#woeful reverie

[kraken17]

She couldn't deny that Addams intrigued her from that first exchange of glances. All her instincts went on alert at the sight of her, but it wasn't the typical reaction of aggression or territorial defense she usually had when someone got on her nerves or angered her. No, this was something different, something more primal than the oh-so familiar fury. Something more intense. And the beast inside her wanted to feel it again. She had to suppress a dangerously pleasant shiver as her mind was suddenly flooded with images of those dark eyes, and that pale skin and...

“Enid!”

Yoko's voice snapped her out of her reverie.

“Uh? What?”

“You're drooling, dude.”

-Excerpt from Woeful Feline (a Tale from the Wednesday-Verse), Chapter 3: Futile Resolve.

[sp00kymulderr]

apogee

The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: None. A kiss, if you can call it that. Pining.

You sigh sweet and secret as you watch the Mandalorian from across the room, illuminated by the white bright morning sun coming through the open loading door meeting his shining armour, highlighting him in your vision so that even when you close your eyes you see his strong form.

Your Mandalorian.

No, you shake yourself out of the reverie. Not your Mandalorian, only yours in the charcoal dark when you sleep soundly and your mind fills with the imagined caress of his tender affection. In the night you can imagine he is yours, wants to be. You mellow at the thought of those dreams, let your mind wander just for a second.

He’s never been cold with you, not once. When he plucked you from nowhere and offered you to work on his ship and help care for the kid, you’d been certain he would be a brutish warrior and nothing more. You could not have been more wrong. He was quiet, kind, warm under all that harsh steel.

And he offered you a place, a purpose. Asked you to stay even when your initial agreement was up, said he couldn’t imagine being on the ship without you any more. Of course, he only meant that he liked how you kept the kid entertained and quiet and were helpfully domestic when he needed it. But you still let your heart flutter and dance at his words because in some way he was saying he needed you.

You want him to need you in every way.

It isn’t in him though, isn’t something you dare to think he’s aware of. He isn’t consumed with the thought of lifting his helmet and pressing his lips to yours. Of holding you close and kissing you until you’re breathless. He can’t be.

So you don’t let yourself think about it either. Try, at least.

But here it is again now, deep and woeful in you, as you watch him do nothing more than work on a broken panel before you set off for the next destination of this never-ending adventure your life with him had become. Everything is quiet, the child sleeps soundly and all there is is the rising and falling of your breath as you toy with the necklace you wear – the one he bought you when he saw you eyeing it at the market, a token of his appreciation he had said. When he had put it on you, in your fantasy his fingers grazed your neck with clear intent, and he sighed like he was thinking of kissing your soft skin.

“You’re quiet today” he comments, pulling you out of the rewritten memory. His voice is gravelly, slightly tinny through the modulator, but it’s comforting.

“Sorry” you reply, “just daydreaming I guess”

It sounds too much like thinking about kissing you to you. Too obvious in your voice that the thoughts are romantic and you’re drowning in them. But if he picks up on it, he doesn’t say a thing, nods with a slight chuckle at your dazed state. For a minute you two just look at each other, you smile at him, always content in his presence, and somehow you think he smiles back at you under the helmet.

“Could you help me with this, if you’re not too busy daydreaming?” he asks, now you can hear the hint of that smile in his voice. It makes you laugh, happy, as you move to stand besides him.

He shows you what he needs you to do, just hold down a small loose wire while he fixes it in place. You have to lean so close to him that you your heartbeat picks up again as that unbearable urge to touch him, kiss him, seeps back into you like a fog that covers every logical thought. If he didn’t have on the armour, if he ever let you see his face, you could lean in and discover exactly what it felt like to have your lips on his. You could bask in him like you’ve always wanted to. You have never wanted anything in the way you want to kiss this man and it’s going to break you.

When you both move at the same time, you shifting in your stance as he leans in to work, your cheek presses against the side of the helmet, where his is underneath it. The cool beskar on your face doesn’t even register because it’s his reaction that makes you balk as you stutter out an apology.

You hadn’t even touched him, not really, but you could swear there was the smallest sound of that sigh again through the modulator. Like he can feel you, so close, soft breath amplified, like he wants you close and even if it’s just in your imagination like before, your heart might burst at the simple sound.

You’re frozen in time, almost. Stuck. There’s the desperate cloying in you to do something.

And then, like everything else around you is forgotten, his gloved hand grazes against yours and slowly covers it. The tingling warmth extending from your hand up your arm and straight in to your soul.

