away and cranes herself up into his space, smiling something wicked. “You’ll hate it. They’ll be all blurry and I’ll have my thumb in the corner of every picture.”

“Pest.”

“Lots of selfies, too. So you won’t forget what I look like.” Hange blindly swipes up a picture from the desk, holding it up between them in front of her mouth and nose. Between Levi dipping down into her space and Hange stretching up into his, they are so close that Levi has to cross his eyes to get a look at it. “Not that I think it’ll be a problem.”

He rolls his gaze up to look at her over the top of the photograph. Up close, Hange can see just how bright the blue of his eyes is, how dark his lashes are; she can see the shadows they cast on his cheeks, the deepening flush bruising the skin red. Levi has always been a pale thing, but now, Hange can see the smattering of light freckles across his nose, barely visible in the low light. He looks pretty. Her heart stutters in her chest at the sight.

Hange has never fully understood Levi’s drive to photograph everything. To preserve any given moment, bottle up every minute detail. She sort of understands it, then—it’d be nice, she thinks absently, to save this particular view for forever. The thought makes her face grow warm.

“I won’t forget.” Levi’s voice is quiet, caught somewhere between embarrassment and uncertainty. He sways closer, rocks back, hesitates. And then he leans down and lets his forehead drop against hers. Hange can feel the press of his nose against her own, separated only by the picture between them.

Hange is used to being close to him. She’s a clingy person by nature, always grabbing him and hugging him, smooshing her cheek against his or shoving her face into his hair, but she is always the one to initiate such contact. Levi is tactile, in his own way—small, non-invasive touches, his fingers on her wrist or his palm at her back, always delicate, understated.

To have Levi enter so wholly into her space like this is new. It’s nice. Hange finds herself feeling very, very thankful for the paper between them, for the urge to lean forward and kiss him comes unbidden, so suddenly she isn’t sure she’d be able to resist the impulse if there hadn’t been a barrier in her way.

“Is it my dazzling good looks?” she says, acutely embarrassed by how breathless she sounds. Levi makes a small, noncommittal noise. His fingers find hers where she’s holding the picture, gripping it and pulling it until it slips out from between them. For the smallest moment, Hange feels the skin of Levi’s nose against hers, and the warm puff of breath on her lips, and then Levi straightens up, flipping the picture for her to see it.

“I’ve looked at your ugly mug every day for long enough. Don’t think I’d forget it so easily.”

It’s a truly unflattering photograph. Hange has her head tipped back, laughing boisterously at some thing or another, with her eyes pinched closed and chocolate sauce smeared over her lips, a drop of cream stuck to the end of her nose. Hange is sure she has looked better, but the thing is—despite her state, the picture still isn’t bad. Hange can hear the lilt of her own laughter and feel the tacky syrup, savour the sweetness of the cream on her tongue. There’s something so...animated about it, about the way the light dances over her skin and in her hair, and the way the background blurs around her, drawing her into sharp focus.

It’s nice, in a strange, unreserved kind of way.

But she’s still a mess. Hange snatches it and slams it down on the desk, glowering up at Levi.

“Why would you take that,” she whines, petulant. “You’re supposed to take pictures of nice things!”

“Because it’s very...you,” He says, neatly slotting the pictures back into the drawer, and moving back to sit on the window. Hange follows, drops herself onto the ledge opposite him with a pout.

“What, disgusting?”

Levi shrugs. “Messy. But...not bad.”

“I’m supposed to take that as a compliment, I guess? That’s almost sweet coming from you, Levi.”

Levi scowls over at her. She dangles one leg back out the open window, dropping the other heavily into Levi’s lap. He adjusts it until he is more comfortable, his hand wrapping again around her ankle, but does not let go once he has settled. He keeps a hold of her, his fingers tracing thoughtless patterns on her skin. The space between them is warm, comfortable. Hange leans her head back and breathes it in—the peace, the quiet, the simple pleasure of spending a tender evening with her favourite person in the whole world.

It’s nice. A small, frightened part of her doesn’t want it to ever end.

**

Hange has been set up in her student apartment for three weeks when the package arrives.

Moving had been harder than she had anticipated. She’d accounted for common issues—problems with her visa, her plane tickets, and had checked multiple transport options from the airport to her accommodation in case problems arose—but she hadn’t put all that much thought into what would happen once she settled at her apartment.

Unpacking had been boring. Her roommates were nice enough, the studious, bookworm-y type, but unlike Hange they weren’t overly sociable. They kept mostly to themselves in their rooms, perfectly content with brief conversations in the kitchen before retiring again, and with classes still two weeks away, Hange was finding the lack of social interaction difficult. She had explored some, but the city was vast in a cluttered, claustrophobic way. Hange had always enjoyed travelling, and had talked relentlessly of every adventure she could take herself on in a whole new country and all the new places she could explore, so much so that it was almost embarrassing, the way she had found herself so unwilling to stray too far from her accommodation without a companion by her side.

She’d felt a little homesick in the first couple of days, lonely and isolated. She missed the small comforts of the country, things she hadn’t even realised she had taken for granted. Quiet nights. Star studded skies. Long grass and trees and the fresh, earthy smell on the breeze. The city was unbearably loud at times, and even when the wail of sirens or the beep of car horns quieted, there was an unidentifiable hum beneath it all that never ceased even for a moment.

She felt Levi’s absence most acutely. Hange had known she would, but she hadn’t been prepared for how much it would hurt to be apart. She felt silly for it—it was ridiculous, to miss her friend more than she missed her own family, even. But Levi’s presence had been more constant than anything else, back home, and without him, she felt like a small part of herself was missing.

He called, as promised. Once a day, though oftentimes it was very late in the night for him, and he sounded tired. If Hange were less selfish, she might tell him to get some sleep instead—but she missed him. Hearing from him was the best part of her day.

It was about an hour before their designated call time when the post came. Hange answers the bell with a frown, which only deepens when the delivery driver hands her the package.

She takes it into her room, settling cross legged on the bed and inspecting the mystery item. It's a decent size, like a large shoe box, wrapped neatly in brown paper with her address lettered in tidy, familiar handwriting in one corner. Hange’s stomach lurches—she’d have recognised the writing anywhere, but her suspicions are confirmed by the return address. Levi’s.

She rips into the paper quickly, snatching up her keys to tear through the tape on the top of the box. It is stuffed full with packing paper, an envelope with her name on it sitting on the top. Hange picks it up and with trembling fingers, she opens it and unfolds the short note inside.

Hange,

Sorry things have been kind of shitty. This stuff might help or it might make things worse, but I figure you can just throw it out if it’s no good. Or give it away. Whatever. I don’t even know if all of this shit will make it through customs, so if you get an empty box it’s not my fault.

I don’t get how you eat half this junk, but I hope it makes you feel better, anyway.

Look after yourself. Eat real food.

Levi

Hange presses the note to her chest, grinning. Her heart aches, but having Levi go to this much trouble for her...it feels nice. Knowing he is still thinking of her. She’d never have admitted it out loud, but Hange had been concerned that perhaps Levi would forget about her after all, without her there to pester him all the time.

She pulls out some of the packing paper, and smiles widely at the rest of the contents.

Levi had put together what Hange can only call a care package. There are packs of her favourite snacks and sweets, things she’d complained she hadn’t been able to find in stores here; crisps, chocolate, hard candy, little mini boxes of sickeningly sugary cereal. There are tea bags with blends Levi knows she likes, each neatly labelled with instructions on what temperature to brew at and how long for. Levi had also packed some of the soaps Hange likes, the ones he uses but she refuses to buy for herself. The lavender scent drifts up out of the box and Hange’s heart squeezes tight in her chest. There’s a shirt in there, too—Hange recognises it at once, as one of Levi’s old, worn tees, thin grey cotton that feels impossibly soft in her hands. It’s far too big for either of them, and had always been the go-to item Levi would chuck at her when she decided she was staying over for the night and had nothing to wear to bed. Hange pulls it on quickly, savouring the soft feel and the smell of it.

In the bottom of the box, there is another envelope. This one is thicker than the first, and Hange knows what it contains before she even opens it.

Photographs. A small pile of them, depicting places she and Levi had frequented from when they were children right up until this last year—her favourite part of the forest, where the trees thin out and the river pools at the foot of a small waterfall. The great, open fields, sometimes full of long grass, sometimes clipped short and striped with windrows. Kuchel’s cafe, with umbrellas raised to block the sun on the tables outside, or else warm and low-lit and cosy in the cold winter. Hange settles back on her pillows as she flicks through each picture, a soft smile on her face. Looking at the images of home hurts, but it isn’t a terrible pain—she longs for these old times and these familiar places, but each recovered memory makes her happy.

