#even if it's just two sentences

[chippedshake]

“Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid,” Ponyboy’s muttering as he steps in the door, “stupid stupid stupid stupid.” He goes to slam the door behind him, but notices Darry’s work boots lined up under his coat, so he closes it with a soft click. 

“Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid—”

“Hey, Pony, how was school?” Darry asks, coming out of the kitchen. His voice has its constant, tired lilt to it. He’s had it for two years, and yet Ponyboy still can’t get used to it. 

Ponyboy opens his mouth to respond but finds himself at a loss for words. Out of pure indignation, no doubt. He just throws the envelope on the table and grabs the back of a chair to lean on it. Darry takes a bite of his apple as he comes forward, eyeing the letter curiously. 

“What’s this?”

Ponyboy looks up at Darry. “You know that writing contest Mrs Anderson was gonna sign me up for?” Darry nods slowly, looking down at the letter and back up at Pony again. “Got the prompt.”

Darry stares at him for a moment as if in expectation before asking, “What is it?”

Ponyboy doesn’t respond, he just grabs the ripped envelope and takes out the folded piece of paper, holding it out to Darry between two fingers. Darry dries his hand on his pants and takes it. 

He fumbles with the piece of paper for a moment, trying to unfold it with just one hand, and his brow furrows as he reads through the prompt. “What’s wrong with it?”

Ponyboy sighs, forever uncomprehended by his environment, and snatches the paper back. He doesn’t really know what to do with it, though, so he throws it onto the table again — not quite as energetically this time — and goes to slump down on the couch. 

“I’m fifteen. How’m I s’pposed to write about ‘being in love’?” He asks, saying the last couple words in a mocking tone. 

“Hang on now, I ain’t seen nothin’ ‘bout being in love.”

Ponyboy squints up at him in a way that distinctly says ‘are you stupid?’ “Did ya even read the prompt?”

“Yeah. Says to write about love. Ain’t nothin’ ‘bout being in love. You can write about Pepsi if you wanna.”

Ponyboy looks up at him, then down again. A couple silent moments go by before he asks, “The drink or the brother?”

Darry makes a sound between a snort and a laugh. “I meant the drink, but I reckon they’ll like it more if ya write about your brother.” 

“Huh.” Ponyboy looks away from Darry and starts staring into nothingness, deep in thought. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to be annoyed and I’m not allowed to so now it’s sorta between annoyed and nothing and the feeling is annoying me.”

Darry hums, mildly amused.

“Is this like college essays where you just gotta compete for the saddest sob story? ‘Cause I think I win if it’s that.”

Darry looks down at him, confused. “Who told you that?”

Ponyboy blinks at him. “You did. When you applied for college. You said ‘I hope somethin’ terrible happens to you in the next six years and you’ll be a lucky son of a bitch if it does.’” He goes quiet for a moment. “Then Ma told you to watch your mouth around her.”

“Oh.” Darry blinks. “I don’t remember that.”

Two years ago, when police officers appeared on their doorstep to ask Darry to identify the bodies and the bathroom tiles were cold under his knees and the bile was burning his throat and Johnny’s hand was warm on his back, thumb rubbing back and forth, Ponyboy’s mind was blank. A couple minutes later, though, when he leaned his head on Johnny’s chest with a couple half-hearted coughs, the only thing he could think of was that at least he would have a great college essay. 

Johnny didn’t really know what to do when he dissolved into hysterical laughter. 

Ponyboy shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “I do.”

“Yeah.” Neither of them says anything for a couple moments. “I’ve never written for a contest or anything, so I don’t know what they want. Just writing good should be enough, prolly.”

“Yeah.”

The room falls into silence for a while. 

“I better get started on dinner. Try and get your homework over with before Soda gets home, alright? I know you get distracted with him.”

“Okay.”

Darry goes into the kitchen and Ponyboy picks up his backpack and goes into his room. He has to finish some math exercises for tomorrow, and Darry will get mad if he asks him to look them over too late at night, but he gives himself a couple minutes to look over the prompt one last time. 

Love is a central part of human existence, something near every writer touches in their work. From Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet to Lord Byron’s “She walks in beauty like the night” to Greek myths such as Sophocles’s Antigone. It’s been written and sung and painted about from every perspective — except yours. 

The 1966 edition of American Young Artists’s yearly writing competition asks you to write a short story (no longer than 8,000 words) or poem (no longer than 50 lines) about what love means to you. 