Maybe you’re dreaming. Maybe you’re delusional.

Either way, you cannot stop the way the unbearable desire makes you turn your head, makes you brush your own soft lips against the same place on the cold metal covering his face. His hand grips yours tighter. You feel the aching longing in you begin to dissipate, just slightly but it’s like you’re allowed to breathe again.

The Mandalorian whimpers beautifully at the soft contact that isn’t really even true contact. He feels it, feels something, you can tell. You are closer than you’ve ever been and finally you find some sense of understanding. His words, his actions becoming clear to you in a hazy bloom that makes you catch your breath.

Perhaps he is your Mandalorian

[yoursluffly]

"I was once..." by yoursluffly

Treacherous! My ever so strayed potential

Departing as I slip by my cardinal years

Never caught on site except by a wrinkle

He soulfully recalls, "You were better"

Have I lost it? I don't even remember

Behold! The parallel windows of my mind

Correspondent to all of my blues

Insurmountable between all these trues 

"Life is about living", she remindingly advised

Why am I so difficult? I feel so confined

Woeful! My grieving heart etched on thorns

Faltering more hurt yielded by my sheathing

Never moving past the waiting room

They obliviously assure me, "You'll move on"

Is it really that easy? I can only think to spurn

My gifted aptitude that decelerates

The meteorite I name my onces

This rigid path of carelessness

My overwhelmingly ensued regret

The reverie of nostalgia tows away

"I was once..." and I hope to be again

10/05/2024

[underzemilkyway]

Nebula Sea - by Harley White | Astronomers Without Borders | 08/09/2021

When setting sail with the poetry muse amidst stelliferous oceans I cruise as hilly space billows my whims peruse wherever their whispering wills may choose.   My flapping canvas may take to a breeze ‘mongst pageantry of sidereal might to voyage through starry byways with ease until my vessel shall chance on a site   to other meanders of mind upstage thus landing me on a creative shore with fancied fixation to so engage that wavelets of lyric verses outpour.   I come to a scene of beautiful shades by Hubble offered for viewing pleasure of fabulous lake in ebony glades, for scientists a celestial treasure.   As every snowflake’s unique, so is too each nebula planetary; this one a stellar shroud issue of rainbow hue was fashioned from perishing star like sun.   It’s found in the Pyxis Constellation that’s otherwise tagged Nautical Compass, a cloudscape in throes of reformation from dying star making silent rumpus.   While labeled NGC Two Eight One Eight, for me it might mirror a skyey sea where stargazing fantasies lie in wait to beckon ethereal reverie.   Could beauty derived from a star’s demise eventually becoming white dwarf bear semblance to further mortal goodbyes as phantasmagorical polymorph?   Unlike Ophelia, first floating forlorn in brook, by a willow from life and breath cast down, wrote Shakespeare, by Hamlet forsworn, to drown in a woeful watery death,   my own taking leave from this realm might be on dream ship that sails on the great beyonds to world on an island like Innisfree where beings would share in my karmic bonds   perhaps midst empyreal lake or sea, to borrow a vision from poet Yeats, akin to the grand Hubble imagery, with presences seeking enlightened fates.   ‘A beauteous thing brings joy forever’, to paraphrase famous line from John Keats, as nature delights with each endeavor through all her immortal artistic feats.     ~ Harley White     * * * * * * * *   Some sources of inspiration were the following…   Image and info ~ Hubble Snaps a Splendid Planetary Nebula… https://hubblesite.org/contents/media/images/2009/05/2464-Image.html   From “Endymion” ~ poem by John Keats (1818)… https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44469/endymion-56d2239287ca5   Image and info ~ Planetary Nebula NGC 2818 from Hubble (APOD)… https://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap140713.html   Explanation: The Hubble Space Telescope has imaged striking details of the famed planetary nebula designated NGC 2818, which lies in the southern constellation of Pyxis (the Compass). The spectacular structure of the planetary nebula contains the outer layers of a star that were expelled into interstellar space. The glowing gaseous shrouds in the nebula were shed by the central star after it ran out of fuel to sustain the nuclear reactions in its core. Our own sun will undergo a similar process, but not for another 5 billion years or so. Planetary nebulae fade gradually over tens of thousands of years. The hot, remnant stellar core of NGC 2818 will eventually cool off for billions of years as a white dwarf.   Image Credit: NASA, ESA, Hubble Heritage Team (STScI / AURA)  

