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nikator · 1 month ago

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Readings, 2024

I didn’t read anything like enough this year, but a lot of what I did read was fantastic; several brilliant short works that have left a lasting imprint.

1. Joseph Conrad, The Heart of Darkness (Penguin Books, 2012/1899).

Deservedly famous, this novella communicates a passionate apathy that is hard to describe. Beautiful prose for ugly things, a refusal to ever make the narrative easy, striking characters that seem like all-too-serious caricatures, a slow threatening build-up, and an immensely powerful rejection of the entire colonial enterprise from a worldly author whose country had been swallowed by the great empires all give The Heart of Darkness an oppressive, malignant atmosphere in a masterful case of pathetic fallacy which makes the jungle seem the central character of the entire piece. Almost exactly a year after finishing it, the words “The horror! The horror!” flashed into my mind, and made my eyes wet; there is so much pain in this book, so much awe, so much madness.

2. Alexandros Papadiamantis, trans. Peter Levi, The Murderess (NYRB, 2010/1903).

Deceptively simple and crude in its style, The Murderess is a reflection on the evils of poverty, reproduction, and womanhood, and on Greece’s wounded, uncertain entry into modernity. In a strange sense a love song and eulogy to old Greece cowed under spiritual and material oppression for so many long centuries, Papadiamantis conveys a palpable combination of utter condemnation for what has passed and total hopelessness for what was coming.

3. Thomas S. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 3rd edn. (U. of Chicago Press, 1996/1962).

Kuhn’s structural theory of science, which analyses it as an un-demarcatable family of disciplines defined by a psychosociological unity, is well-written, easy to understand, philosophically rigorous and, in my view, probably more or less—there being a lot of wriggle room in that qualification—correct.

4. Imre Lakatos, The methodology of scientific research programmes, Volume 1: Philosophical Papers (CUP, 1980).

Lakatos’ logical theory of science, which analyses it as a demarcatable family of disciplines defined by a logic of discovery, is densely written, difficult to understand, philosophically rigorous and, in my view, vitiated by an overly ambitious goal of a universal, objective demarcation for science. As a theory of how modern science actually functions I think it has a lot of strength, and as a normative claim for how we should engage with and scrutinise our research it is attractive, but as a categorical and transhistorical definition of science intended to overcome Kuhn and other “relativists” it fails. The reactionary political motivation, this near-hysterical frothing at the mouth over the looming spectre of communism, is apparent though thankfully limited to a few highly-telling remarks.

5. Mariana Enriquez, trans. Megan McDowell, The Dangers of Smoking in Bed: Stories (Granta, 2022/2009).

Like its predecessor, Things We Lost in the Fire, this collection of short stories is a delightfully visceral, erotic, gothic, magical wandering through a blurred combination of supernaturalism and realism in the underbelly of the Hispanosphere. Enriquez has an excellent sense of the erotic, a dark Dionysianism, a skill in dissolving boundaries between the pathological and the supernatural, a penchant for writing traumatised girls and young women, and an omnipresent but subtle social criticism that feels neither forced nor unwelcome.

6. Julian Barnes, Elizabeth Finch (Penguin Books, 2022).

This book has a strange feel to it, unsure in its unstable existence between pseudo-academia and diaristics. There are plenty of genuinely good ideas put into Finch’s mouth, but they’re not very well communicated and give an unfair impression of philosophy. In general this comes across as the non-philosopher’s idea of the philosopher and of philosophical life, but nonetheless still an idea of it, so worth something. Neither fun nor particularly interesting nor particularly well-written, but not actively bad. I can’t help feeling I would rather have read Finch’s philosophy directly, in a non-fiction work by an actual philosopher, as well as the essayistic biography of Julian the Apostate by an actual historian. I actually think Emperor Julian bears only a very superficial similarity to Finch and so doesn’t work that well as a supposed intellectual companion, which again conveys a sense of ignorance about both subjects to me.

7. Albert Camus, trans. Justin O’Brien, The Fall, in The Plague, The Fall, Exile and the Kingdom, and Selected Essays (Everyman’s Library, 2004/1956).

The Fall has a strange narrative style that’s unlike Camus’ other fictions; I’m not sure it’s entirely successful. Jean-Baptiste Clamence is likewise an uncertain narrator, philosophically speaking, because I’m unsure how Camus intends us to view him; his life before the titular fall seems more intelligent, more free, more correct than his life after the fall, though I don’t think either were meant to act as exemplars. Sartre said this is perhaps Camus’ least understood book, which seems right for me, as I don’t think I do.

8. Albert Camus, trans. Joseph Laredo, The Outsider (Penguin Books, 2000/1942).

With great resemblance to Kafka, and a deep sense of fatalism given gorgeous pathetic fallacy by Camus' familiar and evocative invocation of the shifting sands, blurring air, and sloshing sea of the Mediterranean that is his most significant character, The Outsider is a sublime and critical declaration of the absurd. With Meursault we come dangerously close, far closer than in any other of Camus’ characters that I’ve read, to a free spirit, to an absurd man, to one who is living right. Meursault’s fundamentally correct, loving, beautiful mode of life is flawed only by the ignorance with which he saw it and then by a few incidental errors, errors which are errors because they are ugly and for no other reason; and I don’t mean the murder, which is wholly unimportant, but his complicity with Raymond, which vitiates and stains Meursault’s love for women by engaging in a boring, unintelligent, pathetic misogyny that makes all sensuous joy cringe. I read Meursault’s final explosion at the chaplain as a revelation of an already believed truth: it is correct, utterly and totally correct, a stinging refusal to grasp this world with anything other than love and so a righteous indignation at the slavish mind and its state apparatus; it is marked only by a few peculiarities of word and emphasis that reflect Meursault’s random historical accident of birth and life. In this only they differ from myself. Other than his strange reference to truth which does nothing and confuses the thing with a subtle and intractable distraction, if there is any error at all it is that Meursault does not quite come to love the guillotine, to long for its sharp blade, its release, its liberation. Stood before the block, our final words should be: “I thank the inventor of the guillotine, whose name I cannot remember but once read, and the Revolution which put it to use. I am not afraid to die. Nothing more.” When I finished reading, sitting outside, I looked up and saw a cloudless sky.

9. Richard Whatmore, The End of Enlightenment: Empire, Commerce, Crisis (Allen Lane, 2023).

An intellectual history of the late Enlightenment, told through nine of its leading proponents. Whatmore lacks a voice of his own, and the consequence is that the book comes across as a massively bloated text continually quoting primary literature. The thesis of the book—that in the eyes of its major theorists the Enlightenment was seen to have failed and died by the end of the seventeenth century—could be stated and comfortably if not exhaustively demonstrated in fifty pages, leaving ample space for a considered discussion of the merits of the views of those contemporaries with that of the later theorists who view the modern world as the continual outgrowth of the Enlightenment, or of the status of the Enlightenment itself, or of the problematic of republic and commonwealth in the eighteenth century, or of the French Revolution, or perhaps above all the consensus all the thinkers discussed seemed to have that enlightenment was killed by the rise of international capitalism, or any of the countless other very interesting and significant questions raised by the history of ideas presented here. Instead, Whatmore spends three hundred mostly boring pages mechanistically reporting people’s views to no actual purpose; he does nothing with this wealth of sources, as The End of Enlightenment has no argument of any kind to make beyond the mere fact that these people existed and thought what they did.

10. J. M. Coetzee, Waiting for the Barbarians (Vintage Books, 2004/1980).

Beautiful, with a sublime appreciation for the physicality of our existence, from our bodies to the seasons to the elements, and a perfectly handled narrative and criticism. Coetzee’s style, his tone, his intelligence, is wonderful.

11. Yukio Mishima, trans. John Nathan, The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea (Vintage Books, 2019/1963).

A mournful, intimate book that feels far larger than it is. The opening chapter is spellbinding. Mishima’s writing is exquisitely intricate, careful, perfect. The whole thing moves effortlessly, like flowing silk, like the gracious sea. A masterpiece.

12. Kazuo Ishiguro, Klara and the Sun (Faber & Faber, 2022/2021).

A gentle, sweet book, with a protagonist whose unique innocence—unique because it is innocence, which is only ever ignorance, coexisting with and through sharp intelligence and knowledge—defines the narrative. The sadness is strange, hard to describe, intimate, delicate, interwoven with things which on paper are far less sad than you are made to feel about them. As an exploration of what it means to love, Klara and the Sun is excellent but not incomparable; as an exploration of its protagonist and what it means to feel, and the pitfalls and potentials of a society where emotion is more rationally structured and utilised than it is in our own (albeit only slightly), it is deceptively spellbinding. Above all, Klara is a wonderful character wonderfully executed, a rare example of a character I would like to have as my friend.

13. Graham Greene, The Quiet American (Vintage Books, 2019/1955).

The use of war as a metaphor for love and love as a metaphor for war is cliché, but done superbly well here. The three central characters—the love triangle—are perfect foils for each other. Pyle, the antagonist such as he is one, is a deeply disgusting person who you viscerally want to grab by the shoulders and shake with fury for his obsequious politeness, his choking misogyny, his racism, his imperialist attitude, his incredible arrogance, his stupidity. Fowler, the protagonist, is a well-worn archetype and convincing once you get used to Greene’s style; his deep emotional life and love-at-a-bearable-distance for Vietnam and humanity is moving at the best points. Phuong is a very well done character in that she is overshadowed by the men who vie for her but highly suggestive of depth, that she has a life of her own as full as theirs’ which is simply beyond their sight, that her motives, while easy to imagine, are her own and guarded. Greene’s depiction of the various factions in Vietnam is unpolished, unsentimental, always humanising. The multilingual dialogue is enjoyable. The whole novel has a delightful lack of moral instruction and closure.

#text #2024

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lose-it5 · 1 year ago

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I’m currently experiencing a profound sense of confusion and disorientation. I yearn for someone to acknowledge my presence, someone who would inquire about the cause of my sorrow. Specifically, I long for my parents to be the ones who take notice, although I recognize that this hope may be futile. As I express these sentiments, tears well up in my eyes, conveying a feeling of utter hopelessness.

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slothgiirl · 2 years ago

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an understanding

morpheus x reader. 5k. no use of y/n. yearning. the only thing i know about video game development comes from mythic quest. dont feed ducks bread (its bad for them) morpheus.

“You know feeding ducks bread is bad for them right,” you pointedly tell the stranger in black. The man was wearing 30 layers of black under the midday sun. You had no clue how he could bear wearing a wool coat in this heat. Sweat was already gathering around your forehead and you were in a gauzy shirt.

“Oh.” His voice was deep, an alluring quality that would’ve made him a perfect audiobook narrator. He doesn’t look up, still hunched over his loaf of french bread: the good kind that was made fresh in store at some local bakery.

“Mind if I sit here?” You didn’t want to sit on the grass. Lugging a towel on top of your laptop and bag was bad enough so you were really hoping for a bench, even one with no shade. It was just too nice of a day to spend working indoors.

He doesn’t respond. Tearing another piece of bread, he pops it into his mouth, finally looking up, looking out at the park contemplatively.

You decide that it’s okay. He didn’t say no.

He was obviously incredibly awkward or maybe didn’t get out much judging by his pasty skin. It was rather unfortunate too. Now that you’d gotten a good look at him he was cute in a way that would’ve thrilled you at twelve when you were wearing studded belts and obsessed with Mary Shelley and Trent Reznor. His hair was a hopeless mess: it’s color so black it seemed to destroy any sunlight that shone on him.

Too bad he was about as interesting as a pet rock.

Even the beta testers who were chronically online, still figuring out women at the ripe old age of twenty six (which you understood as your dating life was no better and all your hopes rested on Hinge) were livelier to talk to.

You were probably being too hard on him, you thought as you opened up the company issue computer. It was the fancy type that bent completely backwards. There were so many dialogue trees to work through. So many paths.

Sitting cross legged on the bench, you get back to work and try not to think about the man on the other end of the bench.

He managed to make eating bread an incredibly depressing act; gaunt as he was, with a forlorn expression in his clear blue eyes.

Clearly the guy was going through something.

Refocusing on your work, you turn up the screen brightness and pull up your saved files for Project: Dracul City.

There were notes.

Bottle: get sent to old lady Constancia and gain +1 luck token

Newspaper: uncover school turned shelter LORE

Right.

“Thirsty now, are we dearie,” you utter under your breath. You worked best like this, saying the lines out loud. At the office, no one batted an eye, but you’d gotten plenty of looks at cafes.

No. That was too fairytale-esque. This was more survival horror. The words rich and velvet were also on the moodboard.

“A bottle of wine to soften the blow eh?” You frowned. It sounded too young, too flirty. Old Lady Constancia ran a black market shop in the game.

“Well then, a bit of liquor for the road? Better than anything in the tavern.”

Again, it was wrong. The wrong feel for the setting.

“No need to ask how your night is going then.” There. You grin a little, reading over the dialogue tree that led here, skimming over Lady Constancia’s lines. There’d be no voice actors for this so the diction would have a lot to convey.

“What.”

“Huh,” you look up from your screen. You’d completely forgotten you were sharing the bench, speaking too loudly.

“You were saying.” The man looks over at you for the first time. His gaze is no longer distant as he studies you. It was obvious you held his full attention in spite of how cold his demeanor was.