Please do not: 

Submit an essay or straightforward answer. While undoubtedly interesting, the objective of this contest is to explore your creative prowess and ability to transmit messages and themes through subtext. 

Submit more than one piece. You will be disqualified and none of your pieces will be considered. 

Rewrite a story that has already been written. We are not interested in why you believe Orpheus turned back or how Romeo and Juliet would have lived in another world. The story or poem you submit must be entirely original, not based on someone else’s work. 

There are a couple more points, but Ponyboy stops reading. He doesn’t know where to start. 

He doesn’t even know if he’s felt love before. No one ever bothers to give you a straightforward answer to what it is, only hints here and there that you’re supposed to put together so you get the same definition as everyone else. 

Tall tales of butterflies and blushing and stumbling over words. Of holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes and feeling connected. Of being willing to risk your life for someone (did he love the kids in that church?), of wanting the best for them (shouldn’t he want that for everyone?), and putting them before yourself. 

Ponyboy groans again and buries his face in his pillow. 

He takes the math homework out of his backpack and gets a pencil. 

A minute later he gets up and opens the door, yelling on the way to the kitchen so Darry can hear him over the sound of whatever he’s cooking, “Darry! Is cosine the adjacent or opposite side?”

…

Ponyboy might have school friends, but none of them can hold a candle to Johnny. 

They’re fine for grouping up for projects or sitting together at lunch, but he wouldn’t spend hours next to them in silence, reading or drawing or just thinking. He wouldn’t invite them home and sit down on his bedroom floor next to them, just enjoying each other’s presence. Letting them flip through his sketchbook would leave him anxiously looking over their shoulder and watching their face, trying to gauge their reactions. 

Which means that now he spends an awful amount of time alone in his room. He doesn’t usually mind, but now the stupid prompt seems to be glaring at him, screaming that he should be working on it. 

Mrs Anderson won’t ask him to have something written until at least a month from now, but it still torments him. He finds himself zoning out in the middle of a drawing, wondering about whether love can really be considered a feeling or if it’s actually something else. Answering some questions for science class is interrupted by three attempts at starting to write something about his parents, but all of them sound cheesy. 

Finally, when Soda asks him if he’s okay because he doesn’t seem to be completely there, he decides to just get it over with and excuses himself from the dinner table. 

Ponyboy sets up the typewriter, grabs the stupid, stupid prompt from his bed and reads it through. 

He skims through the rest of things not to do — most of them fairly obvious — and reaches a small bit at the end. 

If you’re not sure where to start with this prompt, you can try exploring some of the more common literary topics relating to love. We’ve included a list of some of the most common ones: 

Love as a home, someone safe, where outside troubles can’t reach you. 

Home isn’t home anymore, not without Ponyboy around. It wasn’t home before, anyways, not with the constant simmering tension, the knowledge that Darry and Ponyboy could start at it at any moment. Living over a ticking time bomb, not knowing how much time was left, waiting for the seconds hand to tick for the last time. 

And now every room is riddled with landmines. A single misstep can set them off, saying the wrong word at the wrong time — Soda can’t take it anymore. He loves his brothers, he really does, but he can’t let the tension seep through his skin and into his veins.

He’s started to spend less time at home. It started slowly, a couple months ago, but now that Ponyboy’s gone, he hardly spends any time there at all. 

Money’s tight as always, and he takes all the shifts he can. Steve hangs around even when he’s not working, and, honestly, Soda kinda prefers being at the DX over being at home. 

Sure, he needs to talk to the occasional customer and put on a fake smile, but the customer doesn’t know him inside and out. They don’t know all his tells and they don’t know that he lost Mom’s pot pie recipe and they don’t know his brothers hate each other. All they know is that they want a candy bar or they need their car fixed. 

And then they’re gone. 

And whether or not Soda sold the routine, whether or not they know he was faking it, whether or not they think there’s something wrong with him, none of it matters, because they’re never going to see him again. They walk out that door and he’ll never talk to them for the rest of his life. 

It’s a breath of fresh air to be able to exist without the constant pressure of holding them all together. 

And then there’s Steve. 

Steve, who sits on the counter while he does his book reports. Who pretends to hate Ponyboy so he won’t go out with them when Soda needs to decompress without his brothers around. Who somehow always knows when he’s worried about his brothers fighting or how disinterested Sandy’s been recently, and starts telling him some crazy, probably made up story. 

You get this wrinkle between your eyebrows, Steve told him once, Shows you’re worried ‘bout somethin’. 