[kcrtia]

LEE YUNA &&. LEE INSU @bemyuse

    he had managed to slip past the sea of people, faces all blurred into one huge conglomeration of fancy dresses and designer ties adorning equally expensive shirts. he has grown tired of his father prancing about the venue, a woeful glaze on his features, so naturally that it beckons to deceive those around him. it was clear in his eyes that his father was not mourning the sickness of his wife, it was clear in his eyes that his father was not remorseful nor was he remote upset by the event. how he’s going about, preaching how miserable he has become, how regretful he felt for not having given his wife more. insu was sick of having to hear the same rehearsed monologue of woe ‘tis me, the suffering husband. sick of seeing his father attempt to gain sympathy for something so... disgusting. 

     his fingers twitching in his pocket, tucked away in the confines of his pants, a habit of charred lungs needing their hourly smoke. keeping his strides quick as he heads for the glass doors leading to the balcony, overlooking the city dotted by lights. an immediate exhale upon fingertips pushing the door panels open, the night’s zephyr tousling his strands as he moves to peer over the railing. refreshed, was the feeling that swept by his temples, digits running through his hair, alleviating what little stress he could manage to thrive on. 

     retrieving from his pocket, cigarette between his fingers, lighter in the other it amidst the bustling backdrop of the gathering behind him, the cigarette lights in his grip. tucking the lighter away, taking the dout betwixt his lips. moments later an exhale moves past a previously clenched jaw. feeling the tension lift from his shoulders, slight easiness embracing him again. though, it doesn’t last long. the intensifying of footsteps echo behind, a firm hand pulls at his shoulder and he is jolted back facing the stern features of no other than his father. the old man slapping the cigarette from his hand, an angered foot coming to step on the lit cigarette. sole, so bitterly pressing against the pavement that insu could hear the sound of gravel scraping against his father’s shoe. 

     an immediate eye roll in response to his father’s actions, looking not too pleased with insu’s escape to the balcony. ‘will it kill you to not smoke for a few hours? insu, it’s not that hard. i’m not asking for a lot. i leave you alone for five seconds and you manage to weasel your way out here and to do what? for me to catch you smoking? of all things? what if the other’s see you? you good for nothing—’ his father only pausing when he catches the glimpse of yuna materialising in his peripheral. 

     insu lets his gaze settle on the younger, “not now, yuna. the adults are talking.” insu finally speaks, a smirk tugging at his corners. he can sense his father’s anger brimming at his twitching lips. ‘insik! is that really you? it’s been so long!’ voices echoing in the background, his gaze averting to his meeting with his father’s again, his stern features glaring back for a moment before softening, turning to greet his patrons. an act the lee’s have all mastered by now, the skill of morphing and shifting their own emotions to fit an agenda. so sly, so deceitful, yet so helpful. 

     insu’s gaze moving to meet with his sister, head tilting back as he stares at her for a moment. the favourite child. the naive sister. nothing but an audible hah, departing from his lips, “if it isn’t the favourite child. you’re not here to lecture me are you? or are you here to defend father’s actions, again?” another eye roll, as he turns back to the railing, elbows pressed against the edge, letting the prior tension melt from his reverie.

[nbrook29]

hiii, number 35 for the dialogue prompts. hope you'll have a wonderful day ✨

158 for Sobbe, I can swear that at some point in a AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES context Sander said this to Robbe, but I can't prove it sjjsjsjsjjsj

120 + 160 😋💜

1 for Sobbe! I've been listening to the song 'let's get married' by Mitski and it's soooo them, and maybe you get inspired by it too if you write this lol. Have a good day/night 💕💕

154, 28, 18, 9, 2 (just the ones u want❤)

30 for Sobbe 🧡🧡🧡 

Hi y’all! I managed to compile all of these prompts into one 8k fic, I hope it’s okay 🙈 It’s too long to edit on tumblr so I’m posting a link to ao3 and a snippet of it below 💛

Also, I super appreciate all the comments in the tags and stuff ❤️

The dialogue prompts involved:

158. [text] Living alone for four weeks has given me unrealistic expectations of pantslessness

30. “Did you do this on purpose?!”

28. “Stop pinning this on me! You started it!”

2. “Do you want me to leave?

120. “Your hair is so soft…”

160. [text] Who says no to sex and donuts?!

1. marry me

35. “I can’t believe you dragged me into this.”