“Nothing,” you laugh nervously, “I just-it’s something I do while working. Say what I’m writing to see if it makes sense. It’s a really good trick for dialogue. Sometimes what sounds good in my head sounds really awful to my ears. It was advice I got years ago in school. Really fucking helpful though.”

“You are a writer?”

“Ha, I wish,” you scrunch your nose feeling yourself blush. “Well, sometimes. I don’t know. I always wanted to work in video games and thought writing for them would be cool. And yeah, every now and then I think I’ve got a novel in me but I like my job. Sure-I’m not lead in anything yet but it’s fun to flesh out these characters and help build a world where people can escape into. Just look at early fallout, Kentucky Route Zero’s a really good one. . .” Your own sincerity embarrassed you. “I know,” you look down at your screen, the blinking | waiting for your next words, “most people play to blow things up and kill lines of code but, I really do think it means something to people. Give them a world to play in, create, dream. . .yeah.” God you rambling so bad. “I can stop if it bothers you?”

There’s the slightest hint of interest in the subtle relaxation of his expression, “Not at all,” he replies, putting aside the bread he had left, “There is nothing frivolous in striving to inspire people.”

His words catch you off guard. He’d been so distant before, you were expecting a brush off. “Well maybe this line won’t impact someone but you never know what characters players latch onto.” Mariska Lutz’s tapes haunted you for months after playing Bioshock for the first time.

The man does not reply again, watching the ducks hop into the murky water.

You return to your work, making an effort to keep your mumblings quiet.

It’s not until the battery low notification pops up on your screen that you look up again, shutting your laptop and stretching your legs out. Your left foot tingles hellishly, having fallen asleep.

You look over, only to find that the man had left without a word, without making a sound. It was unsurprising. When you worked you got tunnel vision. That was the reason your pot of pinto beans had burned before. No enfrijoladas for you that day.

Well, he had certainly been a character.

*****

You escape a hectic office where you’d spent the past week during crunch time as the demo went live, a short teaser of the gameplay for corporate who would never even play the game but wanted to see evidence that money would be made when the game released in time for October aka when everyone would be over school and the spooky month would fit the game’s design. You’d brought a tote bag with your lunch and snacks from the office. Nothing hit the same as lays with salsa valentina though you would like to know who kept using your bottle. You’d labelled it. As a last resort you’d taken to stashing it in your desk when you knew you’d be working from home.

July.

Kids were chasing the poor ducks back into the pond. A woman in leopard print roller skates took on hills like a pro.

You liked the warmth of sunlight on your skin.

You still wore sunscreen though.

It’s Thursday but the park is packed. You try to look for any spot that has some shade, an open seat so you can enjoy a hard earned lunch. Your fingers have cramped from all the typing you’ve done in the last few days. You haven’t checked in the mirror but you feel like roadkill.

It was about three in the morning when you’d started using eye drops to keep going, but the meeting was happening. You’d done everything you could for your team.

No luck.

The moms were out in full force today, phone in hand as their kids ran wild.

Then-

You spot the same man from your last visit to this particular park. He looks the same, only his coat is longer. It was like he was trying to get heat stroke.

Well, the trick to adulthood was just going for it. Sharing a bench wasn’t the end of the world.

You walk over.

“Hello again,” you wave, “mind if I sit here?” You could always keep looking. There was plenty of time before you had to rush back to work.

“No.”

You plop down, leaving space for not only Jesus but all his homeboys too. “Thanks. I feel like everyone keeps having the same idea as me, but I guess it’s summer and unless you take the ferry west we don’t have the best beaches.” You open the bag of chips and liberally pour salsa on them, “want one?”

You hold out the bag, offering up your snacks to the man. He seemed less morose than last time, but was for sure managing to sulk under clear skies.

He doesn’t acknowledge you. Instead he reaches into a white paper bag and slowly grabs a pinchful of birdseed to toss over to the ducks.

You’re left holding the bag of chips long enough for it to be awkward before you shrug and dig in, sucking the salt and salsa from your fingertips.

This is why you’ll never have a flat stomach. Five minute abs workouts from tiktok were not enough and you sure as hell were not giving up gansitos. There were some in your freezer waiting alongside a pint of ben and jerry’s.

“You got birdseed,” you note, amused. He had been listening to you. A thrill of excitement bubbles up in your chest.

He nods, the motion small.

Your companion was not an expressive man.

“No fat pigeons,” he states neutrally.

You’re puzzled but shrug it off. “I’ve heard you can feed them oatmeal. But I’d probably double check that.”

Finishing your tiny chip back, you fold it up neatly into a square and pop it back into your tote bag until you can toss it into the trash. Your actual lunch was a cold tomato and fresh mozzarella pasta.

Nothing exciting.

You’d been at the office for practically a week, only going home to have a quick shower and pick up food. You were overtired. Food was fuel. You’d treat yourself tomorrow to breakfast at your favorite cafe.

You idly eat as people bike by.

It could use some more sauce.

Your melancolic acquaintance continues to feed the ducks, lost in his own thoughts.

You stab a grape tomato, deciding to make conversation because what was there to lose. “I didn’t catch your name last time.” Last time, ha. You were really going on like there would be a next time. What was the chance you’d see him again? There’d been students in your same major you’d never shared a class with.

The question hangs in the air.

You chew the tomato, the juice spilling out into your mouth. It was tart.

You didn’t think he’d reply and were already considering fleeing. You could finish eating at your desk.

“Morpheus.”

“Morpheus,” you repeat so you don’t forget, “like the Greek god of sleep?” At least, you think he was the Greek god of sleep. It had been a while, he might have been a mythic hero.

“Of dreams,” he pauses, turning to you, his clear eyes peering into yours intensely, “and sleep. Yes.”

It’s only polite to introduce yourself properly now. You wipe the corners of your mouth clean and reply, “Nice to meet you Morpheus,” feeling silly and giddy (flip flopping between the two similar states) as you give him your name.

Blandly he states, “We have met before.” But with his attention on you, you catch the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. The corners of his small mouth twitch in the ghost of a smile.

“All the same,” you beam at Morpheus, and finish your long lunch in quiet companionship.

*****

When you’re exhausted, you don’t even dream. Depending on whatever game you are working on, there’s weeks when you’re so mentally drained that you don’t even get under the covers before you’re out like a light.

You’re pretty sure this is a dream. Your mind rested enough to dream.

It’s usually in the middle of the dream, in the middle of the scenery changing from a party in your grandmother’s house where a bird offers you a peach to you sitting on a trampoline that you remember from summer days at your childhood friend’s house before the trampoline broke and sent you both to the ER where you only had scratches only your friend isn’t there but a programer from your internship and hey maybe this was sign from your subconsciousness that you should text her-

You let out a breath.

The sky turns pink.

Yup, this was a dream.

You lean into it, letting it happen around you, letting your mind wander as the trampoline bounces lightly with Nina’s movements. It jolts your body, your brain swings around in your skull pleasantly like being in those massage chairs.

A breeze runs over your cheeks.

You look at the blue of the trampoline border. Blue like the waters in instagram pictures. Blue-

The black trampoline washes away into dark waves and your favorite aunt lays in an innertube sipping on a cocktail, “I’m really glad we came to Hawai’i.”

“Me too. Though I’m still waiting to see a mermaid.”

“It’s great. I’m glad Lady Gaga approved the highway from San Diego to Hawai’i.”

“And we got to see those sea dragons!”

“Exactly!”

You feel something by your leg and stick your head underwater. The water is so clear, you can see everything around you, including the dolphins swimming around you, leading you somewhere. Minecraft dolphins. You grab onto it’s fin, wondering where they want to lead you. Atlantis? Too see a mermaid.

From under the water you tell your aunt, “I’ll be right back!”

“Yeah-”

And your alarm goes off. Your dream rapidly fades as you wipe the sleep from your eyes and blindly grasp around your nightstand for your phone. “Shut up!” The alarm was so annoying. Shrill ringing in your ears when all you wanted to do was go back to sleep.

You send Nina a heart emoji on discord, followed by let’s grab some shaved ice.

Then, you flop back on your bed and doom scroll for a few minutes before you have to sign in on Slack.

*****

It becomes a habit.

Even as the weather takes a turn as fall sets in, you try and make it out to the park once a week, and without fail Morpheus is there. He’s not always feeding the ducks. But he’s always there and always leaves without saying a word.

You’re not offended when he barely acknowledges your wave as you sit down next to him. That was just what he was like. Morpheus suffered from perpetual resting bitch face because of his pouty mouth. You’d yet to see him smile.

It didn’t matter. You liked his presence. You enjoyed having company as you got fresh air.

He listened but rarely had much of a reply.

“It’s nice to go into the office and touch base with the other writers,” you muse, sipping at your drink, “make sure everything is coherent and I guess it helps to talk to people who are also living with this whole world in their head. It helps. The entire story’s been fleshed out by James, our lead.” You let the words hang in the air. Working from home was nice too. It lets you wake up at noon and crawl down the rabbit hole of your own imagination until three in the morning.

Morpheus’ tilts towards you as he continues to watch the wind sweep through the trees. A trio of teenage girls had brought an entire charcuterie board and flowers for their park day.

“Not to mention James does have to sign off on my work. I’m still pretty low on the totem pole.” This was your first full time gig out of school. Not an internship with terrible pay and long hours or freelance, but an honest to god full time job with benefits and pay that meant you could finally rent your own studio apartment. “Do you game?”

“No.”

You glance at him in profile. He remained as pale as the first time you’d seen him, but the gauntness in his cheeks had receded. There’s lines under his eyes that led you to believe he was closer to forty than your late twenties, closing in on the big 30. The Cut loved to post how everything changed at thirty.

“It’s fun. I didn’t really get into them until high school but that was only because my parents bought into the whole video games cause violence schtick but like, I wanted to play pokemon not Call of Duty, at least when I was nine.” You smile, thinking back on fond memories, “then I started going over to Michael’s house after school and we’d play Zelda and Fallout. His parents were complete nerds who knew Klingon so they were cool about us playing whatever they were also playing.” Your parents would not have approved of Left 4 Dead.

“I will take your word for it,” Morpheus tells you, sitting back against the bench.

You sip your tea. It’s still warm enough that the ice is melting away, watering down the taro flavor. “Or you could come over sometime and play Stardew Valley?” You pick a tree and stare at it. You were nervous about his reaction. But it had been weeks. At some point you had to make plans and grab a burger or a drink. That’s just what friends did and if you left it up to Morpheus it would probably take a year. That’s all. It had nothing to do with how your heart sped up the moment you spotted his familiar head of hair in the park. It had nothing to do with the anticipation that had you smiling like a fool on Wednesdays when you routinely went to the park.

He doesn’t respond, his expression dour.

After a beat of silence, you find it within yourself to look at him.

Morpheus meets your searching gaze with his own. You could see the emotions playing out in his blue eyes, but you could not read them. Like the eyes of a bird of prey, you could see the intelligence, the life and consciousness within, but lacked the ability to understand them the way you could read other people.

The corners of his mouth lift, his smile a precious thing you couldn’t turn away if you wanted to. “Perhaps,” he allows. “Once the image of an avenging Mina Harker fills the minds of dreamers around the world.”

Smiling softly you reply, “Only if it’s successful.” You could never be sure with indie games.

“It will be,” Morpheus states.

“I try not to focus too hard on what happens after it’s released and out of my hands. What will be will be.”

He nods.

You finish your tea.

It was a lovely day. The August sun was not so harsh after four. There were less people as families planned for a return to school. The tourists stopped visiting the Northwest in droves.

And maybe Morpheus would come over.

That was more than you’d had yesterday.

You could even show him the demo of-

You bite your lip, trying to think if you had let anything slip about Project: Dracul City. Developing games came with a strict gag order. Nothing could leak before it’s time, not the gameplay or plot or any of the concept art. Usually, you were pretty good about keeping quiet.

Surely you hadn’t told him.

And yet he’d known.

You frown.

“Do you wish to feed the ducks as well?”

His words break your line of thought. You hadn’t even noticed the crinkling sound of the paper bag as he opened the birdseed up.

“These ducks must be the most spoiled in all the public parks,” you muse, smiling at Morpheus before grabbing a handful of feed and tossing it lightly into the grass.

It was exciting to see the ducks and birds come over. The shyer animals waited to see if it was safe. They all had their own personalities.

You’re not bothered by his lack of response, the conversation stilling. You’d grown to like his taciturn ways. It gave what he did say more weight. He wore black like a uniform and over the course of the weeks in which you had been meeting up with him (undiscussed by either of you) he had become beautiful in your eyes. You wanted to run your fingers through his unkempt hair. You wanted to steal away his smiles for yourself: to know you could make such a dour man smile because he couldn’t help himself around you.

You reach for more birdseed only to find that Morpheus had left.

Figures.

*****

Unsuccessfully, you try to wipe away the number written on the cup of hot apple cider, otherwise known as the perfect fall drink as the leaves grew into vibrant array of reds and oranges with the change in seasons as the days grew cold.

The cashier had been nice, but you were only interested in one man.

The sharpie doesn’t budge at all.

