#idk what this is or why it happened and its really vague i know but im still in MOURNING ok

[quigzahhutt]

hiiii could you please do sargebon + 💗? thank you sm 🫶🫶

ouhhhhh tenderness ....

for the kiss prompt ask game !

"💗 / slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft"

doomed lovers, non-racing, college au sargebon.... this request sent me down a rabbit hole and I somehow ended up with approximately 1.2k words of sargebon in front of me

The club was hot, sticky all around and it is absolutely not the environment Alex wants to be in right now.

But, Logan is here, and that's why he's here as well.

Logan had called him, his despairing voice crackly over the phone as music thumped loud enough for Alex to hear it on his end, the bass almost rattling the pencils on his desk.

He practically dropped everything to grab his keys at that point, a sickly drop of sweat forming along his eyebrow as he listened to Logan's strained breathing over the speaker. He had texted him the address earlier that day with a futile offer to come along; Alex had rejected him. He regrets it now.

Because Logan had sounded so unlike himself over the phone– he was frantic, panicked like when you remember you have a class in 20, and you're an hour commute away. He's always so cool, level headed, so him sounding like that made Alex's stomach churn something ugly.

Logan's shaky syllables echoed through his skull on the entire drive there; he had definitely broken multiple traffic laws, but he just had to remind himself that thie was for Logan's sakes. It would always be worth it for him.

Alex has to shove himself through body after body, almost feeling like he needs sunglasses with how bright the strobing lights are. He has no idea where Logan might be, and that thought horrifies him.

It shouldn't be so worrying– they're both adults; Logan has proven multiple times that he's capable of taking care of himself, and Alex feels silly being so worked up over it, but something about him tends to twist his heart that way.

It's like Logan has taken Alex's psyche and popped it into his mouth, swirled it around, tucked it under his tongue for safe keeping like a hard candy, left to melt until all that's left is Alex's raw, earnest core.

Sometimes Logan will laugh and it makes Alex feel 15 all over again; soft cheeks and Halo on his Xbox 360, immaturity slowly being replaced by taller bones and responsibilities. He makes Alex feel the same way he did when he got his first kiss, naive and full of teeth, desiring nothing but to eat the other person whole.

His train of thought is cut off once his eyes fall on a familiar slouched figure wedged into the furthest corner, crumpled into a soiled couch. He has his hands over his ears, and an uncharacteristic grimace has made itself home on his features.

Alex barely remembers walking up to him; someone had grumbled at him, told him to fuck off and watch where he's going, but none of that matters because Logan is safe, and he's looking at Alex with so much relief, like he's salvation.

He doesn't even attempt at talking to him– the music is too loud, the bass heady and overwhelming in their ears that it's basically pointless. Alex just grabs one of Logan's hands and carefully moves it away from his head so he can properly grasp it.

It's an imitation of something far too intimate for Alex's liking, the soft lines of Logan's smaller hand fitting gently into his own like it was carved for that very purpose.

The club is crowded, unsurprisingly considering it's a Friday night, and the wall of bodies has seemingly thickened since he arrived, so Alex tugs on Logan's hand a little too hard, ensures he sticks close. He didn't come all this way just to lose him again.

They eventually make it, and the sticky night air has never been such a blessing. The humidity tastes salty against his tongue and it's, in all honesty, a little too hot in Alex's opinion, but he can happily ignore it because Logan's finally relaxed, no longer wide-eyed and frightened like an alley cat.

He hasn't let go of Alex's hand, and he's pressed so close like he's afraid he might get lost again if he drifts too far. So, Alex shuffles, shifts his arm so it's wrapped around Logan's waist instead, safely securing him to his side.

The walk to the car isn't too far, but it's far enough that it gives both of them time to think. It let's Alex wonder– wonder why that whenever Logan is nearby, he feels like he should run away and hide, overwhelmed by emotions he hasn't felt since year 8. Why is it only Logan who's capable of tapping into the most beastial parts of Alex's psyche. Why is it him that can make him feel so scared and so brave all at once.

Logan murmuring something into his shoulder pulls him out of his own head, and Alex instinctually grasps Logan tighter to his torso when they walk past a group of rowdy teenagers, bottles of alcohol hanging loosely in their hands.

"What was that, sorry?" Alex whispers, wanting desperately to keep this moment between them, exclude themselves from all outside forces even though they're walking along a very public street.

"I said 'm sorry. I was being stupid, 'nd I only- I wanted..." Logan suddenly scoffs, a hard, labored breath that seems like it surprised him more than anyone, "I'll just tell you in the car,"

Alex just mumbles a soft 'okay' and leaves it at that, trusting that Logan will actually tell him, instead of doing his usual song and dance of avoid-distract-forget. Except Alex doesn't forget, he never does; how could he when there's been a conversation hanging between them that they should've had months ago.

"Here we are," Alex says a bit too loudly, miming triumph as he gestures towards the car. He cheers a bit mentally when Logan giggles, and when he pushes away to open the door, Alex spots an easy-going smile on his lips. It's ridiculously relieving seeing it, reassures him that this is still his Logan, and not some random kid he plucked off the street.

Although, that is kind of what happened. His roommate at the time was moving out and he had mentioned that there was a transfer student coming here for a semester, an American, who's housing plans had bailed on him, and Alex had rolled his eyes. He was absolutely not going to house an American.

But here he is, picking up said American at half past 1 in the morning from some club in the middle of town. And now that same American is slithering his hand over the center console, clumsily lacing his fingers with Alex's own.

"I was only going to go if you came with me, but then you kind of shot me down and I guess I felt... I dunno, betrayed?" Logan speaks slowly, and his words feel like they from the middle of a sentence that Alex didn't hear.

"I only wanted to be there with you."

The confession sends a dizzying pang of guilt through Alex's sternum, and he can't think up a reply. All he can do is bring Logan's hand up to his lips, pressing them gently against the soft flesh on the back of his hand.

It's hardly even a kiss, or really anything of the sort, and Alex can't begin to explain why he does it, only that it felt like the only appropriate response. Tenderness for the sake of articulating something he's been incapable of for months.

"I'm sorry, I should have been there with you," Alex mumbles into the back of Logan's hand.

When Alex finally chances a look back at him, Logan is already meeting him there, his eyes hooded and so exhausted, bogged down from the alcohol in his system. He can't help but unclasp his hand from Logan's and drag it up to thumb at his jaw, heal whatever ache might be present.

Logan is practically sitting on the center console now, and they're both leaning in, the closest they've ever been to each other, and yet it still feels like there's still a monumental distance between them.

"Alex," Logan whispers, "we should've- so long ago-"

"I know, I know," and their lips finally meet.

thank you for the request❤️

[talkorsomething]

want to cut my hair again like you wouldn't believe. What are the possible consequences of going bald

[the-kneesbees]

uggh I'm gonna cry

[evangelifloss]

Thinking about a certain scene in Dungeon Meshi that completely encapsulates the Autistic experience of making friends as an adult and how hard it is to try and navigate it without ending up getting hurt.

Like IDK about y'all, but this is a common problem ALOT of Autistic Adults face when trying to make friends with other people, because unlike children who aren't good at keeping their opinions to themselves, Adults ARE. In society, we're even encouraged to "keep the peace" "be polite" and etc, which commonly leads to awful scenarios as shown above when Laois finds out his buddy has come to resent who Laois is without actually telling him. All too often the friends that we love to hang out with, people that we're so happy to spend time with, don't feel the same way and in many cases, come to blame us for our social cues or lack thereof.

And when/if we do eventually find out how our friend feels, Dungeon Meshi hits us with another painful panel of how that usually ends up playing out.

It's hard for Adults with Autism to make friends, and even harder to maintain them because alot of the ways Neurotypicals tell other Neurotypicals that they don't like a certain behavior is by quietly disengaging. Whether that involves having one sentence answers, going quiet, or having a certain tone in their voice, all those things signal annoyance or disapproval, but for the Neurodivergents, those subtle cues are completely missed.

And yet when we inevitably discover we DID do something, it is natural to ask "well why didn't you tell me?" because in our minds, it should've been the next step in the equation. However for the Neurotypicals, that's NOT something to bring up. Its important to be SUBTLE about the issue at hand and rely on signals to tell the other person. Blame is placed on us for not noticing the "obvious" signs of disapproval rather than the idea of talking it out as such things are uncomfortable and harder to do. Alot of the time what ends up happening is resentment due to the idea that it was "obvious" and the fact one didn't notice indicates a deliberate ignorance rather than a complete unawareness. It ends up calling into question our quality as a person and our sincerity. We get called "fake" or "malicious" or even "stupid" for failing social cues rather than questioning the decision to be indirect and vague.

For a manga about exploring the dungeon, it seems that the artist would rather explore very real and prevalent dynamics in society with the adventuring premise as a backdrop. I felt VERY seen in these panels, and many others, because it happens so suddenly and dare I say it, plainly. There's no dramatic build-up or spectacle made and in essence, it just Happens.

I think that's what makes the scene hit even harder. It seemingly comes out of nowhere for Laois, like how it always comes out of nowhere for alot of people, and it's never a dramatic twist either. It's always mundane and hurtful. A sudden unforeseen bump in the road that ends up calling into question one's entire friendship with someone and consequent other friendships. It asks "what if other friends feel the same. What if the people that I really like actually hate me and I don't know it?" Or at least that's what I came away with after reading the chapter. I've been where Laois was and the only reason I'm not there now is because I lost the naivete I had and doubt everyone else's sincerity.