LINK ---> hold all my cliches on the tip of my tongue

***

When Robbe enters the downstairs bathroom on a Saturday afternoon, it already looks like a mess, and they haven’t even started. The sink is full of various utensils and bottles thrown in there haphazardly and he looks around, his mouth quirking a little at how the place is currently the perfect representation of Sander’s chaotic energy. It’s probably for the best his mom is far, far away on another continent and doesn’t have to encounter this because she’s an orderly woman compared to her artist of a son, and it’s quite possible she would get a stroke seeing this.

And that’s even before they undoubtedly turn this place into a battlefield with their bleach shenanigans. 

“Ready?”

Sander passes him in the doorway, accidently brushing his shoulder and shooting him an expectant smile. He’s carrying a wooden stool in one hand and a large chocolate chip cookie he’s happily munching on in another. He must’ve changed out of his black hoodie because now he’s wearing his “creative hours” white t-shirt, stained with a palette of intense colors that barely washed out in the washing machine. The cut off sleeves reveal his arms, and the tanned skin is contrasting so nicely with the whiteness of the material that Robbe’s gaze lingers a little on his lean tricep, taut when he puts the sturdy looking stool down.

“I was born ready,” he replies with feigned confidence that makes Sander arch his left eyebrow.

“Oh really? What happened to you being hesitant about this?”

“I realized you’re gonna look hot either way, bleached blond or bald, so there is no wrong outcome here, really.” Robbe smiles innocently, but his eyes are anything but, mischievous glints dancing in those big brown irises and it’s a look on him that never fails to make Sander’s fingers itch with the desire to have his way with him.

They have work to do though so he resorts for a cheeky comeback for now, knowing it’s going to tint Robbe’s cheeks pink right away.

“Are you talking about your secret fetish again?”

And there it is, a pretty flush spreading on those cheekbones chiseled by god himself and it’s super cute, even when followed by Robbe’s indignant scoffing. Sander absolutely adores that even over a year later there are still things he says that can make him blush and he already mourns the future days when it no longer happens and Robbe gets immune to his cheesy jokes. But, at the rate they are going so far, it’s not going to happen anytime soon.

Thank god.

“I don’t have a baldness fetish, jerk!” Robbe gives his shoulder a half-hearted push, flustered. 

“Right, right, I forgot, I am your fetish.”

He’s expecting another shove but instead, Robbe’s features morph into a private little grin, his gaze dropping to Sander’s lips as he twists his fingers into his t-shirt, bringing him closer to seal their lips together for a few magical seconds before pulling back with a loud smack, laughing a little at Sander’s dazed but intrigued face.

Then he slaps his butt cheekily, effectively pulling him out of his reverie and leaves Sander wondering where that beautiful innocent and sweet boy he fell in love with almost a year and a half ago went. The beauty and sweetness is still there but the innocence flew out the window a long time ago and Sander feels pretty responsible for this glorious corruption, oh yes he does.

“Okay, let’s do this ‘cause otherwise we’re gonna be here till Monday.” Robbe points vaguely at the compiled accessories and then resorts to watching Sander mixing the developer and bleach together, occupying himself with reading the instructions on the bottle. He scrunches up his nose as the chemical smell irritates his nostrils and he’s honestly starting to feel sorry for Sander’s hair.

Once the mixture is ready and Sander is perched on the stool with an old towel around his neck, Robbe buries his fingers in his brown strands, loving the feeling of silkiness when he combes them back, making sure to scratch a little at the scalp.

It always makes Sander’s eyelids droopy, and the soft groans that leave his mouth when there’s a scratch at a particularly sensitive spot pull a giggle out of Robbe.

“I swear you were a cat in the previous life.”

“Probably, yeah,” Sander agrees in a soft voice that tells Robbe the skillful ministrations of his fingers are currently putting him on cloud nine.

“Oh my god, baby,” he moans, rolling his head slowly back and forth, and Robbe can see a shudder going through him. “If I’d known your hair bleaching assistance comes with a free head massage, I’d have recruited you sooner.”

His entire body visibly relaxes, Robbe’s magical fingers erasing every bit of stress that accumulated through the day with a practiced precision. “I swear, those fingers of yours were the god’s gift to humanity,” he pauses, his eyes searching for Robbe’s in the mirror as his lips stretch into a smirk. “Well, or at least a gift to me.”

Robbe indulges him because how could he not when Sander’s being so sweet and putty under his hands, so he doubles his efforts, receiving the cutest little purr at some point. 