You give up trying to get the sharpie off when you spot Morpheus. “Hey I got you a drink since it’s starting to get cold out.” It wasn’t coat season for you yet, but you’d started wearing a sweater while running all over town.

You hold out one of the cups, the one without the number scribbled on it.

His eyes widen, pink lips parting in surprise. But he makes no move to reach for the cup you’re offering.

“It’s apple cider,” you tack on, “warm you right up.”

He blinks.

You roll your eyes, “just take it and say thank you.”

It works. Morpheus nods, taking the cup from you, his fingers cool when they brush against your skin. “This was not necessary.”

“I know,” you say, plopping down next to him. “But I wanted to.”

“Thank you,” he inclines his head toward you. The sincerity in his voice is clear as a bell.

Heat blooms on your cheeks. “You're welcome.” Again, you smile at him as you take a sip of your cup, “I can’t wait until the street vendors start having roasted chestnuts.”

“You enjoy winter.”

“Yeah. Some of it,” you laugh, “The snow can get annoying at times but more and more I find myself taking the time to enjoy the little things. It’s not like I’m working towards getting into college, getting a degree or anything anymore. I’m just enjoying life, yeah?” You flush. In your head it sounded wise, but out loud you just sounded naive.

“My sister shares your thoughts.”

You arch a brow, “you have a sister! Older or younger?”

With a slight smile, Morpheus answers, “older.” He must be fond of her.

“Well she’s right. It’s hard at first. I’d pick up flowers for myself and then think about what a waste of money they were but why not. I like having flowers. Or I’d make up excuses not to go out with my coworkers to stay in but if you do that enough times they’ll stop inviting you and you fall into a rut and that’s no way to live. And some people are so different outside of work.” The older you get, the easier being content becomes.

Stop and smell the roses indeed.

Then you ask him, deviating from your unspoken plans, “do you want to walk around?”

“If you wish to.”

“I do, but we don’t have to.”

Morpheus stands, and you take that for the answer that it is.

******

The grass tickles your calves as you wander through the meadow. The sun paints the sky in hues of orange as it sinks below the treeline.

It’s lucky it’s not raining.

On your first trip to this national park, it had rained the entire time. Not surprising. Rain was a constant companion in this city, but it was more than worth it when you got this lovely meadow all to yourself. Wildflowers were sprinkled throughout the grass.

You’d always wanted to come back, splurge on the fancy lodge instead of being in a tent and hoping the rain wouldn’t get through the plastic. Plans to come-

You blink, looking around slowly.

Was this a dream?

You try to string your thoughts together: trying to remember how you got here. It was fall. Not spring. It’s hard, your brain feels like it's sinking into a thick comforter, the way it always feels when you’re on the border of deep sleep.

Taking in the scenery, the solace, you let your train of thought dissolve and you give into the nonsensical logic of dreams, letting yourself fall back into deep sleep.

It’s lovely.

You sit down in the grass as the leaves take flight, butterflies in the air twirling in constellations before settling back down in the branches. These trees were unmatched by anything you’d seen before. It only made you wish to see more, go to more places.

“You are fond of the natural world.”

Turning, you find Morpheus sitting next to you. His long coat is no longer black but a starry night. Stars twinkle in the depth of the fabric as you take him in with wide eyes.

“Morpheus,” you’re delighted to see him.

And because this is a dream, you don’t hesitate to reach out, crossing boundaries without a thought, you brush your fingers over his shoulder, half expecting your hand to go right through and slide into an abyss of night. That doesn’t happen.

Sheepishly, you meet his gaze.

His eyes are black unfathomless pits with a sole pinprick of light for a pupil. At this, you draw back.

Morpheus says nothing, regarding you carefully.

You blink.

And when you can bear to meet his waiting gaze again, his eyes are clear as ever. It must have been a trick of the light.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you note lamely. The national park wasn’t exactly close.

“I have business to contend with,” Morpheus replies, which leaves you with more questions than answers. You didn’t even know what he did for work. “We will not be able to meet in the Waking world for some time.”

“Oh,” you answer, crushed. It was ridiculous to feel so intensely about someone who was the equivalent of a classroom friend. You didn’t even have his number. Lin, your coworker, would call that a red flag.

His words sink in and, “the waking world?” Now you’re just confused.

His brow furrows with concern. “We are in The Dreaming.”

“I don’t understand.”

Morpheus frowns. “This a dream, your dream.” The sky goes periwinkle as snow starts falling. “And I am King of Dreams, Ruler of the Nightmare Realms.”

“Oh,” you go, “should I bow or something?”

Your words elicit a rare smile from the dour man.

It made your smile grow, to know that you had made him smile.

“There is no need,” the small smile stays on his pink lips.

“No off with her head” you joke, accepting dream logic and not questioning it as you quote the Queen of Hearts.

Morpheus frowns. “I would not be so crude.”

“Oh so I should be worried,” you wiggle your brows.

“Not of me.” He utters softly, his eyes become glassy. “Not while you are under my protection.” Morpheus reaches for you. The back of his hand ghosts over your cheek.

You lean into his touch without a thought.

You meet his gaze unabashed.

He blinks slowly, peering at you through dark lashes. There was a sedate romance to him that the Brontë sisters could only dream of.

“I cannot stay,” he confesses with remorse.

“You did say you had stuff to do.”

“I do.”

His hand is soft against your cheek. Neither of you move, resting in the moment, holding the pause for as long as possible.

Morpheus draws away, standing. Snow falls around you but the temperature remains pleasant. Snowflakes fall on your arms and do not melt.

You stand.

It’s the awkward point where you’re waiting for him to leave but don’t want him to leave and he’s dragging it out too. You’ve been through this plenty of times on friends' doorsteps as you chat and say goodbye and wait.

He stuffs his hands in his coat. It touches the ground, melting away the snow around the hem with its soft red flames, more ember than anything.

Morpheus makes no move to leave.

You wait, taking in the sight of him. Snowflakes fall in his unbrushed hair.

“Here,” Morpheus draws something from his pocket.

“Oh.”

He drops it in your outstretched palm without ceremony. Morpheus looks away as you study the object.

It’s a necklace. The chain is simple gold. It’s the pendant that catches your eye.

Encased in glass are grains of sand. They swirl inside the glass on their own.

“Thank you,” you look over at him.

Morpheus nods slightly. “It allows you to enter The Dreaming at will.”

“A standing invitation then,” you wink.

“Yes.” He has a talent for filling words with a weight beyond their common vernacular. Morpheus’ gaze is heavy on you.

You can’t parse out why this is so important, but it obviously is for him.

You unlock the clasp, wrapping the chain around your neck. With your fingertips, you try to lock it. The clasp is impossible when you cannot see it.

The hairs at your nape get in the way.

“Allow me.” Morphues closes the distance between you.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

He takes the chain from you, his fingers brushing against the back of your neck. He works swiftly, making quick work of it.

The pendant hangs in the middle of your chest.

Your heartbeat is hummingbird quick.

Morpheus’s breath tickles your nape.

You don’t dare move, fearing this is all a dream that will end if you do anything.

“I shall be expecting you.”

“I’ll be sure not to disappoint. Though it’s about to be crunch time and I’m not looking forward to-”

His actions cut you off.

Morpheus leans forward, his lips brushing against your neck chastely.

You draw in a breath.

The moment is over in the blink of an eye.

Something witty, sure to ruin the moment, is on the tip of your tongue as you turn, looking over your shoulder. But he’s gone.

****

The sand continues to swirl, defying gravity inside the pendant, when you wake.

You play with it as you scroll through files, read through work emails, and desperately try to recall the details of your dream.

You’ve never been more excited to sleep in your life.

#morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus x y/n #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman #an understanding #lmao i love miscommunication as a trope #to morpheus: he explained what he is perfectly #meanwhile readers like: idk whats going on but im into it #unedited as usual

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plum-on-your-back · 3 years ago

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I was already a Lee Min-ki fan (Because It's My First Life is one of my top 3 dramas) but I really love the different kind of character he got to play with Chang-hee, having only really seen him play stoic characters. He really embodied the character's loud boyish excitement, while also giving us a quieter, giving side.

I haven't seen much of EL's work up until now but she is an absolutely amazing actress. It's weird to say but she's one of the best criers I've seen put to television. I, too, have sobbed my heart out on a nearly empty bus. She really made me feel everything her character felt and owned every scene she was in.

I'm now a Son Seok-koo fan for sure. He is a master of conveying emotions with his eyes. He can say so much without uttering a word. I really fell for the character of Mr Gu. His sense of hopelessness was palpable, but the way his eyes lit up for Mi-jeong was unmistakable.

And of course, Kim Ji-won is now my Queen of micro expressions, and acting when there are few words to be said. She really let us into Mi-Jeong's head. We got to go with her on her long, sometimes painful, journey from a reserved, exhausted person, to someone who has become more comfortable in herself and able to hold onto even a few seconds of happiness.

I can't wait to watch future and past projects from this insanely talented cast. This show gave me more than 7 seconds of joy, and I'm going to miss it terribly. I feel sad it's over but I do feel a sense of wholeness.

#if you reading this are planning any MLN fanfics pls make yourself known to me - I'm gonna struggle to let go of this show 😆#my liberation notes #lee min ki #kim ji won #son seok koo #lee el

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luthienne · 4 years ago

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Hey, dear! Let me be one [more] follower who asks a few quotes about some things. Could you compile some (just a few, just a bunch) about silence and/or introversion? Thank you dearly. ♡

a compilation v close to my heart ♡

“Solitude: liberation from even the expectation of being seen.”

Kathleen Graber, The Eternal City: Poems; “The Telephone”

“For now she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of — to think; well not even to think. To be silent, to be alone.”

Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

“I thought of you—wished you were here with me but I get a keen sort of exhilaration from being alone…”

Georgia O’Keeffe, in a letter to Cady Wells, featured in Georgia O’Keeffe: A Life

“But I love such days—rare lonely days. I love above all things, my dear, to be alone.”

Katherine Mansfield, in a letter to J.M. Murry

“I am, oddly, happiest when alone for weeks on end talking to no one there, talking in my mind to the imagined listener who perfectly hears, perfectly understands, and talks back with equal truthfulness.”

Martha Gellhorn, from Selected Letters

Amélie, dir. Jean-Pierre Jeunet (2001)

“For a long time now, every meeting with another human being has been a collision. I feel too much, sense too much, am exhausted by reverberations after even the simplest conversation.”

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

“I have packed myself into silence so deeply and for so long that I can never unpack myself using words. When I speak, I only pack myself a little differently.”

Herta Müller, from The Hunger Angel

“I don't see much of anybody these days—I feel rather funny with other people—even those whom I care for. While one's heart is being transformed into a little world, one wants to be alone.”

Kahlil Gibran, in a letter to Mary Haskell, from Beloved Prophet: The Love Letters of Kahlil Gibran and Mary Haskell, and her private journal

Bella Akhmadulina, Fever and Other New Poems; “Longing for Lermontov” (tr. Geoffrey Dutton, Igor Mezhakoff-Koriakin)

“Perhaps I am addicted to solitude and feel safe and easy in it,”

Martha Gellhorn, Selected Letters

“…because there was too much silence within me. In those days I was alone,”

Clarice Lispector, Why This World: A Biography of Clarice Lispector

“My current silence interests only me. It touches too many parts of my personal life for me to explain it to you.”

Albert Camus, Notebooks (1951-1959), Vol 3.

“People love talking, and I have never been a huge talker. I carry on an inner monologue, but the words often don’t reach my lips.”

Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

“And what were they anyway, sprigs of grass, things of blue? For a long time I wanted to use words, then didn’t.”

Mary Ruefle, Madness, Rack, and Honey

“What words? What words can I trust to convey this fragile heart?”

Jeanette Winterson, Gut Symmetries

Keaton Henson, from “How Could I Have Known”

“So much of what we live goes on inside– The diaries of grief, the tongue-tied aches Of unacknowledged love are no less real For having passed unsaid. What we conceal Is always more than what we dare confide. Think of the letters that we write our dead.”

Dana Gioia, Unsaid

“But I cannot help it. I only want to be alone. I want to be myself and alone and free to breathe, live, look upon the world and find it however it is…”

Martha Gellhorn, from Selected Letters

“… Perhaps love is to give one’s own solitude to others? For it is the very last thing we have to offer.”

Clarice Lispector, Selected Cronicas; “The Gift”

“I’ve never been afraid of loneliness because I’ve never felt the need to justify my feelings to myself. I accept the muteness of feeling too. I have huge respect for my own silence. I let it speak. I allow time to do its trick and lead me back to myself. I don’t want just anyone to share life and myself with me.”

Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 5: 1947-1955

“Don’t allow yourself to be imprisoned by any affection. Preserve your solitude. If the day ever comes when a real friendship is bestowed on you there will be no conflict between your inner solitude and this friendship. On the contrary, that is the infallible sign by which you will know it.”

Simone Weil, First and Last Notebooks: Supernatural Knowledge

“…the most precious thing of all: solitude.”

Clarice Lispector, The Hour of the Star (tr. Benjamin Moser)

“She naturally loved solitary places, vast views, and to feel herself for ever and ever and ever alone.”