[imtherain]

I Wish I Could Tell You I Love You

Welp, I was supposed to be doing homework and got caught in some feelings, so this happened. Sorry it's not the sex pollen fic, but I swear it's still coming (hah)

loganxreader

word count: 2k and I didn't really edit it/reread it so suffer

Warning? it got away from me so my original plot shifted. I used "you" as the pronouns this time. You have unspecified powers and self esteem issues, Logan is sick of your shit but Tired about it. Takes place during "logan is a teacher at the mansion" times, vaguely angst with a happy ending I guess. idk why all my Logan fics are sad/sad adjacent

[Masterlist]

[More Logan Angst] (Forced Closeness)

[More Logan but make it not angsty] (Why We Wake)

[Logan Masterlist]

Here you go

“Oh, hey, Logan,” You said as you stumbled upon him, sitting in one of the lounge rooms. You had come looking for somewhere quiet to read that wasn’t your bedroom. Why he was sitting there in the dark, you didn’t know.

He looked up at you and it seemed to take him a few seconds to figure out who you were.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Recognition finally sparked behind his eyes. You were glad you had only turned on the two small lamps in the room and nothing brighter. It was the time of day for soft light, ambient warmth to sit with.

“Want me to leave?” You offered, not really sure what was going on. Plus, you and Logan didn’t find yourselves alone very often and you were worried if you stayed, you’d say something stupid.

“No, ‘s fine,” Logan said. He looked you over, noticed you had your fancy little ereader (that he may or may not have put under the staff tree marked ‘from Santa’ for you). He noticed you were dressed way down, far more casually than you normally did in ‘public’. You were simply wearing pajama pants and a cozy top. Normally, you tried to wear ‘real clothes’ if you ever found yourself somewhere kids could potentially see you. Yet here you were, soft cotton, no jewelry or makeup or anything else. If he was a speculating man, he probably would speculate that you were wearing a soft bra underneath for some semblance of decency, but it wasn’t the one you’d been wearing earlier when he’d seen you at the staff meeting.

“Why were you sitting here in the dark?” You attempted to tease Logan. A smirk almost fought its way to his lips.

“I was just sitting here and then it got dark, hadn’t bothered to get up yet,” He explained. He stretched then, as if he just remembered he hadn’t moved at all in a long time.

You watched the way he flexed as his arms went over his head and his eyes closed with that relief that was specific to a good stretch. You hoped he didn’t catch the way your cheeks were warm when you saw his shirt ride up over his abs.

It was the age old story. You had worked at the mansion for a while now, Logan had been here longer. He was always somehow himself, even when he was getting badgered by the kids, or when Scott got on his nerves. You adored that about him, he was always entirely himself. Even if at first, you and he really hadn’t talked much, apart from pleasantries. But time passed and suddenly he shot you winks when he caught your eye from across the hall, he made sure there was a seat for you near him at dinner, he always asked you about your day, and remembered your birthday…

“You good though?” You asked. Something about how Logan seemed to reanimate when you entered the room made you worry.

“Peachy,” Logan said. “What about you? It’s pretty late for you to be wandering the halls,” Your ears got warm at the idea that he knew your schedule because he cared about you. But of course he cared about you, he was your friend. Plus, he liked to keep track of people coming and going. It didn’t mean anything.

“Yeah, I was feeling a little cooped up in my room, so I decided to find a nice little place to read until the feeling went away,” You told him. Logan hummed. “I even put a bra back on, can you believe it?” You chuckled at your own joke. Logan also knew that you refused to run around in what you lovingly called ‘a state of undress’.

“I mean, you didn’t have to do that,” Logan managed a smirk this time.

“I wasn’t about to run around the mansion with my titties flapping in the breeze,” You said before you could think about what you were saying. Logan chuckled at that.

“Is that your mutant power? Magic tits?” He asked. It had been a long standing joke that you didn’t tell Logan what your powers were.

“I mean, every baby/toddler/child I've ever cuddled falls asleep on them, so maybe,” You moved to sit in the armchair next to his. The chairs were angled together so you could still chat. You folded one leg under you and fiddled with the case on your ereader. 

“I could use some of that kind of magic,” Logan mused.

“Why? You’ve got a baby I don’t know about?” You challenged him. He looked at you for a long moment before he shrugged.

“Maybe I do,” 

“I bet Scott’s the dad,” You shot back and Logan actually snorted at that.

“You’re not funny,” 

“Your snort begs to differ,” Sometimes it was easy to be near him. Easy to simply exist as two things with beating hearts and stories they didn’t want to tell. Easy to be friends.

“I have trouble sleeping,” Logan admitted. “That’s what I’d use your magic for,” Something warm in his eyes found its way into your chest and made it hard to breathe.

Just the idea that he’d think about you in anything close to a sexual manner seemed absurd. There was no way you were his type, if your past experiences were to be believed, you were no one’s type. Anyone who had ever tried to express romantic interest, not that there had been many, gave up on the idea within a month. Most never asked for a second date.

Most never bothered with it in the first place.

“If that was my mutation, which it isn’t, I could start a whole business, don’t you think?” You try to keep the joke going, enjoying the moment too much to let it pass.

“A business? Like you’d go around and let people fall asleep on your tits?” Logan scoffed at the idea as if it offended him.

“Sure, why not. I wouldn’t have to be naked or anything, and I’d choose my clientele very carefully. If you play your cards right, I could even hire you as my like… bouncer. In case anyone got any bright ideas. I’d give you… 10%?” 

“I’d want more than that,” 

“I’m not going higher than 15,” I smirked. Logan looked for a moment like he was going to roll his eyes, but all at once the mirth faded and he looked straight ahead instead. He sighed like he was trying to deflate the tractor tire in his chest at the thought of you selling yourself at all, even if it was just some stupid joke.

“Too bad that’s not your mutation then, huh?” His voice was gruff and you settled into your chair, feeling admonished.

You were sure Logan would get up and leave shortly after, he often did when the conversation around him died. But for some reason, he just stayed there, staring at the wall that made up the space of the two large windows that overlooked part of the garden. It was a beautiful night, summer not quite gone, fall not quite cold. 

But here Logan was, just stared at the wallpaper instead.

“You sure you’re ok, Logan?” You ask. You’d reread the same page three times, worrying too much about him to comprehend the story.

“Hmm?” Logan hummed. “Yeah, ‘m fine,” 

“Are you falling asleep with your eyes open?” You pressed, trying to sound like you weren’t worried.

“Come here for a minute,” His face turned to you and it almost looked like he was staring through you. Only, somehow, he was looking at you too. Like maybe he wanted to look into your head and figure out what he needed to say to make you understand. “Please,” He extended his hand to you and, while you weren’t sure exactly what it was in his voice that drew you in, you let it bring you close enough to take his hand. 

He easily pulled you from your chair and into his lap, much to your chagrin. 

“Logan!” You tried to chide him, but at the same time, it felt nice to be close to him.

“Just,” You felt him sigh as he gave into whatever demons were plaguing him. “Just let me hold you for a minute, would you?” Logan laid his forehead on your shoulder, his arms closed around you, holding you to him.

“Ok,” You whispered into his hair. Your arms folded around his neck, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. It felt natural to sink your fingers into his hair and scratch gently at his scalp.

Part of you wanted to ask what this was, what it meant. But you were too afraid to break the moment. Too afraid to hear him say it meant nothing at all.

But, as all things must, the moment ended anyway. No matter how much you wanted it to last and last and last.

Logan leaned back against the plush of the chair so he could look up at you. There was a soft smile on his face, like he’d finally seen the sunset he’d been waiting for. You blushed under his scrutiny.

“What?” You chuckle nervously.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Was his reply and you shook your head, knowing he didn’t really mean it. Why would he? How could he? You knew what you looked like.

“Stop it,” You were about to make some comment about how he wouldn’t be stupid or blind enough to mean that when you felt his hand move from your side to your cheek. The action paused whatever joke you were aiming to hide behind.

“No, you stop,” Logan said, almost sounding angry. But his hand on your face was gentle. “Everytime I try to love you, you shut me out, and yet you still stay here and let me do it… why?” 

“It’s easier to make jokes,” You said before you could stop yourself. “I mean, we’re friends, and you tease me sometimes, and…” Every excuse you normally told yourself, every way you’d phrased ‘of course he doesn’t want to love you’ to hurt yourself with, every joke you’d made to keep him at arms length, suddenly crumbled under the realization of what he’d said. 

“And?” Logan pressed, his hand returning to your thigh to mirror the other. You couldn’t look him in the eye, even sitting on his lap, his hands both rubbing soothing circles on your plush thighs, you weren’t sure you could face the real elephant in the room.

But something told you to face it anyway.

“And… I don’t know how to tell you I love you,” your voice was small in the dimly lit room. It wasn’t hard to pretend there was no one and nothing outside of that one old armchair you were both sharing. “I wish I did, but I just… don’t,” You added lamely. Your eyes darted up to his long enough to catch the way his entire face softened at your confession. 

“Sweetheart,” Logan’s voice was almost a moan. When you only stared at him, experiencing the horror of being perceived, he chuckled. “I want to kiss you now,” 

“You do?” You wanted to kick yourself in the head for even asking.

“Mhmm,” His hands tugged you closer, digging into the meat of your thighs just enough. You just nodded, knowing if you opened your mouth something else lame would fall out. With a smile, Logan closed the small distance between you and covered your mouth with his.

As your arms closed around him again, and the kiss deepened, you realized it didn’t really matter if you knew how to tell him you loved him. Because you could show him. In the way you teased him, in the way that you’d hold his hand after breakfast tomorrow, in the way that your face would always get warm when he looked at you too long.

In the way that you kissed him right here and right now and every day going forward if you could.

And he may have looked at you like you were the sunset he’d longed for, but the sun only ever sets so that it can rise again tomorrow. So you could always show him how much you loved him again tomorrow.

