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#it’s a melancholy song about autumn and lost love

chans-muffin · 3 months

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skz hyung line x taylor swift eras

hi stayswiftie ville!!

so, im hiperfixated on both subjects and i love associating taylors eras with the things i enjoy, so w skz it would be no different :) here's my opinion!!

only the hyung line bc i lost inpo during lmao

wc: 420

notes: grammatical errors, ts unbearably, perhaps a wrong view of their personality (?) & i went to far on hyunbini im sorry 😭😭😭 i love them

bang chan - speak now / reputation!! - bro went to a lot and talked about karma multiple times, rep is something made to perform and impact, at the same time as it has insecure and more of melancholic lyrics. of course all the members went through this, but it's just that is chan more yk. and sn is just. yes. "something in his deep brown eyes has me saying 'hes not all bad like his reputation'" & all of superman & never grow up & back to december 'bout chans room :( & LONG LIVE AND TIMELESS FOR SKZ !! &@,#, im gonna shut up now but i actually have a entire playlist with these and others songs, letmk if you wanna check out :))

lee know - 1989 - i see a lot of this album associated with seungmin. for me, i see more of minho, its just the vibe that he passes on to me, since i don't know him deeply. but it's something more hidden from the media, living your youth in strange ways alongside people u appreciates, idk if it makes sense but ok kansmwj

changbin - debut / taylor swift - oK LISTEN. I KNOW HES SO COOL AND GOD OF RAP AND THEY HAD TO TAKE THE POCKETS OUT OF MY PANTS BECAUSE I WAS JUST WALKING WITH MY HANDS INSIDE THEM bUT- have you ever seen him with THE cowboy hat in topline mv? 🥺 but it's about the beginnings you know, all the way from 3RACHA to stray kids, rock and country on the same album just like we have 'sorry, i love you' and 'thunderous' in noeasy or 'leave' and 'lalalala' (all produced by changbin) he deserves everything! and your talent and effort should be recognized as many times as necessary <33 (and deep down, i also love imagining changbin with a goat with a pink lacy bow on it head KABSEKDHEKJD

hyunjin - evermore - i stand by that so fucking much you have no idea . hyune has a huge impact on stage of course, tHE photos with the red hot chili peppers shirt also made me feel,, things. but he is so much more than that :( he is an hopeless romantic with such beautiful piece arts about love and feelings. he has also shown interest and lived answering philosophical questions in the bubble community (rip 🌷) *han also mentioned that he talked a lot about philosophers with hyunjin, right? i'm not sure now* his arts also have a lot of shades of brown, yellow, gray and black and personally, these colors are very fall colors and "omg i'm in tremendous melancholy" vibe aswell so = sad autumn = evermore. HE ALSO POSTED ABOUT BETTY FROM FOLKLORE AND THESE TWO ARE SISTERS🤓. i really want to someday be able to talk about the lore of 'no body no crime' for him, also talk about the sapphic vibe radiating from 'ivy' and he would love it so much, 'champagne problems' too!! and after that he can post a beautiful photo on insta with 'evermore' in the background ((yes i took the delulu pills today

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suguwu · 10 months

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lover be good to me: part four

You meet Kita Shinsuke on a rainy summer day, with a sea of hydrangeas swirling at your feet. You know him instantly, as only a soulmate can. He seems like a good man. Like a good soulmate.

But it’s your wedding day.

masterlist

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

pairings: kita shinsuke x f!reader, oc x f!reader

notes: we are finally at the end. thank you so much for coming along on this ride with me. this fic truly is dear to me and i can't believe it's finally done.

as always, massive thanks to my beta for both the edits and the endless support throughout the process, especially when i thought writing this fic would never end.

title and part title are from hozier’s “be”

tags for this part (contains spoilers for fic): soulmate au (first words), this is a very reader-centric story, slow burn, pining, hurt/comfort, reader and kita are implied to be around their 30s, food consumption, non-graphic partner death (not kita), grief/mourning, healing, love as a choice.

wc: 12k

You settle into the farmhouse.

It’s easier than you thought. Maybe it’s the way Yoshida is brusque but kind; she’s not careful with you. It’s a refreshing change of pace.

You find yourself at her side most nights, chopping vegetables or marinating tofu as she tells you about growing up in the country. She spins stories like thread, weaving them together like the expert seamstress she is. Her son joins in some nights too.

You still get lost sometimes, though.

The early mornings are the worst.

The birds sing you to wakefulness, their song high and trilling, and you press your face into the pillow with a groan. “Loud. Shut the window, Aoshi,” you mumble, shoving out at him. Your hand hits empty space and your brow scrunches. You push to your elbows and find a room that’s not your own, though you blearily recognize the suitcase tucked into the closet.

You shift on the bed and realize it’s too small. A twin.

It all comes pouring back in.

“Fuck,” you say, low and quiet. The tears pool in your eyes, burning hot, and you try to blink them back to no avail. You curl in on yourself like a fiddlehead as you lie back down.

You do not move for a very long time.

The world has gone blue when there’s a knock on your door, twilight settling in like the ocean tide, easing its way across the sky. You don’t answer. Another knock comes and then there’s Kita’s voice murmuring your name.

You almost ignore him. But there’s something in his voice you can’t resist, a melancholy thread woven in through the syllables of your name. You get to your feet and open the door.

Kita studies you for a moment. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You blink. “Go where?”

“My place. I’m cookin’.”

“Shinsuke—”

“I know.”

You bite at your lower lip. Kita meets your gaze steadily, his amber eyes darkened to a deep, sweet brown by the dim lighting. There’s a promise in them too.

“Okay,” you say at last. “Let me get dressed.”

He waits downstairs as you throw on some clothes. You can hear him talking quietly to Yoshida. He gives you a little smile when you join him at the genkan.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

It’s true autumn now and the slight chill in the air proves it. The rice stalks are spun gold, swaying in the wind as the truck trundles down the road to Kita’s farm. You watch a stork wade carefully through the fields. It dips down with its long, elegant neck and disappears from sight.

The radio is playing quietly. Kita hums along with it sometimes, mostly at the old, crooning ballads. You watch the countryside roll by, the farmhouses little ships in the night, their lit windows a beacon as dusk falls.

He bundles you into the farmhouse when you arrive, handing you a pair of house slippers that have little radishes on them. You can’t help your smile.

You follow him into the living room and settle at the kotatsu when he points you there. It’s close enough that you can see into the kitchen through the open archway; he rolls up his sleeves and starts gathering ingredients from the fridge and the pantry.

“Can I help?” you ask after a few minutes, getting to your feet and joining him.

“Sure,” he says, handing you a freshly-washed daikon. “Slice that real thin, please.”

You make a cut. “This thin enough?”

He peers over. “A little thinner,” he says. “Can I?”

You nod and he takes your hands briefly, guiding them to the thinness he wants and pressing down. His hands are warm, his fingers and palm rough with calluses that catch lightly against your skin. He curls his fingers around yours, his tendons going taut, and pushes down. The knife slides through the daikon and stops against the cutting board.

“There,” he says. “Like that.”

“Okay.”

He nods and heads back to his cutting board which is laden down with a bright medley of varying vegetables. “What’re you doin’ tomorrow?'' he asks.

“Nothing,” you say. “Why?”

You sound more defensive than you mean to. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, a sharp flicker of amber, but says nothing.

“Was thinking you could come out to the fields with me.”

“I don’t know,” you say.

“It’d be good for you to get outside,” he says mildly. “Rather than being up in yer room all day.”

Your knife thunks against the cutting board. Kita is unperturbed, only glancing your way briefly to make sure you’re not injured. He goes back to peeling carrots, his lean, strong hands moving quickly and with steady confidence.

You study him for a moment, taking in the set of his lips and the soft furrow of his brow. You sigh.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll come.”

He flashes you a tiny quirk of his lips, a smile that’s as fleeting as a summer storm and just as warm.

“Good.”

He keeps cooking as he talks, pulling you from your thoughts when you get lost in them, when the fog starts to roll back in like a marine layer. It’s uncanny, how well he can tell when you’ve been set adrift. He’s a mooring you didn’t know you needed.

Kita hums his thanks as you give him the daikon. He slips them into a pickling mix before handing you a cucumber.

“Peel and cut thin?” you ask.

“Yup.”

As you peel, you can’t help but watch as he moves about the kitchen. He moves as efficiently as ever, no wasted movement, but there’s something soft to it too. You can’t quite pin it down.

“Yer staring.”

“Am I?”

“You know you are.”

You shrug, starting to cut up the cucumber. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothing important,” you say, waving him off. “Tell me how Aran is doing, he and I haven’t talked for a while.”

The rest of the cooking goes by quickly as you talk and soon you’re both settled at the kotatsu. It’s radiating warmth. You snuggle deeper into it; with the sun fully set, it’s grown even more chilly outside despite the heat of the day. Winter is still a ways off, but you can feel the first touch of it hidden in the autumn breeze that leaks in through the window Kita had left cracked to keep the kitchen from overheating.

You glance over the food. Kita’s kept it simple but hearty. There’s steam curling through the air in little smoky wisps. You watch as it dissipates and then take the plate that Kita hands you with a small thank you.

It’s a good meal. The two of you talk through it with ease, never missing a beat and rarely with an awkward pause. When you lapse into silence, it’s comfortable.

“I should go,” you say eventually, glancing at the clock. “I don’t want to wake Yoshida when I come in.”

“Alright.”

He drives you home, the headlights of his truck cutting through the night. The moon is out now; it bathes the fields with light until they practically shimmer. The crickets are calling, their song audible even over the low purr of the truck’s engine.

When you pull up to Yoshida’s, there’s a light still on at the engawa, a soft glow to lead you home. It warms something in you.

Kita walks you to the door.

“How early do I have to get up tomorrow?” you ask. “Do I even want to know?”

He laughs quietly. “Ya don’t need to keep my schedule,” he says. “I’ll come get you after lunch.”

“Okay.”

He looks at you. His usual stoicness has faded into something warm and open; you take a deep breath. You bid him a quiet goodnight that he returns just as quietly, his amber eyes knowing.

You go to sleep with your hand wrapped around your wedding rings.

***

“Sunscreen,” Kita says, holding out the tube to you.

“I know, I know,” you grouse, taking it from him. “You don’t have to remind me.”

“You forgot last time.”

“Point taken.”

You apply the sunscreen as he gathers what he needs. He’s still rustling around when you finish. You turn your face up to the sun, letting the rays brush over your skin like a lover, a sweet kiss of heat.

When you open your eyes again, Kita is watching you with a tiny smile, a crescent moon of a thing. Something in you pangs.

You glance away from him and look to the rolling fields instead. In the bright sunlight, they’re Midas-touched, scorched gold with a hint of green at the bottom of each stem. It’s a sea of rice, rippling in the breeze like kelp caught in the ocean’s current, and it’s beautiful in a way that makes you feel small.

Kita comes up beside you and gazes at his farm.

“It’s pretty,” you tell him.

“It’s gotta get cut,” he says.

“I know.”

He glances at you. You blink as he reaches out and smudges his thumb against your cheek. It’s gentle, his touch careful despite the rough calluses on the pad of his thumb. “Ya missed some sunscreen,” he says, rubbing it in with a light sweep. He lingers for a moment before pulling away.

“Oh. Thanks,” you say, biting at your lower lip as he turns away.

“C’mon,” Kita says.

You follow him deep into the field, to a swath of already cleared land. The two of you settle at the edge of it. You watch as he lays out a woven bag with a label stamped on the front of it. He crouches down by the nearest stems of uncut rice and runs a hand over them, thumbing at the panicles with a deft movement.

You don’t think he knows he’s smiling.

“What do you want me to do?” you ask.

He glances back at you. “Can you lay out the bags? One at each pole should do.”

You nod and set to work. He starts cutting at the rice. He makes it look easy, slicing through the stems as if they’re butter. The rice stalks start to pile up beside him as you make your way down the field with the bags.

He’s made a significant dent by the time you’re back. He leans back on his heels as you approach again, wiping off his forehead with the back of his hand. His hair is clinging to him, dark with sweat, deepening the color to slate gray, like the winter sea. He smiles at you.

“Can I try again?”

He’d taught you how to cut last time after you asked, citing the fact that you’ve been coming to the field with him for almost two weeks without trying.

“Sure,” he says. He hands you a pair of gloves; you slip them on. “D’ya remember how to hold it?”

You kneel next to him, wrapping your fingers around a handful of stems. “Like this, yeah?”

“Thumb pointing up,” he says, reaching out and adjusting your grip. “And tighter.”

He tightens his grip around your hand to show you, his strong fingers flexing. You copy him and he lets go when he’s satisfied with your grip. He hands you the knife—curved with a wicked edge—and sits back on his heels again.

“15 centimeters, yeah?” you ask, setting the edge of the knife against the stalks there.

“That’ll work.”

You slice in a downward angle; the stalks part beneath the blade like silk. You hand off the rice to him to add to the pile. You keep working, feeling the sweat start to gather on your back, a few droplets rolling down before getting absorbed by your shirt.

“Good,” he says.

He lets you do a few more handfuls before he takes the knife back. You watch him work. He’s much quicker than you, moving with an easy grace.

“Why don’t ya head back to the truck,” he says, slicing through another handful of stalks. “I’m almost done.”

You listen to him, heading back to the truck and settling in the bed of it, swinging your feet off the edge. You lay back and turn your gaze up to the sky, watching as a flock of birds goes soaring past, their wings dark against the deep blue of the sky.

Kita joins you after a bit. You’ve been watching a hawk circle, riding the current high above you, and you don’t bother to sit up when you hear him approaching.

He climbs up into the truck bed. He settles next to you and then lays down beside you, staring up at the sky with you.

The two of you are quiet. You watch as the hawk wheels and wheels overhead before it dives down, dropping like a shooting star through the sky.

You turn towards him; he’s already looking at you. His amber eyes are soft and you suck in a breath, your stomach flipping.

“Shinsuke,” you say gently. “You know I can’t give you what you want, right?”

“I’m not askin’ you for anything,” he says, just as gently.

“I know. I just—I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, with Aoshi gone.”

He studies you for a moment. Then he smiles, warm and sweet and a little bit sad.

“It’s always what you’re willing to give,” he says. “Nothing more and nothing less. That’s the only idea I have.”

You suck in a breath, fidgeting with your sleeve.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

You both go quiet again.

Kita pushes up to his elbows; you peer up at him.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get going.”

“‘Kay.”

He hops down from the truck bed gracefully before holding out a hand to help you down. You hesitate. He waits patiently, looking up at you. You take his hand without a word, his calluses rough against your palm.

You’re both quiet on the drive back to Yoshida’s. You spend the time looking out the window, watching the fields roll by. There are other farmers still hard at work, their blades flashing in the last dregs of the sunlight, like a dance. It’s a sight you never tire of.

The sun has almost set by the time Kita drops you off. You toe off your shoes in the genkan and find Yoshida in the kitchen, scrubbing down the counter. There’s something savory in the air, rich and thick, and you spot a pot bubbling away on the stovetop, steam curling up from it like smoke.

She eyes you for a moment. You don’t know what she sees in your face, but she gestures you into a seat.