Virginia Woolf, Orlando

Harold Pinter, Old Times

“Le Notti Bianche” (1957) - Luchino Visconti

“Solitude itself is a way of waiting for the inaudible and the invisible to make itself felt. And that is why solitude is never static and never hopeless.”

May Sarton, Plant Dreaming Deep

“O you—my sacred solitude!”

Anna Akhmatova, The Complete Poems; “Solitude (from Rilke)”

“It is curious for one who has been much alone—this sinking back into silence.”

Katherine Mansfield, in a letter to J.M. Murry

“…I have backed up / into my silence / as inexhaustible as the sun”

Fanny Howe, The Lyrics: Poems; “O’Clock”

“All I want is silence, for myself and for the selves I used to be, a silence like the magical cottage in the forest that lost children find in fairy tales.”

Alejandra Pizarnik, Extracting the Stone of Madness (tr. Yvette Siegert)

Allison Stone, “Persephone’s First Season in Hell”

“…and the heart took shelter behind a parapet of silence;”

Dulce María Loynaz, Absolute Solitude: Selected Poems; “Poema XLV” (tr. James O’Connor)

[Original: “…y el corazón se encastilló en un muro de silencio;”]

“I feel the same way about solitude as some people feel about the blessing of the church. It’s the light of grace for me. I never close my door behind me without the awareness that I am carrying out an act of mercy toward myself.”

Peter Høeg, “Smilla’s Sense of Snow”

“Solitude as necessity, demandable, honorable. Not sinful, indulgent, wasteful, undeserved.”

May Sarton, from a journal entry dated October 18, 1993

“And in that silence, what grace.”

Camille Norton, Corruption: Poems; “Savonarola’s Cape”

“and my chest appears translucent, / heart in its center, / cathedral of dust / and silence”

Milagros Terán, Las luces en la sien (tr. Fiona Griffin)

[Original: “y el pecho lo llevo traslúcido, / corazón en medio / como una catedral de pólvera / y silencio”]

Emily Dickinson, “I felt a Funeral in my Brain”

“I want to meet no one; I want to say nothing; / I want to go down and rest in the black earth of silence.”

Robert Bly, Eating the Honey of Words; “Depression,”

“You would rather have gone on feeling nothing, / emptiness and silence; the stagnant peace / of the deepest sea,”

Margaret Atwood, from “Eurydice,” Selected Poems II: 1976 - 1986

“I don’t know about birds / nor do I know the history of fire. / But I believe that my solitude should have wings.”

Alejandra Pizarnik, Tree of Diana, tr. Joseph Mulligan & Patricia Rossi

“For language to have meaning there must be intervals of silence somewhere, to divide word from word and utterance from utterance.”

Thomas Merton, “Disputed Questions”

“I have a need of silence and of stars. / Too much is said too loudly.”

William Alexander Percy, from “Home”

Camille Norton, Corruption: Poems

“—a space of virgin silence, a place of rest where I wait for myself.”

Alejandra Pizarnik, “A Night Shared in a Memory of Escape” (tr. Yvette Siegert)

#ask #anon #compilation #quote compilation #on solitude #on silence #unsayable #long post #i really did try to keep this short.... god #stay with me always solitude

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infinitebread · 4 years ago

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Freefall

Pairing: Toph/Aang

Rating: T+

Description: For a brief moment they were free falling together, completely at gravity’s mercy. And Aang was the only thing Toph could see in this world.

*******

Toph really didn’t care what Aang was thinking.

She didn’t.

In fact, she wasn’t the least bit bothered when they flew back to their make shift camp in complete, absolute, mind numbing silence. A gentle woosh, the tell-tale sign of a typical earth kingdom summer night, filling up the space where laughter and chatter should have been.

She wasn’t the tiniest bit perturbed when the first thing the young airbender did when they landed was wordlessly slide off his seat atop Appa's head and immediately busy himself with setting up the camp without so much as a peep sent in her general direction.

And she definitely didn’t have any feelings of indignation when he finally approached her, extending a friendly arm into her space, only to realize, as their excitable lemur companion hopped off her shoulder and onto Aang's waiting forearm with a series of enthusiastic chirps and gurgles, that it was meant to be a perch for Momo.

It took everything within her to stay calm and not hault his movements by earthbending him halfway into the ground with a furious, “What is your problem?”, right then and there…

But she didn’t care. Really.

Though Toph would never admit it out loud she was aware of the fact that, as a child, she wasn’t always the best at controlling her temper or dealing with conflict. But she wasn’t a little kid anymore. At nineteen, Toph had sat through a lifetime of diplomatic meetings (much to her chagrin), negotiated with countless criminals during hostage situations (even though she would have greatly preferred pounding them into the ground), and even survived her most challenging discussion to date: reconciling with her parents.

Which is precisely why when Twinkletoes decided to give her the silent treatment without reason or preamble she reacted as any mature, adult person would: she bended the biggest freaking earth tent she could muster and sat in it, seething, for over half an hour.

You know, as one does.

Digging her heels into the soft, loamy familiarity of the ground beneath her, she reached out using her seismic sense, pinpointing her cantankerous other half’s barely-there-feather-light vibrations. He was preparing something on a fire, his tall lanky form moving with uncharacteristically heavier steps, as if he was being weighed down by thoughts too grave to utter out loud. The earth bending master felt her stomach sink. Worry began to colour her irritation. She thought back on the day’s events in an effort to make sense of her companion’s sudden change in demeanor.

*******

He had been in high spirits earlier that morning when they had received a report of suspicious activity occurring around a small earth kingdom town. It was suspected that a nearby factory was being used as a hideout by a ragtag team of dangerously violent robbers and miscreants who had been terrorizing the townsfolk for months. Lucky for them, the Avatar and Sifu Toph Beifong were on the case. And unluckily for the robbers, the factory in question just so happened to be etched onto the side of a cliff.

The mountain was colossal, forebodingly so, the terrain peppered with jagged rocks and heights that promised any soul cursed with a slippery grip a nightmarish demise. This would have no doubt intimidated even the most experienced climber. But Toph and Aang merely smirked at the challenge. The robbers couldn’t have picked an area more suited to the duo’s talents if they tried.

“It’s almost like they’re begging us to take them down.” Aang grinned. With one simple movement he drew out his staff and then released the wings of the glider in another, ready to execute a plan they had concocted seemingly through shared thoughts alone.

“It would be rude of us not to, to be honest.” Toph agreed. Cracking her knuckles in anticipation. Confidence exuding from every pore.

They were almost always in sync. Their hearts and minds operating on a wavelength made just for the two of them.

“We should split up. I’Il take the skies. They probably won’t be expecting an aerial attack. That’s when you--"

“I'll take advantage of the distraction you’ll have created and metal bend as many of those goons into the walls as I can. Got it.”

He smiled fondly. Enamored by her cockiness. The affection he directed at her was almost audible.

“Anything to add?”

“Yeah, actually. How about this time I fly in through the roof? Just to shake things up a little.”

The sound of his laughter reverberated through her like a gentle shockwave and the subsequent quick kiss he placed on her forehead filled her stomach with butterfly-moths.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But you’re considering it.” She teased.

“Not gonna respond to that.” He had already started running, gaining the momentum needed to take off before shouting, “Be safe.”

“Do damage.” She called back.

She stretched out her senses, reaching downwards, deep into the ground beneath her, calling upon the stubborn element that was hers to enjoin. A large pile of rocks catapolted her into the air briefly, before another rose to catch her, and then another and another until she reached her destination.

The factory was quiet. And yet it wasn’t. The whirring, ticking, pounding and clanging of metallic machinery was unmistakable. If there was one sound Toph knew very well, it was the sound of metal: obnoxiously high-pitched and unapologetically sonorous, as if to mock the very nature of the soundless earth from which it was born, with its incessant clickity-clacking.

The factory had once been used to manufacture weapons for fire nation soldiers in the former Earth Kingdom colonies, but almost 8 years after the war had ended, it was practically abandoned. Save of course for the criminals said to be using it as a hide out. But that was just the thing. There was plenty of sound coming from the machines but Toph couldn’t detect a single human heart beat from within the building.

Did they receive the wrong intel?

Then it hit her.

She heard the explosion before she felt it.

A trap.

The words had barely registered in her mind before she realized she was airborne. She was airborne and her ears were ringing. She was airborne and there were little chunks of debris falling all around her. She was airborne and the wind had been knocked right out of her. No she wasn’t airborne.

She was falling.

Her entire world was a conglomeration of shapes, vibrations and sounds but without her beloved earth beneath her her world was empty and quiet and dark. And terrifying.

She had no idea how far off the ground she was, too disoriented to even make sense of which way was up or down. A distant blast of heat radiated towards her. She felt it on her face. And suddenly this all felt familiar. She had been in this situation before. Years ago, dangling precariously over the edge of a war blimp. A comet raging through the sky as she held onto Sokka’s fingertips for dear life. The feelings of suffocating hopelessness and indescribable fear forcing her to shed silent tears.

Toph was certain she was gonna die.

Both then and now.

Warm arms suddenly enveloped her. The quiet nothingness around Toph was replaced by the frantic yet comforting thump-thump of a familiar heart beat. He held her to him and probably said something she didn’t hear with the roaring of the wind and violent crunch of debris crashing down around them. For a brief moment they were free falling together, completely at gravity’s mercy. And Aang was the only thing Toph could see in this world.

*******

She wasn’t quite sure what exactly happened next after that. Next thing she knew they were back on solid ground, the inky black void dissipated the moment her feet touched the earth and she was almost overwhelmed by the return of all her senses. She felt like she could breathe again. The shock of what had just transpired soon left her system, and she had been back to herself again, ready to regroup and kick ass. Those robbers had just ticked off the World’s Greatest Earth Bender and, as soon as new intel surfaced, there would be a reckoning.

Aang on the other hand, after doing a quick inspection of her for any serious injuries had fallen into an almost meditative silence. Which concerned her at first but it went on for so long, it began to irritate her.

Correction. Irritated. She no longer cared.

Nope. Not at all.

She cared so little in fact that when Aang rapped lightly on the front of her earth tent she absolutely did not jump to her feet entirely too quickly, and she definitely did not bend the makeshift stone door down before he had even begun to knock a second time.

Okay. Maybe she cared a little.

He held something out in the hand that hadn’t been knocking. She recognized the aroma immediately. He had made congee. With mushrooms. Her favorite.

A peace offering?

“A bribe.” He stated sheepishly. As if he could read her mind. “Come over by the fire, I wanna try to heal your wounds.”

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t touched by the thoughtful gesture. However, she wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily though.

“So you decided to finally break your random vow of silence? S'that it?” she asked once they were settled by the fire.

She crossed her arms in an effort to look unimpressed only to immediately uncross them and wince in pain when her fingers brushed against a bruise on her forearm. Her arms were littered with them, cuts too. But those were the extents of her injuries. She had been very fortunate.

“What do you mean?” He responded distractedly, the sound of water splashing as he bended it onto his palms to heal her. He had learned from Katara so she knew he was competent at healing but only with minor surface level injuries.

“You’re kidding right? You’ve been ignoring me all day.”

“I have?”

She contorted her face in a way that she hoped conveyed both utter annoyance and the non-verbal equivalent of ‘duh'.

“Guess I just had a lot on my mind. I’m really sorry.”

“Uh huh.” An unwelcome thought suddenly occurred to her. She exhaled loudly and braced herself for her next words. “Look Twinkles, I understand if you wanna blame me for messing up back at the factory.”

“Wait, what?” his voice was genuinely incredulous, but she needed to say these words, even just for her own sake.

“I should have realized it was a set up sooner.” She clenched a fist in her lap.

“Toph.”

“They set off all those machines to drown the bomb out but still I should’ve--"

“Toph.”

Aang silenced her with a gentle tug on her wrist and pulled her closer.

“I don’t blame you. At all. Not even a little bit.” He cups one of her newly healed hands in both of his. The gesture annihilates any ensuing words she had planned to say. “I almost lost you today, Toph. I kept thinking about what would have happened if I hadn’t caught you in time…and you looked really scared…I don’t even wanna think about what could’ve--,” he breathed in deeply, gathering his emotions, summoning courage, “I love you, Toph.”

Her whole body stiffened in shock. But he continued on, his heart beating with all the nervous energy of a trapped sparrow-keet, yet his voice remained calm and betrayed nothing.

“I know this is kinda sudden and unexpected,” he carried on while beginning to heal the abrasions along her arm with feather light touches, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “but I’m sure of how I feel now. I guess I have been for a while actually.”

She blinked at him, mouth slightly agape. He swallowed anxiously.

“You don’t have to say it back. I completely understand if this is too random. I just wanted you to know that I care about you, Toph.” He chuckled in spite of himself, “A lot.”

He had moved his hands to heal the cut that ran along her face, just below her eye, swiping it away with the stroke of his thumb across her cheek bone. Before he could move his hand away, Toph held it in place with her own. A move that surprised both of them.

“I love you too, Aang.” She said honestly. She had never ever been one for mushy declarations but…he made it so easy. She had long suspected it and the sincerity in both their heartbeats merely confirmed it.

“Really?” Their faces were close together now, foreheads almost touching. The proximity thrilled her.