[Masterlist]

[Logan Masterlist]

Likes/comments/reblogs directly correlate to how much fanfiction/fanart you see ;)

[saiintvalentiine]

Summary: Ken walks into the aftermath of Parrot finding out Wifies is actually a clone. He should be given sainthood for how little he kills Parrot. Part 2 now out!

notes: this is so not edited lol i wrote this in like. 3 hours between tasks at work. rip. this is vaguely set in the most recent UU episode in that i needed a setting and also a reason for ken wifies and parrot to be in the same place at once. no spoilers for the episode its just alluded to being the setting. uhhhh. i think thats it. enjoy. divider from here.

word count for the curious: 2678. allegedly.

Ken arrives in the meeting room with a hop in his step. He’s been looking for Wifies everywhere, but Dean let him know that Wifies was talking with Parrot, and now Ken can finally show him the little tricky trap he’s been working on! He’s proud of himself. It’s a really good design! So he’s hopping into the room like a rabbit instead of a cat.

Parrot stands alone at the head of the table, back to the door. Just Parrot.

Bleh.

“Yo,” Ken greets even though he still feels the urge to whack Parrot across the head occasionally. “I thought Wifies was here?”

“Did you know?” Parrot asks.

Ken can feel every single part of his body prickle with discomfort. He’s glad that Parrot isn’t looking at him, so he has a chance to lower his shoulders, and tail, and ears. And attitude. He knows, somehow, what exactly Parrot means by knowing. Ken shuts the door silently.

“Know what?” Ken asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t play dumb Ken. Did you know about Wifies being a clone?”

Ken breathes in slowly. He pulls his comm out and checks the playerlist. Wifies is gone. He was here only a few minutes ago when Ken last checked, which means that whatever happened, just happened.

“Did he tell you that?” Ken asks, opening Wifies’s chat.

[_Kenadian_]: where are you?

“You know, I was so confused,” Parrot turns around, eyes distant and face blank. “When I first met him, he was such a fucking asshole. Entirely full of himself. Still the smartest guy I’d ever met, though, so when all this stuff started happening on the server, I couldn’t help but think of him. I thought I was gonna regret inviting him, yet he was so quiet and nice now.”

[_Kenadian_]: wifies

[_Kenadian_]: seriously where are you

“He was always reserved, even before, but all these little things started coming up— he couldn’t remember things well, he’d talk about weird things in his sleep, things like that. And I couldn’t even. . . I didn’t know how to piece it together, and he wouldn’t talk to me!”

[_Kenadian_]: wato

[Wato1876]: Hey!

[_Kenadian_]: have you heard from wifies

[Wato1876]: No?

[Wato1876]: Isn’t he on unstable w/ you right now?

[_Kenadian_]: he left and isnt answering my messages

[_Kenadian_]: parrot found out, idk how, and now wifies is /gone/

[Wato1876]: ok I’ll check around for him

[_Kenadian_]: thx

“Are you even listening?” Parrot asks, and Ken finally looks up at him. His expression is one of desperation. It disgusts Ken.

“No,” Ken says, voice bone dry. “You yelled at him didn’t you? God Parrot, and I was just starting to respect you.”

“He lied to me this whole time!” Parrot explodes, eyes wild as he leans his hand on the table. “From the start, he hid this from me, and I only found out by— by sheer coincidence! He was talking to someone on his comm, and said something about being a clone, and I just—”

“Wait, who was he talking to?” Ken interrupts with a frown.

“I— I don’t know, they had a deep voice, talked really particularly?”

“Must’ve been Retro. . . Retro knows?” Ken mutters to himself.

The shame Wifies stews in every day because of his clone status is something Ken hasn’t been able to push past; Wifies always says he owes his life to Ken, but rarely does he bother to share his burdens with him either. Which means at least Retro seems to be getting through to him. . . It stings a little, but Ken has bigger fish to fry.

“So you did know!”

“Parrot, why do you care!” Ken snaps, turning back to his comm and searching for Retro’s contact information. Shit. He should’ve nabbed it off of Wifies earlier. “You drove him off! He’s not your fucking problem now, shouldn’t you be happy?! There! You cleaned your friends list of liars! Aren’t you satisfied with your work?!”

“I just wanted to know the truth, I didn’t want to drive him off! He's not a problem to get rid of!”

“Well great fucking job, man, go kick rocks or something. Fuck, where did he go?!”

[Wato1876]: Found him. He’s at the factory.

[Wato1876]: Ken, his comm is cracked right in half. He’s stuck here again.

Ken feels everything in him rear like a lion. He closes his comm and tucks it into his pocket. Slowly, oh so slowly, he stalks around the table towards Parrot, holding the hilt of his sword in a loose grip. Parrot follows his path with his eyes, feathers puffing out and fists clenched.

“Did you break his comm, Parrot?” Ken asks casually.

“No,” Parrot replies.

“Parrot. Tell me the truth. Did you break Wifies’s comm? Even by mistake?” Ken’s gums ache. He’ll dig his teeth into Parrot’s thin throat. He’ll rip his flimsy little esophagus out.

“No, no. I didn’t. I didn’t touch him. I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know if you wouldn’t, Parrot, but I swear to everything you hold dear, if I find out it was you who broke his comm, you are going to wish I had just killed you instead,” Ken hisses out.

“His comm is broken?” Parrot echoes faintly, and it’s like gravity returns to his world, his feet landing back in reality.

“I don’t think you deserve an answer, Parrot, but yes.”

Ken tries to breathe through his anger. He’s going to believe Parrot for now.

[_Kenadian_]: ill be there soon

[Wato1876]: Bring a replacement comm?

“I was mad,” Parrot sounds wretched. “But not— I don’t care that he’s a clone Ken. I just felt like he didn’t trust me.”

Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder.

“I never trusted you, Parrot, not once, not for a single moment, but you made Wifies happy. I don’t know what he sees in you, but he was happy playing second fiddle to your stupid little orchestra on here, y’know? So I tried very hard to get along with you, so Wifies could stay happy,” Ken lets go of the hilt of his sword to press a sharp nail into Parrot’s chest. “You don’t understand the state I found him in before he came here, before you roped him into your stupid little games. He—”

Ken’s voice cracks and he curses, indistinct and abstract. He hates this. Leave it to Parrot to fuck everything up, just like Ken always knew he would with his lack of foresight and planning and brain. Parrot snaps up to grab Ken’s hand in a tight grip.

“Ken, I didn’t want him to leave me,” Parrot chokes out. “I just wanted to know, I just—”

“And look at where your wanting got him!” Ken spits out, yanking his hand away. “You want, and want, and want, Parrot do you even care what your wanting costs the rest of the world? What it costs Wifies?”

“He never says anything to me, he never—”

“Do you ever ask?! God Parrot, get out of your head for a minute!”

Ken runs a hand through his hair. Where is he gonna find a replacement comm? He might have something in one of the prison servers he frequents, but his head is scrambled, he can’t quite sort through his inventory in his head to figure out what he has right now. He may have one in his escape kits. . .

“Ken,” Parrot breathes. He finally realized what he’s done, it seems. Ken wants to stab him in the stomach. “Ken, I care about Wifies more than anyone else. You know that right? He knows that right?”

Ken pulls at his roots.

“I don’t know anything about Wifies right now,” Ken finally says, exhaustion creeping into him as his adrenaline runs dry. “I can’t contact him right now. He gets. . . bad, when it comes to the clone stuff. God, Parrot, what the hell have you done?”

Ken doesn’t wait for an answer. He leaves the server and lands in his solo world, scrambling around his storage before finding a dusty old comm he hasn’t used since he customized his current one. Landing near the factory is always a displeasure, but he pushes his feelings aside and enters. It takes a little searching, but he finds Wifies and Wato in the office, laid out on the floor next to each other.

“Wifies,” Ken says, more to say something than having anything to say, and he sits next to Wifies.

“Sorry for scaring you,” Wifies says. His voice is hoarse, and his eyes are bloodshot. “My comm broke. I dropped it while it was open, and I fell on it.”

“I brought you an old one I had laying around,” Ken says, bringing a hand up and running his fingers through Wifies’s curls slowly. Wifies closes his eyes. “What happened?”

Wifies doesn’t answer at first, just breathes evenly and relaxes each part of his body. He's so tense. Ken wishes he had killed Parrot.

“Parrot found out,” Wifies whispers. “I was talking to Retro. He’s been. . . helping me decipher some stuff from the notes. It was important. And I called him, and Parrot heard, and he was livid. That I hadn’t told him. That he couldn’t trust me. So I left.”

“He’s an asshole,” Wato says, and both Wifies and Ken turn to look at him in shock. “What?”

“Wato, there’s a reason why we’re such good friends,” Ken says with a grin. “Because I, too, believe Parrot is an absolute asshole.”

“You guys always knew, but I lied to him,” Wifies says. “I don’t know if he’s an asshole for being upset I didn’t tell him.”

“Yes he is,” Ken and Wato say together.

“There’s no reason to defend him out here,” Ken scolds, scratching Wifies’s scalp lightly.

“I don’t hate him, Ken,” Wifies lets out a deep, winding sigh before sitting up slowly. “Can I have the comm? I need to message Retro. Tell him everything’s okay.”

“Fine.”

Ken hands over the comm and Wifies thanks him faintly. As he boots it up and logs in, Wato sits up and gives Ken a look. Ken returns the look. Before they can descend upon Wifies and force him to talk about his feelings, the comm begins pinging wildly, messages flooding in and not stopping. Peeking over Wifies’s shoulder, Ken makes a disgusted expression at Parrot’s chat being at the top of Wifies’s DMs. Parrot is absolutely spamming Wifies’s inbox. Ken’s going to eat him for dinner.

“Ah,” Wifies says. He then proceeds to ignore Parrot to text Retro. Good. Fuck that guy.