In Levi’s pictures she can vividly recall moments in each and every location. He works some kind of magic with a camera, to trigger so many sensory memories—the scent of freshly cut grass, the feel of hay, dry and sharp, poking into her back through her clothing, and the gentle trickle of the river water, the splash of it as it runs over the falls, the feel of it cool on her skin. The tangy zest of fresh-pressed orange juice in the cafe, peach fuzz on her lips and the soft flesh of ripe fruit bursting between her teeth, sticky nectar coating her fingers.

Hange looks at each picture in turn, until she reaches the bottom of the pile, and there she stops abruptly, eyes widening at the last photograph Levi has packed for her.

It is one of Hange, taken in the window of Levi’s bedroom. She was looking out at the night sky, her elbow braced on her bent  knee, chin in her palm, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth. The starlight haloed her, shining from her hair and illuminating the jut of her chin, the curve of her nose and the slope of her brow. Behind her, Levi had captured the bright glow of the stars like jewels on a deep velvet canvas. She looked peaceful. Happy. For lack of a better word, beautiful.

Hange grins widely. Her eyes sting and her throat aches, but the picture—the whole box, really—makes her happier than she's felt in weeks. She brews her favourite cup of tea from the blends Levi had sent her and settles into the corner of her bed, lifting her phone to snap a quick selfie. She sends it to Levi, complete with a caption: thank you for my presents 😊 all ready for your call!

Levi responds almost immediately, first with a simple you're welcome. And then, after a minute, you look good. Speak to you soon.

Hange sinks deeper into the cushions, cradling her tea close to her face, masking the pleased flush on her cheeks with the heat from the steam.

**

Hange keeps him longer than usual, today.

There is a simmering warmth in her stomach as she listens to Levi's voice over the line. It comes tinny through the speakers, low and rough in the late hour, and his dark, grainy image looks tired, lamp light casting him half in shadow. They talk of everything and nothing, same as always—Levi tells her about his day, about the cafe and Kuchel, and Hange pouts as she tells him how little progress she is making in befriending her new housemates. Levi never voices any concern for her aloud, but Hange can sense it in the dip of his brows as she talks. She gives him a genuine smile when she reassures him that classes will start soon, and she's confident she will settle better after that.

Levi seems reluctant to leave, but after a little over an hour of aimless, comfortable chatter, he is yawning and blinking heavily, the lower half of his face nuzzled into his pillow. In the end, Hange makes up some watery excuse about visiting the coast while the sun is still high, if only to let him get some sleep.

"Sure. Have fun."

"I will! Sleep well, Levi."

Levi hums. The view shifts, blurry and indistinct, the mic muffled by the rustle of sheets, and when everything settles he is laying on his side, fringe mussed and falling over his eyes. He covers another long yawn with his fist. "I will."

"You'll call tomorrow?"

Levi rolls his tired eyes, but the corner of his mouth pulls up in a fraction of a smile. "Sure."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Hange grins. Levi watches her for a long moment, eyes scanning over her face. Then he holds up a hand in a tired wave. "Night, Hange."

"Night."

Hange stares at the screen for too long when the call ends. That terribly selfish part of her would have loved to keep his company for the rest of the day. Maybe, with a little travel sized Levi in the palm of her hand, she'd have been brave enough to explore some more, enthused about all the new things to see with somebody to share them with.

Sighing, Hange drops her phone to the desk and stands from the bed, stretching. There are still things she can do—she has plenty of recommended reading to get through, a small mountain of books at her disposal, and she has mapped the route to her campus often enough that she isn't feeling too overwhelmed by the prospect of the journey.

As she heads for the door, Hange notices something on the floor beside the bed. A neat, rectangular piece of paper; one of the photographs Levi had sent her, laying face down on the ground.

She picks it up again and brings the paper close to her face. Levi had written something on the back of it in small, quick letters, less tidy than his usual practiced script, as though he’d scribbled it as an afterthought, or else that he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to read it.

There is a date, the same night she had found Levi’s secret photo stash, followed by Hange’s name, and the location of the shot. And beneath that Levi had scrawled a few words. Hange squints to read them, and then her eyes grow wide, blinking owlishly down at the note. Her heart swells almost painfully and something solid balloons within her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. Her lips tremble into a smile as she props the picture carefully on the bedside table.

The day is still young. Hange brews herself another cup of Levi’s tea and settles on the bed with one of her books, content to spend the next few hours reading—though she finds it strangely difficult to focus, with the words Levi had written on the back of the photograph swirling round and round in her head. Hange doubts they will leave her any time soon. They left her feeling more homesick than ever, but there is a soft, giddy kind of comfort in them all the same. It's a feeling that Hange will savour for as long as she possibly can.

It's weird here without you. Come home again soon x

#ask #levihan #my writing #snk #the way this has kicked my ass for hjkjhg MONTHS #I'm so sorry for the delay but thank you so much for the prompt!!! I was so excited to work on it #and I'm glad I finally got it finished :) #sorry it once again got incredibly out of hand length-wise #drabble my ass

[widowsofchaos]

Poor Little Rich Boy

summary: you find out your boyfriend isn’t all that innocent as he seems.

warnings: yandere behavior, violence, and gore. dub-non con. Ya know the filthy vibes.

Pairing: dark college!Tony Stark x black!reader

a/n: this is my first time writing Tony so be gentle with me <3

do not respost my works!

“I, Howard Anthony Walter Stark, being of sound, mind, and body do hereby declare that this document is my last will and testament. I bestow my legacy in the hands of my only heir, my son, Anthony Edward Stark. All my assets, finances, and chair as CEO of Stark Industries are now in his hands.”

Buzz.

A dull silent vibration shook in the confinement of Tony’s jean pocket, pulling him out of his sullen trance. Instinctively ignoring the notification, as he listened onto the blurred words of the lawyer reading his late father’s will.

Biting his lip to contain his swirling emotions -- aggravation to just collect his inherited earnings, and head home to you.

Buzz.

With a hazy eye-roll, Tony casually sneaked his palm into his pocket, retrieving the phone. As the family lawyer droned on reading, aged eyes glued onto the paper; Tony peaked at the screen, with the quick analysis of face ID -- his pupils dilated like saucers.

His nostrils flared, inhaling deeply, his chest heaving -- he gotta get home immediately. An iron grip onto the phone, he roughly dug it back into his pocket, his foot tapping against the carpeted flooring. Antsy.

God, please make time go faster.

Buzz.

His fingers itched to snatch the cellular device, internally screaming for another peak at the salacious cheeky messages.

Messages from you -- photos of yourself seated on his bedroom floor, in only a high-waisted thong, and his custom tailored blazer.

The creamy beige against your buttery smooth bronze skin was divine, Tony swears anything you wear is pulled off with elegance. Your brown areolas are slipping out just a tad bit from the flaps, a hint of what’s awaiting for him.

His cock hardened against the denim fabric, Tony salivates whenever you wear his clothing, his scent imprinting onto your flesh - of you in compromising positions, your neatly manicured fingers inside your panties, rubbing your swollen nub. Biting your plump bottom lip.

Buzz.

Another picture with a text, you were sipping from a glass, his best Scotch, with the typed words, “I miss you. I know my favorite boy is blue, come back home so I can take care of you.” Signed with a kissy face emoji, and a red heart.

You were leaning on your elbows, your bouncy ass in the air, legs bent upward with your ankles playfully interlocked in the air.

The glass of ale leaning downward against your teasing lips, and sultry eyes through the reflective mirror -- Tony’s cock twitched, oh he’s gonna eat you up when he gets home.

- It was midnight, the full moon shining bright in the inky indigo sky -- beaming upon the Stark manor. The white fluorescent solar satellite glistening upon the grand bedroom where two lovers lay satiated in bed.

Rubbing random circles by the pads of your fingertips on Tony’s sweaty broad chest, taming the beast into a purring feline.

“I love you.” Tony’s mild slurred speech infiltrated the serene silence, your nose scrunched up in glee. “I love you too.” you murmured in his neck, a lazy grin stretched on your face.

For hours, Tony, and yourself haven’t left the bedroom, stringing release after release -- letting Tony pinch, pull your hair, bruise, slap, and choke your soft flesh-- that’s what he loves about you, trusting him wholeheartedly with your body, and soul.

A lot of tears of euphoria, and fear of abandonment. Reassuring Tony that you would never leave him, breathy hymns of I love yous in his ear.

It’s been a couple of difficult few weeks, Howard Stark has passed at the age of 74. A fatal car crash taking his life, leaving behind his only son. It was only freshly five months ago that Tony lost his mother, Maria. Uterine cancer - multiple tumors.