She answered him by closing the gap between them, crashing their lips together. He immediately responded grabbing the back of her neck and deepening the kiss, causing her to lose all coherent thought. Her arms wrapped around his neck instictively and for the second time that day, it felt as if the whole world had fallen away and there was only him. Neither of them noticed the abandoned bowl of congee tip over and spill into the soil. All Toph was aware of in those moments were needy hands and a series of heady kisses on her cheeks, her nose, along her jaw, on her neck and her eyelids, until he claimed her lips once more.

She felt like she was falling again.

They finally broke apart, panting, eyes closed, hearts racing, foreheads touching.

Before her senses returned to her in full, Toph found herself wanting to tell him more. She wanted to tell him he meant so much to her too. She wouldn’t know what to do without him either.

And that she thinks she’s not afraid of falling anymore because she knows he’ll catch her…

But mushy declarations still weren’t her forte. She would say all of this to him. One day.

Today, she gave him one more quick, lingering kiss, smirked and told him,

“The congee’s getting cold.”

#taang #i was supposed to work on my pieces for taangst week but i wanted to write a practice fic first and i got a little carried away #so this happened oops #not sure if this is fluffy or angsty or both or neither lol #my writing #taang fanfic #also sorry this is so long i'm on mobile and it wont let me insert a cut szdvvklvm

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ldcu-12stem1g3mil · 3 years ago

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On Becoming A Medium: Gen-Z Individuals As Modern Communicators

Greater Communication Leads To A Greater Generation

Communication establishes relationships that make organized possibilities. Throughout different ages, communication in their unique ways is used to pass down information, both verbal and non-verbal means. Of the cave paintings of the Prehistoric Era, down to Classical arts of the Renaissance. The works of messenger and the impact of gossip of the Medieval Era. The establishment of postal networks and telephones of the Early Modern Era, until now to the Present Modern period of Internet and Online technology, the introduction of the Modernized Communication Era. The generation, also known as digital natives or digitally literate, can grow up and adapt to the internet and portable digital technologies at a young age. The evolution of communication depicts how messages and ideas were undertone or significantly conveyed. Every thought uttered has purposes or objectives to reach. There is always a reason when communicating a message to another. It may be to inform, entertain, or persuade them. Whether your purpose is intended to be good, misunderstandings happen too, so it is wise to deliver the message with utmost clarity and precision.

The Power Of Communication

Activism is one way to fight for a more equitable social system that can benefit everyone. It gives the voice from the voiceless and amplifies the voice from the suppressed. Activism is a movement that gives the power to communicate the struggles over life and helps overcome feelings of helplessness and hopelessness. Evident reports show substantial and manifest studies on how Gen-Z has changed activism: from political towards environmental. Without the power of communication, none of the calls of people will be heard and addressed. In democratic countries, freedom of expression and speech is inscribed to seek and adhere to the needs of the people in these dynamic societies.

Generations and generations have passed, yet, taboos and social issues are nevertheless at the bottom focus. Philippine culture obliges their children to follow their parents or any elderly advice because they believe voicing out is a form of disrespect and stepping out before them, fearing the youth turning against them. These are one of the reasons why Gen-Zers are more vocal about their opinions and asserting their rights. They seek social justice amidst the repercussions, subjects preventing the youth from voicing them out as they are still young to seek a voice.

While activism requires collective communication, the aspect of leadership requires another greater responsibility. While a good leader holds the vision of the group, a more prominent leader empowers individuals through effective and accurate communication by building together their strongholds to efficiently perform the group's objective. Achieving success and target objectives requires a powerful and convincing communicator. Communication enables leaders and members to share what they have and what they expect from others.

Social Media: Rethinking Communication Works

While every new generation had its share of technological, economic, political, and social differences, no other period in human history could connect people around the planet, allowing individuals to be fully engaged in various relevant topics. As modern communicators, social media is a commonly used and helpful medium of communication and information library. These are advantageous in functionalities that let everyone be able to connect, learn, and communicate with others globally with limited to no difficulties. However, using Social media weighs huge responsibilities and accountabilities as such expression on a large platform like social media should be assessed first. As defined, communication is a two-way transmission: One speaks, then the other listens, and vice versa. Encountering opposing and similar ideas is part of human difference; thus, it is wise to respect those varieties and learn from each other. Learn how to take and give constructive criticisms.

However, what is not meant to be harmful will become toxic if used inappropriately. Social media means bridging the gap of ignorance and satisfies what the generation wants and needs. There are tons of web pages that publish misleading information that is intended to be lampoon or satirical. Even if the purpose is comical, false and twisted stories will always produce confusion, misunderstanding, and turmoil between readers. Some people of Gen-Z use social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter to express their emotions, particularly hatred. Crying personal and public opinions and problems are often thought not to be bothered. However, in truth, audiences that engages the hatred sentiments online would impact them subtly or significantly. Although everyone has the right to think and act the way they want, always remember that freedom has limitations. A misguided idea could lead to dangerous ideas. Before putting thoughts and words online, consider the following: Will it have a beneficial outcome? Will it be sensitive and might offend anyone? Is it even appropriate for me to share such thoughts? Is it necessary?

Conclusion

It is not enough to know and navigate technology; practice awareness and be responsible enough to put it to good use. As modern communicators, effective spotting and dissemination of factual and truthful information is the objective that will help generations to grow and prosper forward. If disinformation can spread in a matter of seconds, then so can the truth, justice, and factual information. Let Gen-Z be the role model of today's medium to a better and truthful society.

Greater communication leads to a greater generation. In the age of Information, ignorance became a choice. Let not history blind the upcoming generation. Practicing self-research and critical thinking is worthwhile and let knowledge be your weapon. While the world is still progressing forward, the present technologies and trained knowledge will evolve and multiply its degree to a more comprehensive cost. Moreover, the transmission of communication may develop into more complexities. Thus, learning to be responsible users must be practiced now for future generations to succeed. The more communication is used in the right way, the better the result reflects its present period; thus, affecting the future positively. The significant goal of communication is to cultivate truth, justice, and facts, and a sense of connections in the medium of communication.

References:

YPulse. (2020). This is how gen Z & millennials have changed activism. Retrieved from https://www.ypulse.com/article/2020/07/14/this-is-how-gen-z-millennials-have-changed-activism/

Biederman, A. et al. (2020). Meet gen Z activists: called to action in an unsettled world. Retrieved from https://apnews.com/article/climate-race-and-ethnicity-shootings-climate-change-school-violence-01673bd21da246ce942d1e98a08fc96f

Koulopoulos, T. Keldsen, D. (2014). Gen Z effect the six forces shaping the future of business. Retrieved from https://www.routledge.com/Gen-Z-Effect-The-Six-Forces-Shaping-the-Future-of-Business/Koulopoulos-Keldsen/p/book/9781629560311

Tyson, A. Kennedy, B. & Funk, C. (2021). Gen Z, millennials stand out for climate change activism, social media engagement with issue. Retrieved from https://www.pewresearch.org/science/2021/05/26/gen-z-millennials-stand-out-for-climate-change-activism-social-media-engagement-with-issue/

Luthra, A. & Dahiya, R. (2015). Effective leadership is all about communicating effectively: Connecting leadership and communication. Retrieved from https://www.mcgill.ca/engage/files/engage/effective_leadership_is_all_about_communicating_effectively_luthra_dahiya_2015.pdf

Kalamtime. (2021). Evolution of communication from ancient to modern times. Retrieved from https://www.kalamtime.com/blog/evolution-of-communication/

Everydaymentor. (N.D.). Social media/media literacy: Responsible use. Retrieved from https://everydaymentor.org/article/social-mediamedia-literacy-responsible-use/

#MediaandInformationLiteracy2021

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peebleswrites · 5 years ago

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Can I pleaseeee request something with Ulquiorra!? It's difficult to see him being sweet or romantic but I'm ready for whatever he can give 🤣

GASP. YAY. FIRST REQUEST. THANK YOU. Gotta say, this was a challenge! But it was always really fun and I enjoyed writing this piece. I hope you like it!

ULQUIORRA X FEMALE!READER

About three months had gone by since the Arrancars mysteriously appeared in the world of the living, sans the previously deep seeded hatred of humans and Shinigami. In short, they had no evil intentions whatsoever and seemed curious, some more than others, over the lifestyle of humans.

Everyone was of course wary, worried they’d fly off the handle and a war would once again loom on the horizon in the minds of both the soul society and the world of the living. Until Y/N was the first to offer an extension of goodwill to the once evildoers, thus triggering a snowball affect of successful communication between the three parties.

And so, the former Espada remained in the world of the living, assimilating into the culture and assuming somewhat normal lives!

“Say Y/N,” Orihime began one afternoon during lunch upon the roof. All eyes trained to the busty bubble of joy as she posed a question in Y/N’s direction.

“What’s your type? I mean, what sort of guy are you interested in?” Pretty much everyone was equally surprised as they were curious which included a certain arrancar who’d normally find such drabble ridiculous and an utter waste of time.

Since his arrival, or rather, since those of his kind had been accepted in this world, Ulquiorra had taken something of an interest in Y/N. She was the first to accept him, all of them, and he’d always been curious concerning her reasoning. Surely, she intended to gain something by having them as allies, right? Y/N was just a human. It would make sense for her to align herself with the strong.

Yet…she didn’t appear to him as the type to use people for her own advantage. This only made her all the more interesting. As such, he used any and all opportunities afforded to him. All in efforts to garner what her true intentions were.

This was one of those opportunities.

“My type? Mmm…I guess someone who’s smart.” Y/N started before considering the rest of her response.

“Heh, that excludes you, Shinigami.” Grimmjow was first to comment, roughly punching Ichigo in the shoulder with that snarl of a grin covering his feral features. The jab nor the remark was taken well by the aforementioned male who soon retaliated with an equal amount of force.

“What the hell?! That means you too, dumbass!” And of course, that triggered the beginning of their usual bout which everyone had gotten so used to, it was pretty much ignored.

“I do like the strong, silent type, too. Oh! And a bit of spontaneity! You know, keeps things interesting!” While everyone seemed to agree, secretly they began to wonder just who among them she might be interested in. Meanwhile Ulquiorra was on an entirely different wavelength.

If Y/N found these qualities to be appealing, perhaps he could gain her trust by assuming these roles and therefore fulfill this self-appointed purpose of discovering her true intentions, thus deciding for himself if she were truly someone worthy of his trust.

No, it didn’t sound at all crazy in his head.

He has the smart part down and feels sufficiently confident in his intellect. Nothing to worry about there. The same can be said of his strength and more so of his silence. He is neither loud, nor boisterous. And while he wouldn’t call himself antisocial, he is prone to speak when he feels it is necessary to speak. Silence with a purpose.

That leaves the spontaneity.

In order to tackle this trait efficiently, he took to the human world dictionary!

“Performed or occurring as a result of a sudden inner impulse or inclination and without premeditation or external stimulus…” This may be something of a challenge for him. He never acts without thinking, without purpose. In fact, he is hard pressed to believe he could start. But not entirely convinced…yes, he could do this.

He would start by following Y/N. Not in the creepy stalker sense but more along the lines of trying to get to know her likes without actually asking himself. He would use the ever talkative Orihime to do his bidding.

“What sort of candy do you like, Y/N? I like something sweet and tangy but also sour and a little bitter with a fluffy kind of texture!” Dear gods, what could she possibly be describing was the expression that Ulquiorra currently wore while listening to the conversation. Y/N assumed a rather uneasy expression before responding accordingly.

“I like F/C. Not really a fan of much else.” Y/N’s response was simple something Ulquiorra could appreciate and perhaps do something with.

“So that’s what she likes…”

The next day, all eyes were on the former fourth espada when he strolled into class, dragging a large sack behind him which he dumped onto Y/N’s desk without a word. She stared at him then the sack partially obscuring her vision before opening her mouth to respond

“Uh…Ulquiorra? What’s this?”

“Don't ask useless questions.” And that was all he said before casually walking to his chair like he didn’t rouse the entire class with a cloud of confusion. With furrowed brows, Y/N peeked into the sack, only to spot copious amount of her favorite candy! It looked like a whole year’s supply of it! What the heck…

Who could’ve known that he’d been listening in on her conversation with Orihime? Or that he’d continue to do such in order to exercise this growing need to display his spontaneity. Which, he realized at one point, wasn’t really spontaneous at all because he was thinking about these acts way too hard!

Like when she expressed a desire to have more rice in her lunch, so he proceeded to give her extra portions the next day. Or when she grew tired during gym and he suddenly picked her up over his shoulder to run the rest of her laps. Or when she complained over the lack of sleep she was getting due to the neighbor’s dog barking all night so he insisted on training the canine not to be noisy.

Okay so…maybe he was being spontaneous, but Y/N had grown suspicious enough and needed some answers.

“Ah…Ulquiorra? Could I talk to you for a moment?” Y/N approached him after class one day, appearing somewhat nervous. He agreed with a simple nod while teeming on the inside with anticipation. This could quite possibly be the moment he has been working for so diligently. His efforts were at last being acknowledged.

“Uh so…listen, it’s about uhm…how you’ve been acting recently…” If it wasn’t obviously, Y/N was having a hard time expressing what she really wanted to say. Ulquiorra, of course, noticed this.

“Speak, woman.” A curt response that Y/N honestly should’ve expected prompted nothing more than a sigh.