Sometimes Soda wishes he could come home to Steve, instead of Darry and Ponyboy, go out with him instead of Sandy.

Then he realises what he just thought and a wave crashes down on him, a wave of ungrateful and don’t care about them and queer. 

2. Venatus amoris. Being loved as something to hunt, to be achieved. 

You don’t become Boy of the Year without picking up a few tricks on how to be well-liked. 

If Darry wants someone to like him, he’ll get them to like him. He’s got it down to a science at this point. 

Now, love, that’s a trickier bit. He’s not all that sure how to get that. But for now, being liked is enough. 

He’s learned how to smile and avoid dangerous questions. He’s learned how to hide the parts of himself that other people don’t like — the part of him that can’t lose and goes to the bathroom after a bad game because he can’t break linoleum the way he can break drywall. The part of him that doesn’t understand what people want when they talk to him and goes over every interaction when he’s trying to fall asleep. The part of him that feels things as strongly as his little brothers do. 

People like a pretty shell, they don’t like a messy, feeling person.

The doors in the Curtis household don’t have locks, though, and the walls are thin. So when he punches the bathroom wall after losing because stupid fucking Mark couldn’t run fast enough, the whole house can hear him. He can’t turn on the shower to drown out when he’s crying because they have one bathroom in the house, and you better believe Ponyboy and Sodapop will barge in if they need to. 

There’s no hiding, no covering himself in a shell.   

Which is fine, until this fifteen-year-old kid shows up with Soda one day, claiming to come from New York. Darry doesn’t mind if his brothers and their best friends know that he’s a sore loser, but he’ll be damned if this asshole knows a thing about him. Dallas Winston is still a stranger, even if he’s a teenage hood, and it means that Darry’s walls come up. 

Which is. Exhausting.

Dallas seems to be everywhere. He’s latched onto Johnny, and Johnny’s always with Ponyboy, so there’s no escape. 

And he isn’t falling for Darry’s usual tricks. He scowls at Darry’s forced smiles and scoffs at the questions he asks without caring. Either he doesn’t notice social cues, or doesn’t care about them. Whichever it is, he doesn’t bother to hide that he doesn’t like Darry, and seems to get a rise out of getting him to try and prove himself. 

Which finally pushes Darry over the edge. Why should he give a fuck what anyone thinks about him? Being well-liked only got him so-called friends that forgot him as soon as they threw their caps into the air. 

So what if Dallas Winston doesn’t like him? So what if he thinks he’s a weakling? So what if those years didn’t mean shit to Paul and Mark and Noah? 

Who gives a fuck? Darry definitely doesn’t. 

“What’s your fucking problem with me?” It comes out scathing. 

And Dallas Winston has the fucking gall to look him up and down judgementally and smirk impassively. You’re in my house you asshole. “You ever told me anything that wasn’t a lie?”

Out with the forced smiles, out with the meaningless questions, out with the closed doors. 

You wanted the real me? Here he fucking is. In all his glorious colours. 

So he snaps and he stares and he doesn’t ask about what he doesn’t care about. The underlying Are you happy now? grows sharper and louder and covers up the noise outside, so much that he doesn’t notice when the contempt starts to leave, when something else starts to grow. Maybe Dallas doesn’t quite like him, but there’s something else there.

He doesn’t notice it, any of it, until Steve’s handing him the phone, saying Dally asked for him. 

Johnny’s not entirely sure when, but at some point during the seventh grade, a fire started burning in his chest. 

He doesn’t notice any of it until he’s screaming because there’s nothing else you can do with a body full of bullets. 

3. Ignis amoris. Love as fire: uncontrollable, burning, intense. 

He doesn’t know how it was before. Was it frozen over or just numb? Was there anything there at all?

Maybe it was just empty. What was the point of anything without the little flame to enlighten it?

At first it was quiet, warm, crackling in tune with Ponyboy’s excited rambling. They were ten and twelve, and it was the first time that Johnny found out what it meant for someone to see him and care. 

As days turned into weeks turned into months, casual touches and toothy grins and barks of laughter threw firewood into the flame. It would flare protectively when a Soc shoved Soda when he was just trying to get to class, burn warmly when Steve waited for them in his car despite having a free last period, thaw even the coldest of nights as long as Dally was in the lot beside him. It reached his cheeks when Darry called him smart and burned brighter every evening spent with Two-Bit, wandering around and avoiding responsibility. 