“The fields are doing ya some good,” she says, her eyes still on the soapy counter.

“Are they?”

She nods decisively. “Yer different. You’re coming back to the world.”

You bite at your lip, worrying the flesh between your teeth. It doesn’t feel like it to you; some days you think you’ll never be in step with the world again, destined to always be just a few paces behind.

“It’s hard to see it in yerself,” Yoshida says. “But it’s there.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

You can’t help the smile. A smile blooms on her lips too, small but sure.

“I need to weed tomorrow. Could use your help, unless Shin-chan is going to steal you away again.”

“I’ll help,” you say, ignoring the last bit.

She studies you with keen eyes, opening her mouth to say something, but the front door opens and her son calls out a greeting.

The rest of the night is quiet and morning comes before you know it.

You stare up at the ceiling as the sun rises, watery light leaking in through the sheer curtains. For a moment, you consider rolling over and going back to bed, but you can hear Yoshida shuffling around in her room. You resign yourself to getting up for the day.

A light breakfast later, you’re on your knees in the garden. The soil is still wet with morning dew and it sticks to your skin. The scent of wet loam rises around you, like the earth is welcoming you home. You let it fill your lungs.

The garden is a beautiful one, lush with autumn vegetables. You weed around the fat, sunshine yellow squashes, each one brighter than the last. The carrots are just peeking above the soil, little suns creeping up over the horizon. Their greens sway gently in the breeze.

You’ve forgone gardening gloves despite Yoshida’s offer. It feels good to sink your fingers into the dirt, to pinch the weeds’ roots and pull them up gently.

You’re still working when Kita’s truck trundles up the driveway. You sit back on your haunches and wipe the sweat from your brow as he gets out and comes your way.

“Hi,” he says with a little smile. “Hard at work, I see.”

“Gotta earn my keep,” you say, earning a snort from Yoshida who is working just a garden bed over.

“You have time for a break?”

“Depends,” you say, glancing at the bag he’s carrying. “Are those snacks?”

“Yup.”

“Then I do,” you say, pushing to your feet. “Let me go wash my hands.”

You eat together on the engawa, gazing out into the farmland. The wind chimes rustle above you, clinking lightly, a crystalline symphony just for the two of you. You sit back on your hands as Kita unpacks what he’s brought.

It’s onigiri. They’re still warm, steam curling up from them when you break one open. A little bit of the filling spills out but you’re quick to catch it on your thumb, popping it into your mouth.

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a nudge with your elbow. “They’re good.”

“Yer welcome.”

“You take care of me so well,” you say with a little laugh.

“I try,” he says, utterly serious.

You flinch. It’s tiny, but from the way his gaze finds you, a firefly flicker, he notices. But he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to take another bite of his onigiri.

“Shin-chan,” Yoshida calls. “Come help an old woman with the watering.”

You glance up to see that she’s heaving a full bucket of water towards the garden. Kita pushes to his feet immediately, crossing to her in a few easy strides. He takes the bucket without even pausing, lifting it with a single hand.

“Granny,” he chides. “Ya could’ve gotten hurt.”

She shrugs. He follows her to the garden beds, glancing back to send you a little smile. You watch him as he carefully waters the garden under Yoshida’s rigid instructions. The sun catches in his hair, bronzes his tanned skin. That same smile he’d flashed you lives on his lips, a quiet contentment tucked up secret into the corner of his mouth.

Kita comes back to you when he’s finished watering, settling at your side on the engawa once more. He eats the rest of his onigiri quickly.

“I’ve gotta get back to the fields,” he tells you. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “Go do your job.”

He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling with it.

He leaves soon after. You watch him go, until all you can see of his truck is the cloud of dust being kicked up behind it, until the horizon swallows him.

Yoshida stands next to you on the engawa, shading her eyes as she watches him go too.

“He’s a good man,” she says casually.

You glance at her.

“He is.”

“You could do much worse in a man.”

“It’s not like that.”

She raises a brow.

“It’s not. It’s just…complicated,” you say, winding your fingers through your necklace’s chain. Your rings clink against each other softly, the sound lost in the myriad of wind chimes surrounding you. For a moment you drift, tears pricking at your eyes before you blink them away.

“‘Course it is,” she says. “Most things are. But ah, pay no mind to an old lady. Let’s go harvest some of the squash.”

You spend the rest of the day in the garden, harvesting away. The first frost isn’t too far off and you need to make sure you don’t lose any of the vegetables to it. Yoshida tells you exactly what to pick and what to leave.

Night falls and you cook the first of the squash, painting it with a sweetened miso glaze that gleams stickily as you serve it. Yoshida makes a few side dishes too, putting them in pretty kobachi dishes. They’re delicate things, the soft silver of the moon, and you find yourself thinking of Kita.

You shake yourself free of the thought before it fully forms. Yoshida’s son pulls you into a conversation and you chatter the night away, until you’re yawning between sentences. You finally trudge up to your room.

The window lets in the faintest hint of gossamer moonlight. You gaze out into the night, into the endless countryside. You can just barely make out the next farmhouse, a lighthouse in the sea of darkness, its lights glittering on the very edge of the horizon.

It looks lonely. You think of Kita again, of the little island of his farmhouse, how it’s tucked between the paddies with no other home in sight. You think of him alone at the kotatsu, reading glasses perched on his nose, and feel something in your chest clench.

You pull the curtains shut and go to bed.

***

The rest of the week rolls by and so does the next. It grows colder each day, winter’s first kiss. The leaves are going orange, as if little fires are catching the edges. It sets the trees ablaze with color. You hop from leaf to leaf as you and Kita walk along the road, delighting in each little crunch.

“Having fun?” he calls out.

You turn around to face him, shading your eyes with one hand. His more sedate pace has left him lagging, but he’s quickly catching up now that you’ve stopped. “Can’t you tell?”

His breath mists in the air, a marine layer, and his lips quirk up into a little smile. “I can,” he says. “Just be careful, yeah? There’s still some frost lingering.”

You hum an acknowledgement and stomp on your next leaf. He chuckles quietly and you fall back to walk with him, shoving your hands into your pockets to ward off the cold.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You know my sabbatical is almost over, right?”

He nods. “I know.”

“I think I’m gonna go home midweek next week,” you say. “Just to give myself some time to settle before I have to go back to work.”

“Makes sense,” he says. “Let me know the details and I’ll get you to the station.”

The two of you keep walking, huddling into each other slightly when the wind picks up. Some of his hair wisps across your face, the touch like silk against your skin. You shiver with it and return your gaze to the countryside, to the rolling hills and the shorn paddies.

One or two of the trees are already fully bare; they reach towards the sky with long-fingered branches. There’s a murmur of swallows nestled in the nearest one, so numerous it’s as if the tree has leaves again. As you watch, they take to the skies, undulating through the soft gray-blue of it.

“I’ll miss it,” you say softly.

“Bein’ here?”

“Yeah.”

“Ya can come back anytime, y’know. There’s always a place for you.”

You glance at him. His stoic face has softened and you think of the thaw of a spring day. How the quiet warmth of it melts the chill away.

“Thanks, Shinsuke.”

“Mhm.”

The two of you walk together quietly before turning around to head back to Kita’s farm when the chilly breeze becomes a whistling wind. It whips through the fields to cut through your clothing and you press into Kita without thinking, seeking the warmth of his solid form. He unwinds his scarf and drapes it around your neck; you don’t bother to protest. He’s immovable about things like this. Instead, you burrow into the warmth of it.

You all but tumble into the genkan of the farmhouse. Kita follows you at a more sedate pace. You toe off your shoes and slip on your usual pair of house slippers. He does the same and you watch as he puts his shoes away carefully, arranging them perfectly within the cubby.

You both settle at the kotatsu, huddling under the thick down of the blanket. You trace a finger over one of the origami cranes patterned into it. They’re perfect, so different from the clumsy paper cranes you’d both made with some of the local children the other day.

Kita turns on the kotatsu. It starts to warm almost immediately and you sink into the heat of it with a quiet sigh.

“What’re you smiling about?” you ask him.

“You,” he says simply.

You roll your eyes. “Okay,” you say.

“D’ya want tea?”

“Sure.”

He slips out from under the kotatsu and heads into the kitchen. You turn enough that you can still see him; you like watching him make tea. He’s careful and respectful of the process from beginning to end, but you like how it loosens his shoulders, how he unfurls, a night-blooming flower.

He rejoins you at the kotatsu once the tea is made, handing you a steaming cup. The scent of it billows through the air. When you sip at the tea, it settles warm in your chest, pushing out the autumn chill.

“You’ll have to teach me how to make tea like this,” you tell Kita.

He smiles into his cup. “It’s not hard.”

“Says you.”

“Might not have time to teach you before you go,” he says with a frown. “The farm—”

“You can teach me when you visit.” You pause. “You will visit, right?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” you say, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You can teach me then.”

He agrees and the conversation flows until it’s late. You peer out into the darkness and see the moon—full-bellied with light—is beginning to set, sinking through the dark ocean of the sky like an anchor.

“Shit,” you say. “I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“S’fine,” Kita says. “I don’t mind.”

“I know, I know. Ugh, I’m gonna wake up Yoshida when I get in.”

“You can stay, y’know.”

You glance at him. He meets your gaze steadily.

“I have a guest room,” he reminds you.

“Okay,” you say after a moment. “Okay.”

“You’ll have to get up early, though.”

“That’s fine.”

He smiles softly. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s finish cleaning up.”

You clean up the kotatsu quickly; despite the late hour, Kita still takes the time to wash the dishes. He washes them with careful concentration and something in your chest pangs.

“Go ahead to the guest room,” he says. “‘M almost done here. I’ll see if I can find you somethin’ to sleep in.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright.”

The guest room is homey, with a handmade quilt patterned with rice plants that almost look like they’re rippling in the wind. You trace a finger over one of them as you glance around the rest of the room, taking in the way the stark cleanliness is offset by the items scattered about: the fan patterned with cherry blossoms hanging on the wall; the plant at the window, lush despite the season; a paperweight on the desk, glass swirled through with blue and white, the ocean roiling within it. It’s not quite Kita, but you can sense him in it all the same.

Kita knocks on the door frame. You turn to look at him. “Here,” he says, holding out a toothbrush and toothpaste. “Thought you might need these.”

“Thanks,” you say, sending him a little smile. “Appreciate it.”

“‘Course.”

“Night, Shinsuke.”

“G’night,” he says. “I’ll wake you in the morning.”

“Sounds good.”

He disappears into his room.

You get ready for bed and slide under the covers. The quilt is heavy and warmth builds quickly under it, like a banked fire. You turn your face into the pillow to hide from the moonlight slanting in through the window. The pillowcase smells vaguely like Kita and the simple detergent he uses.

Sleep comes easily.

So easily that it feels like you’ve only been asleep for a second when Kita’s knocking on the guest room door to rouse you for the day. Blearily, you slip on your clothing before trudging into the kitchen.

Kita glances up as you enter. His hair is still damp from the shower; it glistens like the gray winter sea beneath a bleak sun.

“Mornin’,” he says.

“Hi,” you grumble.

He breathes out a quiet laugh. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get you home.”

You drowse on the ride back to Yoshida’s, just aware enough to hear the quiet hum of the radio as it fills the truck’s cab. The sun is starting to rise, the first fingers of light painting the horizon orange, like embers just beginning to catch. You turn away from it, curling into yourself in the front seat.

The truck rumbling to a halt wakes you. You grouse and Kita laughs again. He doesn’t bother to dodge when you swat at him.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you say with a yawn, one hand on the car door’s handle, already looking forward to crawling back into bed.

“‘Course,” he says. “You always have a place with me.”

You pause.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I know.”

His eyes crinkle with his smile.

“Go to work,” you tell him.

“Yes ma’am.”

You hop out and head to the genkan. You hear the truck rumble to life behind you, the engine practically purring. By the time you make it to the genkan and look back, Kita is already down the road.

You watch until he’s gone from view.

***

This early, the train station is quiet.

The sun is still rising, casting pale golden rays across the parking lot. It haloes Kita in light as he pulls your suitcase from the truck bed, his muscles flexing with the movement. You take it from him and the two of you head towards the platform together.

“Travel safe, alright?” he says when you come to a halt just before the doors.

“Shinsuke,” you say, “thank you for everything.”

“Anytime.”

“You’ll visit?”

“I’ll visit,” he confirms. “You?”

“I’ll come back,” you say.

“Good.”

He smiles at you, a slow, sweet thing that makes you think of the sun’s rise. It’s steady and sure, unshakeable.

You throw your arms around him in a hug. He stumbles for a second, caught off guard, but he catches himself quickly and wraps his arms around you. He holds you tightly. You bury your face in his shoulder. He smells like plain soap, fresh and clean, with the faintest kiss of lemon, a touch of sour citronella that you know he uses for the fields.

When you pull away, the tips of his ears are pink.

“Bye, Shinsuke,” you say.

“Bye,” he says softly.

You head inside the station. When you glance back, you can just make out the silhouette of him, lean and strong. He must be able to see you, because he gives a little wave before he turns away.

The train is almost empty when you board it and you settle in a window seat. You close your eyes and turn your face towards the sun, the gentle rays just barely starting to warm as they brush against your skin.

You open your eyes when the train starts to move, peering out of the window as the countryside speeds by. The rice fields are shorn short now but the gold of them hasn’t faded. The remains of the stalks reach towards the great blue sky, two expanses meeting. Beyond the fields, even the hills are going golden, though they’re slower, with green patches scattered across them like lily pads in a pond.

You think you might be leaving a part of yourself in the expanse of the country. That the fields have swallowed up some part of you, like the earth swallows a seed. It makes something in you pang.

Soon enough, the countryside melts away into the suburbs. Then come the neon lights of the city, streaking by like fireflies, little blips of color that blink to life here and there.

You hadn’t realized how much you missed it.

The house is quiet when you step into the genkan; only the musical clink of your keys fills the space. The greeting is on the tip of your tongue, but you catch it behind your teeth and swallow it back down. You take in a deep breath and set your suitcase down before brushing by the photos in the entryway, most of them facedown.

It takes time to unpack. Most of your clothes are clean, but you run a load of laundry anyway, listening to the way the water swishes and spins, the low rumble of it filling the house. You text Kita to let him know you’ve arrived safely and then collapse onto your couch, staring up at the ceiling.

You don’t know how long you lie there before you hear the door to the house open. Muffled bickering floats to you from the genkan and you push yourself up just as Abe comes barreling around the corner.

She skids to a stop just before the couch and grins down at you.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” you reply. “Did you break in?”

“No,” Yoshikawa says, appearing from around the corner. She twirls something around her finger; it glints in the light. “Used the spare.”

“It’s funny,” you say. “I don’t remember inviting either of you over.”

She shrugs elegantly, her long hair swaying like kelp in a current. “Did you really think we were going to miss you coming home?”

“No,” you say with a little laugh. “I didn’t.”

“Good.”

You exchange hugs with both of them, holding them tightly and yelping when Abe spins you in a circle. Yoshikawa is more sedate but her hug is strong and warm. You blink away the tears before they can fall.