“What’s your problem?!” Which triggered an explosive response that Ulquiorra honestly didn’t see coming if the sight of his eyes widening were any indication.

“Elaborate.” Eyes that soon softened to their normal size while gleaming with hints of mild apprehension for he never expected her of all people to express feelings of displeasure with him.

“You keep doing these weird things! First it was the candy! Then all the rice! Then you carried me around the track even when I told you to put me down! Now my neighbor is telling me you trained their dog! Are you making fun of me? Is this some arrancar way of bullying?!”

“You believe I am bullying you?”

“Yes!”

She was yelling at him. And calling him a bully, of all things. How could his intentions have been so horribly misinterpreted? How could she misunderstand him to such a degree? Could he have been wrong? Were his methods misguided or incorrect? It would seem he would need to evaluate his form of spontaneity and employ a different tactic.

“I see. I will try something else, then.” Yes, he would go back to the drawing board, reconsider his options, his resources, and try other ways of being spontaneous.

“Wait!” Y/N name suddenly grabbed onto his arm. His eyes instantly fell to her hands. Her touch triggered a slither of a response, a tingling sensation that was unfamiliar. When’s the last time anyone had laid non-threatening hands on him, he wondered.

“What?” Visibly she flinched back but maintained her countenance alongside the ever-present confusion.

“What are you trying to do? What’s all this about? I want to know!” This expression. The raw emotion on her face. He remembered it well. It was this stubborn, foolish disposition she maintained that played a key role in the Shinigami taking their presence as a non-threat. It was this expression that led him to find a purpose through her.

It was this very same gleam that triggered perhaps the most spontaneous act he’d committed thus far, the cupping of his hand upon her cheek. He wouldn’t be able to explain what caused him to do it or why his hand stayed. He just knew her cheek felt soft and warm and he sort liked the way her expression shifted as his hand remained.

“Your ‘type,’ as you humans refer to it, is someone who is spontaneous, is it not?” He brandished his usual emotionless façade, awaiting a response from her aside from the stunned silence she seemed to be trapped in.

“I…you…ah…you want to be my type…?” Dumbfounded. She was utterly dumbfounded. And he couldn’t understand why she was behaving so shocked. Wasn’t he being obvious?

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I see now that my actions are ineffective.” How ridiculous. For him to fail at such a task was unprecedented. He could hardly fathom such a thing. As such, he needed to take time away, regroup, and think of different ways to convey this message to her.

“If you’ll excuse me.” His hand fell away from her cheek only to be grabbed by one of hers. A second extension of contact and a second shock that shot up his senses. He eyed her once again with his empty stare, but she didn’t appear at all perturbed by it. In fact, she offered a rather hopeless smile.

“I…I think it’s working. I mean, you’ve got my attention.” Once again, she stunned him. This time, not with her gleaming determination but with a meek smile and subtle, gentle, squeezing of his hand. He couldn’t have imagined such a small gesture could be so impactful. How strange…

“Oh? I will continue, then.”

“Wait, no—.”

It would seem he was at least on the right track to deciphering her true intentions while simultaneously gaining her trust. Surely, he’d get it this spontaneous act right eventually.

A/N: Poor Ulquiorra. He means well. Again, hope you enjoy! Also this is my first time doing this so I hope the format isn't weird? Thanks!

#bleach x reader #bleach #ulquiora schiffer #ulquiorra x reader #fanfiction #bleach requests

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tros-for-dinner · 5 years ago

Photo

Some additional thoughts on the “TIE wreck -> oh he’s fine” part of the TIE backflip scene:

1. The contrast between the bad wreck and him just la-di-da walking away from it is comedy gold, I laugh every time

2. I’ve been thinking a lot about the contrast between his lifelessness at the start of the movie and the obvious, breathless ?longing? (I’m sure German has a word for “your sharp intake of breath when you see an ex you thought you were over”) in this shot. When I saw the movie in the theaters, I didn’t understand what information was being conveyed through his first scenes and assumed JJ was painting him as “Vader 2.0″, like: ‘Ooh look, he’s big and scary and obviously the eeeeeevil villain!!’ This movie is primarily a retcon, after all.

Now, after starting to rewatch tros closely and thinking about it, it occurs to me his complete lack of emotion could make sense. In TLJ, he’d assumed (hoped!) that because he could trust Rey, because they were in agreement in some things, because they had shared experience and understood each other, she would automatically agree with him, would stand with him and keep allying with him. However, in the most crucial moment, they have a falling out.

That fight did what Snoke could never accomplish. Put simply: it broke him.

It confirmed the worst: he would never escape the destiny of being an instrument of destruction, of evil and misery. He was a fool - the past cannot be allowed to die, it can’t be killed, because the past is the future: nothing ever changes, nothing gets better. He realized he shouldn’t fight it anymore and gave himself up - to utter hopelessness.

So when we meet up with him again in TROS he’s simply numb. Hollowed out, going through the motions, lashing out in little petty ways that don’t make him feel better. He’s supposed to recruit others to destruction so he tells Rey, “I’ll turn you to the Dark Side” without any real conviction because it doesn’t really matter. He’s mired so far in the depths of despair he doesn’t even feel grief over it anymore. This is who he has to be and there’s no point fighting it.

He flies out to Pasaana without any real plan - maybe, in the back of his mind, he’s trying to speed up his assumed, eventual fate of being struck down by the Jedi Hero? He barely survives the wreck and stumbles away from it dazed, ears ringing, heart pounding with adrenaline. He looks up and sees Rey, closer than they’ve been in a year. Everything comes rushing back - the fear, the hope. He can barely breathe from the force of it. They were closer before, but even at this distance he can feel it:

As long as he’s with her, he’s on the right path.

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httpbread · 5 years ago

Text

Card Game Interruptions

Pairing: Hanako x reader

Words: 6666 (heh)

this wasn’t a request i just don’t have any vague sense of impulse control

?enjoy? i hope?

---

"Take that!"

(Y/n)’s eyes narrow down at the despicable crime he has thrown at her.

They then flicked up to meet those golden ones glittering at, full to the brim with mirth and mischief.

So pretty...

Such a shame she’d have to crush that smug look.

"Y’know, you don’t have to say that every time you put down a plus-four," she comments, keeping her voice carefully passive as she deposits her card, "Just watch me."

She’s silent after setting it atop the pile and so is he.

The (h/c) haired girl glances up at him under her lashes, fighting valiantly to keep the smile begging to tug at her lips under wraps as their gazes meet, his now frozen on the cards.

"Where... how..."

Now, she can’t even help but smirk as she chimes, oh so happy to remind him, "That’s eight cards in total, Hanako. Think you can handle it?"

The charcoal haired boy puffs up his cheek, lifting a hand to adjust it, "‘Course. It’s just a few. It’s practically nothing."

"What? Compared to my three-"

The aforementioned three cards fell, abandoned by the hands she jerked up to her chest as the door vibrated on its hinges, the slam ringing out throughout the bathroom nothing compared to the yell that followed it.

"(Y/n)!"

Her mitts rested over her jolted heart, gradually uncurling her tense fingers as her eyes caught sight of a familiar friend’s figure.

Nene stands, planted in the doorway as though she might be sucked out at any second, hand gripping either side and her feet apart, face reading pure determination.

While at first, the sight had calmed her, she quickly grew to worry again.

Something about that demeaned made her stomach flip, right about at the same time it clicked to her that it was, in fact, her name echoing off the walls.

"Yes, Ne-chan?"

Almost out of place now, her voice is much softer in the room, even despite having risen a couple of octaves with panic.

"I need your help!" Her friend declares, marching forward with an unusual firmness, leaving no room for any reluctance she may have on her part.

(Y/n) arches a brow at her as she comes to stop before her, herself shifting in her seat to face Nene, dropping her hands to fold them in her lap, "What seems to be the problem?"

Nene crosses her arms, casting her fiery eyes away to gnaw on her lower lip in peace for the moment.

(Y/n) took the time to peer at Hanako, who coincidentally caught her gaze, sharing a bewildered look with her.

However, his furrowed brows and wide eyes were nearly enough to steal a snicker from her lips, warranting a hand pressing to her lips as Nene turned back to her.

"Well- It’s just... that."

She hurriedly turns away again, making (Y/n) squint.

"I- Uhm... this thing... you..."

"Ne-chan?" She utters, even more, confused now as she watched her friend begin to fiddle with her fingers, "Just spit it out. I’m sure it’s fine."

Nene looks over at her for a moment, expression teetering between frustrated and pleading, an odd look, but she supposed it was sort of fitting to her beloved friend.

(E/c) eyes grew round as the colorful haired girl’s face lit up, flickering down to watch as her hands near frenziedly began to paw at her dress.

"Yashiro, is everything-"

"Got it!" She interrupted Hanako’s inquiry without a batted lash, not allowing for any hesitation as she launched whatever it was she had fished from her pockets at (Y/n).

She juggles it for a moment before just barely grasping it between her fingers.

(Y/n) ogles the crumbles ball of paper.

"Well, unfold it!"

She flashes her friend a glance before doing as told, unraveling a little before setting it on her thighs, smoothing out the wrinkled paper atop them.

Before her became legible words as pictures and phrases galore, a brochure of sorts, she guessed.

However, one word stuck out in particular.

"Prom?" She reads, both brows raising in an instance, Nene still looking down at her intently.

"Yes!" Her rose color eyes light up, fists rising up through the air above her head, "And I need your help!"

(Y/n) bites back a smile, "With what, exactly? How am I supposed to know what you want with me just because there’s a prom?"

Nene’s cheeks puff up.

"You know, if you’re asking (Y/n) to prom, this is a terrible way to do it."

She looks over at Hanako curiously as his words register with the mischievous grin he’s giving Nene.

She then looks back at Nene, "Honestly, Ne-chan, he has a point. I didn’t even realize-"

Nene slaps her hands over her reddening face, "No! No! No! That’s not- This isn’t-"

"For shame, Yashiro. Doesn’t (Y/n) deserve better?" Hanako chirps, drawing her attention again as his arm slipped around her waist, pulling her to his side with no regard for their game of Uno, "At least make her a poster! Maybe throw in some chocolates. A flower. Don’t you think so?"

"I’m not asking (Y/n) to prom!"

(Y/n) pouts her lower lip at her, "Wow. Way to make a girl feel loved, Ne-chan."

Nene peers through her fingers, "I’m sorry, (N/n)-chan. Forgive me?"

"Forgiven!" She chimes, the smile returning quickly to her lips as she prompts, "Now, what’s this about prom? How can I help?"

Nene reaches up to scratch her cheek lightly, eyes chased away once more by the question, "W-Well... I was thinking... maybe you could help... find me... a date..."

It took her a second to even figure out what she was saying, due to the way her voice began to grow quieter and quieter with each pause.

"Oh?"

A date for Nene, huh?

"Why not Teru?"

The arm around her stiffens, and she remembers that, yes, Hanako is still draped around her.

"Minamoto-senpai?!" but she’s a little too preoccupied by the boy next to her.

He does not look too happy with her suggestion, giving her a pointed, silent look that says it all.

"Hey, he’s handsome, and Ne-chan has at least some connection to him," she argues lightly, easily reaching up to tap his nose, "Besides, this is about Ne-chan, not us."

He only huffs, looking away from her as well now.

Geez. Did her friends just think that when their eyes left her she just disappeared? Because if so, she had a shocking fun fact for them.

"Eheh, yeah, I- Uhm. I don’t think I can just... do that..." Nene’s muttering returns her to the problem at hand, "Besides, he’ll probably have tons of promposals bothering him. I don’t want to add to the list..."

(Y/n) hums, lifting a finger to tap against her lower lip, "Uhhh... then, what about..."

She brightens, "Kou-kun! I’m sure he’d be delighted."

Nene only stares at her, making (Y/n) stare back questioningly, before looking back at Hanako who shrugs, "It’s a better option than the last, at least."

She makes a face, lightly whacking his further shoulder, "I make great suggestions!"

"Kou-kun? Really?" Nene makes a gesture that (Y/n) really doesn’t understand, "But he’s so!"

She doesn’t continue.

She supposed the hand motion was meant to cover that.

(Y/n), knowing her lovely suggestion was futile, decides to pretend that she knew what was trying to be conveyed by nodding, "Oh, right, okay."

She promptly turns, dropping her hand on Hanako’s knee as she confides in him, "So? What about you? Any ideas, Mr. opinionated?"

His gaze dips down to her hand, probably in thought.

"I don’t remember asking Hanako for his input," Nene comments sourly, cracking a smile on (Y/n)’s lips.

"Ah, that’s ‘cause I just did. Don’t worry, Ne-chan. We’ve got this!" She chirps playfully, "You don’t want to be a team?"

"Not really..."

"Well, too bad, I’m out of suggestions!" She admits, placing her other hand on her cheek, "It’s come to my attention that I don’t know any other living students."

"Hah? That’s not true!" Hanako promptly sticks a finger in the air, "What about Glasses? He’s definitely single!"

(Y/n) shakes her head disapprovingly, "No, no, Akane-kun is no doubt going to ask that nice blue-haired girl."

Her own words light a bulb in her head, "Oh! Wait!"