“Your hair is so soft,” he marvels, combing through it with awe. “I kinda hate myself for what I’m about to do to it.”

“It’s okay, Robin, my hair forgives you.”

Robbe lets out a woeful sigh and reluctantly disentangles his fingers from the strands. “Okay, now after I said goodbye to brown, let’s get it over with, shall we?”

[cosmicjoke]

Okay, onto chapter 6 of “No Regrets”!

So the first thing I want to jump into here is, once again, something which the manga vastly improved on over the visual novel, and that was the scene following the flashback to Levi and his friends learning about the long-distance scouting formation before the expedition, and then Flagon’s instructions to them in the present.  I don’t think this scene was even included in the visual novel, but it’s indispensable in understanding Levi’s mindset going into the fateful final act.

Isabel gets carried away by Flagon’s speech, and ends up saluting, expressing genuine enthusiasm for the SC’s cause, before realizing what she’s done and turning around, seeing Levi and Furlan looking back at her in silence.  Furlan looks unimpressed, while Levi wears his usual stoic expression. You can’t tell one way or the other what he’s thinking, which is why the next scene is so hugely important, because we get a look into his inner thoughts.

I saw another person say not long ago that in this scene, Isabel expresses a desire to join the SC, and Levi blows her off and ignores her, only thinking about his revenge on Erwin, and to that person, I would like to ask ‘What scene were you reading?’, because that’s pretty much the opposite of what happens here.  This scene reveals so much about Levi’s own, inner conflict, and how he’s beginning HIMSELF to understand and even sympathize with the cause of the SC, and the soldiers who have dedicated themselves to it.  Let’s dissect it here a bit.

The scene takes place at night, before they ride out again, and Levi is sitting up with Furlan and Isabel, and he’s thinking quietly to himself.  The first thing he’s recalling in his contemplation here is Sairam’s words, asking Levi if he knows how many elite soldiers have been eaten by Titans. This plainly shows Levi’s growing concern for Furlan and Isabel.  The longer they spend outside the walls, the higher the risk of something going wrong, and that’s a worry that’s heavy on Levi’s mind here.

He then remembers, in quick succession, all these various interactions and the words of different people throughout his short time up here on the surface.  He recalls Sairam hurling insults at him and his friends, calling them punks, and then Hange’s opposite words of encouragement and appreciation, telling them they’ve given everyone hope.  He recalls Furlan’s words, telling Levi that with him there, they’ll really be able to raise hell, and then Isabel’s words, pointing out that the SC soldiers really believe their cause is worth dying for.  Finally, Levi recalls Flagon’s degrading words, about how Levi and his friends have spent their whole lives in a trash heap, implying they’ll never amount to anything more than garbage, and last, he recalls Erwin’s words, how he’d seen the desire to kill in Levi during their first encounter.  

All of this is hugely important to understanding Levi’s psychology, I think, and understanding his feelings of conflict and confusion, and how it ultimately plays into him making the choice he does.  For Sairam’s and Flagon’s words, it’s the assumption people have made about Levi all his life, that he’s nothing but a worthless criminal who can’t do anything good for anyone, and Levi’s struggle to overcome that perception that people have of him.  In contrast to that, Hange’s words are sending Levi the opposite message, that he isn’t just a worthless criminal, but someone who can actually contribute something positive and important to other people’s lives.  He’s someone who can inspire hope.  Something Levi’s always secretly wished he could do.  And then there’s Furlan’s words, serving as a confirmation to Hange’s, in which he expresses his reliance on Levi to help make his own dreams come true, and Levi seeing himself in that role, of taking care of these two people whom he loves.  And there’s Isabel’s words, a clear admiration and astonishment at the realization that these soldiers really believe in a cause bigger than themselves.

We see all of Levi’s greater hopes, his desire and wish to help other people, coming into conflict here with the way he’s been treated all his life by others, as a worthless, good for nothing criminal, and how that treatment has forced him to become the very thing they accuse him of being, someone ready and willing to kill, someone ready to commit crimes, etc…  It’s Levi’s pride and anger battling with his deeper desire to protect and help others. The thing his life and his environment has FORCED him to become, against his truer nature.  This is such a vital, important scene, and once again, the manga succeeds in explaining and revealing Levi’s complexity as a character, whereas the visual novel just flat out butchered it.

Now getting back to Levi’s interaction with Isabel in this scene, and the woeful misinterpretation I saw another person make one time.  