The three of you settle into the living room. You catch up with each other easily, swapping stories and laughing together, the sound billowing through the room to fill even the darkest corners with joy. Your heart aches as Abe throws back her head and laughs, her dark hair shimmering in the light, her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

“You’re too easily entertained,” Yoshikawa informs her, but there’s a smile playing at her lips too, downy-soft and deeply pleased.

“Shut up,” Abe says, still giggling.

For a moment, you just watch them, taking in their features, their smiles, the sound of them. You want to commit them to memory, parts of them that you’ve taken into yourself to treasure, to keep. Pieces never to be lost.

“Hey,” Yoshikawa says. “What’s wrong?”

You realize that your cheeks are hot and wet. You scrub a hand over your face as more tears fall.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just really missed you.”

She hums, but doesn’t push you on it, sending Abe a look when she opens her mouth. “We missed you too,” she says. “Do you want us to spend the night?”

“Yeah,” you say softly, thinking of how empty the house was before they filled it. “That would be great.”

“Okay.”

The conversation picks up again, only pausing when you order takeout as night falls. Though you’ve spoken consistently with them while you were in the country, there are still stories to tell. The three of you talk and talk, full of laughter and love, and it only feels a little bittersweet.

As the night deepens, Yoshikawa and Abe go to the genkan and grab the bags they’ve brought, much to your embarrassment. Abe pats you on the shoulder as you bury your face in your hands. Neither of them comment.

You tumble into bed with them in a mess of limbs. When the dust settles, you’re curled up on your side of the bed, almost pushed off the edge by Abe’s starfished limbs. You poke her in the stomach and she curls up with a groan. You reclaim the space quickly.

“Rude,” she tells you.

“You were taking up the whole bed!”

She grumbles but doesn’t bother to argue.

Quiet falls, only the gentle sound of breathing filling the room. You snuggle down into your comforter, pushing closer to Abe and relishing her warmth.

“I invited Shinsuke to visit,” you breathe.

Yoshikawa pushes up to her elbows behind Abe, peering down at you with her dark, knowing eyes.

“Here?” she asks.

You nod, the pillowcase crinkling against your cheek.

She hums, low and sweet, a honeyed thunder. “You’ll let him stay at the house?”

“I don’t know,” you say, thinking of Takao, the way he’d been flayed open when he asked you to not bring Kita to the house. “Aoshi—”

“Isn’t here,” Yoshikawa says gently. “You don’t have to hold on to that promise if you don’t want to.”

You blink against the tears as they swell up, beading on your eyelashes like little diamonds. Abe reaches out and cups your cheek.

“You’ll figure it out,” she says softly. “You don’t need to know now.”

You close your eyes, a few more tears trickling down. The pillowcase is damp beneath your cheek. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “You’re right.”

“I always am,” she says, and then yelps when Yoshikawa pinches her. “Ow, Yocchan!”

Yoshikawa ignores her, settling back down onto the bed with a yawn.

It’s contagious; you find yourself yawning as well and snuggle down deeper into the comforter once more. Abe shifts closer, seeking heat.

You fall asleep with her pressed tight against your side.

It feels like coming home.

***

Fall fades away.

The trees lose their leaves entirely, leaving branches that reach into the sky with scraggly fingers. Frost creeps over the windows in icy whorls, a cobweb of winter, fanning out in intricate patterns that melt when you breathe on them. The winter sun glows in the softened blue of the sky, only to be replaced with gray clouds.

The first snow is falling when you go to pick up Kita.

The flakes are fat and fluffy, perfectly crystalline. They flutter through the air like butterflies, spinning in great, lazy arcs as they drift to the ground. They melt as soon as they hit the pavement.

They catch in Kita’s hair as the two of you head into the house, little dew drops that make his gray hair shine. He’s cherry-cheeked with the cold, his face half-buried in his scarf. It’s cute. Something in you pangs when he sends you a little smile, only discernible by the way his eyes crinkle at the edges.

The two of you peel off your outer layers in the genkan. Kita puts his away carefully, at odds with your slightly haphazard method of kicking your boots away to find later.

“It’s future me’s problem,” you tell him and he just shakes his head, a small smile caught in the corner of his lips.

You show him to the guest room, freshly made up for his visit, and linger in the hallway as he stores his suitcase.

“Dinner?” you ask as he steps out into the hall again.

“That’d be great.”

“C’mon, I’ve got some things ready in the kitchen.”

“Sounds good.”

He follows you into the kitchen and insists on helping. You direct him to the plates as you check on what you’ve made. There’s colorful tsukemono, each pickled vegetable bright in its own way, stained to watercolors by the pickling liquid. The curry is thick and bubbling, with chunks of heavily marbled meat and vegetables coated in the sauce. The rice is steaming lightly and so are the nikuman, each bun pinched shut perfectly.

“Ya didn’t need to go to all this trouble,” Kita says, eyeing the food as he sets the table.

“Too late,” you say cheerfully. “Eat.”

He smiles softly, shaking his head, but sits down when you gesture. You join him and the two of you start to fill your plates.

You talk quietly as you eat, all easy chatter. Part of you can’t help but think of the beginning, when everything with him was stilted and careful. That’s changed through the years but it’s even easier now, the conversation flowing like a river, calm and unchanging.

When you’re done eating, Kita collects the plates and brings them to the sink. He rolls up his sleeves and turns the water on. You sigh but don’t bother to say anything. Instead, you settle in next to him with a dish towel in your hand.

He’s radiating a soft, gentle heat. It takes conscious effort to not lean into him.

He washes and you dry, falling into an effortless rhythm.

“Are you seeing Aran while you’re here?” you ask.

“He’s away trainin’,” Kita says, handing you another dish. “So’s Atsumu. I’ll see Osamu, but you know I’m here to see you, right?”

Your cheeks heat. “I know,” you say. “But two birds, one stone, y’know?”

He hums, rinsing off the final dish and drying his hands. He leaves his sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. For a moment, you watch the play of his muscles, the way they coil beneath his tanned skin as he picks up the dry dishes and brings them back to the cabinet. You look away when you realize what you’re doing.

You both go to bed early that night; Kita’s tired from his usual early wake-up and the travel. You try not to laugh as he bids you goodnight. It’s cute, the way he blinks sleepily, his amber eyes softened to a honeyed brown.

You can hear him as you get ready for bed, the quiet little noises of another person’s presence. It soothes something in you.

You glance at your wedding rings, ensconced in a little jewelry dish on your nightstand. They gleam in the light. You run your fingers over them, tracing the cool metal gently.

You put them away in a drawer before you go to sleep.

***

The snowstorm hits on the last day of Kita’s visit.

The wind whips between buildings, catching the snowflakes and tossing them about like ships on a stormy sea. The snow piles up into thick drifts, the silken white of it gone yellow beneath the glow of the street lights, like a melting pat of butter.

You and Kita watch the storm from where you’re tucked under the kotatsu. You’d pulled it out when you’d heard the forecast, the two of you working together to get it set up. It still works, luckily, and the two of you sit next to each other and bask in the soothing warmth.

The wind slows; you gaze at the snowflakes as they slow, drifting like dancers across the stage, each puffy flake a part of its own ballet. Everything has gone quiet, muffled at the edges. It’s like the world is waiting to take its next breath.

“What are you thinking?” Kita asks softly.

When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice just as soft as his. “All sorts of things.”

He hums quietly.

The wind picks up again; the windows rattle with it. You shiver, snuggling further under the kotatsu. Kita shifts. His leg presses against yours, a line of warmth even under the heat of the kotatsu.

You glance at him. He’s watching the storm. It reflects in his eyes, lightening them, taking them from amber to gold. You think of the rice fields at their peak, when they’re treasured gold, and can’t help the small smile that curls around your lips.

Perhaps he feels your gaze, because Kita turns to face you. In the low light, he’s softened at the edges, a watercolor being. His eyes are aglow, like sunlight pooling. He gives you a small smile.

“What is it?”

“I’m so lucky to have you,” you say quietly, the words pouring from you like a waterfall, something unstoppable.

He goes still for a breath, a statue of old. Then he softens again.

“You’ll always have me,” he says, and you used to hate how true it is. Now, though—now it feels different. Just a bit.

“Thank you, Shinsuke,” you say.

Something flickers over his face like heat lightning, too quick for you to comprehend. You think you might have disappointed him.

You turn your gaze away. It lands on a picture frame placed face-down. You suck in a deep breath. Before you can stop them, the tears are burning behind your eyes, starting to trickle down your cheeks. You scrub at them with one hand.

“Sorry,” you say to Kita.

“S’alright,” he says. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, even as another tear trickles down to pool salty on your tongue.

He reaches out, his hand hovering in the space between the two of you. He waits.

You nod.

He cups your cheek and sweeps his thumb under your eye. His touch has the same aching tenderness of a fresh, swollen bruise. You lean into his palm, keeping your eyes on his, your cheeks hot as he smiles at you sadly.

He wipes away the tears before pulling back. You can see the gleam of them on his thumb.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“Course.”

You scrub away the remains of the tears and then blow out a big breath. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

Kita studies you for a moment. You don’t know what he sees in your face, but he nods, giving you a soft smile. “Sure.”

“Great,” you say, pushing to your feet. “You choose.”

“If you want,” he says, standing as well and heading towards the living room. “No complaining, though.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll be there in a minute,” you call after him, leaning down to turn off the kotatsu. You tuck the comforter in, tidying it up lightly. You nod to yourself. When you turn around, you pause for a moment, your gaze settling on the face-down picture frame.

It’s a photo you know well, one of you and Takao on the beach, the ocean a vast expanse behind you, glittering with the searing blue of the tropics. You’re caught mid-laugh as Takao plants a kiss on your cheek. It’s always been a favorite.

Before you leave the room, you stand the picture frame back up.

***

You drop Kita off at the train station early the next day. You breathe him in as you hug him goodbye, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He tightens his grip around you with a little laugh.

“I’ll come to the farm in spring,” you tell him. “I promise.”

“Good.”

You wave goodbye as he enters the train station; he glances back right before he disappears through the doors. Something warm blooms in you. It settles in your stomach and flutters there.

When you’ve made it home, you pull out your phone. You settle onto the edge of the couch as it rings, your shoulders stiff.

It rings until the voicemail clicks on and Takao’s voice floods your ears. You close your eyes as his voicemail message plays, letting his voice wash over you like a summer storm, a warm, sweet rain. You listen to Takao talk, relearning the cadence of his voice, the way it rises and falls, the way his tongue curls around words. You hadn’t realized how much of it you’d forgotten.

“Hi,” you say when the tone beeps. “I miss you.”

You’re quiet for a moment; the line carries on, reflecting you breathing back to yourself.

“Shinsuke just left,” you say. “Aoshi—I think I like him. More than I ever thought I could. Is that alright?”

The line is silent.

“I didn’t mean to like him,” you say. “I really didn’t. But he’s good, Aoshi. He’s so good.”

You sniffle.

“I don’t know what to do,” you murmur. “I don’t know how to leave you behind. But I think—I think he’s okay with that. I just—it feels like giving in. Like our choice, the one we made over and over again, was for nothing.”

You take in a deep, steadying breath.

“I know that’s not true. I know that our choice was for everything. That it never really was a choice in the first place, not for me.”

“I just—I really think I like him, Aoshi. Is that alright? Please tell me it’s alright.”

The voicemail beeps; you’ve hit the end of the time you can record. You hang up and bury your face in your hands.

“Fuck. Fuck!”

You lay back on the couch, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hands. You curl in on yourself.

You grab your phone and dial again.

“Hi.”

“Natsumi.”

“Oh, shit, no nickname, that’s not a good sign.”

“I think I like Shinsuke.”

She pauses. “Is that a bad thing?” she asks gently.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

“It just—”

“Feels like giving in?”

“...Yeah. Was this always going to happen?”

“Maybe,” she says. “But maybe not. You don’t have to be with him, you know. If you don’t want to, that is.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“I think you do,” she says gently.

“I don’t, Nat-chan.”

“Okay. Okay. Let me put it this way: is your only issue with Kita the fact that he’s your soulmate?”

“He’s not Aoshi.”

“No one is going to be Aoshi. You know that.”

“I do.”

“Liking Kita isn’t giving up on Aoshi. It’s not leaving him behind. It’s just moving forward. You’ll bring him with you no matter what, no matter how far forward you move,” she says, and you bite at your bottom lip until you can taste blood.

“I don’t want to be with my soulmate just because they’re my soulmate.”

“Do you really think you might like Kita just because he’s your soulmate?”

“...No.”

“It’s not bad to like him,” she says, not unkindly. “You’re not bad for liking him because of who he is.”

“I don’t even know if I really like him.”

“Sweetheart,” Abe says, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you didn’t.”

You go quiet. As her words settle in, you glance out the window. The snow on the ground is still pristine; it glimmers under the bleak winter sunlight. The neighborhood children are starting to stomp through it. They’re bundled up tight, practically waddling as they play. You take a deep breath.

“Maybe you’re right,” you say.

“I don’t know how many times I have to say that I always am before you believe me.”

“You’re wrong way too much for me to believe that.”

“Don’t be mean!”

You smile. “Thanks, Nat-chan,” you say softly.

“Any time,” she says. “You’ll figure it out.”

As you hang up, you know that you will.

***

Winter melts into spring.

The snow gives way to crocuses, which bloom like bruises, deep purple with stamen peeking shyly out of the center. The trees come to life, budding quickly, little specks of green dotted along the branches like stars.

And on the farm, there are ducklings, tiny and fluffy, their down pollen-yellow.

“Oh, Shin,” you say as he hands you one, dropping it carefully into your hands. It peeps its protest before snuggling up in your palm like a tiny sun. “I love them.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and rich. “I thought you might. Do you wanna name ‘em?”

“Really? You’ll let me?”

“Course.”

“I’ll have to think of good ones,” you say. “Can I have a few days?”

“Take as much time as you need,” he says. “They’re not going anywhere.”

You nuzzle up against the one in your hand; it peeps again, as if grumbling at you. When you glance at Kita, he has a fond smile playing on his lips.

He takes you around on some of his other chores. There are seedlings in the garden, tiny little things just barely poking out of the ground, a promise of green growth. You water them carefully, wary of their thin, delicate stems.

Finally, you find yourself back in Kita’s genkan. Your boots��a pair of his, really, laced tightly to keep them on—are muddy, so you stop just inside the door. You’re leaning down to untie the boots when Kita kneels before you.

“Shin…” you say and he glances back up at you with mischief in his smile. You decide it’s not worth it to try and stop him.

He makes quick work of the laces with his deft fingers. You watch his bent head quietly, taking in the thunderstorm gray of it, edged with blackened clouds. You catch yourself before you run your fingers through it.

“Up,” he says. You steady yourself with a hand on his shoulder as you step out of first boot; he wraps his hand around your wrist.

It’s not long before both boots are off. Before you can even start to move, Kita has your house slippers in hand. He takes your ankle in his big hand, waiting for you to lift your foot so he can slip on the first slipper.

You almost balk. But he looks up at you with his keen amber eyes and you can’t help yourself. You lift your foot and he slides the slipper into place. He does the same thing with the second slipper.