But when it really roars to life, when it becomes a starved monster that takes over Johnny’s body, is when crickets fill the air or the wind whistles past his ear or the low rumble of whatever cars are still driving around reaches the lot, whispering to him as he lies on his side, eyes tracing Dally’s profile. 

When it crawls up his throat, when it starts making his brain do flips, is when the stars glitter in the sky above him or when clouds crawl over them and bathe the city in darkness or when it’s pouring and he’s running with Dally, jackets over their heads, trying to find a roof to huddle under. 

When it turns from warmth to heat, when it turns from comfort to exposing hidden truths about himself, is when he lies next to Dally in the lot, both pretending that they don’t have to pretend, fingers inching closer, pinkies only just grazing as the sun comes up. 

And then he has the sun to bring him heat, and the fire turns back into embers with small, pale flames above it, and Dally’s still beside him but it isn’t the same when there isn’t the rush of adrenaline, the weight of the news stories, the freedom that darkness brings.

But it burns nonetheless. 

There is a world where that fire never starts burning. Where Johnny’s chest stays empty and cold and dark, where the hearth gathers dust as it’s beaten day after day. 

In that world, Johnny doesn’t survive. 

How ironic, then, that it should be fire to take him from this one. 

4. Furor amoris. Love as madness: all-consuming. We are blinded by it, confounded, and act purely out of passion, rationality all but forgotten. 

Dally isn’t thinking. His head is completely blank, just like that bullshit the hippies spread around. 

A couple minutes ago, he was stumbling around hazy, dark blues, forest greens wrapping around him, black ink dripping down from the sky. 

Now there’s red streaks tunneling around him, bringing him down the only direction he can go in. 

Dead.

Red like Johnny’s jacket collar four months ago in that field that Dally takes a long way around to avoid seeing. 

Dead.

Red like when the church brought them straight into hell yesterday. 

Dead.

Red like the rumble. 

Dead.

Red like the sirens following him as he runs for his life.

5. Amor post mortem. Love after death; overcoming the menial, human barriers of a heart beating. Love as the only eternal thing in a life full of the fleeting.  

Ponyboy sighs and lies back on his bed. 

Usually, Johnny would be lying next to him, bouncing ideas off him to see if anything inspired him. Dally would come storming in, not even bothering to knock. Mom would ask if he made any progress when he came back down to dinner. Dad would tell him it was fine, that he’d think of something like he always did. 

It’s hard to come to terms with. 

Maybe part of him will always be in denial. Maybe part of him will always turn to Mom to ask where the oven mitts are. Look for Johnny whenever he steps into a room. Trust that Dally’ll get back at whoever tries to hurt him. Want to ask Dad to tell that story about when they were kids again. 

Is that what love is? 

This can’t possibly be it. It can’t possibly be something that follows Ponyboy around, wakes him up when he thinks he’s finally worked past his nightmares, seems to disappear then comes back to haunt him, crawling up from behind to see if it can finally get a scream out of him.

No, it can’t be. It isn’t. 

What it is is Darry staying up late to calm him down from a nightmare. It's Steve knowing when to quit the teasing. It's Two-Bit leaving books on his nightstand without a word about it. It's Soda asking him about his day, every day without fail, no matter how tired he is. 

What it was was Dally offering to teach him to fight. Johnny listening to him every time he went on a rant or monologued about whatever book he’d just read. Mom setting aside a couple hamantaschen for him when he had track until late on Purim. Doing his bar mitzvah in the same tallit his father had done his in. 

And maybe it didn’t change anything. In fact, it didn’t. 

Love doesn’t bring people back to life and it doesn’t give them a happy ending and it doesn’t take away all the struggles that come with just being alive. Sometimes it’s just there, and that’s all that matters. 

[not-kayvalencourt]

Let's all put on our thinking caps and see that there is no actual evidence that iskall didn't do anything but his own word. There is, however, massive amounts of evidence that he did.

If you follow me and support iskall (or stress), unfollow me. The bullshit tantrum he just had and the amount of people there are supporting him is actually disgusting. If you genuinely believe him, you need to look up manipulation tactics. He is going to use his fame to get people to trust him, just like he did to his victims.

[astrabelleart]

i think that it's a canon event for neurodivergent art theater kids that hyperfixate in pwaa to draw something involving both legally blonde and ace attorney, and now it is MY TURN TO SHINE!