Furlan is talking about how, given the complexity of the formation, they won’t be able to break ranks without being spotted, and he suggests they should just wait until they’re back behind the walls before trying to steal the documents again. Levi points out that if all three of them leave, then yeah, they’ll likely be spotted, and gives no further opinion.  Already, Levi is thinking that maybe he could go after Erwin and the documents alone, thinking of taking the entire burden of the operation on himself, carrying the hopes and dreams of all of them on his shoulders alone, (which is why he later calls himself conceited and proud, having relied on his own strength entirely, instead of his friends too, ending in failure, which in turn goes back to the very beginning, with Levi’s statement about never knowing what the better option is, to rely on oneself, or on their comrades).  But anyway, he doesn’t protest or try to counter Furlan when he says they should just focus on getting back alive.  Isabel expresses agreement, and then says she knows the documents are important, but she also doesn’t want to get in the way of the SC and what they’re trying to do.  Now here’s where the conversation gets really important in, once more, understanding Levi’s psychology.

He and Furlan look over at her, and while Levi stays silent, Furlan gets annoyed, chastising Isabel for seeming to suddenly care about the other soldiers, accusing her of only caring because Hange’s cookies were good.  Furlan clearly doesn’t understand Isabel’s sentiments here, he doesn’t get why she suddenly seems concerned.  He’s still focused on their own goals, and that’s all that matters to him.  But Isabel begins to explain that it’s just that she’s starting to understand why the SC goes out beyond the walls, and likens it to how they felt living in the Underground, wanting to escape to the world above.  She’s saying she understands that sense of being trapped, of being imprisoned, and the longing for freedom.  And then she talks about seeing lots of her friends dying underground, while dreaming of making it “up there.”, and how seeing that made her feel like she HAD to get up there.  It’s like Isabel is saying here that her dream to make it to the surface was strengthened by the dreams of others who never got to realize it for themselves, and that she wanted to make it to the surface, more than anything, as a way of giving the dreams of those who had died without realizing them, meaning.  By making it to the surface FOR THEM.  She starts to try and explain what she means, saying ‘It’s…” before Levi suddenly speaks for the first time since her monologue, saying “It’s like leaving the walls behind to kill the Titans…”

This is such a huge moment. Because contrary to what I saw this one person claim once, Levi is acknowledging Isabel’s feelings, and expressing empathy with them.  He’s telling Isabel here that he understands what she means, because he feels it too. This desire to fight for freedom as a way to give meaning to the suffering of those who couldn’t escape their imprisonment.  Levi, rather than ignoring or blowing Isabel off here, is relating to her.  Her feelings are his own.  Isabel smiles dreamily and says “Yeah.” Because Levi put her thoughts into words.  She then keeps talking to Levi, starting to ramble about what she wants to do when they get to live in the Capital, how fun she thinks it would be to steal from all the “rich pigs” and use their money to buy useless junk, before she falls asleep.

Furlan then kind of bursts this bubble of reverie that Isabel and Levi have fallen into, and what he says here is, again, so important.  He says “I’ve got to revise our plan.  We’ll need to steal the documents before you and she start seriously talking about dedicating your hearts, or whatever.”  Furlan’s perceived how Levi’s own feelings are beginning to match up with Isabel’s, how he’s starting to feel drawn to and sympathetic towards the SC’s cause, and he’s worried, because that’s not what they’re supposed to be there for.  They’re supposed to be there to steal the documents so they can get a chance to live in the Capital.  This is Furlan’s dream, ultimately, and he doesn’t want to lose sight of it to some unrealistic ideal.  What’s so interesting here is the contrast between Levi and Furlan.  While Levi is so quiet and reserved and hard to read, he’s actually showing himself to be more of the dreamer of the two, while Furlan is much more practical and less prone to fanciful, ideal notions like helping people beyond their own means.  

We get one last shot of Levi gazing at Isable, thoughtfully.  He’s still thinking about her words.

Alright, then comes the next big scene, with all of them outside again, to try Erwin’s new formation.  We see, again, Levi’s gradually shifting opinion of Erwin already, when he remarks that Erwin’s idea is “brilliant”, once he sees how it works, expressing genuine admiration for it and Erwin’s mind.  Levi still hates Erwin, and want to kill him, but we already see this desire in him starting to crack and come apart, replaced by an almost astonished curiosity instead.  Like he isn’t sure what Erwin is, but he’s impressed, in spite of himself.  