“What does he want?” Ken asks, not because he really cares but because if Parrot pisses him off again, he can justify going at him with an axe.

“Maybe. . . Maybe not right now,” Wifies’s voice is weak.

The messages roll to a stop. Good! And then Ken’s comm starts ringing off like shots. Goddamn it. Ken pulls out his comm. It is Parrot. Awful. Now Wifies and Wato move to peek over his shoulder as his inbox becomes utterly unusable.

[Parrotx2]: Ken

[Parrotx2]: I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: not to you

[Parrotx2]: well I can be sorry to you too but I’m sorry that I reacted like that to Wifies

[Parrotx2]: and I just need him to know that I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: and I know you hate my guts

[Parrotx2]: but you said he was happy right? I made him happy

[Parrotx2]: I don’t think I’ve ever made someone happy by just existing

[Parrotx2]: cause fuck, it’s not like I’ve done anything for him

[Parrotx2]: Ken what the fuck did I do

[Parrotx2]: please just let him know I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: and that I didn’t mean to blow up

[Parrotx2]: you’d think I’d be used to betrayal but with him, it felt so much worse than betrayal

[Parrotx2]: like I had failed to be trustworthy

[Parrotx2]: the reveal was a lot, but I felt more hurt than disgusted or scared

[Parrotx2]: I don’t care if he’s a clone

[Parrotx2]: I mean I care if he wants me to care. I want him to want me to care about him.

[Parrotx2]: I care about him in general

[Parrotx2]: plus whoever the guy before him was was a bitch

[Parrotx2]: he’s like so much better in a million ways

[Parrotx2]: not the point

[Parrotx2]: the point is my caring of him is not reliant on his clone status

[Parrotx2]: I can tell he’s got a comm now cause my messages are showing up as received

[Parrotx2]: does he hate me now?

[Parrotx2]: he has every right

[Parrotx2]: I can’t even pretend that he shouldn’t hate me

[Parrotx2]: Ken I don’t want him to hate me

[Parrotx2]: I don’t know if I can live with that

[Parrotx2]: I fucked up so badly

[Parrotx2]: the worst part is I trust him

[Parrotx2]: I made this whole fuss about trust and I still trust him

[Parrotx2]: of course I do, he’s the single most trustworthy person I’ve ever met

[Parrotx2]: I’ve slept in the same room as him for months and I never even worried

[Parrotx2]: he could’ve left or betrayed me or killed me literally at any point

[Parrotx2]: and he never did! even if it would’ve made his life easier

[Parrotx2]: what the fuck was I thinking?

“Ugh. Do you wanna talk to him right now?” Ken asks, turning his head towards Wifies. He gets a face full of sweet smelling curly hair.

“. . . I don’t know,” Wifies says, resting his chin snuggly onto Ken’s shoulder.

[_Kenadian_]: can you shut up. jesus.

[Parrotx2]: sorry

[_Kenadian_]: yes he has a comm now

[_Kenadian_]: he’ll talk to you when he talks to you

[_Kenadian_]: you made him cry yknow

“Ken!” Wifies hisses, cheek warming up where it’s now pressed to the side of Ken’s throat. “Why did you tell him that?”

[Parrotx2]: fuck I’m sorry

[_Kenadian_]: yeah he knows

[_Kenadian_]: just

[_Kenadian_]: give him some space

[_Kenadian_]: also dont text me like that whats wrong with you

[_Kenadian_]: i want you so dead its not even funny

[_Kenadian_]: this is the SECOND time you make him cry

“Ken!!”

[Parrotx2]: I

[Parrotx2]: what?

[_Kenadian_]: wouldnt you like to know bird boy

[Parrotx2]: why would you tell me that

[_Kenadian_]: you need to understand the consequences of what you do

[_Kenadian_]: wifies never lets you see but i do and i think you should writhe

[_Kenadian_]: you care so much? lets see.

[_Kenadian_]: writhe bird boy writhe

“That’s mean,” Wifies says as Ken closes his comm, but he doesn’t move a single muscle.

“You should’ve made it worse,” Wato says. “Should’ve told him Wifies was comatose or something.”

“Jeez, since when are you so vicious?” Wifies asks, but Ken is almost certain he and Wato are holding hands behind Ken’s back.

“I approve,” Ken says, bumping his head into Wato’s lightly. “Anyway, take as long as you want to ignore Parrot. Forever, even. I’d also approve of forever.”

Wato hums in agreement. Wifies sighs again, much lighter than before.

“Just a little while,” he says to Ken’s vast displeasure. “Just until I can stomach it. I shouldn’t have run away.”

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want, actually. Forever.”

Wifies giggles, and Ken finally feels himself relax a little. If Wifies is laughing, then it’ll be okay. He still feels anger pulsing within him like a second heartbeat, but it softens when Wifies bumps the top of his head into Ken's cheek. Not gone, never gone, but quietened enough to let Wifies speak for himself.

Ken trusts Wifies despite his own opinion. So he'll keep true and hold Wifies close no matter what.

“We still gotta talk about your feelings,” Wato says, and Wifies whines, trying to hide his face further into Ken's shoulder. 

“It's so embarrassing,” he murmurs.

“I'd be embarrassed too if I cried over Parrot of all people,” Ken deadpans. 

Wifies groans. Ken won't let him get away this time.

[catsfor2]

hit me, part 2

wc: 2.5k, largely unedited warnings: swearing/language, talk of homophobia, physical injury a/n: omg hey. this part takes place directly after part 1. things are starting to happen...!also idk shit about shit so don't come at me for the medical stuff if its wrong :) tags: @elliewilliamsmunch@intrnetdoll@me-and-your-husbandur-husband@3zae-zae3@milahnoz@elliescumm@dragonasflowercrown

part 1

part 1.5

"So...where are we going?"

"It's a clearing. In the woods." Ellie's hands lazily slide around the steering wheel as she speaks. You could daydream while staring at Ellie for hours. It's relaxing to watch her drive.

"Hm. Are you gonna...kill me there? Or something?" You joke.

"Still deciding."

"Oh my—are you seriously still mad?"

She says nothing, pretending to be engaged with driving.

You let out an irked breath.

"Okay—Ellie, I'm sorry. I was wasted out of my mind. And you look really different. Like, not just in your face. Everywhere is different." You confess, fiddling with the stickers peeling off of her dashboard.

"So do you. I still managed to fuckin' figure it out."

"I—I think I almost did? I remember looking at you and feeling really—confused, mostly. I didn't understand why I liked this stranger so much." You say, vaguely remembering how clingy and overt you acted last night.

"You were confused? I was fucking confused," her head swivels to yours. "a lesbian? That's what you are now?"

"Don't—don't say it like that. I came out like everyone else. You just weren't there to hear it."

Ellie lets out a choked laugh.

"Oh, Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"I wrote you and called you for fucking months. Nothing. A letter a fucking day. Are you listening? Do you know how many letters that is?"

You stay silent. Your hands ball up where they rest on your lap.

"Fuckin' say something! I even asked Dina for your number but you cut her off too! Is there a reason you basically fucking died?"

"I wasn't home, Ellie."

She stills, her shoulders relaxing a touch. She adjusts back towards the road before clearing her throat.

"At...at sixteen? What happened?"

You recall you, sixteen, sobbing and frantic. Tearing apart the letter Ellie wrote to tell you that she left. Wondering why it felt more like a breakup then your actual one did. Cursing yourself over and over and over again for only being sixteen. Your parents cursing Ellie for corrupting you.

"I feel like you can connect the dots." Your voice is just barely loud enough to hear over the droning tone of the car. The only focus you had at this point was trying not to cry in front of Ellie.

"Oh, fuck, y/n. I'm—I'm sorry. Did those fuckers kick you out?"

"No," you sigh. "I just knew I had leave. They're...crazy. I don't know. I'm fine now."

Her knuckles flex and tense over the steering wheel. Her teeth start to bite at her lips. There's a couple more seconds of quiet before she speaks up.

"I wish I would've been there."

You pause, not totally expecting what she said.

"Yeah," you breathe, gazing at the side of her head. "I wished that too."

And that wasn't a lie. Your family instilled a lot on you, mostly turning you away from religion. But then? You were desperate. Painfully, achingly desperate. And completely alone. After you left home, you prayed every single night. A genuine prayer, on your knees and everything. You even bought a $1.50 pocket bible from goodwill. All to aide in your bedtime routine of begging God to make Ellie come back.

She never did. You've been an atheist ever since. You weren't sure if her being here now changed anything.

The silence marinates for a short while longer until you feel the rocky texture of a gravel road beneath the car.

"We're here," Ellie states, throwing the gear in park. She takes a glance at your feet. "and you should've worn better shoes. We have walking to do."

You both hop out of the car.

"Like you couldn't have told me before we left?" You scoff.

"It's more fun to fuck with you later. C'mon," she grabs your hand, tightly clutching it in hers. "there's coyotes and shit around here. Don't be fuckin' stupid and stay close."

You try to will the warmth away from your cheeks. You've never held Ellie's hand before. Even if this doesn't really count as holding.

"Yeah, got it." You force out.

She leads you into the trees, hand warmly on yours, briskly following a mental path she's clearly walked many times.

"I almost got arrested over here," She sighs, far too casually.

"What?!"

"Damn—I said almost, chill." She assures, laughing at your shock.

You lightly slap her shoulder.

"I don't care! Almost getting arrested is still crazy!" You chide, eyes wide and judgmental.

Ellie's always been pretty...rebellious, but a part of you always thought that she'd be smart enough to avoid anything truly consequential. I guess she still is, you think.

"Lemme explain, ok. I was high as fuck, minding my business, when I saw some kids shootin'—a wolf, I think? Maybe a coyote—I saw them just...fuckin' up this poor thing with a—a BB gun."

