#I don’t know if I was playing with stanzas

[amandamonroe]

i thought we could beat the storm, but the ambulance spun off the road.

trying to keep you alive and my head up above water wasn’t anything I ever planned for.

they were supposed to help me but all they did was laugh, even long after we’d crashed.

i knew I wasn’t a priority, i’d been told that for months.

that was the way it was supposed to be— you before me— but they didn’t listen to my pleas.

instead they laughed. and then they left me.

i had useless keys and an alphabet of bruises and one more of the dead and no one to call and the crippling knowledge that help wasn’t coming.

—code of unethical care.

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Chapter 10]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

crooked fingers and christmas cheer

cw: minor gore, panic attack, anxiety

wc: 4.6k

You’re dreaming of your dad again. 

Crooked fingers grip the steering wheel in front of him as he sits in the driver's seat, maneuvering through swirling streets with faceless pedestrians. You’re cuddled in the back of the car, blankets weighing you down to the seat like a prison. They’re tight. Serpentine binds. So much so you find it hard to breathe. Fat snowflakes flutter past your window as the engine revs, speeding through London with no regard for traffic lights or stop signs. If there were other cars on the road, he would have crashed long ago. 

Quiet megrim suffocates you as your ringing ears make sense of the song playing on the radio. Static drowns the notes, fuzzies them until you can barely hear it. Your dad hums the tune in a different key. Sweet, and off beat. He’s always been tone deaf. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

The acrid scent of blood fills your nose the moment you find his eyes in the rearview mirror. Thick patches of it stain his face, crusting around fat lacerations on his eyebrows, lips, and nose. It dries; flakes off his skin just to be replaced by a fresh stream. Pulled stitches fray at the ends as they protrude from his skin like grotesque teeth, being devoured from the inside out by wounds he can’t outrun. Wounds that will never heal. 

“Comfortable?” he asks. 

You attempt to shift but the cocoon of blankets grows tighter around you, hugging your limbs close to you like a straightjacket. It’s so crowded that your ribs have trouble expanding, and a breathy cough leaks from your mouth. It burns, like smoke in your lungs or mint on your tongue. 

“You should slow down,” you warn him.

“Silent night, Holy night.” The song repeats. You don’t think you’ve heard it make it past the first stanza. A bent record, forever scratching, doomed to repeat a song and never finish it. 

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he assures you. 

“Dad, please slow down.” 

The engine sputters and quiets down as the brakes engage with a gentle tap. Wheels dwindle and slow until the car halts in the center of the road. Traffic dashes by with quiet whooshes. You don’t know where the cars came from. Maybe they had been following you the whole time. They’re all black — like a funeral procession. Exhaust mixes with iron. The concoction is enough to turn your stomach as it burns your sinuses. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

“Are you afraid I’m going to end up like him?” he asks. Disfigured, bent, and disgusting fingers still grip the steering wheel despite the motionlessness of the car. You try not to stare, but the horror of it has you transfixed. “Like Row’s dad?” 

Your bottom lip juts out and trembles. “You already did.” 

He laughs at you, and it’s warm like velvet. Comforting just like it was when you were a kid. It reminds you of when he would read you stories before bed, keeping his tone even yet engaging — just calming enough to get your eyes to grow heavy. Your skin itches to throw the blankets off of your body and wrap yourself in his mirth instead, but as usual, you are not strong enough. 

“I’m right here, darling,” he chuckles. “I know the accident was hard on you, but it’s not your fault. It could’ve happened to anyone. You don’t have to be afraid of it.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snap. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

Leather seats shift under your dad’s weight, and his eyes no longer look at you in the rearview mirror. You want to ask if he looks away in shame, but the question doesn’t quite reach your tongue. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asks softly. 

You swallow. “I don’t know. I just… wish you didn’t leave me like that.” 

“But I didn’t leave,” he assures. 

“You died and now I have nothing,” you retort. 

There is no denying that you are aggrieved. Betrayed in some aching way that still haunts the marrow of your bones and the ridge of your spine. How many years have you felt this way? Are you even able to recall a time when you felt normal? Felt loved? Felt safe? Maybe you had, but you’re not sure if there was ever a moment of your life that you lived where your father’s shadow wasn’t following you. 

You’re not sure if you ever will. 

How long had he been haunting you? Did his ghosts only come out to play after his death? 

“Silent night, Holy night. All is calm, all is-” 

The radio dies just as the engine does and a wave of tinnitus rings so loud you’re certain it can’t be coming from inside your own head. Someone else must be hearing this agony; it can’t just be you. You blink and witness in abject horror as your dad twists in his seat, hands leaving the steering wheel, torso turning so that he can fully face you. 

He looks just like he did all those years ago. Clothes perfectly pressed, dress shirt steamed, cuffs neatly creased. He always joked that the first time he would ever wear a suit would be at your wedding — instead, it was his own funeral. They did a good job making him look normal. At covering the abrasions and ruptured blood vessels. At setting his fingers and nose straight. Still, there’s something wrong with his skin. There’s no fresh blood, it’s all pooled in the side of his body. Heavy. Weighing it down. 

The mortician did a good job, but no amount of wax can fix the chunk of bone and flesh missing from the side of his skull. 

“But you do have something,” he says bluntly. “I just hope you can escape it before it gets you, too.” 

Your only solace is the alarm on your phone.

It vibrates next to your head where it echoes throughout your box spring mattress like a hollow cavern. It kick starts your heart, which pounds so violently in your chest you’re certain your sternum will shatter. You need it to stop. Need it to shut up. Need to kill it. Sucking in a shuddering breath, your hands fumble with your phone as you tap on the screen, shutting off the alarm and plunging your apartment into silence. 

Throwing yourself on your back, you stare at your water damaged and stained ceiling as you try not to deliquesce into the bed. You can already feel it happening. Muscles convulsing until they liquify, bone marrow seeping out from your pores, soft duvet soaking up the essence of everything that once made you human. You feel the pillow beneath your head and the cotton of your pajamas, trying to ground yourself to the earth that threatens to crush you everyday but the mind is always stronger. There is nothing you can do to free yourself from the heat of a car engine, or shattered glass in your lap, or the gunshot pop! of an airbag — 

Once more, your phone buzzes. Something soft and non-intruding. A gentle nudge that pulls you back into your bed just as the heater kicks on. You breathe in the scent of your apartment. It’s stale. Stagnant air and old dish soap. You’d like to invest in a candle or wax warmer, like the ones your mom used to have. Maybe that way you could pretend that you were still with her, if only for a moment. 

Everything feels lighter when you realize just where you are. That doloriferous anxiety wanes until it’s nothing more than a dormant beast in your chest. You sigh, body twisting to once again grab your phone. It’s just before eight in the morning, and a text from Simon has your heart fluttering so fiercely you swear you feel your stomach shrink and swell in one fell swoop. 

Good morning sweetheart. I’ll be there in an hour. Need me to pick up anything for the trip? 

Not even the primal terror lurking in your chest can stop the small smile that pulls at your lips as you read his message. Always so proper. So kind and considerate. For a moment, you can forget all about crooked fingers and half formed skulls. You swallow back any tremulous sensation as you type your response back to him. 

no thanks, should be good (: excited to see you

You regret the message as soon as you send it. Excited to see you. Groaning, you shut your phone off and hit your forehead against the screen like you can beat the embarrassment out of yourself. But there’s not enough time to dwell on it. It’s Christmas Eve, and you’ve got somewhere to be. 

A quick shower is all it takes to get your mind functioning properly again. Lukewarm water washes away the nightmare sweats and leaves you with a clean slate. Fresh, untouched skin. Eardrums lulling into the quiet hum of the water hitting the cracked tile that lines the tub. There’s a draft that seeps through the gaps of the window, causing your skin to prickle and tighten as you dry yourself off. On windy days, you can hear its whistle. It prompts you to get ready with a sense of urgency, and it isn’t long before you’re swaddled tight in comfortable travel clothes and shoving last minute items into your bag. 

Simon arrives just when he said he would, and you can’t tell if your eyes are playing tricks on you, but his jumper seems to hug tighter around his shoulders than usual. Muscle shifts, hands twitch, and you find your greeting tumbling out of your lips on a tongue that feels too fat. He stares at you with careful eyes, always assessing you like the good worker he is. Soaks up the buzz tingling through your nerves as you fiddle with your travel bag, heat drenching your skin so thickly he can almost feel it from where he stands. 

Smirking, he reaches forward, fingers brushing against yours as he slips the bag out of your hand, and you have no choice but to relinquish it. He keeps the straps firmly in his hand as he steps back, gesturing to the stairs. 

“After you, sweetheart.” 

Breakfast and warm tea brewed in a to-go cup waits for you in Simon’s car. It’s the very first thing you notice when he opens the door for you, and the sight has you biting into your lip. You try to mutter something about how he shouldn’t have, but he only shushes you as he ushers you inside. Really, it makes a good distraction. Focusing on trying not to leave crumbs as you devour a bagel sandwich leaves you little time to worry about why he didn’t get anything for himself. 

It’s good. Better than good. Perfectly toasted bagel, melty cheese, seasoned avocado — something too fancy for you to have ever ordered on your own. The tea is still warm by the time you hit the motorway, and a comfortable silence settles over you as the engine hums along the road. Towering grey buildings dwindle into quaint homes which then shapeshift between natural scenery and city views in the distance. You try to remember the last time you left London. Escaped the prison that’s held you by the throat for the last few years, even if it were only temporary. The only time you can recall is the trip your family took to Italy when you were a child. 

Simon shifts in his seat next to you, and your eyes dart over to him. He’s only adjusting himself, getting his legs comfortable for the long ride ahead — he mentioned something about arriving around one — but your eyes can’t help but wander. You glance at the roll of his hips and the way his thighs fill out the fabric of his jeans. The tight line of his lips as his eyes scan the road ahead, one hand on the steering wheel, thick fingers wrapped around the edge —

You blink and they’re crooked. Bruised, bent, and wrong. Compound fractures — bone piercing flesh. Jagged knuckles, fingers like the ridge of a mountain; you feel your stomach twist as that nightmare continues to haunt you. 

Before its tendrils have the chance to wrap around your spine, your hand dives into your pocket. Frayed string brushes against your skin, and you hook it like a fish on the end of your line before yanking it free. Cat’s Cradle is always your go to distraction. It keeps you moving. Mind focused on string formations as you twist them into designs just to move to the next formation; always flowing, never stagnant. 

Even now, you can hear your father’s voice. Feel his hands as he guided yours all those years ago when he taught you how to play. Move your left hand. They’ll cross if you don’t.

You move your right hand, and it knots; candle sticks now a cross. 

“Cat’s Cradle?” Simon asks. 

As you unwind the string from your fingers, a nostalgic smile pulls at your lips. You don’t think you’ve ever had someone recognize it before. “Yeah. Play it sometimes to keep myself occupied.” 

“Didn’t know you could play it by yourself,” he admits. “Always thought you needed someone else.” 

“You can’t do as many moves as you can with someone else, but it’s still fun,” you chuckle sheepishly. 

He hums, hand adjusting on the wheel, free arm resting on the center console next to you. “You should teach me.” 

A breathy laugh escapes your lips — you think he’s joking. It’s a stupid game with string. Nothing that means anything. Yet when you look at him and find his eyes flickering to you, dark hue reading your expression, you realize he means it. 

You swallow, then smile. “If you’d like.” 

He shifts once more, leather seat creaking beneath his weight. You try to ignore the way your heart hurts at the sound. “I’d like doin’ anythin’ with you.”  

The whole ride feels warm after that. Bubbling mirth lurks beneath your skin, lighting it on fire, heating your cheeks and the tips of your ears. It’s that same feeling that afflicted you the previous week after Christmas shopping. This fervor. This want. It grows more intense the closer you are to reaching Manchester as the reality of your situation hits you. You’re going to be meeting his family.

But as a friend, or something else? 

That question plagues you as Simon pulls up to a small home with effulgent lights lining the rooftop. They illuminate the extremely thin layer of snow that coats the city in crystalline sparkles, and for a moment you’re convinced you’re seeing stars. A thick evergreen wreath sits on the front door and the sight of it is so nostalgic it nearly hurts. A tremble ails your knees as you climb out of the car, useless joints turning into jelly as you watch Simon retrieve both of your bags. Your hands reach out, ready to receive yours, but he raises his eyebrow at you as he closes the door with his elbow. 

“C’mon,” he urges. “Freezin’ out here.” 

He leads you up the stairs and before he even knocks on the door you can already hear the commotion going on inside. A TV drones in the background as quiet chatter mixes with whatever programme is playing — giggles and cracked jokes and faint music. Voices cease as Simon knocks on the door, and you’re certain you hear a high pitched gasp, followed by what you think is someone asking for Uncle Simon. 

You swallow your heart thudding in your throat as the door swings open and you’re met with a mess of bright blonde hair. Simon was right, Tommy isn’t bigger than him yet he still towers taller than most. He grins at his brother, crooked teeth and all as he slaps his hand on Simon’s shoulder. 