Then the storm comes and everything starts to fall apart.

Another, massive and vital change here in the manga from the visual novel is Levi’s reaction to the sudden storm.  In the visual novel, Levi’s first and only response to it is that he can use it as cover to go after and kill Erwin, sparing no thought to the safety of his friends, or the other people in his squad.  It was another instance in which I thought Levi’s characterization in the novel was just horribly butchered, and so once again, I was so glad to see them correct it here.  Levi’s first response, after he, Furlan and Isabel start to lose contact with Flagon and the others, is to scream at his friends to not get separated.  He's only worried about them in this moment, and wants to make sure they don’t lose contact with each other.  He isn’t thinking at all about leaving them here yet.  Just this small addition completely changes Levi’s motivations and priorities, leading into the fateful choice, and it’s immeasurably better characterization for him then what was presented in the visual novel.  I’ll get more into it with the next chapter. So until then, thanks again for reading.

[obciidian]

      a  day  filled  with  embitterment,  tasting  somewhat  repulsive  on  the  tongue.  or  is  it  perhaps  the  spirit,  that  is  consumed  and  warms  the  throat  ?  even  the  clouds  have  already  began  shifting  and  changing,  a  gloomier  appearance  they  took  upon  themselves  ;  heavier  clouds,  blocking  the  last  rays  of  sun  in  this  early  evening.  fatigue  is  noted  upon  the  features.  this  particular  exhaustion  contours  lines  in  his  young  face,  and  the  habitual  facade  of  contentedness  ( both  feigned  and  genuine )  leaves  no  trace  now.  solely,  the  somberness  of  his  gradually  decreasing  sobriety  is  to  be  seen.  

      in  the  moments  of  silence,  disquietude  fills  his  heart.  and  as  if  pressing  down  at  this  ribcage,  namoo  senses  and  immense  ache  in  his  lungs,  pierced  of  his  willingness  to  move  from  this  deplorable  and  woeful  state,  simply  sunken  onto  the  couch  with  trails  dried  across  the  cheeks  and  newly  formed  tears  prickling  the  edges  of  his  eyes.  more  than  despondency  there  is  wrath  --  seething  the  blood,  frowning  across  his  expression...  no  longer  amiable,  is  he  now...  

      albeit,  silence  is  shattered  with  the  sound  of  a  footstep  upon  a  loose  floor  tile,  and  as  if  snapped  of  his  rueful  reverie,  reality  strikes.  a  shameful  look  gradually  conquers  the  baffled  expression  ;  of  widened  eyes  and  chest  frozen  in  breath,  he  needs  to  clear  his  throat  not  once  to  produce  even  a  weak  sound.      ❛    ...  hi.    ❜      gentle,  weak,  as  if  imploring  not  to  be  judged  --  he  bothers  not  conceal  the  state.  there  is  no  use  of  it  now.      ╱      @hecrtbeats

[hereisleo]

blue day & roomie privileges

w/ j.wy & reader

g/ roommate!au, friendship, comfort

a.n/ another word vomit because i need to get things off my chest, i’m alright now

t.w/ none

21:55. The black numbers on the digital clock stared blankly from your desk while you lay on your bed. There were deep aches in your shoulders and unsettling bone sinking fatigue in your body. Even your heart was tired. You rubbed your chest gently as if trying to soothe a toddler.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad day. A bleak blueness that you usually didn’t mind suddenly bothered you. Maybe it was the culmination of sleeping through the alarms in the morning and getting to work late because of unwarranted nausea. How dare your body betrayed you. You took care of it haphazardly, a dose of painkiller on an empty stomach because there was simply no time to eat and you needed to be functional within half an hour. Not recommended. The snappish attitude settled in as the day progressed and so did a world of burdens on your shoulders. You disliked the manager at the workplace and yet you still smiled as if you were the best actor of the century, still debating whether you should still work or take a break. At the very least your fellow colleagues were the most loyal and caring bunch, always having each other’s backs. Maybe it was the botched line work of your tattoo and the orange marker stain still on your skin. You made your peace with it. You knew what you were getting into by asking a traditional artist to do fine line works. You were asking a broad nib to write like they were an extra-fine nib. Life was never perfect. You knew it well.