“Thanks,” you say, cheeks hot.

He nods. He pushes to his feet, a graceful ripple of motion, and tilts his head at you. “Lunch?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “That sounds good.”

You cook together with ease. You know his kitchen by heart now, able to pull pans from their place without looking, knowing which of his fresh herbs to clip without double-checking with him.

It makes something in you ache.

Kita returns to the fields after lunch. You choose to not go with him, deciding instead to curl up on the engawa with a book. You settle into place with your book on your lap and stare out into the countryside.

It’s just beginning to go green with the flooded paddies glinting in the sun, a false ocean. The water glimmers with movement as the breeze rolls over you. A stork prowls through the paddies, long and elegant, moving with slow precision. Its beak flashes as it darts down to snap up some little creature. It takes off after that, spreading its wings wide and soaring into the blue expanse of the sky. You watch until it’s no more than a dot in the vastness.

You curl up and start reading and don’t notice when evening starts to fall. That’s where Kita finds you when he comes home from the fields. You hadn’t even noticed his truck trundling up the driveway.

“Hi,” you say as he comes up on the engawa, marking your place and getting to your feet.

“Hi,” he replies. “Have you been here all afternoon?”

“How’d you know?”

“Just a guess.”

You eye him, trying to figure out what’s given you away. Kita stays stoic, as if carved from stone, and you huff.

You follow him inside, kicking off your outside shoes before he can even try to kneel, and hop up from the genkan. As usual he goes to shower, ready to rinse off the fields. You keep reading.

He comes padding back into the kitchen a while later with a towel wound around his neck. His hair is still damp and you can see a cowlick curling at the back of his head. His tan skin glistens.

“Dinner?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “What do you want to make?”

You discuss your options in front of the fridge, crowded in next to each other to see what he has. He’s still warm from the shower. You press closer to him and see him glance at you from the corner of his eye. He smiles, soft and sweet, and turns his attention back to the fridge.

Eventually, you finally decide. Kita hands you a handful of carrots and you start to julienne them thinly, your knife—perfectly sharp, the most well-maintained kitchen knife you’ve ever seen—flashing in the light.

He starts halving baby bok choy, little gems of green and white. The pan hisses when he drops them in, giving it a good toss before he moves on to his next task.

“Is it really okay for me to be here during such a busy season?” you ask.

He glances at you. “I wouldn’t invite ya if it wasn’t a good time.”

“True.”

“Besides, I told you there was always a place here for you, and I meant it.”

Your cheeks heat. “I know.”

“Good.”

Quiet falls, broken only by the sound of your knife against the board and the hiss of the pan as Kita stirs it again. It’s comfortable, though, and you feel no need to fill the air. The two of you cook away, moving around each other easily in his small kitchen, as if it’s a dance you’ve always known.

It’s comforting in a way you’d almost forgotten.

You take a deep breath, your stomach churning a bit, and Kita glances over at you.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Just tired.”

He smiles softly. “If you wanna go to bed early, I don’t mind.”

“We’ll see,” you tell him. “Now finish up, I’m hungry.”

He laughs, but the two of you are done cooking not long after. You settle down to eat. You tell him some ideas you’ve had to name the ducks (“Duck is a perfectly good name, Shin!” “If ya say so.”) and he tells you about his day. It’s peaceful. Easy.

You’ve just finished eating when you reach out and cover Kita’s hand with your own. “Shin,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Fer what?”

You shrug, unable to put the jumble inside you into words.

He turns his hand over under yours and laces your fingers together. You don’t pull away.

“Yer always thankin’ me,” he says softly. “You don’t need to.”

“I do, though.”

“You don’t.”

You look at him. He meets your gaze easily, amber eyes gone whiskey-dark. He gives your hand a little squeeze.

“You don’t need to thank me for anything,” he says.

You squeeze back. “I will, though.”

He sighs but doesn’t argue.

For another moment, you both sit there, hands intertwined. You watch each other. You can feel the strength in his fingers and the hint of sweat on his palm. It’s warm and solid and real. Something in your chest stirs.

You’re the one that pulls back first, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Kita lets you go without a word.

The rest of dinner is quiet; you both go to your rooms early, influenced by Kita’s schedule. You murmur a soft goodnight in the hallway. You can still hear him when you’re in the guest room, listening to him rustling around before it all goes silent.

You gaze out the guest room window, taking in the rising moon. It’s waxing, almost full-bellied with light, pouring over the fields. It reflects off the water of the flooded paddies, a distorted mirror of itself. Under the moonlight, the fields go silvery, delicate and gossamer as they start to come to life. It’s beautiful in a foreign way.

You curl up on the bed with your book, texting Yoshikawa and Abe here and there as your phone lights up. When the moon is high in the sky, you finally get ready for bed.

You fall asleep thinking about the weight of Kita’s hand in your own.

***

Something shifts between you.

It’s slow like a dune in the wind, the sand taking on a new shape, but neither of you have mentioned it. Maybe you don’t need to. Maybe it’s all said in each fleeting glance, a language written in the amber of Kita’s gaze.

The days pass in a flicker of quiet moments. You spend a morning naming the ducklings, tucked in close to Kita’s side so he can see which one you’re pointing to. You repeat yourself as he takes them in, his brow furrowed as he notes the name for each nearly-identical duckling.

Some days you join him in the fields, kneeling down into the muck to sow a shoot into place. He guides you with careful hands, his warm fingers wrapped firmly around yours. You eat lunch in the bed of his truck, mud flaking off of your boots, and bask in the spring sun.

It’s easy. It’s terrifying.

You think of the taste of ozone, how it crackles on your tongue. The slow, sharp bite of it.

You know something will give. That the storm will break over you and change everything in its path.

You think you might finally be ready for it.

***

You come awake with a jolt.

The sheets stick to you, caught in the layer of sweat accumulating on you. You sit up and press a hand to your heart, thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings.

Once you’ve regained your breath, you stumble over to the window and pull it open. The countryside breeze billows inside. It still carries the sharp bite of winter, but it’s mellowed under spring’s tender bloom. You close your eyes and let it flow over you.

The breeze cools you, your sweat going tacky before it dries down completely. The dream rolls over you again and you shudder.

You find yourself padding down the hallway without realizing it. You stop just in front of the door. You tug at your lower lip with your teeth before taking a deep breath.

You knock gently on the door and then open it.

“Shin?” you whisper.

The lump on the bed stirs. Kita pushes up onto his elbows. He’s bathed in moonlight, his hair haloed silver, the dark tips a moon’s eclipse. He’s bleary-eyed but he focuses on you instantly.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Bad dream.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

You hesitate.

“That bad?”

You shake your head. “I just…can I lay with you for a bit? Is that okay?” you ask, heart in your throat. You need to know he’s still here. That he’s real.

His eyes widen before they go soft. He pulls back the covers and scoots over to give you more room. You’re across the room in an instant, slipping onto the futon. It’s still warm with his body heat and you shiver, goosebumps dancing across your skin.

You keep a small distance between you when you lay down, but you let your head turn towards him. He’s still up on one elbow, the muscles in his bicep bunched with it, and he’s studying you carefully.

He’s handsome, you realize, not for the first time. He’s sleep-rumpled, his hair messy and ruffled and his shirt wrinkled and bunched up just enough to show off a silver of his paler belly. The moonlight plays over him like a lover, lingering on the arch of his cheekbones and the dusting of freckles sprayed over his nose. His thick lashes flutter as he blinks, showcasing eyes gone golden, and you almost sigh.

He lies back down when you don’t move. The space between the two of you is small but it feels massive, a gulf between your two bodies, separating the shores of you.

“You okay?” he asks again.

You shake your head.

He reaches out and hesitates halfway, his big hand hovering in the air. In the moonlight, the constellation of his scars is more visible, little nicks and cuts that gleam bone-white in the light.

“Can I?” he asks.

Your nod is tiny; the sheets crinkle with it.

He cups your cheek. His palm is rough against your skin but he’s careful with it, touches you as if you’re made of glass. It’s almost reverent. He sweeps his thumb across the apple of your cheek.

“What did you dream of?” he breathes.

“You.”

“Me?”

“I couldn’t find you,” you murmur, leaning into his touch. “I looked and looked, but you weren’t there.”

“I’m here now.”

You hum.

“I’m here now,” he says again and it sounds like a promise.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “You are.”

You shift on the futon. The sheets smell of him, of the faintest hint of the salt of his skin and his soap, and you close your eyes to let it envelop you. You nestle down into the pillow with a little yawn.

“Go back to bed,” Kita murmurs, caressing your cheek with careful fingers. “You’ll be tired in the morning.”

You stir under his touch, opening one eye. He’s watching you, his amber eyes unbearably fond, and something in you pangs. You press closer to him; he radiates a gentle warmth and you relax into it.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” you ask quietly. “Please?”

You pretend to not hear the way his breath catches.

“You sure?” he asks.

You press closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Yes.”

“You’re gonna regret it when my alarm goes off at dawn,” Kita says, a smile written in his sleep-rough voice.

“I won’t,” you say. “Promise.”

He hums skeptically.

“Maybe you’ll regret it,” you whisper into the salt of his skin. “You might.”

He stills, and then he’s coaxing you up to look at him. His eyes gleam in the dim, a flash of amber, of the richness of the earth. He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours.

“No,” he says. “I could never regret you.”

He always hears what you can’t quite bring yourself to say.

“Never?”

He nudges his nose against yours.

“Never.”

His breath stirs against your lips, and you take it in, make it your own. You sway closer, undulating like kelp, half-dizzy with it, and then you sway closer still.

He waits for you.

(He always has.)

When you kiss him, it’s simple. It feels right.

Kita sighs into it, one big hand coming up to cup your face, his rough palm reverent against your skin. There’s no urgency to him; he’s honey-slow with it, melting into you under the cover of night.

You kiss him again, and again, like the tide against the shore, lapping at the edges of him until you’re etched into his skin. He meets you each time, sweet and steady.

You kiss him until he is all you know, and then you kiss him once more.

You don’t even realize that you’re crying until he sweeps his thumb over your cheekbone.

You part your lips, and he presses a little kiss against them before he pulls back. In the dim, his amber eyes have gone whiskey-dark, deep and heady.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to explain.”

You press your face into the warm crook of his neck again. He smells of plain soap and a lingering hint of citronella from the fields, sweet and stinging. You breathe him in, let the scent of him settle into you, a part of him to carry always.

Kita curls a gentle arm around you.

“Go to sleep,” he breathes, and you pull back to look at him. He watches you, his vulpine eyes unbearably fond, and he smiles against your lips when you kiss him again.

He cups your cheek and pulls you into a deeper kiss before he backs away. He sweeps his lips against yours in a chaste peck and says again, “Go to sleep.”

“Fine,” you murmur. You curl up into him as his breath starts to even out. You listen to the tide of it, the ebb and flow, a balm against a bruise you’ll always have, and close your eyes knowing that he’s right there.

You wake to the quiet beep of his alarm clock. He rises from bed with quicksilver ease, the thick muscles of his back rippling under his sleep shirt. It’s barely dawn; wan light filters in through the curtains like an azure sea, outlining him faintly as he moves around the room. He looks like something out of a painting, sketched out in broad strokes of soft shadows.

He looks too good to be true.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs as you shift on the futon. His sheets are well-worn, the type of broken in that comes with years of use and careful care. “It’s early.”

Instead, you get up with him, slipping out from beneath the warmth of the comforter with a soft sigh. Kita gives you a little smile, a crescent moon tilt of his lips, and your cheeks heat. You glance away and hear him huff out a laugh.

He disappears into the bathroom, and you make up the futon, smoothing your hands over the wrinkles until they disappear.

By the time he pads into the kitchen, the old coffeemaker is hissing and gurgling, spitting out a steady drip of liquid. He brushes by you to get a mug, his hand warm on your lower back as he sidles past. The heat of him lingers.

The two of you eat breakfast in a comfortable silence. He slides his portion of your favorite onto your plate without a word; you push your share of pickled daikon into one of his small kobachi dishes. He says nothing,, but his lips quirk at the edges, the faintest hint of a sweet smile.

He gets up when you’re both finished, pushing to his feet in one fluid movement. His muscles coil with it, going taut beneath his tanned skin. It’s more distracting than you thought it would be.

You peer at him from the corner of your eyes as he starts to clear the table. He moves with careful intent, his big hands steady against the delicate porcelain.

You want to kiss him again.

Instead, you get to your feet and finish clearing the table, handing him dishes when he gestures for them. You wash the dishes together. Over the whisper of the running water, you talk about your upcoming day, trying to decide if you’ll be able to eat lunch together as well. You can’t quite keep the smile from your lips.

When the dishes are put away, you walk with him onto the engawa. He cups your cheek, sweeping his thumb over the arch of your cheekbone, and smiles.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says.

“I’ll be here,” you say, soft and full of promise, and his eyes crinkle with his smile.

You watch from the engawa as he disappears into the distance, into the paddies, swallowed up by the verdant world he’s created with his own hands. He glances back at you once, just before he disappears from sight.

You raise your face to the gentle warmth of the rising sun.

It’s a new day.

#kita x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #bee writes hq!!#.lbgtm

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robynrocksforbrains · 8 months

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Okay so I need help finding a byler animatic

It absolutely ruined my life and every time I think about it or hear the song from it my chest feels hollow and I am overcome with grief and I am lost in a melancholy fog for like an hour

But one of my twitter mutuals really wants to see it despite my warnings

So this is the song

These are the lyrics it uses

And basically the concept is that Will died in the UD and Mike (appears to be s4 Mike) is visiting his grave and (I'm so serious I'm literally getting chills while typing this out and I have tears in my eyes and my stomach hurts) it flashes through a few childhood memories I think and then as Mike is walking away, Will's ghost appears, watching as Mike leaves, while the lyric "I guess that's just the way things go" plays and that's the end

So writing that was an incredible feat. Autumn, you're not even gonna see this since you don't want the concept spoiled but let this be a testament to how much I love you!!

If anyone has a link to it that would be great :)

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #byler art #< sorry if i shouldn't use that tag but i am searching for a specific byler art so i think it's appropriate #stranger things #please help #Spotify

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obamaonaunicorn · 1 year

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The cabin was peaceful and mostly silent, with the only sounds being the light strumming of a guitar, and the sound of Luke's paintbrush as it glided across the canvas, occasionally leaving little paint droplets in it's wake. (Name) was sitting down, strumming a series of chords on their guitar, trying to come up with a new tune to play, and Sarah was curled up on a sofa with a her nose buried in a book, completely ignoring everything going on around her.

Nick laid flat on the carpet, casually flipping through a magazine he had found earlier, occasionally commenting on Luke's painting. And Carlos, Alvin and Rebecca were quietly talking in another room.

It was peaceful, and even if for a moment, it seemed that everyone forgot about the horrors that were just beyond the walls of the cabin that they had come to call home.

As the sound from the guitar came to an end, Luke set down his paintbrush and turned to (Name).

"Wow, that was really beautiful," He said with a smile.

"It was. You should play more often," Sarah chimed in, looking up from her book.