Maria Stark, the matriarch of the family, was the light of Tony’s life. Maria was a saint, even at death’s door, she had a positive perspective. You can still recall her calling her tumors fruit bowls of pain - her tumors were the size of miniature melons; grew from the size of strawberries.

And when she died -- the already fractured relationship of father and son deteriorated to ash. Howard started becoming colder, more stricter on his son -- his disappointment fueling by the second.

Clayed into a modernized Narcissus -- guising his trauma with bloviating chatter to impress the little people. Boasting his youthful genius with no shame.

Tony may have been born from the finest cloth, a silver-spoon wedged in his mouth -- but he oozes the work ethic of a blue-collar joe.

Under the molden gait of a promising demigod is a fragile boy -- yearning for affection. A neglected child desperate for attention.

Sending nudes to your boyfriend while he’s attending his dead father’s will hearing -- many would deem that as distasteful -- tacky, even. But, you knew Tony’s coping mechanisms.

Frat parties, drinking excessively to the brink of oblivion, and copious amounts of sex.

Tony was raised in a household, where any emotional turmoil expressed to his father was shot down, except with his mother -- he needs a womanly touch.

He never saw his conquests as ladies, only whores to get his rocks off, but once he laid eyes on you -- sweet, and bubbly -- that little rich boy was a goner.

Succumbing to a dazed half-slumber, Tony’s cell phone rings at the bedside table -- you groaned at the intrusion. Flashing on the screen was Happy’s goofy grin, one of Tony’s closest friends. You mumbled a ‘of fucking course’, Tony cheekily chuckled at your frustration.

“Don’t worry, sweetcheeks. This won’t take long.” With the wisp of a lingering kiss on your hairline, Tony begrudgingly detached himself from you--proudly strutting his naked bare firm ass, picking up his boxers from the floor shamelessly displaying his hung cock, and balls.

“Nice ass.” you teased. Tony snorted, “Nice? Toots, it’s the finest ass. And you love it.” He winked at you over his shoulder, you giggled. Tony’s footfalls faded down the hall, his conversation blurring into the distance. You laid back down, sighing as you stared up at the ceiling, quickly getting bored.

Without Tony to entertain you, you had nothing to do. Maybe I could get a head start on my thesis? Your eyes languidly rolled to the corner of your lids, staring at your opened crumbled book-bag mocking you at the corner of the room, Fuck that. You grumbled.

Mindlessly deciding to get dressed, and search for substance. Hours of unadulterated love-making can take out a lot of energy.

Nimble quiet feet tip-toe down the stairs, covered in only Tony’s wrinkled white button-down, brown statuesque legs gracefully head to the kitchen -- but you halt in your tracks. A dim light seeps from the crack out of an office -- Howard’s former office.

Curiosity overwhelms you, biting down your tongue, you check your surroundings, making sure Tony is nowhere in sight. Earlier in the day, the office was locked -- why is it now open?

Open-palm press against the door, a tiny creak of the mahogany makes you cringe internally. Stealthy you walk into the office, nothing seems to be out of place. Maybe Tony was in here? Fidgety fingers skim against the polished wooden desk, at the corner of your eye, a mess of papers sit idly by.

You pick the papers up, fastly flicking through it. Statements declaring Tony as the new CEO of Stark Industries, royalties, and -- mechanic blueprints?

Your chest began heaving, breaths still choppy fuming out of your nose, your left eye twitched from the stressing bile rising. Here in your hands are the blueprints of a familiar vehicle -- Howard Stark’s car. Descriptive details on the full functionality of the car, why are these here?

Warm palms clutch your shoulders, soothingly rubbing, you flinch by the surprise, “You weren’t meant to see those.” A hot breath fan against your ear, you whimper, his voice sounded husky, menacingly.

Not daring to look him in the eye, frozen in your spot as if the soles of your feet grew roots in the flooring, Tony’s grasp on your arms tighten. “The old man was going to take me off the will. I know he was.”

A chaste kiss on your temple, “As if I didn’t take his shit over the years just for nothing. Blaming me for my mother’s death.” He grumbled against your skin, your blood running cold. There was no remorse in his voice, a hint of satisfaction.

This isn’t the Tony you knew.

A beast of his father’s making.

“Tony - I - I won’t tell anyone, I promise--” Tony shushed your stuttering, his rough hands snaking its travel to your waist, slithering his forearms around your torso, ensnaring you.

“I know, baby. I know you wouldn’t. You’re my good girl.” He spoke in your hair, small lingering kisses on your scalp. Tony was rocking your body back and forth, cradling you -- he can sense your fear.

With trepidation, you held his arms, a little shaky. “Tony, let’s just go back to bed.” Your voice was cracking, this isn’t the man you fell in love with, and you wanted to just run away as far as you can.

“You’re scared of me?” Although it was an intended question, its tone came off as a fact. Indeed you were terrified of him.

“No.” You spat too quickly for your liking. Tony gripped your chin, and twisted your head to face him, “I would never hurt you. I love you. Everything I do is for you.” Your breath hitched, his face was morphed into a sad feral puppy.

“I know. I know you do.” You feigned a weak smile, “I just didn’t think --” you stopped yourself before you vomited any other words. “Do what? Kill?” Tony cocked a brow, with a shit-eating grin. “I did it before. For you.” Tears were forming at the brim of his eyes, your doe-eyes widened, you began squirming in his arms. “Tony, what did you do?!” you shrieked, limbs failing.

Tony’s iron-grip didn’t let up, refusing to let you go, “He wasn’t right for you!” Tony bellowed on the top of his lungs, impulsive rage seeping through, fumbling feet colliding.

Both of your bodies falling to the carpeted floor as Tony tried to restrain your wrists, fumbling feet slipping. A miscalculated misstep sent you, and Tony colliding downward.

Tony’s weight pinning you down. Confusion making your head go dizzy, “What do you mean?” You whispered. Tony smashed his lips against yours, his hands cupping your cheeks, “You know what I mean.” His brows furrowed, gently his forehead on yours, his eyes staring into your soul.

Realization hits you like a freight train, flashes of your ex, the cops alerting you of his disappearance, Tony’s lingering shadow always appearing to provide comfort -- “Brock?” a lone tear trickle down your eye, down your temple, and hitting the carpet below. Tony nodded frantically.

Tony’s lips peppered against your face, your cheeks, your forehead, your eye-lids, your nose, your chin; mumbling affection against your tear-stained face.

It’s been three years since Brock vanished, rumors flew around campus from students believing he killed himself in some remote location, you lost him in the first years of university.

You were grief-stricken, but Tony, being the ever-present close friend lend a shoulder -- then soon, it blossomed into much more.

“Now, it's just us. We can start a new dollface.” Tony sniffled, hot tears drip upon your flesh, “We can start our own family” he rasps, “I can be a dad. A better father.” Your eyes widened at his suggestion.

A family? You both were just shy of twenty-one, and already Tony is mapping out your entire futures. You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but it was futile.

Tony murmured nonono to your bodily request of escape, chasing clumsy blubbering kisses against your chavile. Your body began to be wrecked with sobs, your chest heaving.

“Don’t cry, baby. It’s better this way.” Tony’s brows were furrowed sorrowfully, his tremor low with ache. “You killed Brock, how could you?! I loved him!” Tony gripped your jaw, painfully his fingers kneading,

“Loved him?! He wasn’t right for you! You need me! I need you! No one is going to love you like I do. I loved you the first day I met you.” Harsh fingers rip off the fabric, exposing your breasts to the elements.

“You’re mine! No one can have you! I will kill anyone who tries to take you away!” Tony’s mouth plunged, fangs nibbling on your nipples, his entire mouth suckling your left breasts.

Tony’s left hand pinching your right nipple, twisting and slapping it roughly. You yelped, shutting your eyes closed. Your skin crawled, Tony’s brown eyes peered at you, dissatisfied that you refuse to look at him.

A sloppy pop echoed, “Look at me!” he slapped you, the crack of it pounding in your ears, the heat of the sting scorched throughout your cheek. Your eyes popped open, watery from the hit, Tony has never once laid a hand on you -- until now.

Nose to nose, “We’re gonna be a family--” one of his hands traveled down to tug down his boxers, his hard swollen cock is man-handled in his palm, you struggled to get away, but Tony clutched your wrists in one hand, and pinned it on the carpet.

Tony spit on your cunt, rubbing it within your velvety folds by the base of his veiny cock, earning a hiss out of you. “You’re going to look so hot swollen with our baby.” Your thighs twitched, Tony roughly forced your thigh to wrap around his torso, positioning himself.