"Oh my god..." You say, "What did you do?"

"I didn't do shit at first—I thought they'd stop. But they were like—about to kill this thing, I swear to God. So, I...ha..." Her face breaks into a wide smile. "you're not gonna like this,"

"...What. Not gonna like what."

"I pulled my gun on 'em."

"Ellie!"

"It wasn't even loaded, y'know I like to have it with me just in case..."

"They're kids!—"

"Asshole kids. Ok? And it fuckin' worked so—"

"I thought you said you almost got arrested?"

"Jesus—I did. You keep interrupting me—"

"Sorry." You quip, also realizing you just interrupted her with your apology.

"It's—it's fine. Anyway, those fucks called the cops on me after they ran. I found out cause the fuckin' pigs stopped me and asked if I'd seen an 'armed gunman in the area,'" She says, imitating a deep 'cop' voice. "dumbasses had no clue it was me."

You watch as she laughs, amused at her own story. Suddenly, your foot gets caught under a thick root and your arms fly out in an instant.

Ellie's hands hit your shoulders, grasping them upright, causing you to sharply crash into her chest.

"Oh—shit, sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going." You gasp out, trying to regain your balance while loosening your grip on Ellie's coat.

"No, it's those fuckin' shoes," she rebukes, hands still resting on your shoulders. She immediately takes them off you when she notices. "we're almost there anyway. Try not to kill yourself before then."

Your hand burns at your side, palm itching. Is she going to grab it again?

"Where's 'there'?" You ask, glancing around at the wall of trees and shrubbery encircling you both.

"You'll see. Just stay close." She repeats like before, clutching your hand once again.

You tighten your grip, wanting to show Ellie you're listening.

"Good. Let's move."

The two of you walk for about a mile or so more, before the view steals your eyes and you both freeze.

"Oh—wow, Ellie. This is really pretty," you breathe, entranced by the piercingly vibrant colors and towering mountainous structures.

Her head is turned toward you, taking in your reaction to the sight, instead of the sight itself.

She's must've seen it so many times, you think.

"Yeah, you like it? I knew you would." She tells you, unable to keep the satisfied grin from her face.

"Shut up. I'm still mad you didn't even let me get ready this morning."

"There's nobody here. Who're you fuckin' getting ready for?" She barks, arms wide and gesturing.

I still wanted to get ready for you, Ellie. But obviously you don't say that.

"Whatever. You just did it to be a dick." You mutter, plopping yourself down onto the boulder in front of you.

"Yeah, I did. It's funny when you're mad. You're like a cat." She laughs, sitting down next to you.

"That's toxic. You shouldn't make people mad just cause you find it funny." You chide, crossing your legs over the rock.

"Guess I'm toxic, then." She sighs, carelessly throwing pebbles at your head.

"Was that the plan? Sit on a rock and be mean to me?"

"Truly adorable that you think this is mean—"

"Well it's not nice, that's for sure." You huff.

Ellie shifts so that her body faces yours. Her legs spread out wide, elbows comfortably resting on her thighs.

"I don't think you want me to be nice to you."

Your mouth parts open in surprise, eyes now burning into Ellie's.

"Well that's a lie. I'd love for you to be nice—"

"I think you like when I'm mean to you. I think you...prefer it, actually." She juts, a confident smile forming.

"Yeah, and who told you that, Dina?" You question, crossing your arms as a breeze starts to make you shiver.

"Nobody told me anything." her head quirks to the side. "I can just tell."

It was difficult to keep your composure. There were some things Ellie seemed to know about you that you didn't even know yourself. It was terrifying, embarrassing, and flattering all at once. Your face feels like its melting. You stay silent.

"Oh—am I right? I've totally got you, haven't I?" She asks, enjoying fully the power she seems to have over you and your emotions.

"No." You bite, unwilling to try and say anything else.

You hated how often Ellie was right.

She takes a ball of black fabric from her pocket, tossing it in your lap. It's a hat.

"Put it on. It's cold."

A swarm of bats fly over the both of you, chaotic and eruptive.

"It's gonna be dark, Ellie."

"I know, I know. I was, uh—saving the best for last." She quips, hopping off of the rock to stand in front of you.

It felt kind of awkward this way, Ellie fully standing while you sat. You had to look straight up to meet her eyes. It put your head in whirl.

"What, the tattoo? I saw that already."

"No. Something else," She grabs your hand and places it on the bottom hem of her top. Your heart beats a little faster.

"Lift up my shirt."

Your eyes widen as your hand fidgets. You wait for her to keep talking. She doesn't.

"Um...like all the way?" You struggle to find words. "Or—"

"Lift up," her hand grasps yours, guiding it up. "my shirt."

Fabric shifts and the pale flesh of her abdomen comes into view. Her belly is lean—all hard edges and dense muscle. What catches your eye is the long, winding, angry scar tracing along her hip.

Your brain goes into overdrive.

Traumatic injury, surgery needed... most likely...flexor or... IT band tendonitis? Maybe, what, Bursitis? Something...invasive—a tear? Labral tear? Iliopsoas tear? What the fuck was she doing?

"Street fighting." She states. "It's my job."

Your face is blank. You shakily stand.

"Uhhh—you, you better be fucking with me, Ellie." You stutter out. Unconsciously, you move to trace your finger along the scar, feeling the warped, healed skin. "I mean this is...this is serious. This is...surgery."

"Don't I fuckin' know it," she moves her shirt back down, covering the scar. "took me out of the ring for like, eight weeks."

"Jesus—Jesus Christ. How long have you been doing this!?"

"Not much longer than you've been in school, really."

"So, not long. Is what you're saying." your fingers rake through your hair. "This is...this is fucking crazy."

"It's not that—"

"Dina's okay with this? Really. I really don't see how she could be okay with this, like, at all." You argue, cutting her off.

"She wasn't. I had to convince her."

"And how often do you go to the doctor? Once a week? Or do you pretend like you know how to patch yourself up?"

Her face slightly reddens.

"I—I learned how to do it myself. I know how."

"Oh sure. Did you google it? I'm sure google will save you from a life threatening injury."

"Ok, most of them are not 'life threatening'—"

"You don't know that! Not certainly, at least! Not certain enough to be safe!" You exclaim, voice full of anger, but mostly, fear.

She places a hand on your shoulder, gripping it tightly. She doesn't talk until you meet her eyes.

"Hey. I am fine. The hip thing was a fluke. Honest. Most of the time nothing fuckin' happens." She assures, her other hand rubbing up and down your arm. You must've looked more upset than you'd realized.

"Ok."

"Just, 'ok'? Are we...good now?" Ellie asks, blue eyes still deeply connected to yours.

"Um...yeah..." You say, partly hesitating. Ellie watches you closely.

"I wanna go with you."

Her face lights up in...shock?, you think, a pleased grin shaping her mouth.

"What—really?"

"If you really want to do...this," you bite your lip. "being there is what would make me feel...better...about it."

"Yeah? That's...I mean, I think that's great," She says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "my own cheerleader."

You step backwards, letting Ellie's hands slide away from your body.

"No, not a cheerleader. A fucking medic. So I'm not sitting home worried about you—dying. I can just be there to help if stuff goes wrong."

"I'm happy either way, princess." She gleams.

As the sun sets, it gets harder to make out the shape of her face. The woods are also quieter, amplifying the subtle sounds of you and Ellie. You wonder about the details of your plan.

"Do I have to pay to get in? How does this...work?"

"No, you're set. Pretty girls get in free—it's a club rule. Y'know, good for business and everything."

You thank the sky for it's darkness, as Ellie is unable to see the rosy hue reaching your cheeks.

"Oh. Okay...good to know."

Ellie steps up, and now familiarly, encloses your hand in hers.

"C'mon. It's too fuckin' dark to stay any longer."

You walk out of the clearing, back into the dense foliage of where you came. Your grip tightens.

"So...have you had girlfriend?" Ellie blurts.

"Um, weird question, but," you look away. "no."

"Just...trying to gauge how good of a lesbian you are. Pretty bad, it seems."

"Oh, fuck off. I've been focusing on...school." You retort, fully knowing how lame it sounds.

If you were being honest, it was just nerves. You didn't have to try for a boyfriend, he basically wouldn't even take 'no' for an answer. But with girls? It was like you froze.

"Hey I'd give you some tips but...I don't think they'd really...apply for you, y'know?"

"No, I don't know. Explain it." You demand.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm trying think of a way where it makes...sense. And won't make you mad."

"I won't get mad Ellie. Just say it." You encourage, now more curious than anything.

She stops walking and turns to you.

"Well, it's like...the roles. The roles you can have."

"What...roles...?"

She huffs a laugh before continuing, and positions her hand to point to herself.

"I'm the type that flusters the girl. The...fluster-er, right?"

She walks forwards, getting so close that you can smell the scents of the forest soaked up in her clothing.

"And you," She says, her finger poking your collarbone. "...are the girl that...is flustered. It's a...a dynamic, yeah?"

Your skin heats and all you can do is gaze at Ellie, who's completely enthused with this discussion. She stays quiet, watching your face intently, despite it being so dark.

"You're making stuff up again. I don't even—I don't even know why I let you talk." You utter.

"See? You're doing it already! It's the fuckin' dynamic princess—you know I'm never wrong." She gushes, pinching at your checks and making them even redder.

"This so stupid. And don't call me that."

It was like the world stopped. As soon as you said it, you could see Ellie's brain distinctly remembering you, in that whiny drunken voice, begging. You won't ever forget it. And neither will Ellie, for completely different reasons.

You knew exactly what she was going to say, so you try and stop her.

"Don't. I don't care what I did yesterday. Just—don't."

She sighs, clearly dropping it. Thank god. Her teeth bite the inside of her cheek.

"Whatever you say, princess."