“‘Bout time you showed up. Joey’s been beggin’ for you all morning,” he teases, though he can’t quite mask the way his eyes flicker to you standing meekly to the side. “C’mon in, we just started a game of Candyland.” 

The moment you and Simon step through the threshold of the house, you’re enveloped by fresh cinnamon and the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas buzzing on the TV. A fat evergreen tree sits in the corner of the living room next to a coffee table with board game pieces and snacks strewn about its top. You recognize Joseph and his mother Beth, who sit next to the table on the floor, rug cushioning their knees from the hardwood floor. The very moment his eyes land on Simon, little Joseph bolts to his feet. 

Suddenly, it’s a reunion. Everyone stands on their feet to exchange hugs and kisses, Simon attempting to return them with his hands occupied with bags; the walls echo the laughter shared between everyone. And you? You stand there with a quiet smile, soaking in the familial love as you stay out of the way. Joseph clings to Simon’s leg, white teeth on display as he looks up at his uncle, and you swear you’ve never seen him smile or laugh so hard before. 

“Simon,” a voice speaks up from the kitchen. 

You turn to find a grey haired woman drying her hands off on a tea towel. She’s short; surprisingly so for the two boys she’s brought into this world. Rose dusts the apples of her cheeks as she slowly crosses into the entryway, arms spread wide to envelope her son as best as she can with her frail frame. 

“Missed you mum,” Simon whispers as he returns the hug. 

“It’s always good to see you,” she says, pulling away to look up at him. Her lips tighten as her fingers squeeze the side of his arm. “My sweet boy.” 

It isn’t long before her eyes begin to wander, and they’re drawn to you, not even bothering to fight against the magnetic pull. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think she was eager to see you. She removes herself from her son as she approaches you, hands reaching for yours as she pulls you away from the front door and into her home. 

“It’s so good to meet you, Chip,” she says, hand patting yours. 

She already knows your name. 

You swallow. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Riley,” you stutter back in response. 

Everything falls into place after that like a perfect line of dominoes. Simon vanishes for only a short moment to put your bags away in some unseen room and returns just in time for Joseph to drag the two of you into the living room for a game of Candyland. There’s hardly any time for proper introductions as Joseph directs the game all the way down to what color pieces everyone uses — both you and Simon are assigned green — and despite your apprehension, it’s like you’ve been here the entire time. Instantly welcomed and assimilated into the Riley Family like you’ve never belonged anywhere else. 

You learn so much in such a little amount of time. Questions are thrown about as everyone takes turns drawing cards and moving pieces along the board. You learn that Joseph’s favorite color is red because it reminds him of his mother’s hair, and how Beth works with preschool aged children as a teacher. Tommy works as a mechanic and is one of the reasons why Simon has a motorcycle. Both Simon and Tommy can banter well enough to go pro, especially with one another. The table erupts into laughter and playful cursing more often than not. 

They ask questions about you, too. Gently poking, prodding, and peeling back the layers you try so hard to wrap yourself in. They don’t allow you to hide, and after a few hours of games, snacks, and movies, you start to think you might not want to anymore. Tucked into Simon’s side, lazy arm around your shoulder as he chuckles and laughs with his family, you start to realize this is the most at home you’ve felt for a long time. 

You try to remember the last Christmas you attended that you enjoyed, but the memories that emerge taste sour on your tongue. 

Halfway through How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Simon squeezes your shoulder. It’s soft — a gesture that warns you he’s going to move well before he does. He removes his arm from around you, body shifting forward on the couch yet making sure to replace the airplane themed blanket on your lap that Joseph gave you because you look cold. 

“Gonna step out for a smoke,” he assures. 

“Okay. Well, I’ll keep our seats warm,” you smile as he stands. 

Manchester gets darker later than London does, so it’s a welcome surprise when Simon steps out into the backyard and faint rays of sun still ignite the sky above him. It is colder, though. So much so that his skin tenses and trembles through the fabric of his jumper as he lights the cigarette sitting between his teeth. 

Truly, he is happy to be home, but those walls make his skin crawl. Old scars burn and itch every time he sees those old photos hung up on walls or the wood floors creak a certain way. No amount of pine tree pollen or holiday cinnamon aroma can fully cleanse the stale alcohol that permeates every pore in that house. Each time he visits, he tries to override those memories. Create something new from the lingering pain. He’s tried to convince his mom to let him buy her a nicer place, or at least fix that damn bathtub, but she refuses every time. 

He swears one day he’ll tear out every tile in that bathroom. 

A squeak sounds behind Simon as the sliding glass doors open, then quickly shut. He hurriedly exhales the smoke in his mouth before turning around, not surprised at all to find Tommy approaching him with his arms hugged tight to his chest. 

“Tryna bum a smoke?” he asks as he shoves the cigarette back between his lips. 

“What, and have Beth maul me in my sleep?” Tommy chuckles. “Been clean for nearly six years and I don’t plan to throw that away now.” 

Dead grass crunches beneath Tommy’s feet as he approaches, but Simon’s chuckle drowns it out. “Good man.” 

Tommy hums as he stops next to Simon, still a good distance away so as to not get the stale scent of nicotine on him. Blue eyes keep flickering to the door where you, Beth and Joseph continue to watch the movie, idle chatter filling the gaps of the film you’ve seen a million times over. He smirks, and it looks an awful lot like Simon’s. Two sides of the same coin. 

“Didn’t realize you were bringin’ a girl,” he admits. “No wonder why mum seemed extra adamant about cleaning. How long have you two been together?” 

At that question, Simon takes a particularly long drag. It expands in his lungs, fills the space until there’s nothing left, and when he exhales it leaves through his nose. “We’re not together.” 

“Oh?” Tommy asks with a poorly restrained grin. “So you just brought this completely random girl home to see the family? Nothin’ more?” 

“It’s complicated,” Simon deadpans. 

“Ah. Complicated. Bullshit,” Tommy retorts. 

The brothers fall silent as laughter bleeds through the doors behind them. Both men turn to find Joseph wrapped in Beth’s arms, swaying side to side as he points at the TV. You cover your laugh with the palm of your hand, but Simon catches on to the way your shoulders shake with the movement. 

“When are you gonna settle down? Start a family of your own?” Tommy questions, eyes still on his wife and son. “Sure mum’ll appreciate you gettin’ married before she’s too old to know where she’s at.” 

In an attempt to hide his laugh, Simon chooses to scoff instead. “I couldn’t do better than you ‘n Beth.” 

“Couldn’t you?” Tommy challenges. 

For a moment, Simon entertains it. The thought of a family. The thought of you. He’ll admit, he thinks of you often, but he can’t determine if it’s because he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, or because he’s still trying to solve the mystery of you. Of Andrei, of your reclusiveness, of everything. He can’t tell if his heart quickens because of you, or what might be chasing you. 

What a silly idea. With his line of work and your anxiety, he’s certain you’d want nothing to do with him if you ever found out. 

“I mean it,” Simon says, standing firm. “Buildin’ the life you did after everythin’ you went through, findin’ an amazing woman and havin’ a good son… I’m proud of you.” 

Tommy scoffs at Simon’s adulation like he’s about to spew something sarcastic at the man, but instead his lips pull into a reverent smile. Nodding, he sighs, breath spewing out in a fit of frost that’s quickly smothered by the bitter air as it rises and vanishes. The sun sets quickly, so much so that it’s almost a distant memory by the time he’s able to find his words. 

“As the older brother, I think I’m supposed to be praisin’ you but… yeah. I’m proud of myself, too,” Tommy admits. “To think about all the shit I had gotten caught up with. Fuck, surprised Beth ever saw anythin’ in me. Nearly got myself killed over drugs. Over that fuckin’ debt. Needed my little brother to come save my ass. Still, I’ve got them. Somehow… I have them. Wouldn’t change that for the world.” 

Hot embers begin to burn too close to Simon’s fingers, and he discards the butt of his cigarette onto the ground and stomps out what remaining life it has left. He looks up at Tommy, but his eyes are focused on the smoldering remains of ash on the ground. 

“Do you ever run into him at all?” Tommy asks. 

“Who?” 

“Marco.” 

Ravenous acrimony eats away at Simon’s chest at the name alone. Memories resurface — an overconfident prick with beady green eyes. He rubs at his knuckles as if he can still feel the way they split all those years ago, and then he presses against them until they shift. Their crack echoes dully off the dead grass and glass door. 

“If I did, he’d be fuckin’ dead,” he assures. 

Tommy chuckles, clearly caught off guard by his brother’s bloodthirst. “Well, I wouldn’t ever ask you to go that far, but… the cunt would deserve it. Besides, with your line of… work, I reckon it’s not too difficult to make people vanish.” He coughs, clearing his throat of any lingering smoke before he continues. “Speakin’ of that… does she know?”

“Know what?” 

“That you run with Price?” Tommy clarifies. Simon’s silence is the only answer he needs. “You haven’t told her?” 

“It’s complicated,” Simon reiterates. 

Some facetious response dances on the tip of his tongue, Simon can see it in the way his mouth twitches, but Tommy stays silent. He sighs, then nods before looking back through the door. Their mother is on her feet, slowly maneuvering around the living room in a slight waddle in order to open the door. 

“Yeah. I know it is. Just… be careful,” he mumbles, just as the door slides open. 

“Dinner’s ready. You two should come back inside. It’s freezin’ out here,'' she urges. 

Both men glance at one another with a curt nod before trudging through the grass back to the house. The very moment they step back into the warm embrace of their childhood home, everything else seems left behind. Any worries. Any sour memories and old scars. All of it lingers in the backyard with the smoking remains of Simon’s cigarette; unimportant, and long forgotten.

[perfectlyoongi]

FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE

ㅤ↬┊synopsis ... you had to write a poem for a class and, when your creativity betrayed you, you decided to ask your boyfriend for help.

ㅤ⚘.fandom ... bts. ㅤㅤಇ.ft. ... yoongi x afab!reader. ㅤ⚘.genre ... one-shot. ㅤㅤಇ.content ... childhood friends & lovers (established relationship), fluff, just the complicity between u and yoongi. ㅤㅤಇ.word count ... 2k. ㅤ⚘.fandom ... ik as much abt writing poetry as ik abt quantum physics so u get no poem shoo shoo !! ps. dont mind the cringe :3 hope u enjoy ♡

“Come on, Yoonie!” you let out a small laugh when Yoongi grimaced as he shook his arm out of your hands. “Help me.”

“So annoying,” Yoongi prolonged the last word in a dramatic cry that made you laugh one last time. “Okay, I’ll help you.”

You quickly sat down on the black sofa in Yoongi's studio, on your lap a small notebook eager to be filled, in your hand a pencil half corroded by your thoughts. Yoongi sat next to you, in his hand a bottle of partially drunk water, in his eyes a sparkle that only appeared when he was with you.

“What do you need to do?”

“The professor asked for a poem and we had to draw the theme out of a hat.”

“And you got…”

“Love.”

Your response was accompanied by a frown on your part.

Since you remembered that you were submerged in a vast ocean of verses and stanzas, all the themes that could exist building little huts in your heart, creating fragments in your soul that would be forever united by your love for writing. And you wanted to know more about this art. You wanted to be able to create like so many others before you. You wanted to give your creativity a purpose and, with Yoongi's encouragement, you joined creative writing classes at your university.

But, as with everything, the dream became more fantastic than reality.

It was part of the challenge and it made you excited, more eager to create. But it was also tiring, spending days and nights pondering words and themes that could very well carry with them empty meanings and silent beauties. You wrote in constant fear of not being interpreted, of not being worthy of interpretation, of creating something too vague to have any value.

Everything was challenging for you, all the poems you had written to date being the result of too many thoughts and too little passion. So, when you got a theme as common and used as love, you only saw a solution to truly create a piece of art – after all, love only existed for you with Yoongi by your side.

“I kinda feel offended by your reaction,” Yoongi forced a frown and you smiled.

“Don’t start, please,” you opened the notebook and took a deep breath. “How am I supposed to start?”

“You can start by…” Yoongi was thoughtful for a moment, involuntarily playing with the bottle in his hands. “Trying to describe what love is to you?”

Your silence was capable of speaking louder than any words you could have said – and that only made Yoongi let out a small laugh.

Adjusting himself on the couch to get closer to you, Yoongi looked at you curiously. You had a serene expression, but your eyes showed that all the threads inside you were trying to interconnect to form a simple description. Leaning his arm against the back of the sofa and holding his head, Yoongi looked at you amused.

“Do you need help?” Yoongi asked cordially, a smile lacing his words, his voice gently echoing through the studio.

“You know I’m terrible with feelings.”

“I’m no better.”

“But you write songs.”

“Because you inspire me!”

You already knew that. Yoongi had already told you countless times that great inspiration for his songs came from you, from the feeling he had for you; but that didn't stop you from reacting, completely embarrassed by your boyfriend's confession.

“Then give me tips!”

“I don't know!” Yoongi opened his arms in a dramatic way, fanning them to emphasize his speech. “I just feel it and the words come and the song gets written.”