"Encore!" Nick teased, a hint of laughter in his voice.

(Name) laughed and continued playing, with the others resuming their normal activities, everyone seemingly lost in thought.

Alvin, who had been sitting at the kitchen table with Carlos and Rebecca made his way to Luke's canvas and studied it, a small smile on his face.

"That's looking really great," He said. "I love the way that the reds and the browns blend together."

"Thanks, Alvin. I wanted to make it obvious that this painting takes place during autumn."

As (Name) finished their second song, Carlos walked into the room.

"It's good that you're playing an instrument. It's a good distraction in times like these," He said, sitting on the sofa next to his daughter.

"Yeah, it is," Nick chimed in, placing the magazine on the floor next to him. "But any hobby is a good way to kill time these days."

"Do you mind if I borrow that guitar sometime? There's a few songs that I'd love to play on the guitar again," Luke added, turning his attention to the people around him.

"Luke, you play?" Sarah asked, looking directly up from her book for the first time in ages.

"Yeah. Well, I used to," he said, placing the paintbrush inside a small cup.

"Sure you can borrow it," (Name) said. "Hell, why don't you play something right now?"

"Right now?" He asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Why not?" (Name) responded.

"It's because he's scared of playing the guitar," Nick commented, his voice filled with mischief.

"Oooooh," Sarah added, not looking up from her novel. "Luke's a scaredy-cat."

Luke scoffed, his hands at his sides. "Alright, I'll play now," he said, glaring at Sarah and Nick.

Sarah giggled and extended her hand towards Nick, and he did the same, giving her a high five at the expense of their friend.

(Name) handed Luke the guitar, and he began to play. It was a slow, melancholy tune, and the notes flowed effortlessly from his fingers. The group listened in silence, captivated by the music. One the music was over, Nick whistled, and Luke bowed like someone would do after a concert.

"Thanks for letting me borrow it. Felt nice to play one of these things again," Luke said, handing back (Name)'s guitar.

"You two should play together sometime," Sarah mentioned, her eyes still glued to the pages of her book.

"Yeah. It'd be nice to have more afternoons like these," Nick added.

"I fully agree," Rebecca said, finally making her way to the room and sitting next to Nick.

As everyone went back to doing their activities, a sense of calm seemingly washed over the whole group. Once again, the cabin was filled with the sound of light guitar strumming and the movement of a paint brush, occasionally interrupted by the quiet voices of certain people. And for just a little while, everyone could forget about the dangers that lurked outside, and just be in the moment, enjoying each other's company and the simple pleasures of life.

Hope you enjoyed! This was my first fanfic from twdg, and I loved writing it :)

#twdgame #twdg #twdg luke #twdg s2 #cabin group #twdg nick #twdg sarah #twdg carlos #twdg alvin #twdg Rebecca #the walking dead game season 2 #the walking dead game #reader insert

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herwrittenuniverse · 8 months

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And so begins my least favorite month.

youtube

September 1st means so many wonderful things to several people - the beginning of the autumn, Pumpkin Spice everything, apple picking, cooler weather, soon-to-be Halloween...

Not to me, and not to my family.

September represents a time of sadness. Both my grandparents died in September - one in the beginning, one in the end. I witnessed 9/11 from my school window, and the event in itself changed the world, traumatized several people (myself included), and opened up doors to conflicts that we are still solving today. Seaside towns that hum with daytrippers are suddenly empty - great for the locals, sure, but not great for businesses who didn't make it. And not to mention...school starts.

This is not to bash anyone who loves this time of year. (I wish I could associate this month with wonderful things.) Rather, I want to call attention to Green Day's beautiful anthem to this melancholy month. I play it every year and it never fails to make me weep.

🎵Summer has come to pass The innocent can never last Wake me up when September ends🎵

The lines here always remind me of Don Henley's Boys of Summer. Similar feeling.

🎵Like my father's come to pass Seven years has gone so fast Wake me up when September ends🎵

This song came out the year my grandfather died. I remember thinking about the line 'seven years has gone so fast,' and wondering where I would be seven years after my grandfather died. Later on in the song, Billie Joe Armstrong sings "Twenty years has gone so fast." It will soon be the 20th Anniversary of my grandfather's death, and it's just amazing how fast time can fly. And it's amazing how much you can still love someone, even though they have not been on this earth for quite some time.

🎵Here comes the rain again Falling from the stars Drenched in my pain again Becoming who we are🎵

Seems apropos as I sit in my bedroom, writing this and weeping.

🎵As my memory rests But never forgets what I've lost Wake me up when September ends🎵

Every year, I listen to this song in memory of my grandparents. And every year, I remember that grief is a funny thing, and like the seasons itself, comes in cycles.

🎵Ring out the bells again Like we did when Spring began Wake me up when September ends🎵

But as I wrote in my journal..."We cannot hold on to summer forever. It is fleeting, and we must enjoy its precious moments while we can...I know with the end of summer comes the hope of it returning soon, and all the good things that come with fall."

Wake me up when September ends.

#seasons #green day #american idiot #music #wake me up when september ends #personal post #myself #grief #dealing with grief #autumn #Youtube

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crjupdates · 2 years

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Carly Rae Jepsen Dances Her Way Through Heartbreak on 'The Loneliest Time'

The latest album from the Canadian pop goddess delivers high-gloss pop with serious emotional punch

Rolling Stone • Rob Sheffield • October 20, 2022 • Photo: Meredith Jenks

Carly Rae Jepsen is one of the most exquisite joys of being a pop fan over the past decade. The Canadian pop goddess is one of our most underrated treasures—ten years after the world fell in love with this girl in “Call Me Maybe,” she still hasn’t made a single weak record or failed move. The Loneliest Time is her most emotionally adventurous music yet—high-gloss post-bubblegum synth-pop that packs a serious punch even at its fizziest. Carly Rae just keeps dancing her way through the heartbreak, a totally relatable adult romantic with too many feelings but zero illusions.

The Loneliest Time has the shiny electro-perk sheen of her 2015 classic Emotion, but more of the melancholy of 2019’s Dedicated. By now, she’s over every brand of bullshit, with hilariously blasé song titles like “Go Find Yourself or Whatever” and “No Thinking Over the Weekend.” These are the songs of a woman who’s been through some drama, but refuses to give up on the brighter days and hotter nights she deserves.

Jepsen had a miserable time during the pandemic, and she’s not the type of celebrity to lie about that. She lost her beloved grandmother, the woman who first taught her the joys of wearing feather boas; travel restrictions meant she couldn’t travel to grieve with her family. So even the most delightfully frivolous pop kicks here feel powerfully cathartic.

“Beach House” is a deliciously nasty tour of serial monogamy in the era of dating-app addiction. She scrolls from one worthless boy to another: the one whose mom fixed the mood for their date, the one who begs to borrow money, the one who wants to harvest her organs. She trips from Boy Number One to “Boy Number I Can’t Even Count Anymore.”

She goes looking for romance out west, in the mellow California dreaming of “Joshua Tree” and “Western Wind.” She also hits the clubs, looking for emotional rescue in the dance-floor lust of “Bad Thing Twice.” The peak moment: “Shooting Star,” a Chic-style roller-disco groove where she chirps, “I might sleep with you tonight… Just because I still believe in my New York City!” It climaxes in her vocoder confessions at the end, where she blows all her fears away, bubbling over with excitement as she chants, “Do you wanna? Do you wanna?”

She duets with Rufus Wainwright in “The Loneliest Time,” where she sings about feeling like she’s in a Shakespeare tragedy. She also gets hung up on a fickle lover in “Go Find Yourself or Whatever,” over moody sitar-style guitar from collaborator Rostam Batmanglij. But for all the broken romances on The Loneliest Time, it’s an uplifting experience. Carly Rae Jepsen might have endured a couple too many sad girl summers lately. But she’s determined to throw herself a hell of a hot girl autumn.

#carly rae jepsen #crj #carlyraejepsen #the loneliest time #the rolling stone #rob sheffield #category: review #category: feature #album: the loneliest time #writer: rob sheffield #source: rolling stone #photographer: meredith jenks #10/20/22 #october 2022 #2022 #🍐

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zhwj · 10 months

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Springs and Autumns

Lately I’ve been dipping into scholar-beauty romances. A recent favorite is Jin xiang ting 錦香亭 (“Pavilion of Fragrant Brocade”) by Guwu su’an zhuren 古吳素庵主人 (Master of the Simple Hut of Suzhou), which dates to the early Qing.

It’s a short novel that fits a surprising amount of action into its sixteen chapters. The main love story between Zhong Jingqi 鍾景期 and Ge Mingxia 葛明霞 is standard scholar-beauty stuff—imperial exam success, an exchange of poetry, a scheming rival, missed connections, a helpful nun, resourceful concubines, mistaken identity resolving into a wedding, and a happily-ever-after conclusion—but it’s embedded in a larger historical narrative: the An Lushan Rebellion erupts midway through the book. Court intrigue, battlefield strategizing, and tides of refugees heighten the tension of the romantic plot and somehow make the bizarre coincidences the genre relies on seem more believable.

But the plot’s not the reason for this post. A version of the same story is told in the lost Yuan-dynasty play 孟月梅寫恨錦香亭 (“Meng Yuemei Writes of Regrets in the Pavilion of Fragrant Brocade”) about characters named Chen Gui 陳珪 and Meng Yuemei. Songs memorable enough to be preserved in other sources can be found in Song Yuan xiwen jiyi, a 1956 collection of play fragments compiled by Qian Nanyang. Here’s a delightful aria about spring, assembled from quotations of older poems; a quick translation follows:

【中呂過曲】【古山花子】賞春倦倚春風裡，春色釀成和氣。春滿人間，春綻萬紅千翠。春晴雅宜，春燕銜春壘。春心戀春如醉。春心熙熙，春景正遲遲。春來早起，滿目春山麗。仲春時，問春有幾？春及三之二。莫惹春愁，一分塵土，二分流水。春暖春煙，春雨濺春池。春夢里藹然春意，對這春草池塘賦春試。賞春花，春酒泛春杯，春果簇春桃春梨。聽得春鶯囀春啼，春在春花裡。假青春，春夜悞春期，春去後留春無計。春知我，愛春傷春春信稀。（錢南揚輯錄《宋元戲文輯佚》76）

Spent on spring pleasure, ease back into the spring wind: spring colors mix into an amiable mood. Spring fills the mortal realm, spring bursts with red and green. Spring clarity is graceful and inviting, spring swallows build spring nests. Spring hearts get drunk on spring love. Spring minds make merry, spring vistas linger. On a new spring morn, rise early to a vision of gorgeous spring mountains. By mid-spring, think how long spring may last. Spring is two-thirds gone. Refrain from spring melancholy; one part returns to dust, two parts to water. Spring warmth and spring mist, spring rain splashes into spring pools. Spring dreams harbor pleasing spring desires, bringing spring exams to these spring grasses and ponds. Enjoy spring flowers as spring wine overflows spring cups; spring fruits: clusters of spring peaches and spring pears. Hear the spring oriole sing a plaintive spring song. Spring lies within spring flowers. Fresh green spring means missed spring rendezvous on spring nights; when spring departs, spring cannot be retained. Spring gets me: spring love, spring heartache, and rare spring tidings.

I love this—the hypnotic repetition of “spring” transports me back to a class on early 20th century literature, when our professor read aloud the opening to Chapter 19 of Xu Zhenya’s bestselling 1912 sentimental romance novel in parallel prose, Yuli hun 玉梨魂 (“The Soul of Yuli” or “The Jade Pear Spirit”). For the last two decades, the lines of 秋心 “Autumn Heart” have often come to mind when the weather turns and the leaves start changing color.

黃葉聲多。蒼苔色死。海棠開後。鴻雁來時。雨雨風風。催遍幾番秋信。淒淒切切。送來一片秋聲。秋館空空。秋燕已為秋客。秋窗寂寂。秋蟲偏惱秋魂。秋色荒涼。秋容慘淡。秋情綿邈。秋興闌珊。此日秋閨。獨尋秋夢。何時秋月。雙照秋人。秋愁疊疊。並為秋恨綿綿；秋景匆匆。惱煞秋期負負。盡無限風光到眼。阿儂總覺魂銷。最難堪節序催人。客子能無感集。

Yellow leaves rustle, green moss fades. When the begonia has flowered and the snow geese have arrived, wind and rain hasten autumn’s signs, cold and chill carry autumn’s sounds. Autumn halls are vacant, autumn swallows turned sorrowful autumn travelers. Autumn windows are empty, autumn insects vex the autumn soul. Autumn’s scenes are bleak, autumn’s visage is desolate. Autumn emotion grows distant, autumn elation lies heavy. Today’s autumn boudoir holds a solitary quest for an autumn dream. What day will an autumn moon shine on an autumn pair? Layered autumn melancholy comes with unending autumn regret. Fleeting autumn vistas spur shameful autumn trysts. At the boundless vision before us, our souls take flight. In the unbearable draw of the seasons, can the sojourner remain unmoved?

I have to say I prefer the freer lines of the Yuan lyric to the constrained pulse of four- and six-character phrases that makes up the pianwen style. Here I’ve prioritized the repetition of “autumn” and tried to capture at least at least some of the parallelism, and while this approach does manage to set a mood, the amount of amplification necessary in English would, I feel, make for excruciatingly verbose prose whenever anything actually had to happen. I’m not sure I could keep it up for more than a paragraph or two, or be capable of reading much more than that, to be honest—and the novel runs to 30 chapters. But someone’s given it a try: an English translation by Gong Xiaohui under the title The Death of Yuli was published earlier this year. I’m honestly curious about the translator’s approach.

But I’m more keen to find additional examples of this type of dense repetition in Chinese writing. Any suggestions?

#poetry #spring #autumn #repetition

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seawitch62 · 1 year

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A nice leisurely day interrupted by Mannequins.

Guest appearance by the 9th Doctor.

Sci fi horror

Word count 1339

Autons.

🚹Autons are the living plastic foot-soldiers of a formless entity known as the Nestene Consciousness. Its affinity for and ability to animate plastics has led it to Earth many times, and into conflict with the Doctor.🚺

What an amazing day! Vernon is always a great conversationalist; his extensive knowledge and opinion on many topics keeps the dialogue flowing. From Sci-fi to current events he seems to always be aware of, and have an opinion. His driving skills are excellent, no gripping the door handle in anticipation of a crash. Just like a banana smoothie, smooth! Polite and cordial to everyone his calming tone when he ordered lunch at the drive thru at In and Out set the mood for our drive, and what a drive. The landscape spectacular! The trees showing the first transformation of autumn, the leaves gently falling, and swishing across the county road. Birds singing their melodies of woe before they begin their navigational journey south. Squirrels busily collect and store food for their winter pantry.

☀️

The sun's warmth helps keep the chill that is induced by the cool October wind, a plaid green blanket cushions, nibbling on a selection of fruit and vegetables.

Vernon quietly though with his own brand of articulation reads 'The War of the Worlds' by H G Wells.