[lbhslefttiddie]

im so fucking mad. why did i work so hard on this. there isnt even a single gay bitch in this image all i have is latticework and osmanthus studies

[penumbra-mayhem]

i feel joy and oh how it burns (pt. 2/2)

Tank opens up to Milo about their relationship with Sam.

part 1 // hurt/comfort // 1.1k words

(I hc Tank with a stutter, more on that here.)

——————————————

“Stop hogging the popcorn,” Milo whined, reaching blindly for the bowl with one hand while his eyes remained glued to the screen. 

“St-top t-t-taking all mmmmy kills,” Darlin’ retorted, shielding the bowl from Milo’s grasp with their body.

“Well, if you knew how to aim—”

“Fuck off!” Darlin’ cackled.

Milo beamed at the sound. As he killed two more zombies, he asked, “I’m gonna get something to drink, you want anything?”

Darlin’ shook their head. “N-No, I-I’m g—fucker, that wwwwas mmmmy kill!! ”

He paused the game with a bark of laughter. “Not anymore! Alright, I’m going. There better still be popcorn in that bowl when I get back,” he teased.

As Milo got up, Darlin’ made a playful show of stuffing a handful of popcorn in their mouth. Milo gasped and snatched the bowl from their lap, exclaiming, “Y’know what? I’m taking it with me!”

He scurried into the kitchen with a titter as Darlin’ made popcorn-muffled sounds of protest from the couch. Milo grabbed two bottles of Jarritos: guava for himself and lime for Darlin’ because he knew that if he didn’t as soon as he sat back down Darlin’ would be all puppy eyes and regret and he’d have to get up again.

When he re-entered the living room, though, he found them glued to their phone looking…concerned?

“What’s up?” Milo asked as he set the bottles on coasters and placed the popcorn bowl equally between them.

“N-Nothing,” Darlin’ muttered. They stuffed their phone under their leg, eyes glassy and unable to meet Milo’s scrutinous stare. 

“T, you look…” like you’re about to cry “…upset.”

They waved a hand. “It-It’s n-n-n-nothing, just Sam…”

“Sam?” Milo’s voice hardened, fear flashing in his eyes, “What’d he do?”

Darlin’ looked up at the sudden change in Milo’s tone. They backpedaled as they realized their mistake, “WWWait—”

“Did he hurt you?”

“N-N-N—”

“Don’t lie to me, Tank—”

“I-I’m n-n-n-n-not!” Darlin’ blurted, “N-N-No. Sam wwwwould n-n-n-never.”

Milo sat back, hackles lowering. “Then what is it?”

Darlin’s gaze lowered and they balled their hands, as if the words were inked onto their palms. They couldn’t explain. Milo wouldn’t understand. They barely even understood.

Suddenly, a piece of popcorn hit them square in the face. 

“Hey,” they retorted, glaring at a gleeful Milo. 

He threw another piece. 

“St-top,” Darlin’ whined, throwing a piece in retaliation. 

“Tell me what’s going on and I will,” Milo countered as he pelt Darlin’ with piece after piece of popcorn, “C’mon. C’mon. C’mon. C’mo—”

“Ok-kay!!” Darlin’ exclaimed, hands held up against the savory barrage. They dug their phone back out and pulled up their conversation with Sam. 

“It-It’s just the l-l-l-last mmmessage…” Darlin’ mumbled as they passed the phone to Milo. 

He took it gingerly and read Sam’s most recent text:

Thinking of you, I hope you’re having a good time at Milo’s. I thought maybe later we could get dinner at Finch & Presley’s and then get gelato at that place you like on the corner. Thoughts? No rush, take your time baby. Have fun!

Milo reread it, certain he had missed something. When his third scan still gleaned no clues, he handed their phone back and admitted, “I don’t understand. What’s the problem?”

Darlin’ shoved their phone away again. “He…he’s…so…good.”

“…go on.”

Darlin’ chewed at their inner cheek. “He mmmmakes mmme hap-p-py,” they admitted, “MMMore than I-I thought I-I c-could b-b-b-be.”

“And that’s bad?”

They nodded. 

“How come?”

Darlin’ looked away, shutting themself down again.  

Milo raised his hand slowly in response, popcorn at the ready. 

Catching the movement out of the corner of their eye, Darlin’ sighed in surrender, “WWWhat if I-I don’t mmmake him hap-p-py?”

Milo’s popcorn-loaded hand lowered in confusion. “What?”

Darlin’ shrugged; it was stupid, they were being stupid.