You snorted to hide a smile and calmed down again, your back leaning against the sofa, your eyes jumping from the pencil to the blank page.

“And what do you feel?”

Your question hung in the air for a brief moment as Yoongi contemplated your words.

In Yoongi's mind, dozens of words began to appear quickly, constantly running over each other, wanting to be the first to be pronounced. In Yoongi's heart, dozens of emotions began to gently blossom, taking root in Yoongi, assuring his feelings for you.

The pause wasn't long, but for you it was an eternity.

The eagerness for an answer made your heart race. You were looking forward to Yoongi's words, not only to inspire you for your poem, but also to hear once again what you meant to him – it was always good to be reassured.

“At this moment…”

Yoongi's voice was hoarse, deep, gently sung by his delicate lips. The words were steeped in care and serenity. You could feel Yoongi's thoughts in his pronunciation, the way he was precisely selecting each word he spoke bringing a smile to your face.

“At this moment, I feel like a kid again.”

“A kid?” you gently tilted your head – of all the strings of words Yoongi could have said, that wasn't one that had crossed your mind.

“Yes,” Yoongi let out a laugh, nostalgia clinging to every syllable, memories of easier times clouding his studio. “Doesn’t this situation remind you of anything?”

Yoongi continued to look at you in love – there was no other word to describe it. The sparkle in Yoongi's eyes was completed by the genuine smile that slightly curved his sweet lips. Yoongi's words were filled with a gentleness that only existed when he spoke to you, about you.

You pondered Yoongi's words. Your boyfriend's voice echoed in your mind with some care, stretching out the syllables, trying to search your memories for the words you should say. And then you remembered.

“The first grade!”

You spoke happily, memories of your childhood painting nostalgic pictures in your head, vibrant colors of happy moments radiating warmth to your heart.

“The first grade,” Yoongi repeated between small laughs as he adjusted himself on the couch. “We spent our afternoons trying to learn math together.”

“And we were never successful.”

Your laughter settled into two broad, longing, passionate smiles.

“I never told you this…” Yoongi was the first to break the silence that rested in the studio, going back to shuffle on the sofa, playing with the bottle a little more. “But, I think I started to like you at that time.”

Your eyes opened in awe, your boyfriend's confession bringing a little warmth to your heart.

“Come on, Yoonie. We were kids. It’s impossible to like someone that way.”

Accompanied by laughter, your words shaped the atmosphere of the studio into a place of comfort, of safety, of confession.

“I’m serious,” Yoongi placed one of his hands on your leg, stroking it gently. “Already at that age I knew that I wanted to stay with you for the rest of my life.”

Like a dove's feather hovering gently on a hot summer day, Yoongi's confession remained in his study as it got to know every nook and cranny, spreading its warmth across the room and nuzzling your heart.

Stay with you for the rest of his life.

In a way, those words danced in your mind, a complex waltz of possible futures moving through the halls of memories. In a way, those words gave you a shy smile, a gentle curve of embarrassment beautifying your face. In a way, those words settled in your heart, a homely comfort soothing your soul.

For the rest of his life.

“And how did you know?”

Your tone of voice was provocative, causing Yoongi to smile smugly.

“Because it was when I was with you that I could see the world in colors.” Yoongi let the bottle fall into his lap, one of his hands shyly searching for yours. “I believe that my life only began the day I met you. I woke up every day looking forward to go to school just to see you. And it was when we started dating that I started thinking about a future for me, for us.”

There was a passionate smile on your lips, a shiny curve that infected Yoongi and encouraged him to gently caress the soft skin of your hand.

“What was love like as a kid?”

“Weird,” a wistful laugh left Yoongi’s lips, his eyes locked on a long-lived past. “I just thought about annoying you just to have an excuse to talk to you.”

“Is that why you always stole my pencils?”

Yoongi shrugged his shoulders with a false air of innocence and you laughed. “But when our friendship started to become more natural, I only thought about you. How it was only with you that I could be myself. How it was only with you that I could really have fun. How you were the only one who gave me a purpose to wake up every day.”

“Do you have any songs about me that you haven’t shown me yet?”

Yoongi laughed, a strong, pink tone taking over his cheeks as he let go of your hand and returned to holding the bottle.

“Let's take it easy. We were talking about your poem.”

“Come on, Yoongi,” you smiled and gently pinched his stomach. “Tell me your secrets!”

Your boyfriend sighed as he let a smile be etched on his face. “I have two. One of them I wrote when I was at school.”

He got up carefully, walking to his desk and picking up a black notebook that was already quite corroded by time: the pages were damaged by humidity and water, the cover was a little torn and folded – that notebook seemed to have been loved.

“I carry this notebook everywhere,” Yoongi sat down next to you again and placed the notebook on his lap, encouraging you to come closer to him. “It’s where I have my first thoughts and songs as a dreamer. Among them the first song I wrote.”

“Rest of my life”, you read Yoongi’s handwriting like an incantation, your lips pronouncing each syllable with the flavor of importance and passion seasoning the title of that song. “Why didn’t you ever show me?”

“I was ashamed. It’s not my best work, y’know?”

“But you still keep it.”

“Because it is my most genuine and heartfelt song.”

Yoongi looked at you and you returned the look. In the shine of your boyfriend's eyes you saw your future together, a home and a family, an eternity of passion and complicity; in the curve of your boyfriend's lips you saw your shared past, infinite stories and memories, an extensive melancholy of a passionate history.

Before you kissed Yoongi, you smiled.

Your lips touched lightly for just a moment but it was enough to send warm waves through your body. It was incredible that after so many years of friendship and dating, Yoongi still had that pleasurable effect on you.

“Can I read it?”

“No,” Yoongi laughed again and closed the notebook.

“Come on! Please, Yoonie.”

Yoongi looked at you thoughtfully, seeing in your pleading eyes and your innocent smile the whole reason for that song. “It was because of you that I started dreaming of a future.”

Somehow, you noticed in Yoongi's shy and reserved tone that those words weren't random, that behind each letter and timbre there was a memory dear to him, a memory of something that was reserved forever in his heart.

“The seeds you planted bloom in my heart. Gardens of tulip petals adorn my desire for a future. I always daydream immersed in swan lakes about a tomorrow with you. I only ask that you stay with me for the rest of my life.”

Even before Yoongi finished his quote, you kissed him again, passion and magic joining your lips in a new promise of love.

“You’re right,” you placed your forehead against Yoongi’s and let out a small laugh. “It’s not your best work.”

“I’m gonna hit you.”

Between laughs, Yoongi kissed you again, pulling away quickly when the memory of the reason for your visit appeared in his mind.

“We’ve already talked about me, let’s go back to the poem.”

“I think I understand what I have to do,” your pencil twirled in your hand as words began to unite a web of thoughts inside your heart. “I just have to remember all the ways you love me and make me feel loved.”

Yoongi kissed your forehead before leaving you immersed in feelings and phrases, a little encouragement from Yoongi before he returned to his work.

ㅤㅤ♡ feedback is appreciated ♡

[pochipop]

＃MYSTIC MESSENGER !! ♡ — A LITTLE LITTLE MORE LOVE.

#. synopsis! — sweet gestures from them to you .

#. characters! — hyun (zen), jumin, saeyoung (707), yoosung, jaehee .

#. warnings! — none .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — back in the mm pit because it's summer and it's time for my annual redownload <3 i've also been thinking about opening a discord, so if anyone has thoughts on that, i'd love to hear them! PLUS, i played the free demo for this indie otome-esque game on steam called homicipher, and i am begging for the release of the first chapter, idk if any of you have played it, but i am way too addicted for having only played like half an hour of it. anyway lolol, enjoy!!

＃ HYUN (ZEN) !! ♡

Hyun, who buys bouquets of flowers every now and again on his way back home from rehearsals. He does his best to match the colors to your needs, —yellow on sad days in hopes they might lift your spirits, blue when you’re frustrated so that it might calm you down, etc.. They always smell so sweet, and you cherish them deeply. They always live longer than they typically should as a result of how well you care for them, and he loves to see the bashful smile tug at your lips as you accept them gracefully, even if you always tell him that he “really shouldn’t have” or that he “didn’t have to.” He does it because he loves you, and he thinks someone as beautiful as you should be presented with something just as gorgeous every now and again (even if he admittedly thinks you’re worlds prettier than flowers could ever be.)

＃ JUMIN !! ♡

Jumin, who writes little notes on the corner of the napkins he rests your coffee or tea on each morning, delicate and elegant handwriting in black ink sinking so perfectly into the ivory material. They’re never the same, always a different expression of his love or his admiration. You like to tear them off and keep them safe in a little box, and you open it up to read them when you’ve had a hard day or when you’re just not feeling your best. He always tells you that you don’t have to keep them, that he won’t be offended if you simply toss them away after you’ve read them and they’ve made you smile, —but you can never bring yourself to do it.

＃ SAEYOUNG (707) !! ♡

Saeyoung, who folds little origamis for you when he gets the chance and leaves them somewhere around for you to find. It started with a tiny paper star he was folding for the heck of it, but you liked it so much that he decided to do it again, and again, and again. So now you have a neat little stash of different animals, shapes, and otherwise cool-looking creations (all of which have silly, blank expressions drawn onto them as faces that really add a sweetness to their personality.) You like to sit and fiddle with them every now and again, just to feel the sharp edges of the crane’s beak against your fingertips or to split the little heart apart and see the “i love you <3” written on the inside.

＃ YOOSUNG !! ♡

Yoosung, who buys sticky notes for his studies but ends up using most of them to leave you little notes with cute messages and silly doodles. He likes to think this is a better usage for them, especially when he watches you spot one out of the corner of his eye, and you hold it in your hands like it’s some kind of love-stricken poetry from a wordsmith he knows he’ll never be. They might be simple and straightforward, but there’s not much room for stanzas of prose on these little post-its, and reminders that you’re doing a good job or that you look cute are so much more than enough.

＃ JAEHEE !! ♡

Jaehee, who bakes you little desserts for you to eat when you get home, often heart-shaped or dusted in romantic colors, —always in your favorite flavors. Cookies with little jam hearts in the center, cupcakes with heart sprinkles and a cream just to your liking filling up the inside; each and every one made with so much love that you can practically taste it on your tongue. There’s no one else she’d rather bake for, and no one else she’d rather spend the rest of her days with. Sometimes words are hard to come by, and she worries she won’t always get it right, but when you kiss her on the cheek before taking a bite of her treats, well. . . She thinks things will be alright anyway.

[starfallforest]

Stop putting 'Too Sweet' by Hozier in your Sylus playlists

I am sorry—this was clickbait. I don’t actually care what you do with your life. But I need you to hear me out for just a second, okay? I am extremely not neurotypical about two things: Love and Deepspace, and Andrew John Hozier-Byrne. And I have seen more than one person in the tags talk about "Too Sweet" by Hozier being a perfect song for Sylus and MC. My only discourse about this is that Too Sweet is a song about a man who makes continuous self-sabotaging life decisions being incompatible with a partner who has her life put together. In my humble opinion, both Sylus and MC are hot messes of people in completely different ways. Anyway, it’s a good song so I don’t blame you for putting it in every playlist ever. In fact, you should. But if you're into this song, I want to show you a couple more pls pls pls 🙏​

I might just be autistic, but both Hozier's music and Love and Deepspace have something extremely important in common… and that’s BEAUTIFUL MEN YEARNING!!!1 And that’s not even to mention the haunting, raw sexuality we can project onto the stories that each of these things feeds to us. That's why I needed to make this post on the 1% chance that someone might hop on this brainrot train with me. So let me present, for just a moment of your time (if you're willing): other Hozier songs that fit Sylus so well I want to combust about it.

De Selby (Parts 1 & 2):

“At last, when all of the world is asleep You take in the blackness of air The likes of a darkness so deep That God—at the start—couldn't bear.” [azlyrics] [gaelic translation]

Imagine just casually writing THE love song that so beautifully says, “Before you were in my life, I kinda understood how God felt before he created the universe.” Excuse me? Andrew just dropped this stanza on us without so much as a cw: fuck you. And if that sickening portrait of gnawing loneliness isn’t enough, we have all the Genesis God references. Since all the LIs in the game are at some point likened to gods or rivaling gods with their power, then add the reverberating instrumentals and chillingly slow vocals in this 2-minute killer, tell me how this song does not fit Sylus. Not only that, but we also have imagery of his lover descending upon him like the night (which is invoked during Part 1 in the Gaelic verse), and I know that’s on the nose for Sylus but come on. I need you guys writing smut to have an orgasm during De Selby (at least Part 2) because it might change ur brain chemistry I'm just saying.