“Please - Tony, please don’t”, you cried, Tony shushed you. Lining himself to your hole, with no hesitation, plunged his cock inside your pussy. You screamed, your back arching, “Feels lovely, right? Feels so fucking delicious - you were made for me.” Tony snarled, biting your chin, his tongue trailing your jawline, pistoning his cock inside you.

Dripping slick smears against your thighs, clenching onto his cock, a broken groan slips from Tony’s lips, “Fuck - yes, do that again.” You were blubbering tears down your cheeks, the inevitable pleasure Tony strings out of you is undeniable.

“You’re so tight, and warm.” He growled in your ear, “I can’t wait to have a baby with you. You all swollen, waddling around with bare-feet. You’ll be a great mother - just like mine.” He whispered, biting on your lobe.

You murmured muffled whines in the crock of his neck, bruising is slowly forming on your hips, fucking you like it’s the last time. Shivers run down Tony’s spine, time slows down.

Sweaty skin slapping against skin spurred him on, taking all of you. Your nails scratch at his palm, still bounding you down.

“I love you.” He whimpered, you bite your lip, refusing to sink into the instinct of saying it back. Tony perked his head up from your neck, growling, “Say it back!” he thrusted his pelvis against you, a cattle wail hit you, “Say -” thrust “it-” another thrust “-back!” his smile falters slow, a bruising touch.

He can see you slowly yielding, small pants of electric euphoria, “No!” you bite back.

Wet lips slant against yours. Your entire body jolting from his unforgiving pace, your back burning slightly from the rug beneath you.

Releasing your wrists, his rough hand find it’s way to your back, hiking you up, squeezing your ass in his fingers, bucking your hips; fucking you onto him, your nails dig into his sculpted back -- scratching for him to stop, but it felt too good.

You’ve become dizzy. Your teeth sink into his shoulder, hoping the pain makes him halt his actions, but it makes him harden inside of you.

There’s no space between you, melting into one, the friction, the heat; the tethers of reality blur into nothing.

“Please - say you love me.” Tony pleaded, his weary eyes sinking into yours. A robbery -- a heart-wrenching robbery of your soul, in an instant, you didn’t see a cold-blooded killer, but the mire of a lost boy.

He slowed down his thrusts, leisure movements, his brown orbs are glossy, “Say it, please.” Tony gently kisses you, not feverish, but you can taste the sweet commitment. Like he doesn’t own you, but he worships you.

“I love you.” you mumbled against his swollen lips, his eyes dilated, rubbing his nose against yours, “I love you” maneuvering your hips, squelching can be heard - sticky as honey, as the pace picked up.

Your fingers grip his soft fluffy hair, his balls slapping against your ass, “I love you, Tony.” You sucked on his bottom lip. He whimpered. His cock was coated in your juices, you can feel the swelling of his balls, and his uneven jerking movements -- he was close.

“Cum for me, baby.” Tony’s eyes were shut, he mewled, “Cum inside me, give me a baby, Tony.” The dam breaks. The window bursts open from a gust of wind, the full moon gleamed upon your sweaty sheen bodies, a howl erupts from Tony -- as the wolf within has been unhinged -- primal, feral fueled lust.

Toothy grin, all fangs lunged for your pulse point, devouring you. Squirted juices spray from you, splashing against his toned stomach, not once stopping, riding through the orgasm. Tony’s tongue peaked out, droplets of your cum sprinkling his mouth.

Your vision turns white, an inhuman scream leaves you, Tony collapses onto you.

He’s trembling, frightened, you massage his dome, “My sweet boy.” Tony sobs into your chest, ensnaring himself around your torso. You hugged him, cradling like a baby, as he cried water-falls.

“It’s okay.” You kiss his head, a lingering one, “It’s going to be alright.”

You’re all he has.

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #tony stark x reader smut #tony stark x reader angst #yandere tony stark #yandere tony stark x reader #dark tony stark #dark tony stark x reader #dark marvel

[linkspooky]

hey, can you share your thoughts and opinions on dazai osamu's no longer human?(just the book and not in connection with bsd) i read it, i liked it, but i couldnt really relate to it. so im wondering if i should read the setting sun or not. what do you think abt this book?

I don’t think books really need to be relatable to be impactful, but context can help you understand it. In general my advice is the best way to understand a book is to read more books like it. Always, read more books. 

Sure, I can write a repsonse to the text though. The book, not the anime. (Ignore the picture of Dazai, he’s just there to look cute.)

The biggest and most important idea in No Longer Human (Ningen Shikakku).  The most literal translation of the title being  (人間失格)  "Disqualified From Being Human. I bring this up, because use of the character in the title has specific meaning.

人 (hito) : human, person 人間 (ningen): human Generally speaking, 人 is used for people, while 人間 is used for humans as a taxonomic classification. 

Much like English, the fact that a person is a human is usually a given, because in our world, we call those who are humane “people,” and only humans can be humane. Just like you wouldn’t usually count humans with “three humans” and say “three people” instead, the usual way to count three humans in Japanese would also be 三人 instead of 三人間.  “Human society” is 人間社会, etc.

Or to shorten  人 (hito) : human, person 人間 (ningen): human, biological.

So, there’s an extra nuannce there in the translation. The title of the book uses “ningen” as in the sense of taxonomical classification. So, it’s like saying “disqualified from being considered as a part of the human species.” 

I go this far in my intro because most consider Dazai’s work to be a response to Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, (he name drops both Dostoevsky and the novel itself). Both of these novels portray society as a whole as an antagonistic force to one individual, who is considered an outsider to that same society. There’s a lot of similarities between the protagonists, both Raksolnikov and Yozo are terminally ill, show signs of mental illness, and both are characters who show incredible self-awareness and moments of self reflection while at the same time being unable to connect to the feelings or identify with the people around them in any healthy way. 

To connect back to my little rant on the translation of the title though, what could disqualify a person from being considered a human being? Well, they could commit a crime for instance. Then they’d be classified as a crimminal. 

Both protagonists of both novels are crimminals in a sense. However, that’s about where the similarities end. NLH is centrally about the main characters egoism. Society matters so little in NLH, society is just something that hangs ominously in the background to the outsider. 

Now there’s another novel by Dostoevsky that similiarly is recorded in a journal format, and is mainly about the main characters Ego.  Notes from Underground is considered to be one of Dos’s first existentialist novels. Existentialism (to oversimplify) in a sense of what does existing in this world mean? 

That’s why I say the central conflict is not with society itself, but rather within the character’s own head. The outsiders of society only exist within their own heads. Their main challenge is not to grapple with society, morality and law like Raskolnikov but rather to figure out what is inside their own heads and what they live for. 

Which is why the protagonists of both novels are terrible egoists. Their main personality trait is their egocentrism, or rather their inability or unwillingness to try to see or understand the feelings or experiences of others. They are first person narrators who only see the world from their own point of view, but they are not objectve narrators. The only thing they can see, the only thing they can relate to, the only thing they can convey is their feelings to the reader. 

F. Scott Fitzgerald writes a similiar novel from a similiar point of view in This Side of Paraidse, which shows the journey of one young man born into a rich family who grows up to not only lose the love of his life, but also to squander all his fortunes at the end of the story. However, Fitzgerald drops all pretense on what the story is about. The chapter titles are things like, the romantic egoist, the egoist considers, narcissus off duty, all the way to the egoist becomes a personage. 

The book ends like this. 

He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky.

“I know myself,” he cried, “but that is all.” 

It’s an egoists journey to developing a personality. To way oversimplify again, ego is yourself that exists in your own head, personage is what you show to others. At the end of This Side of Paradise, the main character gains himself, while at the end of NLH the protagonist loses himself. It’s the same journey but in reverse, it’s a net loss, it’s tragic. 

NLH, This Side of Paradise, and Notes from the Underground are all about egoists who are aware of their own feelings, but aren’t aware of the feelings of others. They’re all ridiculously self absorbed individuals. That’s actually, like, the unreliable narrator trick of the novel. 

Yozo is sympathetic yes, he’s an outsider to society, but at the same time Yozo is not the helpless, miserable victim he portrays himself as. He is not the victim to a cruel society, one he comes from a place of privilege and two he becomes a perpetrator. Hence, the whole... crime and punishment allusions. It’s this added complexity to Yozo that’s what makes the book as brilliant as it is. Yozo is someone who is both victim and perpetrator, but he only sees himself as a victim and the story he tells paints him exclusively as a victim. 