You don't even acknowledge it, just rolling your eyes as you walk ahead. Stray branches brush over your legs and thighs, feeling like gentle scratches. You slow a bit, waiting for Ellie to join you.

And hold your hand again.

Stepping ahead of you to lead, Ellie does just that. The warmth makes you smile, and you let it own your face, bright and wide. You didn't care. It was dark enough.

"Alright. Stay close."

"I know, Ellie."

[soracities]

how do you know when you're getting good at poetry? everybody dunks on halsey and rupi kaur's poetry, and i never really got why and idk if that's what i sound like

Honestly, I don't think there's ever a point at which you "know" you're getting good at poetry--I think "good" and "bad" are kind of vague and amorphous (and distracting) categories that don't do much in helping us understand the feel and impact of certain writing, chiefly because they can also be deeply subjective. How a poet views a particular work and how a reader views it will be very, very different because their relationship to the work is different. I also think "good" is a sort of external category that does not (or should not) carry into the act of writing itself--when you make "is this good?" the chief consideration as you write, you're not actually present in the writing: you're focused on the finished product, not the process, but the process is the most important thing: that's where the poem actually meets you. I think growth, in writing, is less about knowing if you're "good" in this regard, and more about being able to have confidence, or simply just trust, in the writing as it happens.

There's a famous saying somewhere that a work of literature is never "finished"--it just stops. I think skill, when it comes to writing, lies in recognising where this point is, in learning and developing how you navigate what it is you want to say, and how you say it. Some poems, eventually, reach a point where you can take them no further and you know there is nothing more to be said in them or through them. Some poems reach a point where you can take them no further, but there is still something left to be said in them. Those poems get revisited, worked, and reworked again, until they (maybe) get close to the first category: this may mean you work on them for a few weeks, or for years--but either way you are prioritizing the process of making the poem, not how it will be received. "Is this a good poem?" in my view at least, is not really the relevant question--what's relevant is "is this true to what I wanted to say?" Leonard Cohen famously wrote over 100 drafts of "Hallelujah"--I don't know if the central question for him here was just a matter of his skills as a songwriter.

Regarding Halsey and Rupi Kaur, I've only been able to read Halsey's poems through previews on Google Books so I don't know what other people's critiques are--based on what I saw, though, I don't know if it makes sense to criticize their quality as "poems" when she is primarily a songwriter and a lot of those poems wound up as songs. I'm more familiar with Rupi Kaur's writing, though, and others like her (Atticus, Michael Faudet etc), and while I have a personal policy of not getting into Kaur online (there's an ask here which is about as much as I'm willing to say regarding my feelings on her writing)--I can get into this trend or poetry "style" as a whole. And to be honest I think the chief issue here with poetry like this is that poetry, by definition, involves a deep and intimate relationship with language: this holds true regardless of whether the poem is simple, or complex, whether it's 5 lines long or goes on for 50 pages. As I said in that previous ask, it's not something you can reduce to a formula, nor is it a matter of mere reportage or a collection of statements: what makes a poem has nothing to do with line breaks (prose poems exist), but everything to do with how the language moves, how the language of a poem engages with its own content, with itself, and, as a result, with the reader.

The kind of work that proliferates on Instagram does not have that kind of engagement with language--they are, to me, pieces of information more than anything else. They reduce language to a series of stock phrases that act, not as actual words, but as images (and I don't mean this in a visually evocative way). It tries to evoke something that requires a thoughtful and sustained examination in order to be expressed, by surpassing the reality of what that examination actually requires. It tries to ape the effect of a powerful poem without the work that goes into actually being able to make that kind of a poem in the first place: and that work is a sustained encounter and confrontation with the language used and its relationship to what it tries to convey, in understanding that words are not interchangeable blocks you move around willy-nilly but that they have weight and intention, that they interact with each other to build up an idea or a feeling or a landscape in the most accessible way (insofar as language can make anything accessible, at least). But this is rarely, if ever, felt in IG poetry because it refuses to recognize or respect the demands and requirements of the medium it uses.

And because it is lacking in this engagement and recognition, these poems are also, for the most part, lacking sincerity--and this, to me, is one of the most crucial things when it comes to writing. I recall one IG poet whose work was in the same class as someone like Atticus, but I also recall one of his poems which genuinely moved me--and it moved me because, unlike everything else on his account, that poem felt sincere: the structure and the language wasn't any different to anything else he wrote, but in reading it, it was not a question for me of whether it was "bad" or "good"--what made the impact was that it was honest: and the difference showed. You can't come into a poem with ulterior motives. You can't come into it without an understanding, or respect, for the language you use. I'm absolutely not policing what people should or shouldn't read, and I'm not saying people are wrong for liking these poems, either, or that Halsey, Kaur, Atticus et al., are wrong for writing them. Expression is expression, and what speaks to you speaks to you. And to be honest, it is a different kettle of fish when you are writing something purely for yourself (and I think allowing yourself to partake in any kind of artform, without worrying about needing to be good at it, is deeply important for the human spirit)--but because they are putting their work out publicly, if we are going to be evaluating what they write and how they write it, that evaluation has to be rooted in an understanding of the art form they intend their work to be a part of.

For me, these are the main issues I have with these writers and their work and why I just do not like them. But I also want to stress that, ultimately, what you sound like in your own poems, anon, does not matter as much as being sincere to yourself does. As I said, I don' like using terms like "good" and "bad" and I think that often they're fairly reductive (and sometimes outright pointless) categories to use when we talk about and assess poetry--more than anything else, the key to building a robust and informed discernment when it comes to poems is to simply just read--read a lot of it and read widely. The broader and richer your repository of poetry (and literature in general) is, the more informed you are when it comes to all the different ways language can move through a poem, and all the different impacts it can have as a result. It deepens and enriches your understanding of all the different ways of looking at something, questioning something, expressing something. Your vocabularly grows and deepens; your net of associations--visual, linguistic etc--strengthens. And when this understanding grows you are able to place the things you read into a much wider and far more informed context. And this in turn allows you to grow as a reader and a writer. I hope this helps you a little, anon 💕

[the-dragon-girl-27]

Remember those other 3 times I turned sekai characters into dinos (L/N MMJ VBS) I'm back with more of that crap i know Wanshow fans just looove their AUs so maybe this will appeal to a whole 3 people instead of 2 people this time

explanation for my picks below the cut

Tsukasa is a Styracosaurus because I made Saki a Stellosaurus which is another ceratopsian and also its frill is like vaguely star shaped kinda sorta not really

I don't have much to say about him so can i just mention how awful that Stellasaurus drawing is.

Yeah only recently did i start figuring out how the fuck to draw decent ceratopsians I am so sorry (the struggle is real i almost accidentally gave tsukasa 2 left feet here i swear i know what i'm doing)

I should redo that Saki at some point, girl deserves so much better than that wonkey crap. speaking of ceratopsians i opted out of giving him protofeathers unlike Saki idk they just didn't look right on him you can kinda go either way with most ceratopsians so i just do it when the vibe fits and don't when the vibe doesn't fit

Rui is a Troodon because Troodons are often associated with intelligence because they have the biggest brain to skull ratio of any dino, there's kinda no real way to know how intelligent dinos were but troodon just has the reputation of the smart dinosaur and people often depict them using tools like how crows do and that's like kinda like how rui does robot stuff, he also just fits the raptor shape sorta i feel like raptors have that sorta look to them that is like a similar vibe to the one Rui has, even tho Rui is the tallest character in sekai I feel like he's a mid sized dinosaur, does that make sense? no, but it does to me and i make the rules he's also 100% a feathered dino so it fits

Speaking of Troodon all you 2 paleo nerds reading this are getting war flashbacks from the name Troodon because Troodon itself has a interesting history of being a "wastebasket taxon" which is nerd talk for "scientists just threw a bunch of vaguely similar animals into this one category and didn't consider that maybe this was like 5 different animals and what would be the long term consequences of doing that" yes this is a thing that has happened enough times that there is a word for it

that shit still as of now isn't sorted out I don't think, I at least based my Troodon off the big one from Alaska that literally does not have a fucking name and is just like "the Alaska Troodon". I feel like the size fits and imma be real its the Troodon you see everywhere in media these days because its big and cool and it lived with Pachyrhinosaurus and Nanuqsaurus and also people like it cuz drawing dinosaurs in the snow is fucking awesome (boom i just tricked you into learning paleontology history)

Emu is an Archeopteryx because Emu is supposed to be like a phoenix and Archeopteryx could probably fly or glide or smth it's general considered like "the first bird" so like yeah (now that i think about it i could've made her pyroraptor cuz of the name but also she doesn't fit the vibes of a raptor at all i guess pyroraptor has the whole fire bird thing from its name) Emu would also be a small feathered dinosaur for sure so it fits in that sense too.