“Hold on,” Milo said, tossing his unthrown popcorn into his mouth before fishing his phone from his pocket. As he searched his screen, he explained sheepishly, “I uh…I like to take candids of the people in my life…and then I keep them, just for me to look at—where is, ah! here we go.”

He thrust his phone into Darlin’s hands.

They were met with a photo of them and Sam on the first night of the Solstice, laughing together in a corner. Darlin’ glanced back up at Milo.

“Go on,” he insisted, “I’ve only met him a couple of times, so I just have a few, but I think you’ll get the idea.”

Darlin’ furrowed their brow but acquiesced.

Sam and Darlin’ at the Solstice the following evening, snuggled together by a fireplace. Sam and Darlin’ on a double date with Milo and Sweetheart, discussing appetizers. Sam and Darlin’ at the most recent pack meeting, chatting with Asher.

They looked back up at Milo, their face and ears a pale pink. Milo secretly took some delight in Darlin's flustered appearance. It was a pleasant change from their usual scowl or worried frown.

“You know what all of those have in common?”

Darlin' shook their head. 

“Sam is smiling. In every single one.”

Scrolling back through, they found that Milo was right. In each photo, Sam had his eyes on Darlin’ and a smile on his face. Sometimes it was small and soft. Sometimes he was beaming, his whole face crinkled in joy. The pale pink deepened to red.

“Sam doesn’t look like that when you’re not in the room. You make him so happy,” Milo murmured, “And for what it’s worth, you make me happy, too.”

Darlin’ handed Milo back his phone and quickly rubbed at their eyes, hoping Milo wouldn’t notice. But, of course, he did. 

“Hey,” he whispered, scooching closer. 

“S-Sorry…” Darlin’ sniffled, wiping the tears from their flushed cheeks in growing frustration.

“You don’t need to apologize, T. You’re allowed to…” be weak “...show how you’re feeling.” 

Milo moved the popcorn bowl and cooed, “C’mere.”

Darlin’ lifted their head to see Milo’s arms stretched out towards them. They hesitated. Milo was sure they’d reject the offer, but then Darlin’ surprised them both as they crawled into his embrace.

Burying their face in his shirt, they whimpered, “WWWhy d-does it-it hurt?”

Milo sagged. In a sense, he’d been right. Sam was hurting them, but it was the one kind of pain Milo would allow. And the only kind he didn’t know how to ease. He tightened his hold on Darlin’, taking a moment to breathe before answering:

“Warmth can sometimes feel like burning when you’ve been cold for long enough. I think maybe it’s the same with joy. But it’ll get easier. It’ll hurt less, eventually. Just give it time.”

[darklight-owl]

Using genAI to write your essays in University should be grounds for expulsion and I'm not kidding.

Like plagiarism is already grounds for expulsion in a lot of unis why is this any different. If you use genAI to think for you that means you aren't fit for whatever career you were studying for anyway so maybe expulsion is a mercy.

"But Owl isn't that kind of overkill" listen people are bragging about how easy it is to cheat with AI and how hard it is to prove someone was using AI so if you find ONE piece of evidence that someone used it that means they've been using it in everything and everything.

[teddybeartoji]

i'm not going to get a fucking misae comm

[karleksmumskladdkaka]

DIABOLIK LOVERS DAYLIGHT Vol. 7 Mukami Ruki Animate Tokuten Drama CD: “Sleeping Together ★ With Vampire"

Audio

No, not that kind of sleeping together.

...And yet somehow not really the other kind either because despite it's title there is LITTLE TO NO SLEEPING TOGETHER GOING ON AT ALL except at the very end TᴖT TᴖT TᴖT My disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined.

Ok ok I'm obviously being overdramatic. Misleading name aside the CD is enjoyable and cute just...not at all in the way I was expecting (that being something akin to the Sleeping Vampire Scenario from Vandead Carnival but, alas, no). But oh well, I got to hear Ruki be all deredere towards the end so it's fine I guess lol

Ideally I'd create an actual translation to go along with this (I might do so sometime in the future, unless someone more competent does it first) but for now I've put a summary of the story under the cut. I ask that you please have mercy on me though, I am not used to writing this kind of stuff and it probably shows >﹏<;

Regardless, I hope you enjoy ( ﾉ^ω^)ﾉ ⋆⁺₊☽⁺₊⋆

UPDATE: The CD now has an actual translation courtesy of my fellow Ruki stan @otomehonyaku o(^o^)o please go check it out if you haven't already!