She beams at Nene, "How about you go with your friend when she turns him down again?"

This makes Hanako scoff, "Geez, not even wishing him luck, are you?"

"Not if it leaves Ne-chan lonely!" She dismisses, waving her hand, "I’m loyal, unlike you, I suppose."

"I’m loyal to you!" Those golden eyes flare at her defensively.

They’re pretty, but wrong, making her giggle, "When? You tried to peek under Ne-chan’s dress just this morning!"

"(Y/n) has a fair point. I’m a little offended you even tried to make that statement."

(Y/n) nods appreciatively, but quickly guides the conversation back, "Ne-chan, what did you think about it, though?"

At the question look she receives, she elaborates, "If you can’t find a romantic date, I’ve heard friend dates can be just as fun."

“Mm, but I want to go with a boy!" She cries out, wrapping her arms around herself, wiggling dramatically, "It would be fun- but it could be so romantic! What if this is my one chance to fall in love?!"

She hums curiously, eyes falling to the ground as the prospect.

One chance to fall in love...

(Y/n) wondered if her chance had passed when she had.

She blinks, eyes quickly finding the hand that has found hers, the one she forgot about on her friend’s leg, "Well, it won’t be a chance at anything if you keep refusing our suggestions."

"Your guys’ suggestion suck," Nene’s comment draws her lips apart with a gasp.

"Ne-chan! We’re doing our best!" She claims, a pouty frown weighing on her lips.

"Yeah, Ne-chan, how about you start throwing some ideas out there too?" She doesn’t even need to look, as his voice is all she needs to picture that challenging smirk on his lips, "Let the council decided your fate."

She looked anyways, though, simply because she wanted to see the look on his handsome face.

(Y/n) was sure that was one of her favorite expressions of his. It never failed to make her heart skip a beat.

And usually... make her laugh.

Which it did now too, especially as Nene fumbled with her hands, at a loss for words.

---

"Now, look, I’m not saying it’s hopeless, I’m just saying maybe it’s time we ask Aoi-san."

After exactly three days of shenanigans, three days of trying to tangle boy after boy into a date with her beloved friend, three days of varyingly dramatic proposals... three days of failure...

(Y/n) was sure she was at her end.

"That way, there’s at least some kind of a backup plan, y’know?"

Her gaze flitters around, looking for another unsuspecting target, despite her words.

Surely, there had to be at least one boy in this insufferable school who would be over the moon to take her friend to prom!

"Ne-chan? Are you listening to me?"

She turns to flash her friend a sour glance but finds herself pausing at the sight.

The gloomy girl no longer looked so gloomy at all.

Instead, she was actually laughing a little as she looked up at a familiar energetic blonde boy who patted her shoulder lightly, frowning and looking around like he was about to step to someone.

(Y/n) blinks.

Before a gentle smile curves at her lips.

There was a boy who’d be overjoyed to have her as a date.

Now, if only she could get one of them to prompose...

(Y/n) wondered if she could trick them into it, but that little tricking part was more Hanako’s thing...

"Yeah, but your creative flare makes it work better."

She nods. It was true. Their plans usually did work better when they worked together, and so far, none of her plans had worked over the past three days.

(Y/n) stills.

Wait a damned second.

She tears her thoughtful gaze away to squint at the arms snakes around her torso below hers which sat crossed over her chest.

"Hanako?" She utters.

A chin on her shoulder confirms this belief, singing in her ear, "You were mumbling out loud again."

Her cheeks grow hot at this enlightenment, "Then don’t listen! My thoughts aren’t meant for your ears."

"True, but they always sound so nice, I can’t help but listen!" He defends, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

She looks away, scowling so that her lips wouldn’t betray her with a smile, "Okay, but what do you think?"

He only hums where he’s nested, arms giving her a little squeeze to show he was listening, not that she was talking. She wanted answers!

A little sharpness infects her tone due to lack of patience, "Do you think we could do it? Trick Ne-chan and Kou-kun into being prom dates, I mean."

"Why doesn’t one of them just ask each other...? Why do we have to do al the work?" He grumbles, muffled, "They’re getting way too much of your attention."

This makes her look down at him from the corner of her eye, curiosity and his silky locks tickling her neck.

"When is it going to be my turn again?"

She helps herself to lift his hat a little so she can slip her other hand under it, fixing his soft charcoal locks, "Oh hush, they’ll be at prom together at the end of this week."

He hums questioningly this time.

She sets his hat back down atop his head, straightening it, "Well, that means it’ll just be the two of us again. We can play cards or poke fun at the mokke... whatever your heart desires, yeah?"

His head is quick to pop up at this, moving back only a little, making sure she could get a good look at the big grin nearly breaking his bright face, "What-"

"It seems I’ve changed my mind," she turns away, faking a passive look, "I’ll be spending this weekend alone, cleaning my boundary."

"Just kidding!" He chimes, dragging her right back to him, burying her in his clingy arms, "We still have to finish our last game."

He mutters, "Even though I was clearly winning."

"Clearly?" She looks at him, (e/c) eyes narrowing, "Do you need glasses, number seven?"

"Ohoh," he smirks at her, getting closer with those shining gold eyes of his, nearly bumping their noses, "Are you getting catty with me, number eight? It’s no good to sass your superiors."

She smirks right back at him, "Mm. Not sure you can be considered superior if you can’t even beat me at Uno. Maybe I should rule the seven mysteries."

"Well-"

"Okay, I’m gonna ignore whatever weird PDA is going on here."

She blinks, looking out of the corner of her eye to find Nene standing before them with her arms crossed, Kou hovering over her side, shaking his head disappointedly.

The sight is more than enough to make her cheeks dust cherry.

"Ah- uh. Hey, Ne-chan. Got any more bright ideas?"

"No! But I claimed you today!"

She looks down when her friend snatched up her hand, quickly followed by herself, slipped right out of Hanako’s grasp.

"Quit trying to steal (Y/n) back! I need her right now!"

Hanako plants his hand on his hips, lips forming a firm line as he retorts, "Eh? Is there a waiting list now?"

(Y/n) doesn’t look, but the incredulous face that finds Hanako tells her Nene didn’t need a verbal response, "Hey! Wait, can’t I just have her for a little longer?"

He brings his hands up under his chin, leaning forward to bat his lashes at Nene, "Pretty please? We have to talk about supernatural things!"

She glances up to find Nene shaking her head with a harsh ‘no’, "(Y/n) is way too busy! First, she has to help me find a date, and now she has to help Kou-kun too!"

"Wait, what?" She utters instantly at the prospect of more work, looking hastily back up at them.

Kou offers her a sheepish smile, shrugging lightly.

She tears her gaze away, only for it to find Hanako again.

Who she’s a little surprised to find staring at her with an intense look of determination.

He speaks once their gazes meet, "Friday, you, me. We are playing Uno, and that’s final."

Oh?

So, they were going to go on with the plan...?

Well... the lack of planning... they’d plan it, then do it...

Oh wait, he was looking at her. She was supposed to respond.

She smiles, "O-"

"Do whatever! I don’t care. Just shoo! We’ve got important work to do!"

The grumpy look that falls on Hanako’s face makes her heart even fonder.

---

It was quite late when Nene and Kou finally left to go home.

Leaving her alone with a certain boy.

Sadly, there was no Uno happening tonight, as they had more pressing things to talk about.

"How about... we leave a dozen roses in her locker and write Kou-kun’s name on it...?"

"No, no. Too much of a chance he’ll back out and say they’re not from him," Hanako waves his hand dramatically.

She counters, raising a brow, "You really think Ne-chan would let him?"

He hums thoughtfully at this.

Before holding out a hand, "But, at that point, who’s to say we can’t trick the kid into a whole promposal...?"

She makes a face, not following this time.

He catches this with ease, delivering her an answer and a sly smile, "We make sure Yashiro and the boy are walking down the same hall, and when they’re close enough, shove a poster and some roses into his hands and run?"

She sticks up a finger at this, "Wait, wait, wait!"

Hanako deflates, poking out his lower lip at her interjection.

However, there’s a big grin on her lips, "Even better. We pay that Akane boy to stop time, that way we can frame it perfectly!"

Hanako’s face lights up instantly, "You beautiful genius! That’s it!"

Beautiful? Her grin grows a little bashful as she looks away.

"Now It’s foolproof. We just have to figure out a good promposal and how to pay glasses!"

She hums, nodding, "You can leave the payment to me..."

Her sudden reluctance does not go unnoticed, much to her dismay, "Hah? You don’t want to help with the promposal?"

She looks further away from the charming boy, lightly scratching her cheek, "No. I think I’m good. I’ll help when Akane stops time."

Only to quickly find a finger poking her other cheek, "Oooi, we’re a team, (Y/n). Are you really trying to get lazy now? Hm?"

Lazy? She was going to have to make a convoluted deal with Nene to get pictures of the blue-haired friend she had and then make a deal with Akane with them… What part of that was easy…?

She hastily brushes away his hand, turning to glare at his suddenly much closer face, "No! I just- I don’t- I-"

Geez, when had he gotten so close?

"Uhm. I’ve never... I’ve never made a promposal..."

Did he always have to look so handsome? Couldn’t he just look unattractive from one damned angle and give her heart a break?

"Hah? Why not?"

His question makes her brows draw. Why what?

She thinks for a moment.

Then goes red.

"O-Oh. I’ve never been to prom," she mutters, cursing her tongue, always so quick to betray her. Whether it was whispering her thoughts or being unable to even vaguely lie to this boy, it was always something against her!

Though, there are more pressing concerns as those big gold eyes blinked at her.

"Never?" He echoes, making her nod, brows drawing.

"You have?"

He shrugs, "I’ve at least gone to see what it was about."

She tries not to act too interested, "What was it like? Did you have a date? Were there balloons?"

She keeps her eyes away pointedly, even as he’s quiet.

"(Y/n), just who do you know that’s going around taking ghosts to prom?"

She glances over at him to find him fighting back against chuckle, making her fall stubborn, "You didn’t say you went after you died! How was I supposed to know?"

She reaches over, whacking his shoulder, "Oi! And how does being dead prevent you from telling me if there were balloons or not?"

He catches her hand in his, to her surprise, making her eyes find a questioning look on his face, "Wait, you haven’t even gone dead...?"

She blinks, uttering, "But I haven’t been invited?"

He blinks back.

Then closes his eyes, bringing his head down to rest against her limp hand, "(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n)..."

She presses her lips together indignantly but doesn’t respond.

At least for a moment.

Her words grow a little more tentative.

"Hanako... Can I have a penny for your thoughts on something?"

"That’s not the phrase," he tells her, "But sure."

She ignores this.

"Ne-chan said that prom could be her one chance at finding love."

She absently tugs at her lower lip.

"Do you think it’s true?"

He doesn’t look up, "What is?"

She mutters, "That people only have one chance to fall."

Hanako is silent at her inquiry.

So, she then asks, "Do you think I missed mine? Since I’m dead, I mean."

He squeezes her hand lightly, and she watches quietly as he lifts his head from it to gaze at her with those big puppy dog eyes of his, face unreadable.

She feels no real threat from it though, she feels quite calm, if not a little melancholy from her thoughts.

"I’d sure hope not."

She bats her lashes at this, curiosity nearly burning her, "What’s that supposed to mean?"

However, Hanako only smiles at her, a soft kindness showing on his face in the dim candlelight of the bathroom, "Don’t worry about it, okay?"

She raises a brow.

"Let’s just take things one step at a time."

She’s not very pleased with this answer, but sighed, nodding, "Yeah, yeah, let’s get this prom thing on its way."

"Atta girl."

---

The promposal went off without a hitch two days later.

The two fell for the scheme, hook, line, and sinker.

It was delightful seeing her friend’s blinding smile and her other friend’s tomato face, too stunned to even try to tell her differently.

Though her work was far from over, she found out very quickly.

"What about this one?"

"Too sparkly."

"You didn’t even look!"

"I don’t even need to. I can see the glitter from here."

Nene groans.

She was happy to help, she really was, but her heart just wasn’t in it.

She couldn't help the thoughts of loneliness from plaguing her each time she tried.

"How about this?"

This one, she at least glances at.

"Neon orange...? Where did you even find these dresses, Ne-chan?"

She slips off the counter, walking over to her offended friend, "My closet! And also Aoi-chan’s closet!"

(Y/n) hums, brushing the girl aside so she could get a good look at the options.

It hardly even took her but a second to find the right one.

She pulled it from the pile with ease, "Try this one on."

(Y/n) knew it was perfect though. She just didn’t want to make it look like she was so certain so quickly, otherwise, Nene would be suspicious.

However, the girl still eyes her for a moment.

"Red? Really?"

"It’s more of a pale rose color, but go off."

Nene groans, taking it from her regardless, "You better know what you’re doing."

As she disappears into the bathroom stall, (Y/n)’s eyes fall back to the dresses.

Maybe they were better than she gave them credit for.

She lifts a dark blue one up to the light, looking it over curiously. Shiny.

She sets it back into the pile, ready to just go sit back down and wait, but...

A thin (F/c) strap catches her eye.

She hooks her finger around it, drawing it from the pile.

It was quite thin, she notes, taking the other strap on her other hand to hold it up properly.

It was silk, so she guessed that was maybe a given.