“When you fall on me like night—I wanna kill the lights.” [azlyrics]

This song still rules irt its playing with darkness symbolism, but it also refers to the darkness in the singer’s lover—which in Sylus’ case is MC and we all were there when she shot the guy in the heart like his freaky eye was telling her: “And your heart, love, has such darkness—I feel it in the corners of the room…” my goddddddd stop right there I can’t handle the METAPHORrrr. You think Sylus gives a flying fuck about MC’s frivolous morality bullshit? No he wants her to embrace her own darkness, sit under the blankies with him and cuddle after doing crimes and a beat poetry session. This is some fucking Hannibal Lecter beyond-dark-romance shit. I’m not even trying to write a dissertation here (and yet…)

Talk (from Wasteland, Baby!):

“I'd be the sweet feeling of release mankind now dreams of, That's found in the last witness before the wave hits, marveling at God… Imagine being loved by me.” [azlyrics]

Not only does this song utilize insane Greek mythology metaphor and Biblical comparison but the overall meaning of it is, “I want you so bad, I need to speak poetically to hide how down bad I am for you.” That sounds kinda like Old World Sylus and all his pretty nicknames to me.

NFWMB:

“If I was born as a black thorn tree, I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you, Fuel the pyre of your enemies… Ain't it warming you, the world going up in flames?” [azlyrics]

This whole song just some hard, deep and steady yearning for 4 and a half minutes. Are you kidding? The acronym in the title stands for Nothing Fucks With My Baby, which is sung in the chorus like some quietly violent war chant—soft, dark, and powerful. Anyway don’t tell me Mr. Sylus “Give me a list and then go to bed. I’ll take care of it” Loveanddeepspace wouldn’t scorch the earth for the love of his life—or do one better and stand by her side while she scorches the earth herself; here’s the protective/supportive mans anthem you ordered babes.

It Will Come Back:

“I know who I am when I'm alone—I'm something else when I see you. You don't understand, you should never know How easy you are to need.” [azlyrics]

This song has repeated imagery that warns of the dangers of taking care of a feral animal, and then compares the feral animal to the singer as a lover. Like fuck off, that’s sexy and haunted. And we know that not only does Sylus love animals more than people, but he’s pretty animalistic himself if we are to believe that maybe he’s secretly a demon or something.

Arsonist’s Lullaby:

“Don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash.” [azlyrics]

Remember in Lost Oasis when MC goes on some tangent wondering what Sylus' past was like? Well it was this song. It's about troubled youth and learning to grow in your darkness. Also how cool is that imagery of demons? Hey Sylus, what do you have to say about demons? I'll wait. In the meantime I'm tattooing this shit on my clavicle

BONUS ROUND Through Me:

“Everytime I’d burn through the world, I’d see that the world—it burns through me.”

We got a man and we got some fire allusions so there ya go.

Blood Upon the Snow:

“To all things housed in her silence, Nature offers a violence.”

Blood upon the snow—it's red and white! Red!! And white!!! Also kind of a Sylus x Zayne anthem lbr

Ok I hope you found another song that inspires you to make Sylus art or fanfic with!! And before you ask, yes I've already assigned Hozier songs to every other love interest in the game. Ok thanks for reading!!! 🏃‍♀️​💨​

[520cafe]

━━ 24/7, LOVING YOU. kazuha x gender neutral reader

in which your boyfriend kazuha showers you with endless gifts and surprises for a week leading up to the 1 year anniversary of your relationship. he’s always thinking about you 24/7, 7 days in a week and 365 days in a year.

word count. 2.6k

content. disgustingly wholesome and fluffy, nicknames “love” and “dear”, established relationship.

“today is the day” kazuha thought to himself. starting from now, next week marks the first year anniversary of his relationship with [name]. all his planning and hard-work were leading up to this very moment and now, his efforts can finally blossom.

in the end, it will all be worth it. after all, he has you by his side.

MONDAY. 10:01am

your eyes slowly flutter open amidst the blazing, rosy rays of the sun shining on your face. even when your eyes haven’t completely adjusted to the morning light, you could already feel the loving gaze from your awe-stricken boyfriend.

“good morning, [name].” kazuha’s voice was deep and tired but, that didn’t hide the amount of adoration he has for you. it’s rare moments like these where his hair is not tied and is instead all messy with his half-open lids where you would feel your breath being taken away.

“kazuha, good morning. were you seriously just staring at me while i was asleep?”

“maybe.”

his honey-filled laugher surrounded the room when you lightly smacked his chest and buried your face amongst the crook of his neck in fluster. kazuha’s soft hands began to gently play with your hair as he melts deeper within your embrace, sleepily closing his eyes once more.

“what are you thinking about?” your voice comes out in a mere whisper. “what’s on your mind this morning, kazuha?”

“you.” his answer was sincere and straight-forward, holding no room for doubts but instead, was welcoming affection and pride.

lovingly, he delicately cups your cheeks as if you were the most precious person to him. bringing you closer to him, he places a soft kiss on your forehead as his crimson eyes were filled with tender love, inviting you to depths of his heart.

“everyday, i wake up excited knowing that you will always be part of my day.”

MONDAY. 11:26am

“my love, you may open your eyes now.”

kazuha removes his hands from your eyes and your eyes were met with a red and white checkered blanket laying on the grass with various fruits and pastries on top. around the blanket, surrounded a beautiful field of flowers ranging from different types and colours, with the cool breeze being the perfect company to tie the scenery altogether.

“well, what do you think?” he asked, loosely holding your finger as he notices your silent and rather speechless response.

however, instead of answering him, you excitedly intertwined your hands in his and pulled him towards the picnic that he has set up just for the two of you. that reaction alone satisfied kazuha, seeing your smile was already enough for him. sitting down beside him, your attention was instantly caught by a small brown book that was resting in the middle of the blanket.

12 poems for each month that i’ve loved you.

poems are essentially kazuha’s speciality and he knew that you took great appreciation into the poems he writes. kazuha loved your reaction whenever your eyes scanned each stanza, he loved the way you always asked questions on the meanings and metaphors and he loved how you were always there to listen to him.

your lips slightly parted just from the title of the book. kazuha took your hand in his and placed the book on your lap before he bought his face close to yours where your foreheads were touching.

“still, no amount of words could describe just how much i love you.”

TUESDAY. 1:06pm

“kazuha!” you exclaimed while holding onto his hand tightly for support, afraid and in a panic that you would fall down on the ice.

“[name] don’t worry!” kazuha chuckled, finding your reaction absolutely adorable and endearing, “i got you.”

for tuesday, kazuha decided to take you to the ice rink. in preparation for this day, kazuha dedicated days just to teach himself on how to skate. after all, he had ulterior motives for this day in particular that he was looking forward to. in his mind, with him knowing how to skate, he would get to witness you being more clingy and dependable towards him. you may find it embarrassing but, he couldn’t care less if all he saw was pink and love hearts.

“how are you so perfect at everything?”

you complained, despite how your arms were tightly wrapped around his in order to keep yourself stable on your ice. all kazuha did was laugh in response to this.

“[name], you know i’m not perfect at everything.”

“yeah you are! you’re even the perfect one for me.”

kazuha’s eyes slightly widens and he turns his head around to look at you with a surprised expression, he looked especially cute in this flustered state. it was now your turn to laugh at him. seemingly, the tables have now turned around.

“what? i like it better when i’m with you.” your eyes glistened once more, in absolute awe that someone as amazing and talented as kazuha is yours and is currently standing beside you by your side.

“[name]… you..”

it seems that kazuha’s heart couldn’t handle it anymore which was evident from the way his heart was racing for marathons, the way he turned his head away from you and the way he slightly covered his dusted pink face with his free hand.

“alright [name], you got me.” kazuha muttered, his cheeks still feeling warm and caught off-guard by your comment.

kazuha’s ulterior motives were successfully flipped onto him.

WEDNESDAY. 8:45pm

“[name], are you feeling comfortable?”

kazuha appears from the from the corner of the room with snacks before he joined you on the couch, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning his head on your shoulder. he felt the corner of his lips curve upwards when you began to softly play with his hair, each strand felt silky as they were intertwined in your fingers, making him feel even more relaxed within your touch.

“of course, anywhere is comfortable with you.” you smile at him while placing your head on top of his and sighing, his presence itself being enough to calm you down.

“i’m glad, [name].”

after a few exchanges and playful arguments about what movie to watch, you two ultimately agreed on a romance movie (just for you to secretly brag about how much better you and kazuha are compared to the main leads of the movie).

and as expected the storyline, to you, felt entirely predictable and lacklustre. so why is it that kazuha was silently tearing up from the corners of your eyes?

“kazuha, you’re not crying are you?” you turned towards him and lightly poked his cheeks. you weren’t hallucinating at all, crystal droplets were truly forming in kazuha’s ruby-like eyes.

“no..” kazuha tried to deny but he was not fooling anyone and you knew him best.

melting at the sight, your laughter was like music to his ears as you intimately cupped his face and placed a warming yet reassuring kiss on his lips. it wasn’t long-lasting, it was only a quick peck, but this small action was enough to recharge kazuha and even drive him almost crazy.

“[name]..” kazuha whispered but, you placed a finger to his lips wanting to stay in this time-frozen moment with your most precious person.

WEDNESDAY. 9:52pm

coming out from the bathroom after a relaxing and peaceful shower, you found a message notification from your phone sent by kazuha. you were slightly confused, since he’s only just in the kitchen.

the message he sent you was a link specifically, a link to a playlist made by him for you.

a piece of me: listen to this when you miss me.

THURSDAY. 12:11pm

“my dear, how is it going?”

kazuha managed to sneak behind you and fondly wrap his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder in the process. you felt his hair slightly brush against the surface of your cheeks and his warm breath was tickling your neck. being caught off-guard, your face was shaded with the colours of nerves and panic.

you knew you had to do something otherwise, you would completely melt on the floor like frosting on a warm cake.

“it’s going well, did you bring everything?” you asked, fighting for your life trying to make your voice stable as if nothing was happening.

“of course i did—”

before kazuha could even respond, you used the whisk that was in the cake batter and rubbed some of the contents on your boyfriend’s cheeks. kazuha, who definitely was not expecting this, stepped back and froze for a few long seconds before his parted lips emerged into one that held mischief and interest.

“i see, if that’s how it is..”

in an act of revenge, kazuha flicked flour towards you and it landed on your shirt. you may have saved yourself from becoming a puddle on the floor but, you also caused a bigger kitchen war of throwing cake ingredients at eachother as a consequence of your actions.

completely abandoning the third-wheeling cake batter that was resting on the counter, the two of you were distracted and entranced in your own small world where it was just you two and you two alone.

FRIDAY. 1:34pm

“so close!”

the look in your eyes were shadowed with disappointment and betrayal when that loose rigged claw dropped the plushie oddly close to the chute. it felt as if time slowed down the moment the plushie began to descend back into the pile of other plushies.

kazuha sighed, his heart aching from the sight of your dismay. he slowly approached you and gently brushed his warm hands over yours, taking over the controls before he sent you a reassuring and comforting smile.

“don’t worry [name], i’ll get this for you.”

when kazuha inserted another coin into the claw machine, the loud music from the machine was once again booming as if to build tension and suspense. you leaned closer towards him, peeking at what he was doing. it was actually a smart idea; he was instead using the claw to tip over the plushie into the chute rather than trying to pick it up entirely.

however, his efforts were only fruitless. after all, this claw machine was most likely rigged.

you saw the way his cheek puffed up and the way his eyebrows were slightly furrowed: he looked adorable like this. kazuha turned around to face you after you couldn’t hold in your laughter due to his frustrated state.

“another thing we have in common: we both suck at claw machines.”

a wave of relief washed over you when your comment managed to make kazuha laugh too, you didn’t want him to beat himself up after the both of you fail to get a singular plushie from this definitely rigged claw machine.

“well, if you see it that way..” kazuha affectionately patted your head while his face leaned in closer. “doesn’t this mean that we truly are meant for each other?”

SATURDAY. 7:38pm

“kazuha...”

a breathless gasp was released from your slightly agape lips at the panoramic scenery that was in front of you; it perfectly pictured a scene from a movie that only the actors could experience.

but now it’s happening to you, all because of your endearing, affectionate and compassionate boyfriend who loves you unconditionally and is so in love, even infatuated, with you.

“[name], my love, what do you think?” kazuha whispered, his voice was so soft that it almost felt like a warm hug.

“kazuha.. it’s perfect.”

even the word “speechless” was not enough to describe the current state that you were feeling right now, and kazuha easily caught onto that. feeling satisfied by your reaction, he gently held your hand and pulled you towards the exquisitely decorated gazebo that was peacefully resting under the blue sea of glistening stars. fairy lights were hung from above and surrounding the gazebo; the lamps were placed in a precise manner and the white decorations made it feel like a snowy scenery.

“i’ve always wanted to do this with you, for so long.”

“… you don’t mean?”

as if on cue, kazuha swiftly placed your hand on his shoulder while his free hand snaked its way around your waist before he pulled you closer to him. with the soft music of the piano and sweet ambience in the air, you knew exactly where this was going.

“come on kazuha, you know i don’t know how to dance.”

“nonsense. [name], just follow my lead.”

his gaze was holding the purity of his words and his voice was tender and filled with all the love that was swirling in the air. before you knew it, he began to move slowly.

like a firefly, he began to guide your body in sync with the tranquil song in the background. even with his guidance, kazuha could not help but notice how stiff and tense you moved which he couldn’t hold back his chuckle at the sight.