But Yozo’s central problem isn’t society its himself. His conflict and greatest obstacle is always his own ego. The reason we read the book biographically, is because we see him grow up, or rather fail to grow up. As a kid he is sympathetic, as an adult he’s a pretty serial user of people. 

Yozo constantly asks for sympathy, but at the same time he’s not really one to sympathize with others. When he tries to commit suicide with a woman, he reports these events with no remorse at all. 

I removed my coat andput it in the same spot.

We entered the water together.

She died. I was saved. 

He seems real broken up about it. 

That’s also a pattern that repeats again and again with Yozo. If you want to see the real nature of Yozo’s character you should see how he treats both women and children. They exist to make him happy, to soothe his misery, and when they don’t he leaves them. 

Like, out of context. What does this sound like. 

What a holy thing uncorrupted virginity is, I thought. 

I had never slept with a virgin, a girl younger than myself. I’d marry her.

The few times we do meet outside characters we see that Yozo is someone referred to as a crimminal, but refers to himself as a victim. 

“Don’t be cheeky now, I for one have never been tied up like a common crimminal the way you have.” 

I was taken aback. Horiki at heart did not treat me like a fully human being.

If you read No Longer Human as a response to Crime and Punishment, you could even read the many women that Yozo falls into flings with and then promptly abandons as a response to Raskolnikov and Sonya. For Yozo, each woman he meets is his Sonya, they are meant to redeem him and bring him peace, and whn they don’t he leaves. Yozo someone missing the point that, Raskolnikov loved Sonya because he sympathized with her circumstances and suffering while Yozo really only ever cares about his own suffering. 

To bring the discussion back to Notes from the Underground. It’s a story divided into two parts, that really doesn’t work without the second part of the story. In the first part, as we are just fed the main character’s thoughts he looks like some kind of revolutionary philosopher. Then in the second we follow the character though a day in his life and he’s just sort of... socially awkward. He’s not some brilliant thinker, he’s just an outsider who can’t connect with others, like Yozo. The second part is necessary to underwrite the first because in the first part of the journal he looks like a champion, and in the second he’s just pathetic. He’s just some guy. Notes from the Underground also has one of my favorite lines in all of fiction. 

"They won't let me ... I can't be good!" I managed to articulate; then I went to the sofa, fell on it face downwards, and sobbed on it for a quarter of an hour in genuine hysterics. She came close to me, put her arms round me and stayed motionless in that position.

The protagonist encounters a young prostitute name Liza, he tries to save her at first, but then turns around and starts to treat her terribly and has a mental breakdown in front of her that ends in this line. She finds him pitiable, and comforts him in that moment. 

However, after this moment of comfort he then he goes back to treating her terribly once more. He yells at her, and she grows tired of him. He pays her and she leaves and that’s the end of that relationship. 

See it’s a moment that’s simultaneously, a moment of human connection, but also it shows how the protagonist regards other people and why he can’t connect to them. If you only use other people to comfort your loneliness, you’re going to end up alone either way. The same way the Narrator uses Liza, Yozo chronically uses women. 

However, at the same time. 

“They won’t let me... I can’t be good.” 

Is what I consider the most striking lines in all of fiction. It is both an avoidance or responsibility, and at the same time an utterance of the baisc human desire to be good. It's always everyone else's fault, the problem is with other people. Yet both Narrator, and Yozo want to be good people, they want to connect with others. 

Yozo and the Narrator are crimminals. They are bad people. (A person who has committed a crime isn’t necessarily a bad person but..) However, being a crimminal does not disqualify you as a human being. They are still people who are suffering. The secondary goal of a novel like Crime and Punishment is to show St. Petersburg as a city where everyone is human, and everyone suffers, good and bad people alike. Yozo and the Narrator are miserable, and there’s humanity in that misery. You don’t have to even connect to their feelings, isn’t it bad to see a person suffering? Doesn’t that elicit an emotional response because nobody wants to see other people suffering and in pain. That’s the basic humanity in these characters. Yozo and Narrator aren’t inhuman. They’re just like... normal people. They are anxious, avoidant. They are terminally insecure. They’re socially awkward. They understand themselves better than other people. Those are all just normal human sentiments shared by everyone, it’s just Yozo and Narrator are so egocentric they act like they’re the only people in the world.

Yet the same, just like the moment Liza sympathized with a man who treated her terribly and only saw her as a prostitute, people still sympathize with miserable people and want to ease the suffering of others. That’s why Dazai writes stories for miserable people.

I am writing a tired story for young readers,

not because I want to be different,

or because I am unconcerned with young readers’ tastes.

I write it rather because I know it will please them.

Young readers are tired and old themselves these days,

and my story can bring them no discomfort and no surprises.

It is a story for those who have lost hope.

                                                                       (Osamu Dazai, Of Women)

#Anonymous #osamu dazai #no longer human #fyodor dostoevsky #literature analysis #crime and punishment #notes from the underground #this side of paradise #thinking is hard #don't ask me to think for the rest of the day my head hurts #f. scott fitzgerald #to answer your question anon #you should be able to read the settting sun #justified #it's an entirely different novel #it's not about #this one guy's ego #it's written perspective of a woman in the post war japan #that one is about society #it's about the transition period #and people reinventing themselves #i mean you might not get it because you were not alive in japan in the 1940s but #It's an entirely different book #try reading dazai's schoolgirl #or pandora's box #they're much shorter. #spooky speaks

[imissjoongsmullet]

My Prince (5)

Pairing: Minghao x reader

Genre: fluff/(angst)

Summary: Life is not exactly easy being the royal gardeners’ daughter but at least it’s simple. When you’re suddenly called upon to serve as the prince’s personal servant, things get a little more than complicated, especially considering the secret history you and the prince share.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Warnings: general angstiness, a bit of a slow burn, very romantic, very soft, the fact that this will most likely become a long series cause I have no chill

Word Count: 7K

Author’s Note: this is long overdue but also, this is just long! I just couldn’t stop writing and so now this chapter is 7K so yeah ENJOY!! ✌️

Let me know what you think, good or bad, I love the feedback ♥

►

Fine.

Those last words he'd said to you kept playing in your mind the following days. Technically he'd said other words since but they'd been cloaked in formalities; commands from a prince to a servant, nothing more. You'd really screwed up this time, you'd lost him forever. It was a thing you'd known would happen from the start but that didn't soften the pain now festering in your chest.

Minghao had met with Zhong Mei, as he had supposed to that day. He'd been a perfect picture of royalty, graceful and pleasant; and she'd been lovely as she always was, smiling all the way through the meal. Meanwhile you had stood flanking the wall with Tou Ma, trying to keep your tears from spilling over. You'd kept your eyes down, counting the colorful mosaics that threaded the shiny black flooring until the whole thing was over.

Not that any of it was over of course.

After the prince and his bride's first official meeting, the two were ushered out into the gardens to "spend some time alone" while you helped Tou Ma with a another seemingly endless string of wedding-related tasks.

Slowly but surely your body reverted to autopilot, working your hands raw and your legs sore. You barely realized you were spacing out until at last, you lied down in your sheets on the floor of the maid's quarters and cried. You cried and cried in stuttered silence, praying the sun would not come up again. You didn't know how you'd face another day. You thought about feigning illness but knew Tou Ma would not be so easily fooled.

*

“You’ll be out in the gardens today,” the head maid explained with a weary expression. This whole wedding business seemed to have taken a toll on the old woman as well. “Floral arrangements need to be decided on and I need you to oversee the whole thing gets done in time. Can I trust you with that?”

Your head bobbed up and down faster than was polite. A rush charged through your chest at the idea of spending time with the flowers. Despite your frequent complaining as a gardener, you’d always enjoyed taking care of the vivid, fragrant plants that grew in the royal gardens. But more than that, you knew what this request must mean.

“Mother!” you cried, breaking out into a run. She looked older and shorter somehow, but her embrace was as tight as ever.

Of course, your parents would be working on the flower arrangements as well.

“Look at you!” she said, holding your face in her dirt-stained hands, “my daughter, a real part of the castle.”

Overwhelmed with grief for the life you’d left behind, a sob welled up from the back of your throat but before it could break free into the morning air, Tou Ma interrupted.

“There is lots of work to be done so we better start at once,” she said matter-of-factly, unrolling a long piece of parchment, “I have sat down with both the royal family and the Zhong family respectively and decided on a theme and color scheme for the celebration. I have listed all requirements specifically. The types, the arrangements, the placements, all of it has been meticulously planned.” She then turned her head your way. “I’m leaving you in charge of making sure everything is accounted for on the day. This is a big task, but regrettably, I am far too busy taking care of everything else to take this on as well. And you are the gardener’s daughter, after all. Do not disappoint me.” With another one of her stern looks, she handed you the scroll, gave a curt bow to your parents and walked away.