Nene is a Stegosaurus because the plates kinda look like her hair thing and her outfit in general and i feel like nene would have those tail spikes for some reason idk it just fits her energy, she'd def be a herbivore as well i feel. Also i personally just associate stegosaurus with the color green personally idk why (at first i was thinking she would be iguanodon because that's another dinosaur that's green in my head but she has like nothing in common with iguanodon lmao)

I guess nenerobo would be an Ankylosaurus than because that would like probably be the logical robot version of a stegosaurus maybe idk would nenerobo exist in this universe, you decide idk

i guess next one is that last one unless i wanna redo the vocaloids in this style or redraw saki at some point or whatever see you whenever that happens in however long it takes

[ganondoodle]

you know, i had a totk thought (uh oh)

soemthign thats really bothering me about the whole "actually, ganondorf didnt like the guy appearing out of nowhere marrying a hylian and just saying yep das our kingdom now and we can mine it barren under your nose and also i got laserbeam pebbles that i totally wont ever use on anyone come join me or die just bc of all of that but mainly bc the guy brought some weird tech with him that he dont like" - thing is that ......... we see almost not a single tech thing in the past (and for that matter see nothing of the oh so perfect and peaceful paradise hyrule was before big evil desert man didnt want to join our paradise- like what is the point about making the whole point of the game be -we need to restore hyrule to this paradise it once was- when you dont even see it or get to care about anything of it)

it might sound like a weird hangup but no really, the most we see is like two servant constructs, thats it, when they 'prepare for war' im pretty sure all you see is some lightly dressed ( ... is it just me or does their whole get up look alot like native american/other indingenous people too ... i still dont know how to feel about that- kinda adjacent to some of the sonau armor, the battery one i think??, also having that look...) hylians with spears, where the heck is all that tech?? is it implied to be all down in the mines hollowing out the underground (for no real reason either bc .... theres only two sonau left and no one else seems to want use nor need the tech otherwise there should have been more traces or soemthing left of it -unless it all just magically appeared out of nowhere in mostly prime condition while all shiekah tech jsut vaporized for bs non reasons just for it to be in tha game but oh dont you see its always been there lmao- so whats the point really????)

or up in the sky as most battle constructs are and they cant get them down in time bc *gestures vaguely*

or is it intentionally kept out of view bc idk seeing an army of robots on raurus side he can send out on a whim might not make him look as oh so good and perfect as they want him to look when he already got laserbeam pebbles (most of which hes been hoarding until ONE falls into hands not under his control) ?? like it just ... feels weird?? so many battle constructs that can even be a threat to link are jsut fully functioning strolling around in the present still, why wouldnt you want to use any of them to battle gan and if they DID why wouldnt you show that (no the 3 second unicorn cutscene doesnt count bc its just .. gan and his monsters isnt it) ?? (also ... why isnt there a big like battle ground , like fine you dont have to animate an army of monsters and robots clashing but... wouldnt it be cool to have you discover a giant flat plain in the underground (that magically got put under ground like gan just decided to stroll down there to get sealed lol) and its the only mostly empty field in the game littered with thousands of monster bones and dead constructs intermingled?? just to give it all a bit of weight?? evidence that it happened?? cool ass discovery????)

(also also i cannot let go of ganondorf apparently being sooooo anti tech but then clamgan uses the shiekah stuff??? shouldnt he also be against that then or is that suddendly fine bc- oh woops sorry, forgot clamgan is actually just something, not connected to gan at all actually, i mean why else would miasma turn into malice only to turn into miasma again haha none of that is connected actually what is a calamity anyway? also im sorry to bring this up again but i just cannot let go of the ppl in the present being so obsessed with using sonau tech in every part of their life now- they just lived through an apocalypse of a barely understood strange tech but CLEARLY this other even less understood strang tech is not dangerous at all lets make CARS OUT OF IT and what theres no danger in miasma and that tech existing at the same time LIKE SOMETHING ELSE BEFORE THAT IDK SEEMS LIKE A BAD COMBO--- oh sorry forgot that ceased to exist in both the world and peoples minds for *gestures vaguely* plot reasons- why why why are monsters mining the sonanium?? they dont even work with the yiga no that is also completely disconnected we dont wanna draw and interesting connections after all- whats the point if it means nothing but to be a loot box for the player-- actually, so much of totk is just a so built around throwing you into a box of toys with no substance to it- listen i know games are kinda like toys but if it doesnt make sense and offers you nothing interesting to think about even slightly whAT IS THE POINT)

[the-inheritance-games]

SPOILERS!!!! 3s THEORY

I'm actually very proud of this theory rn and feel like a hawthorne for thinking of this, like I might actually be on to something here

Ok so I had a thought and its stuck in my mind

So we all know that Odette said some vague and confusing thing about “ There are always three”

And I think I have a good theory as to what it means

That being, I think that this phrase is a play on or nod to some of these other common sayings about threes

“Everything comes in threes”

“Bad things come in three” /“Good things come in threes”

“Death comes in threes”

Or “Omne trium perfectum” which means “everything that comes in threes is perfect” in Latin

These are all common saying about things happening in threes or what threes means

And I specifically think that Odette meant something about good/bad or life/death events happening in 3s

Or even about beginning/ending events happening (bc we all know she knows about Alphas and Omegas beginning and end)

I think this BECAUSE if you look back at where Odette says this you'll see that she says this in RESPONSE to grayson saying “she DIED before I was BORN”

Grayson says his grandmother DIED BEFORE he was BORN and demands she EXPLAIN

He obv meant explain how is it possible for Alice to be the “A hawthorne did this” culprit but he doesnt specify explain what he just says explain and Odette probably choose to interpret that vaguely and gave an answer that “explains” or simplifies the reasons why Alice “died” and Graysons was “born” and says “there are always three”

Like she's saying “well everything comes in threes”/ “life and death happen in threes” that's the karmic reasoning why she “died” and you were born

And so obv Alices death and Grays birth are 2 life/death events and the third (or really FIRST) event would have been Tobys “death”

Which his death would also be the catalyst for both Alice’s death and Graysons birth

Bc Grayson would have never been born is Skye wasn't grieving her brother and although now we know Alice didnt die of grief id still say its safe to assume whatever happened was triggered by the loss of her son.

So the “thee” that Odette is referring to is Toby “died”, Alice “died”, Grayson is born

Everything comes in threes

But while I think this is what Odette meant when she choose to say this in response to Graysons demands for her to explain things I don't think that this is all that this phrase “There is always three” means, it has broader implications and could probably mean a lot of things

Its a vague and versatile phrase that Odette has heard many times, maybe as a warning. But there is definitely more to it, if I am right or heading in the right direction with my theory, then it could mean a lot of things and be important later on.

Also one last thing

I find it interesting how one of the common phrases “Omne trium perfectum” means everything that comes in threes is perfect and if my theory is correct then this would make GRAYSON one of the “things that comes in threes” and how in this phrase that would make him “perfect”

And we all know that he was the grandson who was GROOMED to be “perfect”

Could this be the reason that HE was “the chosen one”?

Was he the one Tobias choose bc he was part of the things that came in threes and has that karmical connection to Alice?

Idk but, its all very intriguing to me, and I can see so much potential and foreshadowing withing this little phrase that JLB very specifically used

[iamnmbr3]

Cursed Child rant? as a treat? 👉👈

Oh god. Where to even start. Listen, I know some people enjoy CC and I say more power to you. I'm not here to be the fun police and say what people can and can't like or write fic about or derive meaning from or whatever. But for me, personally, Cursed Child is an absolute mess of the worst kind that irritates me on a profound level.

First off, it's completely inconsistent with the canon characterizations and established rules of world building (and JKR didn't even do that much world building so there wasn't that much to keep track of and yet, they couldn't even bother to do that). I mean, Cedric, who tried to give the Triwizard Cup to Harry doesn't win and that somehow causes him to become a Death Eater??? Huh? It's not just ooc. It's bad storytelling. I mean, even if he was a hugely sore loser why would losing a tournament cause him to join an extremist blood purist paramilitary group? That has nothing to do with him losing. It's stupid and childish and nonsensical and SO bad.

And really? That's the best you can come up with? If the point of that whole thing was the tired trope of 'time travel goes wrong and makes things worse' they could've just had the gang expose Crouch earlier but instead of Voldemort not returning he just ends up returning but not using Harry's blood which allows him to do his original plan of growing his power in secret. And idk. Maybe then he takes over and he kills Harry and Harry doesn't come back. I didn't even put any effort into that. It's a bit dumb and inelegant but it gets the job done without wild character assassination and a lack of logic so profound it would insult the reasoning abilities of a fungus.

But ok, let's judge it as its own vaguely Harry Potter inspired thing rather than as an actual sequel to the canon series. You know what the result is? IT'S STILL BAD. It's just. SO BAD. I don't understand how it's a real thing.

It's like a parody of a bad play. It can't possibly be real. Harry suddenly has a phobia of pigeons? Why??? It's so...stupid. And I'm supposed to take that seriously? What? And the dialogue. The dialogue. "Bad" doesn't even cover it. The fact that "Wow. Squeak. My geekness is a-quivering" is a real actual line in the actual play causes me physical pain. WHO WRITES THAT?! AND THEN LEAVES IT IN THE FINAL DRAFT?!?!?

And Delphi. WHAT EVEN?! She's literally like a parody of a bad fanfic Mary Sue. Down to the blue streak in her hair. But we're supposed to take her seriously? As a villain? Tf? She's like a bad Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way knockoff. The whole play is like an unfunny parody of bad writing. But it's not supposed to be. It actually pretends to be a genuine drama. Which is so much worse. I truly think My Immortal is better. And way funnier.

No effort at all went into the story construction. Characters act incredibly childishly and unrealistically and simplistically. The story doesn't feel like it was written by adults. There's no feeling or depth or emotion. It's all plot contrivances and nauseatingly simplistic writing. It isn't a story. It's just some stuff that happens. Because the writers were just like 'eh it's Harry Potter it'll sell.' And that's not art. That's just churned out content. And it bothers me on such a profound level that they did it and got away with it.

I would be embarrassed to write that for myself, let alone to turn that in as a professional writer. It's so inconsistent with the original story that I legitimately think the 2 guys who wrote it didn't even read the books. They just glanced at the wiki and decided they were good to go. Despite being PAID to do this. How sloppy is that? Not to mention Harry Potter meant so much to so many people who were ecstatic to get more content yet the two clowns who wrote this just skimmed the wiki and then vomited out some of the worst lines ever penned in history and called it a day.