“relax [name], look at me.”

catching you off-guard, he carefully held your cheek with his hand and made you look up at him; if love was a colour, it would certainly be the colour of kazuha’s eyes and the way he looked at you as if you’re the most beautiful person in the world.

“kazuha i don’t want to accidentally step on your—”

however, kazuha quickly interrupted you by surprising you with a sweet yet benevolent kiss on your lips before he placed his forehead against yours. this whole scenario felt like a fairy-tale that was written by cupid, where the ending couldn’t be more magical and lovely.

“my love, right now, it’s just you and i.. and i am all yours.”

SUNDAY. 8:47pm

“kazuha, let’s go here!”

you excited exclaimed as you dragged him up a hill that was above the colourful blurred lights of the inazuma summer festival, all kazuha was able to do was to laugh in response to your enthusiasm.

after hurriedly going up the hill, you sat down on the edge in anticipation while kazuha followed behind. in just a few minutes, inazuma city will soon be filled with vivid and magnificent fireworks that will light up the entire sky.

“someone is excited, [name].” kazuha felt energised and happy seeing you in such a state, as if your excitement is bouncing off to him in return.

“of course i am!—”

suddenly from the corner of your eye, a bright colour captured your vision. you immediately shifted your attention towards the sky and as if curtains drew, many-hued colours ranging from lapis blue to a blazing pink began to dance together in the sky and create a beautiful ombré that painted the sky.

it was gorgeous and even show stopping: just the way many shapes and forms were being elegantly fabricated in the sky like it was telling a story, or the way each image in the sky had an interpretative and imaginative meaning, it certainly caught kazuha’s eyes.

while his mind was full of you as well as poetry inspiration and metaphors, he suddenly felt a weight on his shoulders.

and there you were, completely asleep on his shoulder as a pillow which felt like home. kazuha sighed at the lovable sight in front of him, one minute you were extremely excited for the fireworks and the next second you were passed out on his shoulder.

kazuha understood though after all, this has been quite an eventful week leading up to the first year anniversary of the relationship. judging from your reactions to his little surprises and gifts, this week had been quite successful.

while you slept on his shoulder, kazuha slowly kissed your forehead in the midst of the story-telling fireworks before he leaned close to your ear and whispered.

“my dear, i will always love you forever and a day. happy one year anniversary.”

Yu’s words ━━ this totally wasn’t inspired by the song 7 (clean ver.) sang by the infamous main vocalist and center jeon jungkook from well-known kpop group known as bts nahh there’s no wayy. this took me quite a while but i’m glad that i finally finished! :D hope you all enjoyed me basically vomiting about being a hopeless romantic pffttt

[burningvelvet]

Here are two of the most hilariously scalding letters from the 1800s that I have ever read. One is by the famous writer Lord Byron, and the other is by his daughter Ada Lovelace, the famous mathematician. Both are written to their respective business partners: Byron to his publisher John Murray, and Lovelace to her colleague Charles Babbage. It’s interesting to note how strikingly similar these letters are despite the fact that Ada and her father never knew each other, as her parents separated shortly after her birth and he died abroad when she was eight. Both were rebellious, fond of gambling, prone to tumultuous affairs, and both hated Lady Byron. These similarities may help to explain why her final wish was to be buried next to him instead of her family.

Lord Byron in a Letter to his publisher John Murray about the printing of his magnum opus, the poem Don Juan:

“Ra. August 31st. 1821.

Dear Sir

I have received the Juans – which are printed so carelessly especially the 5th. Canto – as to be disgraceful to me — & not creditable to you.

It really must be gone over again with the Manuscript – the errors are so gross – words added – changed – so as to make cacophony & nonsense. — You have been careless of this poem because some of your Synod don’t approve of it – but I tell you – it will be long before you see any thing half so good as poetry or writing. — Upon what principle have you omitted the note on Bacon & Voltaire? and one of the concluding stanzas sent as an addition? because it ended I suppose – with –

‘And do not link two virtuous souls for life Into that moral Centaur man & wife?’

Now I must say once for all – that I will not permit any human being to take such liberties with my writings – because I am absent. —

I desire the omissions to be replaced (except the stanza on Semiramis) particularly the stanza upon the Turkish marriages – and I request that the whole be carefully gone over with the M.S.S. –

I never saw such stuff as is printed – Gulleyaz – instead of Gulbeyaz &c. Are you aware that Gulbeyaz is a real name – and the other nonsense? – I copied the Cantos out carefully – so that there is no excuse – as the Printer reads or at least prints the M.S.S. of the plays without error. —

If you have no feeling for your own reputation pray have some little for mine. — I have read over the poem carefully – and I tell you it is poetry – Your little envious knot of parson-poets may say what they please — time will show that I am not in this instance mistaken. — Desire my friend Hobhouse to correct the press especially of the last Canto from the Manuscript – as it is – it is enough to drive one out of one’s senses – to see the infernal torture of words from the original. – For instance the line

‘And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes her doves’

Is printed

‘and praise their rhymes &c. –

also ‘precarious’ for ‘precocious’ – and this line. stanza 133.

‘And this strong extreme effect – to tire no longer’

Now do turn to the Manuscript – & see – if I ever made such a line – it is not verse. —

No wonder the poem should fail – (which however it wont you will see) with such things allowed to creep about it. – – Replace what is omitted – – & correct what is so shamefully misprinted, – and let the poem have fair play – – and I fear nothing. — I see in the last two Numbers of the Quarterly – a strong itching to assail me (see the review of the “Etonian”) let it – and see if they shan’t have enough of it. – – I don’t allude to Gifford – who has always been my friend – & whom I do not consider as responsible for the articles written by others. – But if I do not give Mr. Milman – Mr. Southey – & others of the crew something that shall occupy their dream! I am not what I was – that is all

I have not begun with the Quarterers – but let them look to it. – As for Milman (you well know I have not been unfair to his poetry ever) but I have lately had some information of his critical proceedings in the Quarterly which may bring that on him which he will be sorry for. – I happen to know that of him – Which would annihilate him – when he pretends to preach morality – not that he is immoral – because he isn’t – having in early life been once too much so. – And dares he set up for a preacher? let him go and be priest to Cybele. – why let

You will publish the plays – when ready — I am in such a humour about this printing of D.J. so inaccurately – that I must close this.

yrs. [scrawl]

P.S. I presume that you have not lost the stanza to which I allude? it was sent afterwards look over my letters – & find it. The Notes you can’t have lost – you acknowledged them – they included eight or little corrections of Bacon’s mistakes in the apothegms. – And now I ask once more if such liberties taken in a man’s absence – are fair or praise-worthy? – As for you you have no opinions of your own – & never had – but are blown about by the last thing said to you no matter by whom.”

[Separate page]

“Dear Sir

The enclosed letter is written in bad humour – but not without provocation. -

However – let it (that is the bad humour) go for little – but I must request your serious attention to the abuses of the printer which ought never to have been permitted. – You forget that all the fools in London (the chief purchasers of your publications) will condemn in me the stupidity of your printer. — For instance in the Notes to Canto fifth – ‘the Adriatic shore of the Bosphorus – instead of the Asiatic!! – All this may seem little to you – so fine a gentleman with your ministerial connections – but it is serious to me – who am thousands of miles off & have no opportunity of not proving myself the fool yr. printer makes me – except your pleasure & leisure forsooth.

The Gods prosper you — & forgive you, for I wont.

B.”

Ada Lovelace in a letter to her work partner Charles Babbage, who she helped invent the computer with:

“Tuesday Afternoon [1 August 1843] Ockham

. . . Note B has plagued me to death; altho' I have made but little alteration in it. Such alterations as there are however, happen to have been very tiresome & to have demanded minute consideration & very nice adjustments.

It is a very excellent Note.

I wish you were as accurate, & as much to be relied on, as I am myself. You might often save me much trouble, if you were; whereas you in reality add to my trouble not infrequently; and there is at any rate always the anxiety of doubting if you will not get me into a scrape; even when you don't.

By the way, I hope you do not take upon yourself to alter any of my corrections.

I must beg you not. They all have some very sufficient reason. And you have made a pretty mess & confusion in one or two places (which I will show you sometime), where you have ventured in my M.S's, to insert or alter a phrase or word; & have utterly muddled the sense.

I could not conceive at first in one or two places what had happened to my sentences; tho' I soon saw they were patchwork & not my own; and found it so, on referring to the M.S. I fear you will think this a very cross letter. Never mind. I am a good little thing, after all. Yours ever

A. A. L.

Later. P. S. It is impossible to send you anything but Notes B and C; (& this partly owing to some wrong references & blunderations of your own). — Do not be afraid, for I will work like the Devil early tomorrow morning. —“

[Separate Page]

“Wednesday, 4 o'clock [2 August 1843] Ockham

After working almost incessantly, since 7 o'clock this morning, until I am forced to give in from sheer inability to apply longer, I find only the sheet I enclose is quite completed. I shall however send a servant up tomorrow morning by a ten o' clock train, to take you all the rest; so that you will have it almost as soon as this letter.

You cannot conceive the trouble I have had with the trigonometrical Note E. — In fact no one but me, I really believe, would have doggedly stuck to it, as I have been doing, in all wearing minutiae.

I am very uneasy at not hearing from you, as I have expected to do both yesterday & today; & fear some disaster or other. I hope all of Note G is forthcoming; & I also hope you have received all my communications safely.

I think you had better do the second revise of the translation for me. If you will compare it carefully with my first revise, it can hardly be necessary I think for me to go over it again.

I suppose I ought to take it for granted that no news is good news; but I am in a sad fidget. — Yours ever

A. L.”

[bestworstcase]

thinking about summer’s epitaph again. thus kindly i scatter—it’s like

summer rose was the perfect huntress. supermom. special, qrow tells ruby. the best of us. in the poem, the speaker finds the last rose of summer still in bloom, still alive, and because it’s the only one left, plucks it—kills it—and scatters the petals. thus kindly i scatter/thy leaves o’er the bed/where thy mates of the garden/lie scentless and dead.

odd thing to put on a gravestone, isn’t it? if summer rose were really dead, i’d take it as an insinuation that raven mercy-killed her, but… summer rose is clearly not dead, and ‘the rose of summer’ means ‘summer’s rose,’ i.e. there’s a stealth pun logic for interpreting ruby as the rose, and:

i didn’t have a choice, i did what i had to do i made a sacrifice, but forced a bigger sacrifice on you i know you’ve lived a nightmare i’ve caused you so much pain but baby, please don’t do what i did i don’t want you to waste your life in vain

the speaker plucks the rose to symbolize his own despair: soon may i follow/when friendships decay/and from love’s shining circle/the gems drop away/when true hearts lie withered/and fondness is flown/oh! who would inhabit/this bleak world alone?

summer rose is a mirror—ruby’s literal reflection, in the ever after—and her allusion to this poem is reversed accordingly. she leaves her rose (ruby) behind in the circumstance described in the poem’s final stanza: friendships decay (team strq fallen apart), true hearts lie withered and fondness is flown (raven), and ruby has to inhabit this bleak world alone. i made a sacrifice but forced a bigger sacrifice on you; summer left her family behind to do what she feels is right, and condemned her daughter to grow up in the shadow of her mother’s pedestal.

yet the empathy and identification with her rose is still present and expressed through this plea for ruby not to do what summer did: i don’t want you to waste your life in vain. by being ozma’s ‘smaller soul.’

but there’s also an element here of the epitaph saying something about the ones who chose it—taiyang and qrow, presumably—and their perception of summer and what her presumed death is doing thematically. in their eyes she is the rose; she left and never came back and they at some point chose to believe that she died. symbolically, they ‘kill’ summer rose—they make her into a dead hero—and so, thus kindly i scatter.

rwby is played with the “die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain” trope in V9 with both ruby and jaune—ruby when jaune explodes at her in a manner reminiscent of his obviously biased recollection of alyx, jaune in the literal sense that he becomes a tyrant—and i think that theme is going to come to fruition in a big way with summer. because…

remember how qrow reacted when he found out raven was ‘with’ salem? his kneejerk reaction was to disown her. he lionized summer—they all did—gave her a noble hero’s death, a beloved memorial, a shining posthumous pedestal. thus kindly i scatter. she’s been with salem fourteen years. she will, presumably, have some thoughts and feelings about how she was remembered.

[lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit]

Hiiii!!!! Can I please request a headcanon home brew with the reader being friends with rocky? It can be angsty or fluffy or whatever you prefer! Thank you 😁

Took a more lighthearted direction with this, to offset a particularly angsty romantic oneshot that’s eventually to come… One must maintain a balanced diet of their illicit beverages and all. It also ended up a bit specific. Hope you enjoy!

So you’ve become friends with the notorious poet, eh? Congratulations! There likely wasn’t much effort needed on your part.

He’s naturally talkative (and how) as well as sociable (though lacking the skill), but you had to have bumped into him several times in the same setting before a true habit was formed of it.