Now this was a task you were up for. You gazed around you, at the stretches of colorful flowers that ran as far as the eye could see. There were rows and rows of chrysanthemums that spawned in colorful formations, bushes of peonies flanking cobbled pathways, a whole field of the most delicious-smelling lavender, lilies and azaleas and roses and narcissus flowers and you felt all at once, at home. For a moment you seemed to forget the prince and your feelings. It was like a giant slimy toad had just slipped right off of your shoulders, leaving you feeling light as air.

Looking over the list, you were up for quite the challenge. The sheer amount of flowers that would need to be harvested for this event, on such short notice, was startling. But with the help of your parents and their staff, you were confident you’d be able to pull it off. You spent the whole morning and most of the afternoon rushing from one end of the garden to the other, figuring out which plants would be needed, when they’d need to be cut and who would craft what particular piece. It was a little strange, being in charge when all the gardeners were quite a bit older and definitely more experienced than you, but your parents kept encouraging you whenever you stuttered.

“I’m so proud of you,” your mother said as you both sat down for a rest underneath a pine tree on a hill overlooking the garden. She pulled out a packed lunch for the both of you: rice wrapped in bamboo leaves with plum fillings.

“Mother,” you sighed, not knowing how to react. You felt like a fraud. You weren’t what she thought you’d become at the castle. You weren’t some high-standing servant, near and dear to the king and queen. You were a screwup. You’d caused so much trouble since your arrival at the castle you were quite frankly surprised you hadn’t been banished yet.

You could see most of the royal gardens from here; well, the most beautiful parts anyways. There was almost no one out there today. Everyone was most likely busy preparing for the wedding except—

Minghao was strolling through the rose garden ways away from the hill you were sitting. You could see him clearly, his upper body sticking out over the bushes. Zhong Mei was beside him, wearing a white robe with some sort of lilac pattern on it. You couldn’t see the expression on their faces but the close vicinity with which they walked by each other made your stomach turn upside down. Your eyes followed the two figures until their path ventured right and a large chestnut tree obscured your view.

“Let’s just keep working,” you said, getting up as you folded your lunch back closed and slid it in your pocket.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, child.” Your mother’s voice hadn’t changed at all, croaky like a frog but filled with warmth.

You kept your back turned to her, hugging yourself close.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“My little flower,” her voice came from behind and you felt a hand land on your shoulder, “something is bothering you.”

“I’m fine.”

She chuckled at that. “Liar. I can tell by the way your shoulders hunch,” she said, turning you around to face her, “and look, your eyebrows are all droopy.”

You shook your head. “First of all, that doesn’t make any sense and besides, I don’t want to talk about it.” You knew at once it had been a vain attempt to fend off the stubborn woman. You watched her heave a deep sigh. She was shorter than you but somehow always managed to make you feel like a baby. Her wrinkled eyes scanned your face quizzically for a few seconds before her lips curled into a knowing grin.

“You need to let go, flower,” she said, poking you in the chest with a dirty finger.

You stared at her incredulously. “Let what go?”

The old woman rolled her eyes, smiling still. “Whatever it is that’s causing all of this good-for-nothing heartache!” She patted you on both shoulders. “Go on, away with it!”

A tiny smile crept its way onto your face. “It’s not that easy.”

Your mother sighed deeply once more and turned to look out over the gardens and the castle.

“I know, dear,” she said, “the castle comes with complications these gardens could never carry. That’s why me and your father stay out here, between the fruits and the flowers. You on the other hand,” she went on, turning back to you and taking your hand, “you have some reason for staying at the castle, no?”

Your face burned at the words. You didn’t know what exactly your mother was implying but the way her deep eyes bore into yours now made you feel awfully exposed.

“You can always come back to us, of course,” your mother explained further, squeezing your hand, “but if your heart lies no longer here—”

“It doesn’t matter where my heart lies,” you cut in, taking a step back, “how I feel doesn’t matter.”

Your mother’s eyes creased as they filled with something you hated to see. Was it pity? Understanding? Whatever, you didn’t need any of it. For the smallest of moments you’d thought your problems might be solved with some wise parental advice but that had clearly been a child’s thinking. This problem didn’t have solving. You just had to learn to live with the fact that Minghao was gone forever and he’d never look at you the way he had that night under the orange trees. He’d never smile at you the way he had when he taught you how to read, he’d never touch you the way he had that evening in his chambers— or even— you couldn’t bear remembering his kiss. It was too much. It should haver have happened.

“Let’s just keep going, please,” you said at last, keeping your eyes on the grass between your feet.

The rest of the day went by like a tidal wave. In a matter of hours, you’d crossed the whole of the gardens at least half a dozen times, hauling around heavy equipment, making lists, delegating tasks and making stupid amounts of mini mock-ups of the flower pieces Tou Ma had asked for. By the time you entered the castle, you were so exhausted you thought you might just crash in a closet on the way to your room. The hustle and bustle inside the castle walls had died down as well. Aside from the occasional servant, the dark hallways were deserted and quiet. Yawning freely, you shuffled your way through them, only to get startled by the sudden noise not so far away.

“Silence, son,” a voice whispered irritably, “the castle is asleep.”

“I’m sorry.”

Hao.

Without thinking, you approached a door you’d passed before. You didn’t know what lay behind it, only that, right now, it was being occupied by the emperor and his son, prince Minghao.

“You’ve heard by now the protests haven’t seized I assume. We’re losing not only the Shingmin people but all the highlands. I have tried to protect you from your destiny for far too long I’m afraid.”

There was a long pause. You felt the pain of it right through the wood of the door.

“My son,” the emperor added wearily, “I did not want to leave this country to you on the brink of war. But the season of peace has run out. You are young and overly frivolous at times but we must believe you are capable. It is time to stop thinking about yourself and take on the responsibility you’ve always known was yours to take on. You have the power to free us all. Your legend will be told for centuries to come.”

“My legend,” Minghao spoke at last. His voice was dry and void of emotion. You wanted to go to him. You wanted to help but you didn’t know how.

Krrrr

The floorboard creaked under your feet as you’d subconsciously leaned in closer to the door. There was no way they hadn’t heard that. You pushed away from the door and set off at a run, heart racing, all the way to the maid’s quarters.

Your covers were warm and your eyelids heavy but regardless, you couldn’t seem to find your way to sleep. You tossed and turned until you were sure your hair would be a rat’s nest the following morning. Your body was lying on the floor, between dozens of happily snoozing servants, but your mind was still at that door, listening in. You knew Minghao wouldn’t appreciate it but you felt sorry for him. The weight resting on his shoulders was colossal compared to the slimy toad that tended to bother yours. His legend was beyond famous. Every person in Namin knew it like they knew the color of the sky. Every person in Namin was counting on him. You could tell by the way they looked at him. He was a savior to them. But he was just a boy. You knew that. He knew that. He was a boy, desperately trying to figure out how to live up to a legend that was born with him; a boy trying to solve an impossible riddle, trying to unlock some big secret, trying to somehow heal an entire nation.

All these thoughts floated haphazardly through your head, bouncing and clashing within the walls of your skull until, sudden as a bolt of lightning, they clicked together.

A Vast Unfathomable Secret.

That’s what the book must have been for all along. You shot up from the floor, wide awake now, and set off towards the prince’s library.

It made so much sense you cursed yourself for not seeing it before. You burst through the heavy oak doors and went to light a candle. The room looked beautiful at night, moonlight shining through the circular windows, casting hazy glows on the walls of books.

You had no idea how to start. You’d searched for this book so many times. Then again, you hadn’t been able to make your way through the entire room yet. Filled with stubborn determination, you grabbed your candle tightly and climbed up to a section you hadn’t explored yet. You could read the spines now, thanks to Minghao. In this particular section alone were books about geography, fortune telling, animals and plants you’d never even heard of, as well as poetry. You were tempted to open some of them but knew you had a more important goal. You made the mental note of reading as many books as you possibly could when all of this was over; if Minghao would continue allowing you to come here, at least. 

When the first section revealed nothing, you moved on to another, and then another. You’d finish off the whole room before you’d give up. You had to help the prince in any way you could; if you couldn’t be with him, at least you could still be of use to him.

*

When you woke up, bright sunlight was already streaming into the room generously and your body ached in all kinds of places. You immediately knew you were in trouble. You’d fallen asleep slumped against a bookcase and were now most likely extremely late for your appointment in the gardens.