🌍The Coming of the Martians

Chapter One

The Eve of the War

But who shall dwell in these worlds if they be inhabited?…

Are we or they Lords of the World?…

And how are all things made for man?—

Kepler (quoted in The Anatomy of Melancholy)🌍

I always love it when he reads to me, I find it soothing and in a way romantic. Staring at the orange, red, yellow and brown leaves rustling with the slight breeze their song adds to the ambience as Vernon reads.

🌍No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.🌍

Lost in Vernon's narration, time passes quickly the cool afternoon air begins to seep through the armor of clothing, "we should head out" Vernon injects. Sadly agreeing, storytime is over, packing up our belongings.

The warmth of the vehicle is welcoming, the drive is a mix of chatter and silence both lost in our thoughts. "We need gas" he says as he eyes the dashboard, "we'll check out the next exit". Nodding in affirmation, a few miles pass before 'Polymerisation next exit' "What a weird name"

"Sure is, but we need gas"

▶️

The town of Polymerisation, one word best describes, quaint! Shops and cafes line the main street, a feeling of stepping back in time, or that time stopped. Even at the gas station an attendant filled the tank, checked the oil and washed the windscreen, "Back to the future" laughingly Vernon asks "where is Marty McFly?" Vernon suggests we try the Cafe Metis, "homemade pie" he adds with an infectious grin

🥧

Cafe Metis, warm and welcoming the waitress cheerfully greets. The coffee freshly brewed and the pie, scrumptious! The decor is different to say the least, Mannequins line the walls dressed in costumes or outfits that bespoke of times past. A real time machine. Vernon was of course fascinated with the bygone fashion. "Creepy" musing aloud, Vernon laughs "they are just Mannequins".

"Still creepy though ".

Thanking the waitress and leaving a generous tip, exiting the Cafe, "let's take a stroll and check things out" Vernon proposes. The stillness of the air and quiet is the opposite of the city, in fact in a way it's eerily disturbing but curiosity overrides any feelings of disquiet.

Mannequins, they seem to be in every shop, even on the streets! Outfitted in clothing from years past to present. Noticeably absent are vehicles humming to and fro and people! The street is absent of activity. "We haven't seen a soul since the Cafe!"

Vernon who had seemed preoccupied previously "I know!"

Grabbing my hand "time to leave" he states in a no nonsense tone. "Let's get back to the car!". The vehicle in the distance illuminated by street lights seems like a sudden oasis in the desert. With a hurried pace the car seems to be an unreachable target.

Vernon's grip is ironclad "come on!" He urges.

Fingers dig into my shoulder, as Vernon just about drags me behind with his swift steps. The fingers dig deeper, "Vernon!" The yelping tone garners his attention turning he stops dead in his tracks "duck" he hollers. Instinctually realizing something is horribly wrong I duck.

Vernon throws a punch which narrowly misses me, turning to see the source of the incredulous look that now is painted on Vernon's face, a mannequin! Its head toppled and rolling down the street. Stunned beyond movement fear attacks, my legs feel like they are sinking into quicksand, the loss of mobility, panic surges, alarm bells ring loudly within my head, yet I can not move, I'm frozen.

"Come on!" Vernon bellows, seizing my hand and running towards the vehicle.

🚘

"Fuck they have the car surrounded! What the fuck is going on?" hysterically I ask. "This way" now running in the opposite direction for what was a few moments ago an oasis is now dangerous territory.

"I need to catch my breath"

"We need weapons" Vernon states as he scopes the area looking for anything that could be a makeshift weapon. Rummaging through the plastic bins, he finds a bicycle chain and sauce pan. The triumphant smile is replaced quickly when the bins begin to shake and rattle. "What the?" He utters as the bin tries to grab his hand. Bashing the bin with the sauce pan Vernon narrowly escapes. "Run!"

🔷️

A swarm of Mannequins block the path, saucepan in hand, I look at Vernon holding the bike chain "ready?" He asks. With that command we go in guns blazing the saucepan and bike chain our only defense. The mannequin which looked like it stepped out of a department store in the 1920's seems particularly resilient, banging and bashing the plastic abomination, finally the limbs fall. Vernon wrapped the bike chain around the head of a mannequin which appeared in clothes from the 1970's, squeezing the chain the mannequin head popped like a balloon.

"Run!" Vernon demands.

☎️

Out of nowhere a man appears, decidedly calm considering the circumstances. "Run!"

"What the hell is going on?" Vernon asks the stranger.

"They're made of plastic. Living plastic creatures. They're being controlled by a relay device on the roof. Which would be a great big problem if I didnt have this bomb!"

"A bomb!?!" Yelling in unison.

The stranger smiles "Fantastic! We are all caught up, hate to be rude but I am in the middle of saving the world" then he disappears.

🔥

"We gotta go! Now!" Vernon says. From a rooftop a voice demands "run for your life!".

No incentive needed

run run run!

The earth shakes and trembles, boom! Knocked to the ground by the forcible impact, kissing the concrete sidewalk, dazed a trickle of blood slides down my cheek "are you okay?" Vernon asks urgently, "yes, you?".

"I will live".

Looking around the once animated Mannequins now lay where they once stood,"let's get out of here" says Vernon.

🔥

Approaching the car the stranger appears out of nowhere, "Fantastic! I'm the Doctor by the way!"

He offers like that is all that is needed. Confused Vernon hesitantly introduces us both.

"Thank you for saving our asses"

The stranger who called himself The Doctor grins, "well I must be off" and with that he once more disappears.

"Get in the car now,!" Vernon demands "we are leaving the bat shit crazy town now!".

#vernon x reader #vernon x you #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #vernon au #vernon fanfic #svt fic #svt au #seventeen fanfics #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fic #seventeen au #svt fanfic #svt scenarios #seventeen imagines #vernon scenarios

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sorrows-of-young-werther-daily · 8 months

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September 4

It is even so! As nature puts on her autumn tints it becomes autumn with me and around me. My leaves are sere and yellow, and the neighbouring trees are divested of their foliage. Do you remember my writing to you about a peasant boy shortly after my arrival here? I have just made inquiries about him in Walheim. They say he has been dismissed from his service, and is now avoided by every one. I met him yesterday on the road, going to a neighbouring village. I spoke to him, and he told me his story. It interested me exceedingly, as you will easily understand when I repeat it to you. But why should I trouble you? Why should I not reserve all my sorrow for myself? Why should I continue to give you occasion to pity and blame me? But no matter: this also is part of my destiny.

At first the peasant lad answered my inquiries with a sort of subdued melancholy, which seemed to me the mark of a timid disposition; but, as we grew to understand each other, he spoke with less reserve, and openly confessed his faults, and lamented his misfortune. I wish, my dear friend, I could give proper expression to his language. He told me with a sort of pleasurable recollection, that, after my departure, his passion for his mistress increased daily, until at last he neither knew what he did nor what he said, nor what was to become of him. He could neither eat nor drink nor sleep: he felt a sense of suffocation; he disobeyed all orders, and forgot all commands involuntarily; he seemed as if pursued by an evil spirit, till one day, knowing that his mistress had gone to an upper chamber, he had followed, or, rather, been drawn after her. As she proved deaf to his entreaties, he had recourse to violence. He knows not what happened; but he called God to witness that his intentions to her were honourable, and that he desired nothing more sincerely than that they should marry, and pass their lives together. When he had come to this point, he began to hesitate, as if there was something which he had not courage to utter, till at length he acknowledged with some confusion certain little confidences she had encouraged, and liberties she had allowed. He broke off two or three times in his narration, and assured me most earnestly that he had no wish to make her bad, as he termed it, for he loved her still as sincerely as ever; that the tale had never before escaped his lips, and was only now told to convince me that he was not utterly lost and abandoned. And here, my dear friend, I must commence the old song which you know I utter eternally. If I could only represent the man as he stood, and stands now before me, could I only give his true expressions, you would feel compelled to sympathise in his fate. But enough: you, who know my misfortune and my disposition, can easily comprehend the attraction which draws me toward every unfortunate being, but particularly toward him whose story I have recounted.

On perusing this letter a second time, I find I have omitted the conclusion of my tale; but it is easily supplied. She became reserved toward him, at the instigation of her brother who had long hated him, and desired his expulsion from the house, fearing that his sister's second marriage might deprive his children of the handsome fortune they expected from her; as she is childless. He was dismissed at length; and the whole affair occasioned so much scandal, that the mistress dared not take him back, even if she had wished it. She has since hired another servant, with whom, they say, her brother is equally displeased, and whom she is likely to marry; but my informant assures me that he himself is determined not to survive such a catastrophe.

This story is neither exaggerated nor embellished: indeed, I have weakened and impaired it in the narration, by the necessity of using the more refined expressions of society.

This love, then, this constancy, this passion, is no poetical fiction. It is actual, and dwells in its greatest purity amongst that class of mankind whom we term rude, uneducated. We are the educated, not the perverted. But read this story with attention, I implore you. I am tranquil to-day, for I have been employed upon this narration: you see by my writing that I am not so agitated as usual. I read and re-read this tale, Wilhelm: it is the history of your friend! My fortune has been and will be similar; and I am neither half so brave nor half so determined as the poor wretch with whom I hesitate to compare myself.

#the sorrows of young werther daily #september 4

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deadcactuswalking · 2 years

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REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 10/09/2022

The charts never stop. Welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS!

Rundown

There is a certain world event that particularly affected the UK that happened yesterday as of writing, yes, but it doesn’t affect this week’s chart due to the tracking week so... I’m not even going to mention it. “B.O.T.A. (Baddest of Them All)” by Eliza Rose and Interplanetary Criminal spends its second week at the top, and as always, we start with the notable dropouts, which are songs exiting the UK Top 75 – which is what I cover – after five weeks in the region or a peak in the top 40. This week, we bid farewell to “Yellow” by Coldplay, “Hold This” by HStikkytokky and J Fado, “Big Energy” by Latto alongside the remix with Mariah Carey and DJ Khaled, “Peru” by Fireboy DML alongside the remix with Ed Sheeran, and finally, “Where Are You Now” by Lost Frequencies and Calum Scott. Whilst there weren’t many, there are three heavy-hitters that dropped off the chart this week, and that’s pretty notable going into the autumn.

Elsewhere on the chart, we have our gains and returning entries, and there are just as many returns as there are new arrivals, those being “Brazil” by Declan McKenna at #74, “WAIT FOR U” by Future featuring Drake and Tems at #72, “When it Rains it Pours” by Bad Boy Chiller Crew at #69 and “Getting Started” by Sam Fender at #64. Whilst some big tracks like “Afraid to Feel”, “21 Reasons” and “Green Green Grass” got hit with ACR this week, this allowed for some movement upwards, with our notable gains, and it’s actually a pretty decently sized list. Said list includes “Propeller” by JAE5 featuring Dave and BNXN fka Buju at #66, “Deep Down” by Alok, Ella Eyre and Kenny Dope featuring Never Dull at #63, “Seventeen Going Under” by Sam Fender at #59, “Calm Down” by Rema at #51, “Atlantis” by Seafret at #50, “Energy” by Bugzy Malone and MIST at #39, “2 Be Loved (Am I Ready)” by Lizzo at #38, “Matilda” by Harry Styles at #37, “Mary on a Cross” by Ghost at #28, “There’d Better be a Mirrorball” by the Arctic Monkeys at #26, “Another Love” by Tom Odell at #20 thanks to some viral busking video, “Under the Influence” by Chris Brown at #14 (Jesus Christ) and re-entering the top 10, “Super Freaky Girl” by Nicki Minaj at #6.

Our top five on this week’s UK Singles Chart consists of “Late Night Talking” by Harry Styles at #5, “Not Over Yet” by KSI and Tom Grennan at #4, “I Ain’t Worried” by OneRepublic at #3, “I’m Good (Blue)” by David Guetta and Bebe Rexha at #2 and of course, “B.O.T.A.” at #1. Now, considering that I haven’t really had the time to consume new music as much as I’d wish to, we can skip Off the Charts and start discussing the new songs. Hey, it’s been a busy week, at least for me and I guess, Ms. Truss, though she doesn’t have to decide which MP was the Best of the Week.

NEW ARRIVALS

#56 – “New Gold” – Gorillaz featuring Tame Impala and Bootie Brown

Produced by Gorillaz, Greg Kurstin and Kevin Parker

Are you telling me that all this time, the way to get Gorillaz to chart this high was just to add Tame Impala? This is the virtual band’s highest charting hit since 2010, and to say I have a history with Damon and co. would probably be an understatement. The first three-album run and Humanz is a damn good stretch, yet from that 2017 album onwards I’ve fell out of love with Gorillaz as both a concept and a musical vehicle for Damon Albarn. It happens: you age, you grow out of things, but man, I rarely get to talk about music as dear to my heart as some of Gorillaz, so it’s tempting to ramble about some of my favourite songs from them... but I’ll refrain. My favourite is Plastic Beach and my top five songs are “Slow Country”, “On Melancholy Hill”, “To Binge” with Little Dragon, “Rhinestone Eyes” and “O Green World”, in that order. I haven’t followed Gorillaz nearly as closely as I would have, and to be completely honest, Song Machine was a huge disappointment, so my expectations are kind of tempered. I will say that Jamie Hewlett’s art direction is just as unique and perfectly “Gorillaz” as ever – I don’t usually comment on visuals or album art but that’s missing at least 20% of the experience here. As for the song... well, this was made for an into-way-too-much-depth Gorillaz fan like me. Not only does it reunite them with Bootie Brown formerly of the Pharcyde, who appeared on the classic “Dirty Harry” and delivered a killer verse, but he’s also dropping references to both the massive hits of that album cycle – “Feel Good Inc.”, “DARE” – but also a cut I don’t think people even acknowledge, but in my opinion are pretty underrated; does anyone remember “Revolving Doors”? Sonically, it feels pretty all-encompassing also: it’s got the Song Machine philosophy of cramming guest features and ambitious ideas into one piece but in a more compressed, groove-based pulse much like Humanz, the fevering synths of Plastic Beach... so why don’t I like this? Well, those synths have their buzz filtered and watered down by a really non-sticky chorus from Kevin Parker, who frankly serves very little purpose here. The groove is slick but Bootie Brown can’t really catch a good flow on it, he sounds really awkward, and some of the lines are stiff and heavy-handed. There’s not a solid enough bassline to really compel any of the blaring back down to the ground, and the bridge wherein Damon – or 2D – actually appears just seems a tad perfunctory, especially if he’s going to echo the “5/4” melody in a way that just piles on the references. It feels like a kind of shallow attempt at fanservice, and I’ll admit, I kind of fell for the concept, but don’t hear this working as a song... at all, it’s actually pretty bad. Of course, when I’m actually a fan of the group, they end up disappointing me on my own show.