[Disclaimer: I always allow my stuff to be used for translation purposes, as long as I am credited. But please do not reupload the audio anywhere]

Summary ~*×*☆*+*~

[Please note that there may be mistakes or I might've misinterpreted parts of the CD. I apologize in advance (╥﹏╥)]

The CD starts with Ruki encountering Yui, who is carrying an unusually large package. Curious, Ruki asks her what she's doing, and learns that Kou has tasked her with delivering the package to him (Ruki). Ruki is somewhat perplexed as he doesn't recall requesting anything of the kind. Yui suggests that it might be a surprise gift, but Ruki is skeptical. He wants to ask Kou directly but is reminded that he is currently away on a location shoot. With a resigned sigh, Ruki decides that he has no choice but to open the package in Kou's absence. He asks Yui to hand the package to him, and then invites her to come along to his room to find out what's inside. She eagerly accepts, and they head off together.

In Ruki's room they take a seat (on what I assume to be the sofa) and open the package. Inside, there are various wooden pieces resembling parts of something, along with a letter from Kou. Ruki reads the letter aloud and it's revealed that the package contains a (*drumroll*)... puzzle! And not just any puzzle but a ✨️3D puzzle✨️. In the letter Kou encourages Ruki and Yui to assemble the parts together to discover what they will form. Since he's got spare time on his hands Ruki decides to have a go at it, with Yui joining in.

After a while of working on the puzzle, Ruki asks Yui how her part is coming along. She shows him, and he comments that she's doing better than he anticipated. He helps her out with some difficult pieces before instructing her to continue on her own. Yui asks Ruki if this is his first time putting together a 3D puzzle, and he replies that he's tried some before, but that this particular type is new to him. Yui is eager to learn what it is they are building, and Ruki, not wanting to dampen her anticipation, pretends he still can't quite figure out what the finished thing will be either (awww ♡). Ruki suggests that rather than moving their mouths they should focus on moving their hands as with their current pace the puzzle won't be finished. He reasons that the faster they move the sooner they'll have their curiosity satisfied. Yui agrees to work faster and Ruki promises to do the same.

They pick up the pace and eventually the puzzle is done. The assembled pieces have formed a small foreign castle, and Ruki reveals that he suspected as much from the start. He surmises that Kou must have remembered their expressed desire to visit such a castle after seeing one by chance on one of his TV shows. Ruki acknowledges Kou's attempt to make the two of them happy in his own way. He praises Yui for doing a great job despite not knowing what they were actually assembling, noting that the part she made fits perfectly into the castle.

However, there is no response from Yui, causing a puzzled (ahaha) Ruki to remark on her lack of reaction to something she had been so excited about. Turning his head to the side to look at her, Ruki discovers that she's fallen asleep with her head resting on his shoulder. He comments on the privilege of such a sleeping position but acknowledges that it's understandable she'd fall asleep since it's past their usual bedtime. She had seemed so engrossed in their work that he didn't notice her drifting off.

Ruki carries Yui to his bed and gently places her there, saying that she should have just told him that she was tired. He realizes that she likely made an effort to stay awake until the end, though she ultimately fell asleep. Deciding that it would be a good time for him to go to sleep as well, he tidies up and hides the little castle under the table, so that he'll be able to see Yui's reaction to it in the morning.

Returning to the bed, Ruki asks Yui to scoot over to make room for him, but she's sleeping too soundly to hear. He lies down next to her and (in true Mukami Ruki fashion) begins observing Yui's sleeping face. He notes how relaxed her expression is and wonders if it's because she's tired out from using her brain (lmao rude). Ruki then ponders what kind of face Yui will make when she wakes up—will she feel guilty for falling asleep before the puzzle was finished, or will she be surprised and embarrassed to find him laying next to her? Regardless of what her reaction will be, Ruki knows that it'll be enjoyable to witness. But he's certain she'll be happy once she sees the completed puzzle and admits to himself that he really wants to see that expression on her face. He's aware that it's out of character for him, and thinks that he might even have trouble falling asleep from the excitement (asdfsdjfj this is too fucking cute I can't)

Ruki decides that he should thank Kou for the useful gift by making him his favorite food for dinner tomorrow. The mention of dinner causes Yui to stir (what a relatable Queen), and Ruki teases her for being greedy. He assures the still-sleeping girl that she doesn't need to worry; he'll make her favorite dish as well as a reward for her hard work on the puzzle.