Tripping over your tunic, you burst through the library doors and onto the long deck. It was a humid and hot day. Up ahead in the distance, like tiny brown specs against the vibrant green grass, were the gardeners’ huts, where you were supposed to meet with everyone to start harvesting and putting together the flower pieces for the wedding.

Oh shoot, the wedding. The wedding was tomorrow. It was actually tomorrow. Not wanting to waste any more time than you already had, you jumped over the railing and tumbled into the grass below. One of your feet landed in something wet but that didn’t matter now. You ran to the huts, not caring about how the long grass and prickly bushes dirtied your clothes, but when you finally arrived, panting like a dog, there was no one there. Instead, a note hung lifelessly on your parents’ door.

Flower We’ve gone ahead and started harvesting See you soon

A huge wave of gratitude coursed through you at those words.

Thanks mother

You raced through the gardens, catching up with everything that was going on.

Thanks to your parents, you were still somewhat on schedule. Aside from delegating tasks, you helped in creating bouquets and garlands and wreaths in rich oranges and reds, as well as deep pinks and purples. The air was sticky and dense. Sweat crawled down your temples as you worked beside your parents, but you were glad for the hard labor; it distracted you. Your nails blackened and your hair filled with twigs and pollen. It felt good. You were surprised when the sun had only just started going down as the last of the decorations got finished.

“Don’t underestimate us,” you dad said with a grand smile, “I don’t know how you fancy people do it at the castle, but we work fast.”

You smiled back at him, glad to have made it in time.

You moved the decorations to a safe place they could be preserved until the morning, which took another hour or so but after that, you were all done. Tou Ma hadn’t even given you any other tasks for the day, which meant, you were free.

All at once, an unavoidable exhaustion took over you. The hot sun and humid air had drained your body that had grown unaccustomed to the life of a gardener. Another reason was probably the fact that you’d slept propped up against a bookcase the night before. A hot bath sounded amazing right about now. And after you might even be able to take a nap? Yes, that sounded good. You needed sleep.

Sighing and panting, you dragged yourself back to the castle. Instead of the main entrance, you chose a smaller door on the left wall that was meant for servants mostly. Coming around the corner you let out a sudden gasp, finding the door blocked by a broad-shouldered man with a long scar across his cheek.

“Identify yourself,” he said sternly, looking your muddy form up and down. The side door had never been guarded before. You supposed it was another wedding-related thing.

After explaining who you were and what you’d been doing outside, the man stepped aside, grunting something inaudible as you passed. Whatever, you thought, entering a modest-looking corridor. At least you’d be able to reach the maid’s quarters without running into—

“WHAT IS THIS MESS?!”

Tou Ma.

The tall lady strode towards you, looking like an underfed but furious bull.

“Look at the floors, they have been polished just this morning and now!” her voice reached a crescendo, “look at this! You want me to seizure!?”

"I'm sorry," you blurted out, "I've been preparing the flowers and—"

"Are they done?"

"They are—"

"So something has gone right today at least! Honestly it's suffocating, all this work in so little time I swear the emperor wants me to lose my marbles I've still got so much to do, this whole thing is ridiculous! Could they move the wedding to next week so the castle can prepare to its fullest abilities? Probably but will they? No, no of course they won't that would make my job too easy, wouldn't it?!"

You were staring into the face of a deranged woman. Tou Ma was sweating the white powder right off her face, fanning herself for dear life.

"Um," you tried, once the woman seemed to be taking a break to catch her breath, "is there anything I can help with?" You regretted the offer the moment the words left your lips but you couldn't stand seeing her this way. No matter how much the vile old woman tormented you, seeing her usually strong personality weakened like this made you feel sort of bad.

Tou Ma eyed you suspiciously for a few moments before she caved.

"Very well," she said, "you will run an errand for me. In my haste I forgot to bring the empress' scarf out with the rest of her robes for the celebration. They need to bask in the moonlight tonight."

"Of course," you replied, though you had no idea what she was talking about. Wealthy people really did have all kinds of strange rituals.

"They will be in her private chambers," she went on, "I'd fetch them myself but I'm on my way to a meeting with the chef and I've yet to go over the guest list with security and her majesty will need her bath before nightfall and I haven't had a scrap to eat since sunrise and—"

"That's alright," you cut in, for the head maid was panting again, "I'll grab her scarf and bring it to the deck, I guess?"

"The south east deck on the top floor, child, that's where we're leaving them out," Tou Ma explained, clutching her chest.

"Got it," you said, turning on your heels.

"It is a scarlet thing," Tou Ma call after you, "silk with gold-thread details."

"Okay," you called back as you made your way down the corridor.

"Child!" her screechy voice cried before you could round a corner, "I beg of you, wash up first will you?"

You did as you were told and had your bath. It was not the long, relaxing bath you'd hoped for but it did manage to wash away some of the exhaustion from your body. You allowed your muscles to relax for a few minutes, hopped out and hurried towards the royal quarters. You'd only ever visited Minghao's chambers; his parent's area was completely new territory. The place was guarded heavily by men who only let you in after a thorough interrogation and once inside, you realized you had no idea of where to look for the scarf.

You were in a rectangular room with shiny, red-toned walls and floors. It was completely bare save for the golden candelabras that lined the walls. Two black and gold doors that faced each other waited for you.

Clueless, you tried the first door. You knocked twice and waited until you were sure you weren’t disrupting something. When nothing happened, you opened it. You were met with complete darkness. With a bit of a struggle, you pulled free one of the candelabras from the hallway and entered the dark room.

It was extremely minimal. There were no windows. Only a simple bookcase and a large writing desk. Scrolls of parchment and bottles of ink lay spread out across it. Seeing them made you feel suddenly feel as though you were seeing something you weren’t supposed to. This was the emperor’s private study.

Backing away fast, you found yourself in the hallway once more. You tried the room opposite the study, entering after knocking. This room was anything but dark. The whole west wall was non-existent, giving sight to stretches of grassland and the mountains up in the far distance. As the sun set, it cast a breathtaking pink veil over the master bedroom. The bed, sitting on a raised platform was impeccably made. You could just envision Tou Ma arranging the perfectly white pillows by size, making sure not a single crinkle was left in sight. The room was so clean though, you couldn’t imagine the scarf would be here. There was no closet or dresser for it to hide in either, however, there was a small doorway in the corner of the room, half-covered by a silk curtain. As you approached you smelled the sweet aroma of incense. Gently pulling back the curtain, you peered inside, finding a room that was more or less the same size as the bedroom, but which felt smaller due to the abundance of stuff that was in it.

The walls were virtually covered with dressers, all identical, ornate and black lacquered. There were ottomans in various jewel tones on which piles of discarded robes lay, and in the corner stood a intricately carved wooden vanity with a mirror that reached the ceiling.

This must be it, you thought as you entered. You carefully went through the clothes on the stools. You wished you had time to admire their craftsmanship but Tou Ma’s exasperated expression kept your mind on the mission at hand. The vanity was cluttered with all kinds of trinkets you’d never seen before. You supposed there were the creams and powders used for beauty purposes. There were a couple of small drawers that opened to reveal more beauty products and a couple of scarves that clearly weren’t the one you were looking for. You began to feel tired again. Gingerly, you sat down in front of the vanity. Gazing at yourself in the mirror it occurred to you how much you didn’t belong in a room like this. You let your eyes drift over the the reflection of the cluttered space, until they landed on something they hadn’t noticed before. There was an unlocked chest sitting in a corner by the entrance. Multiple colored fabrics were spilling out from its mouth. You rose up and hurried over. There were so many scarves it was hard to make out where one piece of fabric ended and the next began. Getting impatient, you started pulling out the contents of the chest, keeping a lookout for anything scarlet and gold. Your heart sank however as you were reaching the bottom without having found something that even remotely looked like the empress’ wedding scarf. Not before long, the chest was empty, except for something dark and solid that lay all the way at the bottom, and bunches of fabric lay all around you on the floor.

What were you going to do? You’d promised Tou Ma.

Sighing, you peered into the chest. You now noticed the leftover item was a small book. You knew you should leave it alone; this was clearly an item the empress liked to keep to herself, but your curiosity got the better of you. You pulled the book out of the chest and held it up to the light. It was a small book, the brown leather cover a bit tethered and the gold writing on the front slightly faded. The golden lily, however, was still unmistakable.

You heart lurched as the title registered in your mind.

A Vast Unfathomable Secret.

It was right here in your hands; exactly as Minghao had described it. What wisdom was inside this little, brown book? And why was it here, in the empress’ wardrobe of all places? Nevermind. You forced your questions behind closed doors. None of those things mattered right now.

This was it: your chance to help Minghao.