#49 – “Kiss Me” – Dermot Kennedy

Produced by KOZ, Steve Mac and Scott Harris

First of all, no. Second of all, this is the latest singer from Irish singer-songwriter Mr. Kennedy, and I mean, it’s no Sixpence None the Richer. In fact, I kind of hate this too. The pop-rock “instrumentation” just sounds stock, providing all of the energy of American Authors with the sad-dog enthusiasm of X Ambassadors very much prevalent in the backing vocals. It’s not like our lead vocalist is doing any better either, considering the vocal mixing sounds surprisingly cheap and he almost sounds out of rhythm trying to strain the anthemic chorus into a track that is so unwilling to allow for much more than a copy-paste monotone. This needs a chugging guitar riff, or at least actually live drums: that chorus is begging for a pop-punk version, and Kennedy’s voice could really work on more organic or at least rock-influenced production. Why he continues to go against that in favour of these schlocky 80s pastiches is beyond me, but hey, he and Tom Grennan can at least be partners in the crime of squandering their potential through dreadful non-existence and trend-chasing. At least the song works lyrically, and has enough melodrama to get me relatively invested, but that might just be all the more frustrating when it can’t be done justice.

#48 – “Living Without You” – Sigala, David Guetta and Sam Ryder

Produced by Sigala, Jarly and David Guetta

Speaking of Tom Grennan, he actually has writing credits on this and honestly, it’s just as soulless... and I kind of like it, maybe in a guilty pleasure kind of way. I’m kind of surprised that Ryder’s follow-up single is just an EDM feature, but he does his best here giving some kind of rasp to his processed vocals, generic lyrics and really, any kind of humanity before the David Guetta robots get to it. As always with Sigala, there’s a tropically-tinged level of grandiosity to it all, especially with the 90s pianos, that make it club-ready and honestly could be seen as pretty fun, especially with some of Ryder’s ad-libs, but it is a bit flat overall. I like the intensity of the strings and especially the borderline PC Music vocaloid drop but everything feels a bit too compressed and flattened into this one mix that doesn’t really let anything shine in its own particular way. It’s not all that good, but it’s energetic and catchy, and I could see it lasting. That’s better than the last two songs at least.

#29 – “I’m in Love with You” – The 1975

Produced by George Daniel and Matthew Healy

I’m placing my bets on The 1975 for any sense of quality this week, aren’t I? Well, turns out that I would have more luck going on gambling websites because I’m not a fan of this either. Sure, the lush guitars and generally pleasant, fluttery vibe is cute, but surprisingly non-distinct for The 1975. Mr. Healy adds his typically overdone vocals to make sure he can stamp this as a song by his band, but otherwise, it feels pretty stock. For Dermot Kennedy, that’s an observation, for The 1975, that’s a concern. The stuttering chorus doesn’t bother me, and I prefer his delivery there to the obnoxious Charlie Puthisms in the verses... but of course he had to go and say that FKA twigs showed him her “black girl thing” and he didn’t understand it and oh my God, why would you write, sing, mix and release that ignorant lyric? I get that part of their shtick is self-deprecation and blissful ignorance, but there is nothing painting him in the wrong there, so it’s just left as an awkward pre-chorus that dangles there and makes things kind of awkward for the rest of the song. With a pretty odd mix that all of these singles have had that shallows the impact of pretty much everything here, really, what are we getting out of this other than second-hand embarrassment?

Conclusion

Well, this was a dreadful week, and for no other reason than these four mediocre songs. Worst of the Week goes to Dermot Kennedy for “Kiss Me” with a Dishonourable Mention to The 1975 or Gorillaz – pick your poison for who made the worst “alternative” breakthrough track this week. I suppose Best of the Week goes to “Living Without You” by Sigala, David Guetta and Sam Ryder but honestly, who cares? Thank you for reading, don’t watch BBC News, and I’ll see you next week.

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shirubae · 2 years

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The “New” Blaze: The Sonic Rush Analysis - Part 2

Previously: Blaze spoke with Sonic for the first time.

With the sixth Sol Emerald, Blaze and Cream reunite with Amy. She again recommends Sonic's help, but Blaze continues to refuse. Amy preaches that it’s okay to rely on others - classic "power of friendship" stuff.

However, Blaze's reluctance is not because she doesn’t believe in friendship - it’s because she doesn’t believe she has friends. The "power of friendship" can’t apply to her. She’s so used to isolation that she can’t fathom others helping. She won't accept that Cream is her friend, nor Amy, and definitely not Sonic.

But she's starting to want it. Amy reassures that she doesn't need to strain herself with problems alone, when she could be getting help. Blaze is affected by this. She wants to believe.

Suddenly, an angry Knuckles wants to settle things with Blaze. Amy chooses to stay behind and let them escape, so Cream flies away with Blaze (despite her fear of heights), sparing a confrontation. Blaze finds herself smiling once more, and admits that she enjoys the prospect of having friends. Her misbelief is cracking.

Vela-Nova

Now, Blaze is put to the test. She and Sonic corner Eggman simultaneously. Blaze is sickened by Eggman’s selfishness and resolves to destroy him, but Sonic insists on joining her. She can’t stand the thought of letting Sonic in, so she turns on him instead.

"Vela-Nova" by Hideki Naganuma is the music for Blaze vs. Sonic, and has been bootstrapped as her main theme since. It seems a little... sensual for a closed-off girl like Blaze, but maybe that's the point. It shows her underlying passion that only occasionally surfaces, such as when pushed to her limit by Sonic.

The song's B section (around 0:41-1:09) has an interesting reference. It shares chord progression with the jazz standard "Autumn Leaves" by Joseph Kosma, a wistful tune about regretting lost love. This appeals to Blaze's melancholy character, but it also could be a (unintentional) wink at her lost past with a certain psychic...!

The title could have a few meanings. In Latin, "vela nova" means "new sails" (referencing Sonic as the wind in people's sails). In Portuguese, it means "new candle" (referencing Blaze's pyrokinesis). It could even be a reference to the Vela supernova remnant, which is colored purple and blue like Blaze and Sonic.

Or, it could just be a funky jam. Hideki is known for those.

Choosing Friendship

At the battle's climax, Blaze rants that the Sol Emeralds are her responsibility, and she has been cursed by her flames to be alone. Sonic disagrees, sticking around despite being overpowered.

As Sonic talks her through it, Blaze admits that maybe she does have friends and she can let herself rely on them. Now that she's calmed down, Sonic officially introduces himself again - this time, as a friend.

However, Eggman kidnaps Cream and challenges Blaze to face him alone. Even though Blaze has all the Sol Emeralds and can start heading home, she stays to rescue her. Her responsibility is to her friend first.

It seems Blaze is finally going to let Sonic help, but instead she accepts Eggman's terms and goes alone. Tails points out that this seems counterproductive, but Sonic explains that relying on your friends sometimes means trusting them to work alone too.

Blaze destroys the Egg King and frantically searches for Cream. Fortunately, Cream appears from above with a hug. Beaming, Blaze finally accepts the intrusion of personal space and reciprocates their friendship.

This is the point of Blaze's character arc in Rush. Although rooted in trauma, her isolation is still self-inflicted - she is the one who's been pushing others away for so long. She didn't believe she could afford to make relationships or be happy, but now she sees the truth. No matter how serious life gets, it's always better with friends.

Extra Story

Despite her victory, Blaze finds that her dimension is still in flux with Sonic’s, threatening both worlds. She doesn’t know how to wield the Sol Emeralds to fix this, let alone how to get back home (having first crossed worlds by accident).

Suddenly, Eggman and Eggman Nega appear, explaining that the Chaos and Sol Emeralds cannot stay in such close proximity without warping space. Then they steal the power of the Sol Emeralds, rendering the gems useless.

Blaze is despondent, but Sonic, Cream, and the gang encourage her. Most of them were present for Sonic Adventure, so they're aware positive emotions can restore inert Emeralds. Their warm friendship fixes the Sol Emeralds, letting Blaze go Burning Blaze.

Burning Blaze is evidence that she has learned to wield the Sol Emeralds, and that the secret all along was the positivity of friendship. Her numbing isolation is no longer stopping her from achieving the true potential of her sacred duty.

Speculation: I buy into the theory that Burning Blaze is the result of Blaze assimilating Iblis at the end of Sonic 06. The fact that she goes Burning just before fading in 06, and Shiro Maekawa confirming that Blaze has "tamed" Iblis, are reason enough. Thematically, she even used her friendship with Silver as motivation for that act. (I wonder if Elise repressing her tears was transferred to Blaze believing she mustn't let others into her life? Not literally, but thematically.)

Super Sonic and Burning Blaze, working as friends, defeat the Egg Salamander in an interdimensional rift. To distance the Sol Emeralds from the Chaos Emeralds, Blaze plans to disappear as quietly as she came, without saying goodbye.

However, Sonic refuses to let her leave on such a grim note and insists on a farewell. Before they’re torn from each other, Blaze initiates a cordial handshake. Notice how she reaches out again, regretting letting go!

It’s implied that Blaze and Sonic had an inaudible exchange during the goodbye, as she reflects on a final message from him about everything she learned.

Meanwhile, Sonic delivers news to Cream: Blaze can use the Sol Emeralds to visit whenever she wants. The ball is in Blaze's court; she controls the terms of visitation, and thus she must take the responsibility for her friendships in Sonic's dimension.

Conclusion

I really like Blaze’s characterization in Rush. It’s fun watching her sass Eggman and be awkward with Cream. Her character arc is adorable, and even mirrors Silver’s arc in Rivals too.

It’s a much different look at Blaze than 06, showing more of her spicy side and giving her an active role as a main protagonist. She isn't nearly as stoic, and without apocalyptic trauma nor a naive psychic to support, she has more time to work on herself.

It will be interesting to see how Blaze works in her own dimension in the next installment of the Rush series. Stay tuned!

#sonic rush #blaze the cat #analysis #cream the rabbit #amy rose #sonic the hedgehog #eggman nega #dr. eggman

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thatonecoryosimp · 3 years

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The Devil's Mercenary Part 9. Technoblade X reader. Love Locked

I'm finally getting the next chapter out, I'll be updating and writing some things today cause I'm not at school, I'm sick. I'm waiting for the meds to kick in right now so it doesn't feel like my head is imploding. This is a Dream chapter, wink wink, nudge nudge.

I've been rly sick the last week or so, and my relationship status is now complicated, so y'know.

Warnings: Smut, Mommy kink, Dom reader, Sub Dream, words like "baby, pet, whore." Beware.

Date: 10/5/2021

Series Masterlist

I was going about my day, as usual, my shoes crunched along the ground as I watched the colored leaves shake in the wind. Fall was such a beautiful season, everything sparkled in such a way, one that could melt the heart of even the most brutal of people.

The crisp air made its way through my hair, I could swear I could see it, dancing in its mysterious way, moving to its own tune.

The birds were heard chirping and I watched as small critters ran along the ground, basking in the sun's warm light.

And while fall was a very beautiful season, it was also very melancholy. It, like everything else, held two sides. While the land and the trees and the animals rejoiced in the cooling temperatures, and they turned to magnificent colors.

The thought arises that even if they are beautiful, they're still going to die. This was the leaves' last blaze of glory, its final bow. Some fell sooner than others, and in a few weeks, the rest would join. Dotting the Earth in their colors for a short time before losing them. Going brown, then to fall into obscurity.

It could almost make me sad to think about, but right now I could still enjoy the wonder the beginning of fall brought.

I felt the timber basket swish in my hand and I looked down to see a songbird, it had landed on the lid of the wooden container and started to peck at the whisker.

A chuckle formed as I stared at the gray and yellow bird.

"Well hello, little guy," I laughed. The bird's eyes met my own and it started to twitter. Its beak barely opening in closing. I grinned as I looked at the small animal.

"Aren't you just a little cutey?"

"Are you talking to a bird?" My eyes shot up and the basket jolted with my body, this had startled the bird causing it to fly off. I huffed as I watched the flurry of gray and yellow fly off.

"What was that for?" I glared at him.

I could see the blond stand up with a laugh, his emerald eyes blazing as he looked at me.

"I'm sorry I scared your little friend away," he walked closer to me with an almost loving smile on his lips, "Maybe we should eat to take your mind off it?" I felt him take the handle from me before putting one of his hands on the small of my back.

I slightly leaned into his side as I let myself react to his touch. My eyes closed again and a breath left my lips. I felt my nose scrunch slightly, this was only a deal, that's all it was. It wasn't anything else. This wasn't cheating, I wasn't even officially dating Wilbur.

I felt bad, I really did, but whenever I looked at him or was around him, I felt so right.

My eyes opened and I looked up at the man that caused my problems.

"I think this should be a good place, hmm?" I lost eye contact with him as I glanced around. The sight of the autumn trees brought a smile to my lips, it was so enchanting. The sun was setting in the distance, still peaking out over the treetops.

"Yeah," I answered breathily, "this is nice."

He sat the basket on the ground and pulled out the blanket stored in there. He unfolded it before ruffling it through the air, I watched it unfurl before it was placed on the slightly bumpy grown.

I sat down first, soon to be joined by the man that called me here.

I was the one to start unloading the food, taking out tasty concoctions Niki and I had made the night before, she hadn't questioned why I had wanted to bake so late, just happily obliged to help me.

As I sat out the last of the food I looked at him with a questioning stare, he was already looking at me, his eyes flickered in the last rays of sunlight, he had a dopey smile on his face.

"Why did you ask me to come here today?" I asked. I could see him slightly falter before picking up one of his favorite treats, it was a double-stuffed chocolate loaf cake, I had baked it for him before, and he constantly begged me for more.

"I wanted to tell you some things, I'm going to be talking to Wilbur tomorrow but I knew you'd want to be caught up." My eyebrows furrowed as I picked up a sandwich.

"Go on."

He smiled at me and took a bite of his cake, "I wanted to offer L'manburg their freedom."

My eyes widened as I looked at him, "What's the catch?"

"That there would be an election, an old friend of mine offered me a proposition. That I give L'manburg their freedom, if he could run for president, all I would have to do is be his endorsement."

I looked at him with widened eyes, if Wilbur agreed, he could win, I know he would win.

"Who's your 'old friend'," I questioned, still slightly skeptical.

"JShlatt."

The name sounded slightly familiar, I just couldn't put my finger on it. I nodded my head, my eyes were unfocused as I looked at him.

Before I could say anything else, he interrupted again, I could see him take a quick inhale of breath, "There's one more thing I would like to run by you." I stared at him, but he was looking at the ground.

A hum fell from my lips as I continued eating my food.

"I would like to temporarily put the killing part of our deal on hold."

That definitely caught my attention, "So we would just be fucking?"

He paused a minute, looking at me, then at the ground, I could see him struggling to find the right wording, "Yeah..."

I could hear his voice trail, there was something else there, but at the moment I didn't feel like pushing.

Other thoughts were swimming through my head at that moment, so many questions that would be left unanswered for the time being.

That would make it cheating, wouldn't it?

I could tell he noticed my hesitancy.

"Hey," he mumbled, scooching closer to me, his hand cupped my jaw as he looked at me.

"How about we take your mind off it?"

I looked at him with slightly glazed eyes, "How?" I saw him smile. The moon started to rise from the other side of the trees, I could see fireflies winding through the trees as I stared at the man in front of me.

He stood up and grabbed something out of his pocket, and as the moon rose I saw lanterns turn on all around me, light illuminated his features as he stared down at me with his hand held out.

I heard music start to play, it was low, almost like a wedding song.

"Would you dance with me?" my hands were placed in his as he pulled me up.