The CD ends with Ruki saying how he looks forward to seeing Yui's reaction the following day.

Fin ~*×*☽*+*~

- _(´ω`_)⌒)_

[mice-ducks-and-blots]

Fellas is it gay to plant a whole like REALLY HUGE road of flowers exclusively for your enemy. Flowers that, canonically, will wither and die if you don't tend to them for a SINGLE DAY. mAY I ADD that earlier in the story Blot states something like "the falls are ROMANTIC in a way, especially with a full moon in the sky >AND MY WORST ENEMY APPROACHING<"

Like I'm sorry I held it for too long and I need to say it. I am a firm believer that Mickey and Blot have the same as whatever it is that Basil and Ratigan got going on

[shoot-i-messed-up]

btw in the hot and cold universe, i imagine that Ollie is the only one who actually doesn’t give a shit about Clark being pack leader because he thinks it’s bullshit to put any weight on designations and stuff like that. This kinda chafes Clark because he’s used to being treated like an omega, but it’s also one of the reasons Ollie and Hal get along so well in this universe

[ignatiusteto]

i think sacred music in the kryn dynasty would be very cyclical and repetitive in form to symbolize the idea that life is a continuous thing (at least those who are consecuted right right) and is a cycle across lifetimes and yeah

[sideblogforhitgameobeyme]

I find the total dichotomy of how well I can explain why I adore Levi vs why I adore Asmo is so funny

I could type out a small paragraph full of reasons on why I love Levi

Meanwhile, for Asmo, it's just "He's a silly little guy :3"

[not-the-coffee-machine4]

I genuinely think some of y’all are mistaking pitch correction for just clearer, more forefront vocals

[goldentigerfestival]

Another translation from the Radiant Mythology 3 Fan Bible! These are skits found within the game that were included textually like this in the Fan Bible.

(Scanner preferred to remain anonymous.)

Original JP + TL under the cut.

Skit Title:

Isn’t It A Bother?

Occurrence Condition: Enter the 1F hall with Arche in your party. Characters: Arche, Stahn, Veigue, Luke, Asch, Yuri.

Arche: So hey, I was just thinking, isn’t everyone’s hair too long? Doesn’t it get in the way?

Veigue: …Mine is tied so that it doesn’t get in the way.

Stahn: I’m keeping mine like it is ‘cause it’s useful for my work as a shepherd.

Luke: Sheep?

Stahn: Yeah. It’s handy having long hair ‘cause the sheep will mistake you for one of them.

Asch: Huh, so they’re similar to livestock… That’s quite interesting.

Luke: Speaking of… Arche, you have long hair too.

Arche: I’m a girl, so it’s okay!

Veigue: Does gender matter…?

Yuri: Well, it’s fine like this, isn’t it. Personal tastes and preferences aren’t something people around you should be criticizing.

Asch: It’s rare for us to have the same view on something.

Yuri: Well, thanks.

Luke: Geez. Don’t ask weird questions.

Arche: Ugh… It’s embarrassing now when you say it like that…

[kara-knuckles]

I'm honestly baffled by how many people seem to get "Manfred is freethinker, Ascalon is sheeple" from Babel and "Manfred outsmarted Hoederer" from 14. I can at least begrudgingly understand the former, because the narrative goes out of its way to invalidate Ascalon's every decision so you need to be invested enough to take a step back and see it's actually bullshit, but with the latter W outright mocks Manfred for acting exactly like Hoederer predicted, and this is despite Ulsulah's advanced warnings about the situation on Lifebone. Hell, the fact that Hoederer doesn't even try to fight (presumably because he is acting as a bait and this minimizes his potential injuries) and complete lack of reaction from everyone else suggest that everything was still proceeding according to plan B (separate Manfred from his men so you don't fight them at the same time), even if plan A (intercept him) got Damazti'd.

[kirkwallguy]

i find the whole grand necropolis to be so world breaking even though i know it was established in the lore before datv, like nevarra's under the chantry law how have they not gotten exalted marched on yet?

i thiiiink like there's lore to support them not being exalted marched (from my vague memory?) but as more of a vibes guy than a lore guy and the vibes definitely felt WAY off. if the necropolis was structured more like a circle with a few floors of dangerous restricted areas i would have found it interesting but it just feels so fake and not grounded in the way areas in other games' were. this is my complaint for pretty much all of vg though, and the necropolis and the anderfels are the worst to me because they were the ones i was most looking forward to so they're the ones i find the most disappointing