*

You were at his door in no time and in your haste, you didn't even pause to knock before coming in.

"Minghao, I found it! I f—" you gasped as something warm crashed into you, sending you to the floor.

Minghao stood over you with a blank stare on his face. The coldness in his eyes sent a pang of doubt through your system. You shouldn’t have barged in like this. What were you thinking? Just as you were about to apologize and leave however, his eyes landed on the book clutched tightly in your hand. They widened, his eyebrows crinkling slightly, his lips opening in stunned silence.

"I found your book," you tried again, barely able to look at him.

Nothing happened for a good few seconds in which you wondered whether Minghao had fallen in some sort of trance, but then he knelt down beside you and took your hand. Your heart leapt as he pulled you up. His hand was so warm.

“You—” he said, staring from you, to the book held between you and then right back up to you. You noticed his eyes start to burn with intense emotion. He looked happy at first but you soon realized there was much more than joy behind his expression. He stared at you unblinkingly, standing perfectly still as a statue, but clearly waging a violent war within himself. You thought for a moment he might cry, his eyes turning sadder and sadder until, to your surprise, his lips formed the tiniest smile and he let out a sigh. You had not a moment to react to this strange turn of events because the next thing he did was grab tight hold of both your arms and kiss you.

This was nothing like the kiss you’d shared in the gardens. This kiss was the unleashing of desire. He held you close as his lips claimed yours with desperation. He did not let go when you thought he would and neither did you want him to. The book lay forgotten on the floor as, at last, you were all his. You felt his hand move up to your face, brushing a bit of your hair back, then cupping you by the back of the neck, begging you to stay close for those few last moments before, inevitably, reality struck.

He pulled back abruptly, looking completely stunned.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he said, his face swiftly filling with hurt again.

“Hao,” you replied, out of breath yourself, “wait,” because the prince was already pushing past you.

“I have the final wedding rehearsal,” he said, hurrying out the room before you could do anything to stop him.

You stood with yourself in quiet for quite some time, staring at the door.

Emotions were starting to bubble up inside you but you were so sick and tired of crying you forced your tears at bay by focusing on the only thing that could possibly distract you right now.

The book was still on the floor and now, it was begging to be read.

You sat down on the floor and picked it up. It didn’t feel heavy at all. You always imagined the book Minghao had been looking for would be huge; some grand exposition of wisdom. Maybe battle techniques? Or secret information on dragons, perhaps? But what could a tiny book like this one do to save an empire, or in the least, its prince? Heart pounding, you opened it, only to stare in confusion at something that made no sense to you at all.

Once upon a time, it read.

Once upon a time, there was a mountain. On that mountain stood a castle so tall it could reach the clouds in the sky and in it lived the great ruler. The ruler was very proud of his castle, because it stood taller than any other castle. The inhabitants of the castle sometimes complained about the cold winds that blew through the windows. They muddled up their long hair and blew away their paperwork. But of course this was all worth the magnificent views they got when they looked outside, according to the ruler. At the bottom of the mountain was a cave that lead to a whole underground town. In that town lived many people. Their days were clouded in darkness but the earth around them kept them warm and safe. One night, the ruler’s son was asleep when the wind whooshed right into his bedroom. It picked him up like a newborn baby and took him out through the window. The son shouted and cried for help but no one could hear him over the raging wind. The little boy shrieked all the way down until the wind plopped him down unto the grass. There he continued to cry in the darkness, helplessly, for no one would be able to hear him so far down. Little did the boy know, someone did hear him cry. All the way down in the cave town, a girl was sitting up in bed, wondering what that whining noise was. Curious, she crawled through the tunnels of her town, following the strange sound until she was at the mouth of the cave and saw the boy sitting in the grass. “What’s wrong?” she asked the boy. The boy jumped up at the sight of the girl, his cheeks flushing. “I fell down,” he answered. “From all the way up there?” the girl asked with big eyes. “Of course,” the boy said, “where else would I come from?” “I live in the ground,” the girl said, “how strange is this?” The boy and girl sat together in the grass, talking about their homes all night. The boy explained how cold his room was, and how the wind took his toys away from him, tales to which the girl hollered in disbelief. She then told him that she couldn’t even see her toys because it was so dark in her house and the boy laughed at how silly that was. When the sun came up the boy and the girl noticed a black dot in the sky. They watched as the dot grew bigger and bigger until the boy recognized his father. He was hanging from a big balloon that was slowly letting him down to the ground. “What is this?!” he bellowed when he noticed the girl. “She is my new friend,” replied the boy with a big smile, “she lives in a cave.” Just then, murmurings roused from the mouth of the cave. People emerged from it, chattering to one another until they set their eyes upon the scene in the grass. “What is this?!” they all cried at once. “He is my friend from the mountain,” said the girl, eyes sparkling, “the wind brought him to me.” The ruler and the cave people were outraged. It was plain as day that people from the castle shouldn’t get along with people who lived underground. “You should be ashamed of yourself!” shouted the ruler. “It’s a disgrace!” the cavetowners roared. The ruler grabbed his son by the arm and tied him to his big balloon, just as the cave dwellers took hold of the girl, dragging her back into the dark. Days and weeks and months passed and the boy and the girl didn’t meet, at least, that was the people around them thought. Every night, the boy crawled onto his father’s balloon while everyone else was asleep and drifted down below, where the girl would greet him with a smile and they would spend a wonderful time. Over time, the boy felt something grow within him; it was a secret. It started small as a little firefly, hovering around his empty chest. But by the time the boy was as tall as his father, the secret had become so vast and unfathomable, it was like a fiery blaze that enveloped him entirely. At any moment, he felt the secret might burst free. He could not let that happen. It frightened the boy so much, he began to keep his lips shut tight. When people around him spoke, he just stood by and watched. When his father asked him a question he simply nodded or shrugged. Only at night, when he ran free with the girl, did he open his mouth. The most beautiful sounds spilled out, laughter and song and shouts of glee. As he did so, he felt the secret grow and grow but he did not care in the night; he did not care how the inferno within him swelled against the confines of his body, how it roared on inside, begging to break free. As much as the boy ignored these happenings, like all secrets, break free, it did. He felt it rumble in his stomach first, then move up towards his throat, just as he’d sat down for breakfast. He clasped his neck in surprise. He wanted to shout at the people around him to hide, for the secret was surely coming, but not a second later, it exploded from his lips like a flaming tornado. It took over the room in an instant. Soon, the whole castle was set aflame. People cried for help but they were too far up for anyone to hear. They crawled up on the roof, shouting to the clouds in desperation but no one called back. Trapped by the flames, the boy knew only one thing to do. He heaved himself over the ledge of the dining room window and looked down. In a voice as loud as he could muster, he called for the girl. His ears picked up something of a reply but he couldn’t be sure; after all, the fire around him crackled obnoxiously loud. But she must be there, he thought, she would never abandon him. Gathering all his courage he leaned over the edge and let go, falling away from the castle and his father and the people who didn’t understand, towards the arms of freedom, where there was no need for secrets, where he was alright, just the way he was.

The book trembled in your hands as you finished the story. This was nothing like you’d imagined A Vast Unfathomable Secret to be about. So many things ran through your mind but right at the forefront was, overwhelmingly, Minghao. Minghao, Minghao, Minghao. All this time, you thought the book would reveal some kind of clever solution to help him save Namin. In the end, the book had revealed nothing more than his heart.

You knew you weren’t supposed to be here. You were probably supposed to check in with Tou Ma and help prepare for the celebration but you couldn’t do that. You had to see him, even if it meant watching him from the sidelines as he ran through his final wedding rehearsal. You were half hidden behind a wooden pillar, feeling as if your knees might give out. Minghao walked aside his mother to the front of the room, where a tall monk waited on a raised platform. The room wasn’t decorated properly yet but it had been filled with so much candlelight, the whole thing looked enchanting nonetheless. Zhong Mei came out as well, skin glowing in the warm firelight. She joined Minghao on the platform, facing him. There was a bit of a pause as Mei’s parents did some fervent explaining to the monk. The spectators in the room began murmuring amongst themselves. Your eyes never left Minghao though. He looked nervous. His cool mask wasn’t sliding on as easy as usual. He looked down for a long time before starting to scan the room. A shiver ran up your spine when his eyes suddenly met yours. He was quick to look away though. It seemed like Mei was saying something to him then because he nodded awkwardly at her in reply, though he couldn’t look at her.

Finally, Mei’s parents stepped aside and the monk stepped forward. He cleared his throat as he straightened out his robe, ready to start his speech.

BANG

A thunderous crashing sound broke the silence and the whole room shook.

*

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