It had spaghetti straps and a sweetheart neckline. Probably floor-length. Had a slit down the length of one side.

She squints at it, trying not to seem too interested.

However, she makes her way over to the floor-length mirror, unable to help her curiously as she holds it to her body, trying to picture what she’d look like in it.

Not that she would ever-

The stall behind her opens.

"(Y/n)! You were right! This is so-"

She meets Nene’s gaze in the mirror, frozen in her shoes.

A mischievous smile finds her lips, making (Y/n) wince, "Wow, and here I thought you were a lost cause!"

"Lost cause?" She echoes in disapproval.

However, two hands find her shoulders, and she finds herself forcibly changing places with the girl, "Come on! Try it on, (Y/n)! I’m sure it’ll look great! We can both play dress up!"

Her face flushed even deeper, "W-Wait- Ne-chan, I don’t-"

But the stall shuts behind her.

(Y/n) deflates, defeated.

Though, she was happy to see Nene in the dress she picked out.

Absently, she slips out of her blazer, stepping out of her skirt.

It was, as mentioned, a pale shade of rose, with thick off the shoulder straps that reminded her of some kind of princess dress, especially with the way the poofy bell surrounded her friend.

It had the shiny white gemstones Nene had liked too, a little belt of jewels separating the torso of the dress from the bell.

(Y/n) stepped out of her shoes, gaze flickering over to the (F/c) dress.

She was just glad Nene seemed to like it too, judging by the lack of complaints, and the ramble of praise she was hearing.

She picks up the dress she had only wanted to look at, finding herself studying it for another good moment, looking for some sort of entry.

Until she realized she simply had to skip it over her head.

No zippers. No buttons.

It’d been a while since she’d worn anything other than her old school uniform, hadn’t it?

Reluctantly, she pulls it over her head, slipping her arms through the thin straps.

Once it’s over, she pulls it down a little, adjusting how it sat on her hips and the way it hugged at her for a moment.

Before looking down, noticing the small pool of material.

Great. Now the dress was calling her short.

There was a knock at the door.

"I’ll get it!" Nene sings chipperly, not that (Y/n) had felt any need to jump at the wooden question.

She unlatches the door with ease when Kou’s voice greets her ears, "Senpai! Are you still busy picking out dresses?"

"Yup! (Y/n) helped me find the perfect one!" She listens offhandedly as she steps out of the stall, ignoring the cold tile on her feet as she made her way over to the mirror.

She did a simple once over.

She looked nice, she supposed.

Reaching up, she lightly tugged on one of her (h/l) soft (h/c) locks.

In truth, she really couldn’t even remember the last time she had worn a dress.

Two decades ago? Three decades ago?

She just looked the same always though, in her opinion.

Tired. Alone. A little bit like a Victorian woman suffering the beginnings of consumption.

"(Y-(Y-(Y/n)?"

The odd stutter of her friend makes her look over to find Nene staring at her owlishly, hands pulled up to her chest. She takes notice that she’s no longer in the fancy dress (Y/n) had picked out, making her feel like she’d been tricked somehow.

She quickly glances at the mirror, wait, she didn’t think she looked that bad! What was with that look of horror?

"What?" She asks simply, trying not to fiddle with her fingers, but failing.

"Y-You look..."

(Y/n) begins to feel a little fussy, noticing Kou’s round eyes look as well. All she wanted to do was look at the dress! She didn’t want to put it on in the first place. Couldn't they just lie to her and say it looked nice or something?

"Amazing."

She nearly jumped out of her skin, whipping to the side to find Hanako’s eyes hastily looking her over.

Her cheeks grow hot, "Hey! Who let you in here?"

Kou comments at this, "He’s a ghost, (Y/n)."

She shoots him a disapproving look.

But quickly finds her attention back on the raven-haired boy, or more adequately, his hands running up her sides, igniting a rose across her cheeks.

"You look beautiful," he tells her firmly, resting his chin on her bare shoulder, making her face grow warmer, with his hand resting on her hips.

She turned her eyes back to the mirror.

Gosh, this was much more embarrassing seeing him being clingy with her own eyes, especially with her in this dress.

But...

Maybe if Hanako thought so...

She gives the mirror a little smile, "I don’t know. It feels weird."

"You trust me, don’t you?" Those golden eyes find hers in the reflection, a smirk blooming on his lips.

"Sometimes," she admits with a little laugh, unable to hide her nerves.

"I can think of a couple of ways to show you how beautiful-"

"Alright!" Nene clapped her hands, "Nope, nope, nope, none of that!"

(Y/n) realizes his words, quickly lightly her face aflame again, happy to have her friend peeling him off her and pushing him away.

Only to find herself enveloped in her arms.

"You look so gorgeous, (Y/n)! Thank you so much for trying it on!" Nene’s beaming smile was infectious, even though (Y/n)’s was much smaller, "Honestly, who would’ve known a school mystery could clean up so nicely?"

She laughs, "Ne-chan! I can look a little nicer than this. All I did was change clothes."

"Well, I think you should keep it."

The words confuse her, making her turn to look at her friend.

Nene lightly tugs at the strap on the left shoulder, "The dress, silly."

(Y/n) gasps, hastily shaking her head, "No! No! I-"

"Yes, yes! I bought it a long time ago," Nene chides, "I didn’t like how my legs looked in it. At least giving it you I know my money was spent well."

(Y/n) frowns warily, "I won’t ever wear it though..."

"And I would?"

She scratches her cheek, looking up at her with her last resort, "I’m dead?"

"(Y/n)!" Nene gives her a light ‘whap’ atop the head, "Just take the dress and smile more!"

She can’t help the giggle that leaves her lips, "Okay! Okay! Quit fussing at me!"

However, Nene’s smile lingers, "Plus, who’s to say you won’t ever wear it?"

She thinks for a moment.

Then she smiles back, "Oh right. I can wear it to your graduation!"

Nene’s look of dissatisfaction tells her a different story, however.

A story she frankly doesn’t understand that her friend won’t spell out for her.

---

(Y/n) squinted down at the silk dress that she found herself in, once again.

This time, Nene has convinced her to get dressed up with her while (Y/n) was helping her get ready for prom.

The agreement was that if Nene let (Y/n) do her makeup, she had to do her own too, which (Y/n) really didn’t understand.

The only reason she agreed was the stubborn pout on the girl’s face when she said it. Had (Y/n) disagreed, she was sure the girl would make herself late.

So, here she was, dressed up all nicely.

For the first time in a good three, maybe even four decades!

She really needed to get a calendar... or ten...

She quickly looks up at Nene exits the bathroom stall, "Opinions? How cute am I?"

"Cute?" She smiles, admitting, "You look gorgeous, Ne-chan."

"Says you!" She then gets a grin on her face, "I guess you could say you look drop-dead gorgeous."

(Y/n) offers her a flat look.

"I’m sorry."

She turns away, unable to hide her dorky smile, "Okay, what else do you need to get ready? Or are you finally done?"

"Mmm... just waiting on a text from Kou, that’s all."

(Y/n) finds herself suspicious again, "Oh? So the first five hundred didn’t count?"

"He’s nervous!" Nene waves her off.

She doesn’t miss the chance to tease, "Geez, now you’re even worrying about him? I thought you two decided to call it a friend date."

Nene glares at her, cheeks tinging pink, "I am no longer accepting opinions from you."

(Y/n) sticks out her tongue at the girl, "Wasn’t really an opinion, but okay."

Nene pointedly gives her another glare.

"Okay, okay, I’ll lay off," she sighs dramatically, fanning her face playfully.

Only to then card her fingers through her (h/l) (h/c) locks, "Okay, but is he going to show up or not? You guys are going to be late and it’s starting to make me nervous."

"Depends," Nene raises a brow at her, "How many more times are you going to say ‘okay’?"

(Y/n) makes a sour face at her, "Did you miss the part where I said I was getting nervous?"

Nene smiles at her warmly, "I know, I know, just a little longer and I’ll be out of your hair."

She plays dumb, tapping her cheek, "You’re really adamant about your card game with Hanako-kun, aren’t you?"

Her face flushes, "Wh- No! But I have to wash all of this stuff off before then, and I don’t want to make him wait..."

"I see. That’s all?"

She scratches her cheek, "Well, I mean..."

She looks away, smiling a little, "This week has been so crazy, I haven’t gotten to see him as much as usual..."

(Y/n) glances up at her friend, backtracking, "Plus, I need to beat him. He needs to know I’m better at cards."

Nene raises a brow at this, fond look fading.

"I let him win last time because he gave me the puppy dog eyes and he’s been way too cocky ever since,” she says bluntly, seriously, “I need to put him back in place.”

“Yeah...” Nene laughs softly, “Not too sure about that. I think you’re both going to be winners tonight.”

(Y/n) crosses her arms, “Over my cold dead body! I’m gonna win. Have a little faith, yeah?”

Nene shakes her head with a smile.

Until her phone suddenly chimed.

Leaving (Y/n) to watch, dumbfounded, as she frenziedly pats the small handbag before just about ripping open the zipper, slamming her fingers into its depths.

“Is that-“

Nene is texting back with such an intensity that (Y/n) goes immediately quiet, not wanting to interfere in the slightest.

“Alright, (Y/n), it’s go time!” She slips her phone back into her handbag, expertly zipping it up.

She plasters on a big smile despite her sudden unease, “Go time? Kou is here to pick you up?”

“Mhm!” Yashiro tucks the bag under her arm, hands finding... (Y/n)’s shoulders... spinning her around on her flats...

Pushing her...

Towards the door...

“Ne-chan? Shouldn’t you answer? Wait- he hasn’t even knocked. Shouldn’t-“

“Hush! Quit worrying so much!”

“You make it kind of hard being so ominous!”

Nene reaches past her with a red heel, slamming the door before them open, making (Y/n) jerk her hands up to hide her face defensively.

Nene’s hands only hold her shoulders now, silence finding the space around them.

But the door doesn’t hit her.

Slowly, she peers through her fingers.

Only to meet a familiar pair of golden eyes, rounder than usual.

Her eyes then flicker to his smile, framed by pink dusted cheeks.

Was Hanako blushing?

“Stop looking at Hanako-kun and use your eyes, please,” Nene huffs, knowing her all too well.

(Y/n)’s face grows hot as she pries her hands away, praying her makeup hides her embarrassment.

However, it’s then that she notices the very jarring sign the handsome boy is holding.

A big poster board with big red glittery letters and pictures of... donuts. Interesting.

It’s then that the words hit her like a train.

‘I donut want to go to prom without you’.

She stares, trying to get the situation to process.

She glances at Nene who makes a face at her, “No, he’s asking you. I’m going with Kou-kun.”

The words of her friend really settle, making her gasp, hastily looking back up at Hanako who’s stubbornly looking away, trying to hide his rose-colored face.

“H-Hanako, you’re not messing with me, are you?”

He quickly looks up at this, eyes widening, “N-No, of course-”

However, Kou’s voice finds her, “He better not be! It took us all day to make these.”

(Y/n)’s eyes flicker over curiously to find a plate of donuts held in the blond’s hand, “He wouldn’t keep his hands off it so I could make them, but he can’t cook to save his life.”

They return to Hanako who is now profusely avoiding her gaze, his own trained on the floor as he wrings out his hands, the poster now tucked behind him, like he was trying to hide it.

She can’t help the delighted grin that finds her lips, hidden by her hands.

Gosh, he was all dressed up too!

He looked like everything she had ever dreamed of and more in a fancy tux, he wasn’t even wearing his hat for once, his hair all neat and combed as much as the fluffiness would allow. He was always handsome, but now she was sure he’d upgraded to devilishly handsome!

Though… Her heart leads her eyes back to his exposed hair.

He looked up at her in surprise just as her fingers combed through his soft ebony mop, “Oh, Hanako...”

She smiles at him so warmly, she feels like her heart might just shatter when their gazes lock.

“I’d be over the moon to go with you.”

An adorable grin marks his lips.

“I heard there’s gonna be balloons,” he comments, trying to act casual as she slips her arms around his neck.

“Oh?” She smirks up at him, leaning in close, “Well, I heard two of the coolest school mysteries are going to be there too.”

He breathes a soft chuckle, leaning down ever so slightly as she tilts her head to meet him.

“Well, I heard they both got exorcised for making us late and didn’t make it!”

Nene’s cry kills what was supposed to be the perfect kiss, stealing a laugh from (Y/n)’s lips as Hanako stubbornly tightened his arms around her waist.

She draws her hands to rest on his cheeks, looking at him oh so lovingly.

“You ready to go?”

“I guess so...” he mutters.

She smiles, stepping away from him, not surprised as one of his arms stayed around her hips.

As they began walking towards what would soon become her first dance, she rested her hand atop the one settled on her hip, remembering his words.

If this was her once chance to fall in love...

Well, who was she kidding?

She grins up at him, admiring the glitter in his golden eyes as he gazes back down at her just as adoringly.

(Y/n) was already so, so head over heels.

And she’d fall harder for this boy smiling back at her every chance she got.

#hanako x reader #amane yugi x reader #tbhk x reader #jshk x reader #x reader #jibaku shounen hanako kun x reader #toilet bound hanako kun x reader #tbhk #jshk #breadkinswrites

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