Being a regular at the café or the speakeasy is the setup that most easily lends itself… maybe one before the other, though he wouldn’t bring you downstairs unless you were explicitly interested. The criminal scene might not be everyone’s cup of tea, after all.

You’re less probable to find out about the Lackadaisy from him, either; it’s likely Ivy told you first, seeing how much you two get along as well as finding you genuinely personable and interesting. But if you end up undeterred by the revelation that he works for a bootlegging operation and would like to take that trip downstairs some night, he’ll be glad to have you see him play with the band!

Speaking of, if you were also an artist, he’d be elated.

The stanzas shall flow like water from an overly tenacious tap regardless of your expertise, of course. Uneducated listening ears are better than none, and he’ll appreciate even surface level analysis and positive feedback if you bother with such. Don’t fret if you don’t understand all of the words or get tangled up in an abundant array of alliterative allegories. You’ll learn to adjust accordingly. (Or so he assures.)

But! If you’re a kindred creative soul, it’s a common ground he’ll hop onto with utmost eagerness.

A fellow poet or writer? He’d hinge on your every word of appraisal. How did you like the flow of this one, (Y/N)? You could practically feel the expressionistic scenery enveloping you with this picturesque wording, could you not? What about that one metaphor about the stars, (Y/N)? Surely it conveyed his message on the sweet transience of life? (Y/N)? Oh, (Y/N)! Please answer him, (Y/N), he’s begging to know.

Don’t worry, it’s not one-sided. He’s always all up in your literary business and half-finished drafts in return, asking plenty of questions and insisting on being your first audience for everything. He’ll listen to you talk yourself out of plot holes and come in handy as a sentient thesaurus whenever you get stuck on the synonyms.

(Though I cannot guarantee he’s capable of providing a distraction-free environment. Any environment truly free of distractions is one where he is absent.)

A musician? Oh boy! Your instruments may not be the slightest bit compatible, but that could never stop him from making the most splendorous harmonies together with his dearest chum!

Teaching each other songs you know is a must. Beloved classics like Vivaldi as well as local tunes from either of your lands of origin; he’s an extremely quick learner, as you’ve found out, with a keen ear and significant thirst for knowledge, especially when it comes to things dear to your heart.

You’ve observed how deeply serene he appears to be when playing a certain song or two with a gentle folk-like ring, as if in a trance of reminiscence. He claims not to understand what you mean when you bring it up… so you play along in silent understanding, earning a smile back when your eyes meet that is, for a change, admittedly softer.

Or perhaps a visual artist? Painter? Comic strip illustrator? Cartoon animator?

He would so brag about having an animator friend (even if only aspiring). To the surprise of no one, he’s a great fan of those whimsical hand-drawn moving pictures. Some may find them silly, but in his vocabulary that’s a staple of high precedence.

Yes, he has been to the movies several times, and a shared interest would provide a stellar excuse to accompany you there. Unfortunately, he both refuses to let you treat and is perpetually penniless, so he has the two of you sneak in by less than rule-abiding means. You’ve gotten thrown out before. (Likely not the first time when going out somewhere with him, and neither is it the last.)

But let’s suppose you’re a painter instead. Likely you’re creating in the chiefly popular styles of the era; impressionism, surrealism, the like. Even if not, he still praises you for sticking to your individuality. If you’re a misunderstood artist like him, he reassures with genuine conviction that you’ll make it into the galleries someday, current trends be damned. (Maybe you both are simply ahead of your time.)

The contents or perceived quality are entirely negligible, because he will find a way to compliment your work. Usually his criticism is focused less around your technical skill and more so his emotions and ideas sparked by the sight that are occasionally heavily abstract or several degrees of detached from your original intent. Still, the different perspective can be… well, interesting to hear out, at least.

When you’re coloring or shading certain parts in certain ways, like circularly or with a soothing curve of the brush, he’ll trail off in whatever he was doing or prattling on about and watch quietly for a bit as you work. It’s only embarrassing when he was in the middle of telling you something; he might even lose that line of thought. (Far from the only time that ever happens to him, so you’re forgiving by now.)

Listen, stimboards didn’t exist in the 1920s. He’ll take what he can get.

As for him, well, his personality isn’t the only thing that stopped substantially developing at the age of twelve. His visual art skills might begin and end at silly-looking scribbles caricaturing himself and the people he knows, but he’s satisfied nonetheless. Ambitious rhymes and ornate metaphors are more his department.

He’s still gotten a chuckle or two out of you with his humorously misshapen efforts at drawing you, so he considers that a win as well.

I’ve mentioned lands of origin. If you’re from a state he’s yet to have visited, he’ll surely ask a number of questions about your experiences living there. But if you’re from overseas? Another continent? Nation he’s scarcely heard of? Square that number and multiply by ten thousand.

It’s exciting to hear about different cultures, alright? He likes to understand you better. In any case you make an easier job of it for him than the other way around.

He’d likely have a lot of respect for you for learning English so well, even more so if mostly by yourself. (Viktor’s intimidating disposition and inclination to punch him at the slightest provocation are not the only reasons he never corrects his phrasing.) If he’d said some difficult or rare word you don’t understand, he wouldn’t have to hesitantly accept your complaints of confusion as exasperated mockery for a change and instead could take the time to kindly explain. Probably in an even more troublesome way. You go through like five overcomplicated synonyms before one of them finally rings a bell… but he’s patient.

Expect spontaneous “hey, how’d you say that in your language?” inquiries in the middle of a conversation, out of sheer curiosity. You may only laugh at his clumsy mimicking of your pronounciation once, because he adapts to the unique sounds of a foreign tongue scarily fast. He greets you with the everyday words you’re rather used to hearing around your hometown thousands of miles away and it’s downright uncanny how natural it sounds. (Which is why you’ve asked him not to do it without warning.)

You can’t quite hold conversations like that yet, but you reckon it’d be fun to annoy everyone else around you with if you ever got him to that point.

The others at the speakeasy are mostly baffled by the fact you’re willingly sticking around, especially if you’re not a colleague, for Rocky’s company. Not many people can, well, tolerate him. He’s honestly a bit much sometimes.

But you liked him when you were running from the cops together in scant apparel covered head to toe in dirt as the flames digesting some poor sod’s patio crackled distantly and you wondered how a starry night walk by the riverside had so inexplicably devolved into acts of incidental vandalism, and you continue to like him nowadays.

He’s your friend, after all. The adventures born of questionable choices are part of the deal. And like his soft-spokenly reluctant cousin (except less so motivated by guilt) you’re there with him through it all to make sure he doesn’t get himself in serious trouble… much.

[th3-0bjectivist]

Dear listener, if I wasn’t trying to entertain an audience on this platform with a variety page, all I would post is metal music, all the time. Why? Because metal is my favorite type of music and has been since I was sixteen. I grew up listening to lots of sludge metal, like Crowbar and Mastodon. I still love immortal tunes by iconic heavy metal acts like Judas Priest. If it weren’t for bands like Slayer, I would never have gotten to experience the extreme highs and lows of thrash and death metal! But you know what I don’t like? Modern metalcore. Seriously, most of it really, really sucks, folks. To instantly access metalcore that doesn’t eat shit, all you must do is take a listen at some of the great bands that invented and popularized it. Zao practically started metallic hardcore, along with a handful of other equally distinguished groups, which is simply a merger between metal and hardcore punk. Just above, you’ll find The Rising End (The First Prophecy) from their 2004 album The Funeral of God. Once you smash play and discover for the first time what quality metalcore is, you will no doubt join me below for more if you enjoyed it.

Metal is defined by many facets, but for me it comes down to guitar solos, lyrics that are heavy on imagery, intense aggression, and powerful drumming. Most of the metal music that I personally listen to has a galloping quality; immersing the listener and making them feel as if they are riding on a steel-armored steed that is charging toward an epic battlefield. Metal is the only type of music I’ll listen to without being able to fully understand what the lead vocalist is screaming, as much of the lyrics aren’t necessarily comprehensible without looking online for the stanzas. Zao does all of these things very, very well, and blends in a little hardcore punk for audial variety and inventiveness. This is probably the closest thing to a Christian band I’ll ever post on my page, as Zao’s original works were thematically ‘Christ-centered’. Their overall catalog, however, is clearly divided into different eras, with completely different band members and shifts in tone from one era to the next. This isn’t Christian metal, they only started off that way. Upon listening to many of their full albums in preparation for this post, I can tell you, this band has simply become one of grand storytelling. The lyrics are often poetic, thoughtful and majestic. Their lead vocalist does something other metalcore leads don’t do; NOT sound like the Cookie Monster on bath salts or a whiny pop band-reject on a heavy dose of autotune. This is a rare group that manages to establish atmosphere alongside raw intensity, unclean vocals, and a sprawling and complex story to tell, filled with glimmers of lore and intrigue. Zao brings strong material into a type of music that has largely become flabby, lame, diluted and fundamentally weak in the last decade and a half. Metalcore was once fresh and experimental, and groups like this were and are still the torchbearers ensuring it has some semblance of an enduring future. Just below, you can smash play on The Final Ghost from their 2021 album The Crimson Corridor and enjoy metalcore in its most resplendent form.

The next time one of your senseless friends starts playing ‘music’ by metalcore groups like Lamb of God… immediately tell them you WILL NOT STAND for this insulting sound, flog them, tell them their taste in music is questionable and that the lead singer sounds like a pissed-off Cookie Monster. And then ask, “If you’re going to put metalcore on, can you at least put on some good metalcore!?” And then, when they ignorantly ask what good metalcore is, you can tell them, Zao. And tell them your pal, th3-0bjectivist on Tumblr, evangelized you in The School of Quality Music while you’re at it. Image source: https://www.metalsucks.net/2024/03/16/zao-share-video-from-upcoming-live-release-and-announce-listening-party/

[luniviravosshipper]

Over Analyzing and Theorizing Things About Captian Skall

I’m not sure how I feel about making this my first post on this blog (since I haven’t finished setting it up), but I just had too many thoughts on this to not share them. Also, this is going to be a bit of a ramble because it’s late at night and I’m tired so I’m not putting too much effort into making it structurally sound. I’m really just brain dumping my thoughts here.

So firstly, I want to point out Captain Skall’s character introduction because I find it intriguing.

At the very beginning of the poem, it states that she “did scrawl a journey by river and sea”. Scrawl means to write something rapidly and carelessly so that could imply that she was hastily mapping out her plan of travel. It also says that as she began to travel and claim “her legend” she “called herself free”. I wonder if it’s trying to suggest that perhaps she was running away from something. Especially if you take into consideration the middle line, “from the isles without name”.

On the map of Xadia and the Human Kingdoms, there’s the Independent Isles that appear in the bottom left hand corner. Could this maybe be where it’s saying she comes from? If so, I can’t help but to speculate what exactly she was trying to run away from there if she was because we know so little about it. It’s also interesting because as we read on through the rest of the poem, it seems like the themes of freedom and adventure are pretty evident throughout it. I wonder what that says about what we’ll learn about her character in the future.

“Past the uneven towers” is undoubtedly referencing Katolis.

And I’m guessing that the part about the fields is referencing Duren, mainly because they’re known for their farming.

I feel like the last part of this stanza may actually have a deeper meaning to it. The verse’s focus on her not wanting to settle in Duren might be intentional. And I have one idea of why the writers might have included it.

According to TDP wiki, Duren used to have a queen that was considered to be cruel because she banished a lot of people north and she was eventually overthrown by those who banished her.

North of Duren is Skall’s Hook. And we do not know what happened to the queen after she was overthrown.

I’m not sure of it. But it may be possible that she was either this queen or at least associated with her. I mean, again, I’m not set on that idea, but I just think it’s a possibility to consider especially as we read on.

The next part reveals she hungered for glory instead of bread and so she continued on her journey north. This again seems to imply her longing for adventure and freedom. But her not hungering the bread of Duren could be important in itself too. Bread can sometimes be symbolic in writing. Bread is oftentimes associated with things like prosperity, abundance, inner fulfillment, and generosity. And it also notes of how bountiful the supply of Duren was. So I wonder what it could be saying in terms of symbolism. Did she find something in Duren that might have provided her with these things but she refused to accept them into her life? Who knows?

Also, sort of an interesting detail here. The writer’s specify that it’s autumn which comes before winter and she’s heading north where it’s cold. Story wise, they could also be using this to indicate a shift in her story where things take a dark turn when she leaves Duren, again, playing into that idea that she might have left something in Duren that she shouldn’t have.

Now, a lot could be interpreted from this next section and I don’t even know where to start because I have so many ideas of what it could mean. But I’ll attempt to.

It states how she goes on her journey “forgoing a man who’d have made her his bride”, as in she was either running away from a man who proposed to her or is traveling to him to decline him. (The wording here is weird because I don’t know if it’s trying to say she’s traveling away or towards the man.)

Her avoidance of this marriage could be seen as another sign of her valuing her independence over what might be best for her (as it is later on revealed in the poem that she does in fact love the man).

But I think what the bigger question here is who is this man and what is the context of this proposal?