My body was swirled into his body. He held me close, his feet finding a rhythm with the melodies. His smile was sweet, and the way he held me with such purpose made my heart melt.

He twirled us around the open area. My head rested on his chest. My eyes were closed as one of his hands was wrapped around mine. My arm was rung around his neck.

The mood was made better when I accidentally stepped on his foot, both of us started laughing as I kept stumbling.

His body shook as he buried his nose in my hair. The arm around my waist tightened around me.

"You're such a klutz," he mumbled.

It was a jab, yes, but it was soft. He was kidding. I could hear him mumble something else under his breath.

"Hmm?" I asked.

"Don't worry about it, gorgeous."

I felt him press his lips to my forehead as the music slowed to a stop. We stood there for a few seconds. It was peaceful, standing there with him, away from everything. He made me feel loved.

He pulled away and guided me back to the picnic area. I could see a squirrel ruffling through some of the food. A laugh tumbled from my throat as I watched Dream panic.

"My cake!" he bellowed as he ran over. The critter raced off as the large man stumbled over. He looked over the picnic area and whined as he saw the crumbs of his cake. He sat back dejected, head held low.

My heart slightly sputtered as I looked at him, something came over me as I walked over to him. My pointer finger hooked under his chin and I pulled his head up. He looked at me with big puppy dog eyes.

"Do you want me to make you feel better?" with that the mood shifted, it was charged, electric. His eyes widened before he nodded

"Yes, please."

I smiled and bent down and pressed my lips to his. I broke the kiss and sat down on his lap. One arm got thrown around his neck and the other got placed on the middle of his chest.

I connected our lips again with a smile, I felt him whine again as I began to put pressure on his middle, he leaned back on the blanket so now I was straddling his hips.

I once again pulled away, he looked at me with such big eyes as I sat upright completely.

"Please..." I heard him mumble. A smile pulled on my lips.

"In a minute, baby. You'll get what you want."

I pulled my shirt off my body as I looked back at him. His hands went to my bare hips but I pushed them off.

"Not yet pup, mommy's working still."

he nodded and tried to sit still, watching me with hungry eyes, I stood up for s second to take off my pants. I knew he was watching me, and I was going to milk every second.

I pulled off the pants and hooked my thumbs in my underwear. I slowly started pulling them off. I slipped them over my feet and sat back down. I grabbed his hands and brought them to my back.

He unhooked my bra and pulled it off, throwing it to the side. I began to palm him through his pants, a groan tumbled from his lips at the sensation.

It was rather easy to pull them off, just a quick tug and they were down to his thighs. I crawled the rest of the way down his body and took him in my mouth. I felt his hands land in my hair.

"Mommy," he moaned, "oh please, mommy."

My head started to bob faster as I felt him tug at my hair. His thighs clenched a bit and I pulled off him.

I looked up at him as his hands fell from me, he had a look of confusion on his face.

"Don't worry baby, mommy's gonna take care of you."

I quickly placed my entrance over his shaft before sinking down. A loud moan fell from my baby's lips as he grabbed my hips. His head was thrown back as he bit his lips between his teeth.

I gently started to rock back and forth, before starting to slightly bounce. Leaning forward so I was resting on his chest. I could listen to him as so many moans fell from him. His hips sputtered as I started a little faster.

His hair was messed up, his head was thrown back, his face was flushed, and his eyebrows were scrunched up.

"You look like such a little whore." I moaned, watching as my words had an instant reaction. His hips coming up to meet mine.

"Are you mommy's little whore, huh? Huh, prince?"

"Yes-" there was a break where you could just hear his panting and skin slapping together, "Fuck, I'm such a whore for you mommy."

A moan sounded from my lips as I continued to chase both our highs.

"Am I being a good boy, mommy? Please tell me I'm being a good boy," I heard him moan.

"Yes baby, you're being such a good boy," I paused for a moment, my own breath becoming ragged, "Such a good boy for me."

It wasn't long before I felt his thighs clench up again, "Mommy, I need- I need to cum, please."

I nodded, "Cum for me, come on, baby."

My hips sped up slightly, just enough to tip him over the edge, I felt my own high tumble over me as I stopped, I felt him fill me up with warm hot ropes.

Our breathing slowly regulated as we laid there.

"Do you feel better now?" I asked.

"Yes, so much better."

~Jules

~~~~

I got kinda tired towards the end so I'm sorry if it's kinda shitty, I think I should lay down for a bit. Have a nice day lovelys, take care of yourselves, drink water. Love you guys.

#dream x reader smut #dream x reader #smut #x reader #x y/n #fluff #x reader fluff #mcyt #dsmp #dsmp x reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you

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vampire-wizard-solidarity · 3 years

Text

to elaborate on my previous post: the pathetic fallacy (literary technique when weather reflects mood) in pafl is so fucking brilliant. autumn is a transition — a preparation for what’s to come, one last act of maddening beauty before nature dies (temporarily), before the snow smothers those beautiful leaves and they decay.

parties are for losers encapsulates the atmosphere of the end of summer perfectly — it’s melancholy, yet still fun, it’s a comfortable routine which you don’t think too hard about because if you do you’ll spiral into an existential crisis, but at least you have your friends and it’s okay right now, you cannot think about later because it will get so much worse, so you just enjoy what you can while it lasts. and then something happens — life-changing, your whole routine is upside down, and as quickly as it came it goes, and you’re forced into the same old routine, but you can’t go back to it because you’re changed now. that is what the last two weeks of august are about !!!! and it ends because it must — autumn is here, the fun is over. the summer ends, and you must go back to work.

and that’s where false disposition opens — summer is over and yura must go back to work. and the work that is shown in the mill is overbearing, no matter how wonderous it may be or have been, the sky is grey and overcast and sad in the way you can’t be bothered to acknowledge. and it doesn’t end well.

and this all — this sorrow — is contrasted with punch it, punk! because that song is about the youthful summer and autumn, it’s about coming in with excitement, a promise that it will be different now — and it is! because the change of those last two weeks stayed, because they’re kids and they don’t have to worry, they can enjoy their freedom without giving it up in the end, for now, at least.

and then strike 3 finally shows those leaves — the orange, yellow and red, the beauty of autumn, the colours of warmth but also the vibrancy of violence and a sign of the death that is to come. those leaves are bright, but they are dying, and soon will rot under the thick snow. sergei had to mourn his father in autumn, it’s implied he lost kolya in autumn, and it is autumn again and he is again mourning those he loves. it is a tepid autumn day, but he cannot enjoy the beauty, he cannot only think about its grace, because all he can think about is death.

and then there’s occam’s razor — it’s beginning to accept the routine, to mellow out, the bark is much harsher than the bite, so why bother, just accept it. and then — a sign. the snow has not come yet, the leaves aren’t finished rotting. there’s still time for a dying act, there’s still time to go out with a bang, even if the last thing you see is the overcast sky, you can enjoy the notion of your yellow, orange and red vibrancy as a fallen autumn leaf.

#pafl #went a litol insane with this one guys pardon me pls #pafl yura #pafl sergei #pafl sanya #pafl dima #pafl anya #pafl olga #pafl kt #parties are for losers #false disposition #the mill #strike 3 #message lost #occam’s razor #pafl katya

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atalienart · 3 years

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I don't really know what to ask. I wonder about how is your writing going. If you've been enjoying something in particular lately, like a story, a show, a movie, a book, some songs or poetry. If you've been enjoying autumn thus far of if maybe it's still not noticeable enough.

Hey, long time no see :) Yeah, my writing is going okay, slowly but I'm writing 16th chapter right now so it is going. And I still haven't lost interest in the story and I'm still excited about it so that's a good sign :D

As for other things, I read some books, right now I started Brandon Sanderson's "Rithmatist" but it didn't grab my attention much, last one I read was "The Love Hypothesis" by Ali Hazelwood and it was a nice read. I don't watch anything, I play Titan Quest instead xD

And I totally enjoy autumn, it's got colder now but there was a few days that were sunny and so beautiful, gossamer is everywhere and shines in the sun, I have fun watching squirrels that come for the nuts, and cranes leave and their voices bring so much melancholy but it's a good one.

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michaelbogild · 3 years

Text

The best of Michael Bogild

There are nights when only sorrow offers an embrace

I will escape with the sunset

As long as we can dream the world shall not destroy us.

Her heart shapes her poetry and her poetry shapes her heart.

We met a thousand dreams ago. I remember you.

She’s created of moonlight and mystery

I am drowning in the depths of her name.

I stood in the richness of her angelic affections.

I belong to another world. I will dream it into existence.

You are always welcome in my dreams

Only the dreamers are truly awake

She undressed before the stars, laid bare her beauty in the moonlight

…and her heart unraveled itself like a beautiful poem

I wander through the timeless dream of her, the pilgrim of a thousand passions.

I leaned on your love, secure in the truth of your affections

A poem is an invitation into another world

A single glance and I slipped into a dream

A hopeless dreamer, in love with strange worlds

She is born of the softest strains of heaven.

…and the stars looked like hope

I ache in the dark syllables of her name.

She leaves stars in the trail of her glances

The electric witchcraft of the serpentine thunder-stroke

She is fearlessly transparent, a pyramid of glass

He excites her heart with the force of a thousand dreams

Love is the bridge between our souls

There is nothing within me but midnight

Great eternal sea, swallow my sorrows

Her eyes of emerald enchantment

Lost in the daze of her beauty's vast eloquence

She has a soul for every season

He summons with a look all the shades of her love.

I ascend from the chaos, feral and reborn.

Your love was the true herald of spring.

I am elsewhere. I am scattered.

My hope of love, the thinnest of ghosts

He kissed heaven into her soul.

The adventurous sailing of her wildflower heart

The flaming crosses of her eyes, her nocturnal endlessness.

This strange state of my heart, this terrible moon-madness

Have mercy, dark melancholy; tear not apart this star-crossed heart

My soul of ruins and night

I am a thousand dreams deep in this love.

She dreams in all the hues of his heart.

Is your moon also in tears?

They married the vastness of each other's love

We fled on mystic wings to lands unknown.

Lost in the golden astrology of her lovesome eyes.

She colours her sorrows.

Of course I love her, I am eternally fond of flowers.

I tried to recover my spirit from the past

The soft-sailing moon of her dreamy affections.

Our love is winged with the eternity of stars.

Meet me in the depths of night

The dream-born diamond of her unutterable beauty.

You brought into my heart every shade of bliss.

She puts her wreath of wildflowers upon the brow of nature

I buried my heart in your shadows

You were ever celestial to my affectionate eyes

I will love you in this life as I did in the thousands before.

My heart wept memories

I have wandered far from my soul

Our first kiss, the beginning of the world

Kiss me on foreign moons. Dance with me and the night.

He broke the hearts of all her seas.

I don’t write poems about her; those are prayers

I wandered through the dusk of God.

Sad midnight, have you come to claim my heart?

Give me, Life, a draught of oblivion.

She gathers poems like a child gathers flowers

I melted into the music of everything she is.

She hid her heart in her poems…where no one would ever find it

You and I, starry-eyed dreamers

We’re one of God’s unfinished poems

The skies are drunk with the blue of her eyes.

I burn at the edge of night

The night and its starry dome of dreams

Wedded to the darkness, she wears a ring of sorrow

The silken spells of her spring-born graces

She weeps in the language of an ancient longing.

She hides in her haunts of sweet poetic solitude

We met a thousand dreams ago. I remember you.

She entered his heart with the tenderness of a daffodil’s dream.

Old tender heart, I heard you weep in the wilderness

The circling ravens of his dark memories

We float in the infinite space of a dream. The moon recites poetry to our hearts, the stars look brighter than ever.

Her heart is a flowerless vase

The oblivious rose of her sightless love

Awake in a dream that wears her beauty

He woos with poems the summer of her soul

Their love was a chorus of unfathomable richness.

You will find her nowhere. She only deals in shadows.

I want to unbridle all the worlds inside you.

Inside her love, centuries of light.

This heart of roses, roses of pain.

They are divinely married to the melodies of each others hearts.

Your love was the true herald of spring.

…a love that could outlast the reign of stars.

She wept into the abyss of his indifference

I can taste my dreams on her lips

She is a tender flower in a storm of broken love.

Let’s hang our sorrows on the crescent moon

Elusive rose of my deepest love, where are you?

Mapping the anatomy of a dream, trying to make sense of the obscure.

Winter, you are as pale as my longing.

Love, old beloved star, pour your light into my heart, and let me dream.

You are always the moon in my dreams

She reads sonnets in his looks

They ascended like moons into each others souls.

My days of only night

You’re the unanswered question of my heart

Her fathomless eyes, wistful muses of autumnal grace

Because the ocean speaks my sadness, because she knows my heart as her own

The darkness sank its claws into her soul

He unchained the songs of her bashful soul

He keeps her memory in a shrine of shadows.

I linger in the heart-shaped notes of her beauty.

There are stars in her sorrow

Her love wears the spirit of an infinite rose

Awake, but dreaming

We circled each others souls in a dance of dreamy love.

The whole universe opened like a flower the first time I saw her

He lit with a hundred kisses the torch of her heart.

She is made entirely of night-songs

We hid in each others souls

I feel that cosmic wanderlust

The charming butterflies of her feminine glances

I need to be more patient than the darkness.

These poems are the fruits of my madness. They were forged from sorrows that seemed eternal.

The spirit of dusk plays within the beauty of her eyes.

They struck with their love the secret chord of infinity.

Our golden hours, our spring with no end.

I love all the moons inside her.

She could dream forever in the warmth of his arms

The ravishing rose of her soul's imperial beauty.

I am locked into the greyness of your eternal absence

His beauty could pierce the heart of a thousand angels.

He covered her scars with a love unending.

I scattered our memories into a hundred silent poems

Her tender eyes wear the starlight of his affections.

Love is my melody, broken and dark.

The bewitching rose of her spring-born beauty

Eyes of moon-madness, eyes of collapsing stars

Our emotions floated so ethereally into each other.

What angel spun this dream of you?

The night wants me more than the dawn.

She drinks the wine of his celestial lyrics

The spring moon took us into his dreams.

Our hearts like howling wolves, our hearts like burning churches

She felt every note of his affections

Wandering moon-drunk through the skies

I fall into dreams, I ascend into delirium.

Marry me on the moon of this golden moment.

Her name is its own world. In there I wander restlessly.

He followed the butterflies of her charms

She answers his soul with all the colors of her affections

I am anchored in the depths of her sacred name.

The spirit of spring moves within her, dances, poetizes, loves.

She’s dressed in the beauty of a thousand possibilities

Her soul, a dark shrine of sadness.

My heart finds in you nothing but its tomb.

The stars are too beautiful, we don’t see their sadness

Her night-soft heart-wanderings.

All the stars are in her soul

Our love still breathes in my poems and dreams

You’re a different universe completely

Love: a shrine of tears

The ghostly waves of her forsaken ocean

Her beauty is a song wherein poets ache.

She lit a candle in the darkest room of my heart.

The one who dreams swallowed the sun in the heart of the forest.

You touch the silence in me.

You were blue skies and roses to my heart

Take me, angels of imagination, to her loveliness

To be in love with you is to be in love with life

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