[fishymom-art]

i find this situation really interesting and since it indirectly involves you i thought it would be funny to share it with you: ever since you posted your first "now what" doodles, even before the first chapter in your fic dropped, i've been having a series of dreams involving gravity falls. they would occur randomly and without warning, usually i will be having normal dreams and suddenly they would cut to a gravity falls scene that my brain would make up. they didn't happen every night but i would dream of one at least once every week, to the point where i slowly became lucid during them and was aware i was asleep.

they were just random scenes at first, the characters doing whatever, sometimes tied to me irl and my issues. i don't remember what most of them were about, but i do remember the characters had your designs (or at least they vaguely resembled your designs). some weird details like ford having a collection of mlp toys and mabel always eating waffles with bugs for breakfast were reoccuring in most dreams, i have no idea why or how my brain even came up with these things.

then as you released more chapters the random dreams started having a plot that tied them together. mabel found a stray cat that was dying outside the front porch and took it home to take care of it. she successfully nursed it back to life but when it opened its eyes they were yellow. everyone was instantly suspicious of the cat being bill but for some reason they didn't try to get rid of it (fear of hurting mabel cause she was attached ? i guess ??). the plot twist was that the cat wasn't bill, nor was it sent by him as a spy, it was a normal cat that just happened to have yellow eyes. as the spectator i was aware of that fact (dream logic, idk) but the characters weren't and they were constantly afraid/cautious around it. the next set of dreams were just random scenes of the cat slowly making its way in every character's heart and everyone getting attached to it. it was really sweet to watch, especially how it stubbornly tried to get ford's attention.

the funny part is that i know nothing about gravity falls. i've never watched it and all my knowledge comes from your doodles for your fic and the occassional edits that came up on my tiktok fyp. i know the charcters' names and a little bit about them but that's it, i have no idea who bill is, what his book is about, why he and ford are a popular ship, nothing. i got attached to a bunch of characters from a story i know nothing about just because my autism won't let me rest even in my dreams.

WHAT

well, first of all, go watch gravity falls. You knowing nothing about gravity falls was the biggest plot twist ever, my jaw literally dropped XD

second of all, this is confirmation that bill is indeed just a cat

[dingodad]

I don’t understand what’s being talked about when its said that Lord English’s attempt to kill Cronus split him into multiple vessels. Does that mean that the idea of the essence of Lord English was splintered to form the other characters? It’s not literal right? At what point in time could that even have happened? Is that why he glitched the session of the alpha trolls, because he couldn’t enter it himself to kill Cronus, since the universe hadn’t ended yet? Also why is Lord English related to the hope aspect anyways? I think Eridan even mentions him being the lord of the angels prophesized at one point, idk what that’s about?

the way Aranea frames the story, English's spell on Cronus backfiring supposedly WAS the glitch that prevented him from entering Beforus, "until he could find some other cunning way to enter our universe."

of course this story comes to us through two separate layers of questionable narration; Aranea is relating to us a story that Cronus may or may not have made up about his own backstory. so we're operating well outside of the boundaries of what we could possibly look at through a "literal" lens. all we've got to really work with are vague ideas.

the relationship between Lord English and the hope aspect is exactly that the bloodline of heroes of hope are supposedly the ones destined to beat him, just as related in Aranea's story ("the legacy of defeating the evil magician would have to 8e passed on to his descendant, or if his descendant proved to be as much of a failure as he did, then perhaps on some other Hero of Hope"). it's the aspect of angels, and as a cherub Lord English is of course a kind of angel (though Eridan was actually under the mistaken impression that Jack Noir was the prophesied "lord of all angels").

it's possibly relevant that in the version of the story as WE hear it, the "defeat" Jake ultimately hands out to Caliborn is only a technical victory; he doesn't put an end to Lord English in any meaningful way, and Caliborn even goes as far as to say "THERE IS NO BODILY HARM". he just knocks the guy down in preparation for Dirk to seal him away. but hope is not an aspect that deals with the "bodily", its domain is spirits and ideas; so in the past, my assessment has been that the reason heroes of hope are such a threat to Lord English is precisely BECAUSE they have this ability to pull apart or disrupt the collection of souls that make him up. i don't know if i would still confidently hold this up as the strongest interpretation today, but i think it's worth mentioning.

did any of this "literally" happen... well, I have to emphasise again that at this level of granularity, the "literal" is no longer something we can take for granted. like, "literally", Dirk and Equius were created from slime in an ectobiology lab. but I assert that according to the rules of Paradox Space, the metaphorical "ideas" of Dirk and Equius have to have come FROM somewhere, and if those ideas eventually become constituent parts of Lord English then at some point the loop has to close and he has to be broken back down into those parts. it is worth noting that Aranea's wording - "sealing the magician's spirit away in a series of unassuming vessels" - could also pretty easily be taken as referring to the various puppets English is forced to inhabit as he emerges in universe after universe, and that if English were ever to be split back apart it could theoretically have happened in any number of those infinite lifetimes. it's the vague ideas represented by Cronus' story - the spirit of the story, that English is perpetually being foiled by being reverted to the start of his own timeline without any memory of how he failed - that matters more than whether Cronus was literally attacked by Lord English with a wand at some point in his childhood.

[eternalartblock]

hey kyoko whats. whats going on girl. why did you change the subject after mentioning your sister that one time. is there something you want to share with us. hey. look at me in my eyes. fym she used to be a nurse. what happened. hey. kyoko.

i dont care if we have CRUMBS of her lore i will take it and roll with it

rambles under the cut. warning its kinda long because i kinda lost it

so demo 3 gave us kyoko lore. far from a lot but it did. and i love her so of course i am going to read way too much into it

my main point of interest is her sister. her dialogue on her is pretty vague, and she doesnt even drop a name. we do know that she is- *cough cough* WAS a nurse. she was, until something happened. which kyoko is unfortunately also vague about.

obviously its most likely that shes dead, but idk. i kinda have a feeling it was something else. perhaps something more sinister. its the way she says “she used to be a nurse” rather than just “she was a nurse” i think. i have a theory that shes gonna be one of the sword wielders but i have absolutely nothing to back it up but im gonna put it here anyway in the unlikely case that im actually right so i can brag about being correct /silly

unfortunately we dont know a lot about kyokos relationship with her sister either, but i think its pretty safe to assume they had a pretty close relationship. but because of this id say its pretty likely that if something bad happened to her it would have traumatized kyoko :(

im kinda scared that this is gonna age badly and it was just some mundane thing like her sister got fired for being shit at her job or something but like. i dont think kyoko would have pulled a subject change after talking about something like that. she does trust the player doesnt she? pretty sure she says something like “yeah im here for you bro, as long as you listen to my problems too!!!” it seems to me this is the one thing shes not willing to talk about… so yeah i think it really was that bad

but hey. thats just a theory…

A BLOCK TALES TH *gets shot*

anyways kyoko we love you please talk to us :(

[zoropookie]

Hey so uh could we get a soft sweet moment of ynkiss and hhab scara in the orchard I mean always thought they got a poetic vibe to them romantic too idk maybe we got something like that already I don't remember lol sorry if that's the case maybe like resting on each other shoulders or like smth brief like that please please please whenever you have the time make it happen (iam the English not my first person Soo uhm if anything seemed vague sorry also really love your ficss)

Besides the modernity of how the two of them lived, the orchard spreading in longevity. Woven from its threads of a later summer, rows and rows of apple trees standing tall, branches heavy with the vow of their harvests. Air rich with the scent of the ripened fruits they have yet to pick.

Kuni and you walked down the path between the orchards trees, and his gaze drifted upwards towards the sky. He observed the way the light of the sun filters through the leaves while the shadows below them did a dance with the grass. For once in the years that he stayed here, has he realized how peaceful they were. Every gnarled branch of older trees, stretched wide like the arms of an old friend.

The stillness settled in him, eased tension that had been a companion for as long as he could remember. The elation he felt watching you, a few paces away picking apples and gathering them into a woven basket, was similar to a cool weight. You looked ofer, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips. “Hey! I was getting the red ones ready for sale, but I saved some really good ones for our picnic.”

His lips twitched upward, there was a soft blooming that grew in his chest as he watched you carefully pluck them off the tree. “We’ve never done that.”

“Right? I never realized how many stuff we just don’t do as a couple. Why not start?” Your eyes were bright with a quiet excitement, going back to the task. “There’s nothing for both of us to do today. How many times are we going to get this chance, Kuni?! I wanted to take advantage of it, anyway. What do you think we should get? Do you want sandwiches?”

His eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing. “Yeah.” He drawled, a hint of uncertainty in his tone. “This is weird. I don’t know how to feel.”

“You could feel grateful,” You suggested, your eyebrows rising with a slight tilt of your head. “Maybe…elated that I’m an amazing partner? That’s so willing to do things for you? Unfathomably?”

“All of the above…” He felt disjointed watching you, almost trying to gauge you actually having a genuine outlook on him. It was still unbelievable, he couldn’t properly articulate what was happening right now. Especially from how uncomfortable he was. “But stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

He paused, struggling to find the right words. “That. The prepping for the picnic, you’re supposed to let me do all of it. I’m the provider.”

Your eyes dulled. “I can help too.”

“You don’t do it like I do.” He watched you, severely skeptical but softening with every word. The way the light caught in your hair while it was swaying from the leaves. The sincerity in your eyes— it disarmed him from anything else. If they were to be in severe danger, he’d be too enamored to pay attention. “Alright, but only because you’re working hard.”

“Does it make you nervous? You barely have anything to say right now.” You asked, your tone playful.

“Yeah.” He walked closer to you while you’re picking apples, holding your waist as his eyes stared at your back with internal longing. The feeling of an adoration was warm and unfamiliar, but with the foliage and greenery of the garden around the two of you, you looked royal to him. “I’ll adapt with you if you plan on putting some more weight in.”

“I don’t know about all that, I still know my place here.” You said with a dull tone.