If she’s traveling away from the man, I think the interpretation that she is running away from some sort of arranged marriage as I’ve seen some people suggest makes the most sense here. I think that’d also be very fitting with the theory that she might be the cruel queen of Duren. On the other hand though, if she’s traveling towards the man… I mean, there’s not much else that we know of that's north besides the Frozen Sea, Skall’s Hook, and the Star Scraper. And I can’t really imagine who would really be in that direction.

Unless, of course, it was Aaravos.

Aaron Ehasz stated a long time ago that there was a very important person to Aaravos and that their name would appear on the TDP map. It seems very possible that Skall was the person he was referring to.

Although, I don’t really favor this interpretation of the text. It’s not because I don’t think it’d make sense for her to be the person that Ehasz talked about, but because I’m not sure about Aaravos being the one to propose to her. He could still very much have a connection to her but that doesn’t mean this poem is necessarily talking about him. We know so little about Aaravos as a character or as a Startouch elf and so we have no idea why he would be interested in pursuing her. Still, that doesn’t exempt him from being considered a possible suitor of hers. We'll just have to find out more on this later.

I don’t really know what this part is talking about because we don’t really have an idea of what Skall’s hook actually is yet. Maybe that’s where she attempted to confront Aaravos? But I’m guessing there’s more that she did there as well. If we’re following the theory that she might have been connected to the cruel queen of Duren, maybe she traveled to Skall’s Hook to save the people there that the queen banished.

This seems to be further emphasizing Skall’s longing for travel and exploration, but at this point it seems like it’s trying to portray it as almost like a form of greed. Skall continues to look for more ways to leave an influence on the world when she already did and only ends up getting stuck in the Frozen Sea because she can’t settle for what she already has.

At the very end of it all, she ends up dying there as she contemplates her true feelings for the man and how she wished she could confess them to him.

I want to point out how it states that “she found peace” in her last days there. I think that’s interesting for the writers to note of since the ending of the poem basically suggests that she froze to death and I wouldn’t typically consider that to be a peaceful way of dying. What makes this most odd though is that there’s no comma to indicate a separation in different clauses here. So like instead of saying “and while she found peace, she wished that…” it says “and while she found peace she wished that…” Considering the implied themes of her character, I think this might be saying that as she was dying she was finally given some time to reflect on her life and she began to see things with more clarity. That could be why she finds her last days so peaceful, not because of how she died, but because she finally developed understanding of herself and her faults. I don’t know, maybe I’m way overthinking this. I just find it interesting how they punctuated this sentence since it implies she might have actually found peace while contemplating her feelings for the man instead of finding pain in realizing those feelings, which could say some things. Also, this entire ending really just puts into question why she was going to forgo the man in the first place.

Now, for some other thoughts I have too that don’t necessarily come from the poem directly.

I don’t know when Captain Skall lived specifically, but there’s a couple of other characters that I have a feeling might be associated with her besides Aaravos and the cruel queen of Duren.

Sir Phineas Krist and Delilah Giehl were travelers together and it could be possible that at some point they bumped into each other or even traveled together. The only thing that really makes me doubt this is that they lived during the era of Sol Regem and Captain Skall most likely had to live afterwards. But they were also the writers and publishers of the Lost Secrets of Xadia book which had the excerpt about Aaravos in it that came from the show, so they could just be connected by their shared association with Aaravos.

She might have some connection with Kim’dael too.

Okay, so this inspired by another theory I’m developing based off of Captain Skall and where she’s from. I saw someone on the TDP discord talk about this and I really like the idea so I’m going to share some of mine based off theirs.

Moonshadow elves had a significant role in helping banish the humans to the west. It could be possible that a lot of them got trapped in between the west and the east in the process of this. In fact, it’s even confirmed that some did get stuck on the west side of the continent.

What if some of these elves, perhaps unable to return to the Moonshadow forest and were too fearful of the humans to interact with them, decided to settle on the Independent Isles?

I mean, that does look suspiciously moon shaped if you asked me. It could be hinting to something.

What if Esmeralda felt trapped there by the other Moonshadow elves and wanted to escape from them? That could explain a lot about her need for freedom seen throughout the poem. She could have been a human who was supposed to be exported by the elves but got trapped with them on these isles and was forced to retreat in order to guarantee her safety. Or, alternatively, she could have been a Moonshadow elf herself who didn’t agree with the other elves’s distaste towards humans. (I’d imagine that if she was one she was able to travel the human kingdoms by disguising herself via the use of illusions.)

Now, here’s where her connection to Kim’dael comes in.

Kim’dael and the Order of the Bloodmon reigned during the era of Luna Tenebris. From what I understand, the humans were banished from the east at the beginning of her era. She reigned for 700 years, roughly 300 years before the current timeline of the show.

We have no idea what’s on these isles or what’s happening on them now besides the possibility of Moonshadow elves being located there. 700 years is a long time, like it’s practically the amount of time the human kingdoms existed for, and a lot of events could have taken place during the reign of the Order of the Bloodmoon. And let’s not forget, we know very little about Kim’dael’s origin story. She could have very much had an association with Skall as a Moonshadow elf. What if Kim’dael even came from these Isles like Skall did? I don’t know, this feels like a lot that I’m throwing out there, but overall I think we should consider some of these things. I'll probably make another post elaborating on this theory later.

She also might have had a run in with Akiyu. This isn’t really based off of anything, I just feel like we haven’t seen all of Akiyu yet. She’s probably more involved in Aaravos’s imprisonment and backstory than we have so far learned about, especially since apparently all information on her has vanished in Xadia like all information on Aaravos did. I know that Skall was traveling in the west and Akiyu could have been very far east where the Tidebound Archipelago is at the time she was traveling, but she was traveling by water and we don’t really know much about Akiyu’s backstory so… maybe they met? I don’t know, this might be a bit of a stretch. You might have to just ignore this part lol.

Anyways, that’s all my thoughts for now. I might add onto this more later, but I think that’s essentially all I have to say right now regarding Captain Skall and what we might find out about her.

[incorrectcoldflashblog]

Answer the Questions and Tag 5 Fanfic Authors

Thank you so much to @kitkatt0430 for tagging me <3

1. How did you get into writing fanfiction?

Well, I got back into Coldflash in a big way a couple years ago, and kind of got frustrated not really seeing anything new in the tag, lol. Desperation is usually my biggest motivator to do anything. If I had unlimited new Coldflash fics coming out, I probably would never have written my own tbh.

2. How many fandoms have you written in?

Just the one. I used to do translations for a different fandom, though, so maybe two depending on if translating counts.

3. How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

My own? Only a year and a half. Translating, maybe roughly ten years.

4. Do you read or write more fanfiction?

I probably write more now, but you wouldn’t know it because I’m such a slow writer!

5. What is one way you’ve improved as a writer?

Oh, I feel like my English has definitely gotten better since I started writing regularly. I always felt obligated to put a little disclaimer at the bottom, like please be nice to me, this isn’t my first language, lol. I feel a little bit more confident about it now (although I still obsessively google every sentence and word).

6. What’s the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

I mean, thanks to Chapter 4 of What Happens in Vegas I know now way more than I ever needed to know about tornado sirens, considering we don’t have them in my country, lol. I also ended up doing extensive (and totally pointless) research about the ancient Sumerian city-state of Ur (located in the South of what is now modern-day Iraq), which is where Len/Cold was supposed to be from in my AU where he was a genie. For those who are unaware, Ur fell in about 2000 BC and had a very famous poem written about it. Here is the cheery opening of 11 stanzas of misery:

For the gods have abandoned us

like migrating birds they have gone

Ur is destroyed, bitter is its lament

The country's blood now fills its holes like hot bronze in a mould

Bodies dissolve like fat in the sun. Our temple is destroyed

Smoke lies on our city like a shroud.

blood flows as the river does

the lamenting of men and women

sadness abounds

Ur is no more

7. What’s your favorite type of comment to receive on your work?

I always appreciate when people point out the parts they liked. But honestly I’m happy for people to comment at all, especially on older fics :)

8. What’s the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

I don’t know that anything I’ve written can be considered fringe, lol. I do have a Lisa/Iris WIP, which I assume would be more of a rarepair, but I only have one scene written for it so who knows if I’ll ever finish it. I guess the Genie AU was kind of strange.

9. What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Longfics ;-; God, I’ve gained so much respect for people who can do that consistently for 60+ chapters, or over multiple fics in a series. My longfic isn’t even that long, comparatively, and I still feel like I will never get it done.

10. What is the easiest type?

One-shots, my beloved.

11. Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

On my laptop. I just use Word and I prefer to write in the morning, which isn’t super ideal because it only leaves me the weekend to really get into it.

12. What is something you’ve been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

I’m too nervous to start more longfics at the moment because I feel like two is my absolute limit but I’d love to be able to write both the TATBILB-inspired fic I had in mind and the Future Fic that I sometimes play around with. I’d have to finish at least one of my longer projects first, or maybe try to get the whole thing written before posting it but I’m usually too impatient to do that!

13. What made you choose your username?

My username is captainicecube and I picked it because it’s roughly how Captain Cold was translated in the French dub. They translated it as Captain Glaçons (Captain Icecubes), which always makes me laugh whenever I think about it because it’s so stupid XD

Tagging @crestfallercanyon @joanthangroff @tiger-in-the-flightdeck @softboydepot and @moriavis

[averagemrfox]

was just reminded of my favorite poem and now I'm beat up over bumbleby and these first three stanzas

You will never be let down by anyone more than you will be let down by the one you love most in the world it’s how gravity works it’s why they call it “falling” it’s why the truth is harder to tell every year you have more to lose but you can choose to bury your past in the garden by the tulips water it until it’s so alive it lets go and you belong to yourself again When you belong to yourself again Remember forgiveness is not a tidy grave  It is a ready loyal knight kneeling before your royal heart Call in your royal heart  Tell it bravery cannot be measured by a lack of fear  It takes guts to tremble  It takes so much tremble to love  Every first date is a fucking earthquake Sweetheart, on our first date  I showed off all my therapy  I flaunted the couch Where I finally sweat out my history  I pulled out the photo album from the last time I wore a lie to the school dance  I smiled and said “that was never my style Look how fixed I am  Look how there’s no more drywall on my fist  Look at the stilts I’ve carved for my short temper  Look how my wrist is not something I have to hide” I said  Well I was hiding it The telephone pole still down from the storm  By our third date I had fixed the line  I said listen I have a hard time  I mean I cry as often as most people pee and I don’t shut the door behind me I’ll be up in your face screaming “SEATTLE IS TOO RAINY SEATTLE IS TOO RAINY IM NEVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO LIVE HERE.” I sobbed on our fourth date I can’t live here  In my body, I mean I can’t live in my body all the time it feels too much  So if I ever feel far away know I am not gone I am just underneath my grief Adjusting the dial on my radio faith so I can take this life with all of it’s love and all of it’s loss See I already know that you are the place where I am finally going to sing without any static meaning I’m never gonna wait that extra twenty minutes to text you back and I’m never gonna play hard to get when I know your life has been hard enough already When we all know everyone’s life has been hard enough already it’s hard to watch the game we make of love, like everyone’s playing checkers with their scars, saying checkmate whenever they get out without a broken heart. Just to be clear I don’t want to get out without a broken heart. I intend to leave this life so shattered there better be a thousand separate heavens for all of my separate parts  And none of those parts are going to be wearing the romance from the overpriced vintage rack  That is to say I am not going to get a single speed bike if I can’t make it up the hill  I know exactly how many gears I’m going to need to love you well And none of them look hip at the coffee shop  They all have God saying “good job you’re finally not full of bullshit”  You finally met someone who’s going to flatten your knee caps into skipping stones Baby, throw me  Throw me as far as I can go  I don’t want to leave this life without ever having come home  And I want to come home to you  I can figure out the rain

[redinkscrawl]

Redd Reviews: THE WORLD KEEPS ENDING, AND THE WORLD GOES ON by Franny Choi

Genre: Poetry

Major Tropes: Dystopia, utopia

Representation: Written by a queer Korean-American and discusses Korean-American issues, though the book is not explicitly queer (to my knowledge.) Little to no disability rep.

My Thoughts

Franny Choi’s The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On is a book about many things; apocalypse, dystopia, history, future, COVID, race, trauma, life… but it is also very much a book about endings, beginnings, and continuances. Choi’s lyrical play and word choice often leans into this theme, with poems like “We Used Our Words We Used What Words We Had” and “I Have Bad News and Bad News, Which Do You Want First” blending the beginnings and endings of lines and stanzas. The world has ended, after all, but it has also continued right along.

One time the world ended was in 2020. Choi’s poems are all tinted by a post-COVID perspective for me, and possibly for the author as well. It’s impossible for me to know if lines like “...stitched by girls who look like me but for their N95s…” refers to masks worn for COVID-related or other reasons (poor workplace conditions?), but my perspective on these lines post-COVID is certainly tinged. Given that the author does outright reference COVID in other poems, I find it hard to believe that these lines weren’t at least left ambiguous on purpose.

My second favorite poem in the collection was “Field Trip to the Museum of Human History.” Choi says this poem was inspired by Ursula K. Le Guin, and I clocked this immediately. What’s fascinating for me is that I checked The Winds’ Twelve Quarters, the only non-children’s book by Le Guin I’ve read (though I have others on my to-be-read shelf!) and I don’t believe I’ve read The Dispossessed, the story Choi says the poem was inspired by, nor any significant passages from it. Le Guin’s influence over the poem is just that strong. And now I have another book to add to my TBR shelf!

Related, I really enjoyed the scifi aspect of the book overall. I’m a big fan of exploratory, speculative fiction and have sought in the past a way to write a scifi or fantasy poem without it being a hundred pages. Obviously, Choi achieves this goal in “Science Fiction Poem” and “Field Trip to the Museum of Human History,” but even more than that she achieves this goal in “The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On,” if in a more watered-down form.

My favorite poem in the collection was “We Used Our Words We Used What Words We Had.” I’ve always been slightly fascinated by nonsense poetry and literature, but most nonsense doesn’t make my spine tingle like this poem does. Instead of being silly and charming, this poem cuts deep at something… but I don’t know what. Sense is abandoned for lyricism; phrases are structured for rhyme, consonance and assonance, rather than for meaning. It’s a beautiful poem, and I don’t get it. But I think that’s the point. This poem certainly inspires me to play more with my words, regardless of hard meaning and in favor of effect. The piece is a playful celebration of sound, and I wonder if this has anything to do with her background in spoken-word poetry.

This collection of poems is somewhat haunting for me. I’m frequently a doom-thinker, almost obsessed with intrusive visions of my own death and the death of the ones I love. In my dreams I fair better, as brilliant revolutionary leader or crafty apocalypse survivor, but still the doom is there—why is the revolution necessary? What caused the apocalypse? This is not to say I believe this collection is possessed by an untoward sense of doom—I think any sense of doom the collection has is warranted and realistic. But it’s inconvenient. It forced me to face things I try not to face, for fear my sense of doom would grow greater. The moral of the story here is that there is no remedy, or at least no easy or permanent one. Even if we prevent one apocalypse, another will follow, almost certainly. That said, “Protest Poem” does give us some hope for changing the future… A sense of ‘something will always be wrong but at least it can be less wrong or for less time.’ Additionally, The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On is greatly interested in knowing others.

In this way, Choi’s book reads like a manifesto of sorts, or perhaps half a manifesto. Most manifestos expose the wrong in the world and give a list or at least a sense of the policies, ideals, aims, etc. that would correct that wrong. Choi does a lot of the former, and much less of the latter. I struggle to see a call to arms in this book, despite the aforementioned “Protest Poem.” She establishes empire as the root of evil in some poems, but fails to present a solution to empire. I think this is intentional, and partially because I don’t think the speaker believes in any true, hard endings. Of anything, not just empire. Is this depressing? Possibly. But love doesn’t end either, nor compassion, nor progress. In this way, I believe The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On does carry some sort of hope, should you choose to read it that way.

The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On is filled with poignant lines and exploratory poems with few misses, but a few pieces lost my attention at times.

Rating: 🌎🌎🌎🌎/5

Check out waffalet's elf girl maker here.

[angel-armed]

Tristamp OST analysis

This is going to be a bit of a monster even with me just jumping to favorite songs so bear with me... I'm a classically trained vocalist, I play piano, guitar, and a load of different woodwinds.

1.KNIVES’s Piano

This is the most important leitmotif in the series, legit. This is part of how Knives ‘haunts the narrative.’ While he doesn’t appear in every episode, his leitmotif is everwhere. This melody appears even in songs that are not necessarily about him, and can also be tied directly to the concept of Plant Song, which is another track on here. It gives the idea that Knives’ theme is not something he just magically composed and pulled out of the aether– it’s a primordial melody that belongs to the Plants themselves. We see this especially in the scene in Episode 11 (Or 12, they blend together for me oops) where Vash starts to sing this very melody and the Plants sing along with him. 

Millions Knives vocal Ver.

This is probably the most obvious and prominent track in the entire show. It takes the same melody and motif as Knives piano theme and adds lyrics that are really only fully heard here and in Drain Arm, the 2nd to last track. These lyrics turn that Plant Song into a blatant lovesong, even including a call and response– a lyrical/vocal style used primarily in lovesongs in musicals and even Disney Lovesongs. Without official lyrics to look at the, lyrics I hear go as follows: 

Can we breathe (or maybe be, but breathe is more likely) the same way together?

All of the lives(Lights? Lies? All fit) are a part of me

Wish we could stay here forever

Although the stars are falling down.

Remember how

We used to be

No turning back

Stars falling down

These are the main vocals, but the response is, either right after the last stanza or during it, underneath the vocals as a joined swell “I still care for you” suggesting that said response is Vash responding to Nai’s previous thoughts. I could go on about this one forever, but those are the main points to take away. 

Vash the Stampede

This is Vash’s main theme and leitmotif, heard very prominently throughout the first few episodes. It harkens back to the more Western heavy themes of the original anime and manga, and really represents Vash’s spirit. It’s upbeat and introduces several motifs that will be used to represent Vash throughout the rest of the OST. It also includes the big brass fanfare that are the main Trigun Stampede theme from the first OST (which I haven’t played to death as much as the 2nd one) We’ve got the harmonica and guitar that brings us that western feel, but that quickly gets wrapped up in a modern almost hip-hop rock beat and really encapsulates the way Vash presents himself, less than his actual inner being. It almost feels like this song is how Vash wants the world to view him. That cool cowboy that Nai talked about when they were kids. 

10. Boyhood/ NICHOLAS THE PUNISHER/ Whom to let live

This gives us Nico’s leitmotif, and some that might later be associated with Livio depending on how they decide to utilize him in season two. This is the only place in the soundtrack where we hear the use of the theramin (A very cool instrument you should look up the history of) which is famous from classic sci fi shows like the Twilight Zone and the Original Star Trek. It’s used to invoke a sense of spookiness, and often used to tell us through the music that something strange and alien is happening which is appropriate, as part of Boyhood is used during the scene where we’re shown how Conrad’s experiments transformed Wolfwood and Livio.This and NICHOLAS THe PUNISHER makes use of another instrument we don’t really hear anywhere else– the Saxophone, which if you know Trimax and the 98 anime, is a cool throwback. Whom to let live uses it even more prominently. Whom to let live is a personal favorite of mine, it’s so introspective and soft– almost soothing. This plays on the Sand Steamer during one of Wolfwood’s introspective moments; when he’s trying to choose who he should save. 

11. Energy of the Plant

This one contains some of the same musical elements of Knives’ vocal theme, eventually ramping up into the violins that are often used, in my opinion, to represent Vash in a theme– a cool little nod to them being connected literally and figuratively. 

20. Home

This track is SO near and dear to my heart. It’s built out of melodies and themes that are simply not present in the rest of the OST. No sign of Nai’s theme, yet the theme is played on the instrument associated with him– piano. It starts out simple and then bit by bit, brass and woodwinds come in to swell the melody into a heart-bursting wave of warmth. Just as it reaches that climax, the violins that represent Vash come in, and give us a tiny glimpse of the leitmotif from Vash the Stampede, as though whispering of the man he will become after growing up in the company of the people from Ship Three. See if you can pick it out right at 1:46!  This right here is why I believe the violin is the instrument used to represent Vash throughout the rest of the OST. 

23. Last Run

I can’t help but mention this track, as it is probably one of my top three favorites. Of course the most obvious part is how it incorporates Knives’ theme towards the middle and end, but the build up to that point is a masterclass in creating musical tension. It starts with the underlying sound of weeping violins, and then a synth instrument that just barely offers a TEASE of Nai’s theme as the other elements, discordant slides and very subtle percussion build up. As Vash enters the scene, the violins become more tense as well, playing short staccato notes instead of the long, weeping notes before. It drops off into that synthesized guitar bomb slide, which is used to almost simulate the beating of a heart along with deep bass. Then, the Plantsong itself comes in– the same vocals used to represent the Plants in other songs just as the Climax of the scene begins, and then Knives’ piano theme slowly comes in, falling like tears before another stop that leads into the actual climax. Honestly this song is an absolute masterpiece. Just then, some organs come in very softly, picking up what can only be called a transformative moment for Knives as his worldview is cemented into stone, his path to becoming the god of this planet laid out before him in rage and fury. Then in the very last quarter of the song, it transforms almost entirely into his theme just around the time Vash’s gate manifests– but with the added oomph of Vash’s absolutely gut-wrenching violin playing along in a duet. They are both in so much pain in this scene, and the song spells it all out. 

28&29: Erhu in July and Plant Song on erhu

I love these two tracks because they really are one song, and go one into another seamlessly– they are simply Vash’s and then Knives’ leitmotifs played on an Erhu, which is legit one of my favorite instruments of all time. Really brings into focus that July has a TON of Chinese influence!

41. Conception

Jumping way ahead on this because while there are a lot of great tracks, I really wanna focus on the ones that stand out. This one in particular is really special because it takes Knives’ theme that is usually played in Minor key and moves it almost entirely into Major Key. It’s triumphant! His eden is at hand, and then, those sad strings come in (a cello this time–) that just suddenly dies out, just as Vash cuts him off. 

42. Memory of Rem

This song is really cool because it is, once again, part of the same melody that Knives always plays– but it’s only ONE part of it accompanied by violin, likely to represent the half of the melody that is attributed to Vash. Obviously it represents his connection to Rem and his childhood. 

44. Drain Arm

This song is a fucking magnum opus, and starts with the same notes that are present in Memory of Rem, symbolizing how she lives on through Vash. It almost immediately starts with a slow, sad violin melody that then builds up and up using some of the same melodic motifs as Home– and then Nai’s piano comes in, cascading downward along with the vocals that are used to represent plants. The beginning movement really is a mix of everything that made Vash who he is today. Then, it moves into mirroring the melody of Knives’ piano theme entirely with new added piano flourishes that make this moment feel so beautiful and yet sad. Vash and Knives are both becoming who they are going to be for the duration of the rest of the story. The old is dying, and the new is being born– very painfully. The vocals swell and then drop, bringing the focus back to the piano and some ominous percussion and bells before coming back up into a crescendo. This is where the lyrics from Knives’ Vocal theme appear, expressing Knives’ pain and Vash’s desperate “I still care for you,” 

I’ve said it before but the piano here really feels like cascading tears, which are then joined by the weeping of a violin as that lyric: “I still care for you” plays. The melodies all start to join up into one as the violin now starts to play the intro to Knives’ theme and carry the song into its final climax and the pain we all know it overlays. This time, the violins play Knives’ theme– while his usual piano plays a countermelody and harmony. Still, the two are unavoidably intertwined. I can’t help but feel as though this represents Vash taking that melody into himself, carrying the Knives he knew and loved with him. 

[ellerbean]

Cherry Gelato

She was my weird friend.

Everybody had one, right? Sarah. Sarah was my weird friend. Maybe I’m not saying this right… she was my friend and that was weird. You see, Sarah disappeared from school last year. I remember walking to school that day, I was kicking leaves, mad about something, and she just wasn’t there. Then she wasn’t in class the next day and the next day and the next and then Sarah, who? I was so curious. No one really noticed, no one really cared. I didn’t think she had friends at the time. Me? No, we were friendly, but we weren’t friends. Sarah just disappeared and then, poof! She came right back. No one noticed, no one cared. She was the same. Her hair always so frizzy, cut short hugging her chin, it would usually calm down during the winter. She still didn’t know to put on eyeliner and her outfits were still varying fashion disasters from business casual to pajamas. Just as quiet as I remembered, always putting her head down to sleep during class. Same old Sarah. Except –

She started hanging around me. We had classes together sure but this, this was strange and different. Sarah and I would sit in the library together, she would study with me, well we never talked. We just would be in the same vicinity. Sarah would follow me down to the music hallway for lunch. She would sit a polite distance away from me. Sometimes, if she finished eating early, she’d occupy one of the piano rooms and play the same few stanzas over and over. I was humming one on the bus one day and some kid over my shoulder started talking a mile a minute about something I’ve never heard of. That’s actually how I met Ben.

“You like Starcrusher?!” He demanded.

He was excitedly leaning over the back of my seat, “No sorry,” I explained while moving away, “I just know the tune from my friend.” That was the first time I referred to Sarah as my friend.

My friend.

Should I call her that? Can I? Wait, are we even friends?

“Are we friends?” I had been preparing for this question all day. She was sitting in the music hallway and sat on the floor across from her. My hands were sweaty as I waited for an answer.

“Why wouldn’t we?” she spoke before glancing up at me. She had already finished eating.

Agh, she did this all the time in argumentation class. Answering a question with a question.

“Well, we don’t talk much…”

“Do we have to?”

“I guess not.”

She smiled at me; it was a little alarming. Her face seemed to reject the entire gesture of a smile. Sarah stretched her legs out before standing up and moving her things to a piano room. That day she left the door open and that day she played something new.

And that was Sarah.