A knock on your door brought you out of your woeful reverie. Your sweet and loud roommate, Jeong Wooyoung. He shuffled into your room with hair damp from the shower and in his comfiest pyjamas. He was worried, you could tell from his shaky eyes and the way he rigidly sat on the edge of your bed. He chewed his bottom lip and cleared his throat, voice touching the sombre air, “Are you alright? I saw you checking your temperature in the living room earlier.” Ah, right. 36.8-degree celsius. Normal for you. It was fatigue and nausea and the harsh truth of needing to take care of yourself better. “I’m alright, thanks, Woo.” He pursed his lips, hand bunching the blanket into his hold. He was unsatisfied with the answer. Wooyoung nodded, “You should sleep early.”

However, he didn’t leave, he stayed seated on your bed. He wouldn’t be able to sleep until he knew you were actually fine. “Talk to me. What happened?” Bless this man’s heart. The mental capacity he was willing to extend to listen about your day even though you didn’t ask how his day was. Wooyoung made himself comfortable on your bed, an arm looping around your shoulders, he brought you closer to lean against him and he listened to the tales of your blue Friday. From the tautness in your shoulders, the irritation festering in your chest, the poor line work on your arm to the anxiousness you couldn’t shake off. All you wanted and needed to hear, Wooyoung said to you, “Yah, you worked hard today. Tomorrow is always a new day.” He also added his two cents, “But, you need to go back to the parlour to fix that messed up line. You paid for it and it’s on you for a lifetime.” Regrets were always easy to acquire and hard to lose. Your lips tugged into a slight smile, “I made my peace with it. Reminded me that life is never perfect.” He clicked his tongue, “You’re a regular there, you keep their economy afloat! Go back.” You couldn’t win against him, he would pester you until you caved so you acquiesced.

Contrary to popular belief that Wooyoung was only loud and playful, behind closed doors and one-on-one, the serious trait he carried appeared to the surface and so did the silence. Unless he was in the shower or had his headset on to yell at his friends for dying on whatever games they were playing. “Let’s wash your newest addition and I’ll make you dinner,” he beckoned you out of bed. “You’ll feel better.” You didn’t want to leave yet but his glare and pitched nagging of ‘hurry up’ made your feet kiss the cold floor. You washed the ugly orange marker stain off and the fresh wound and you splashed your face. Wooyoung was right, it did make you feel better.

The kimchi fried rice warmed your stomach. You were grateful for the added chilli paste, you didn’t realise how angry and stressed you had been, your taste buds couldn’t register the spiciness. Since when Wooyoung was such a good cook? You finally asked Wooyoung about his day, letting him talk and talk. The time on the microwave spelt 23:56. Screw sleeping early, you would rather stay up and let Wooyoung distract you. The pain in your shoulders lingered but it was a minor inconvenience. “Woo,” you mumbled and he hummed in response, “Can I have a hug?” He looked at you as if he was offended. He slid down the stool next to yours and cocooned you into a tight embrace, it was almost hard to breathe. “Roomie privileges, no need to ask. Did you not read the fine print or something?”

Sure it was a bleak blue day but you were grateful for the friend in your life. Wooyoung who was loud and quiet, playful and serious. Wooyoung who had an invisible list of ‘roomie privileges’ which included his hugs, cooking, emotional and mental capacity to listen to your bottled up problems. Wooyoung who reminded you tomorrow was always a new day and a clean slate. The day began again. 02:37.

[nerdinacoolway]

Nostalgia

Woke up with the dawn, reliving in my memory,

sat there for hours lost in a reverie.

A feeling like an old wound revived with it's pain,

Like the inexplicable melancholy that comes with the rain.

Assaulted by the echos, that erupt with a start,

it's a feeling of a million swords, piercing your heart.

We're destined to walk a path which comes with a curse ;

Leaving behind, what we love, in this universe.

Leave behind a childhood filled with merry smiles

and a place I called home for a long, long while.

Where i found a second family, and met with my own kind.

Hearts in the right place, yet all types of different minds.

Where the desks spoke of existence and long forgotten carvings.

Where some found insecurities and others found their marking.

A place of invincibility, more chaotic than a whirlpool,

A place of pure magic, otherwise known as school.

I've left it behind though letting go is a harder task.

Every memory brews a storm, threatening to break my mask.

If you tune into my muse, you will find woeful singing,

With the sounds of my past woefully ringing.

Far more powerful than a flashback alone

Nostalgia is engulfing, reaching right to the bone.

It's a feeling like an old wound revived with it's pain,

Like the inexplicable melancholy that comes with the rain.

Assaulted by the echos, that erupt with a start,

Nostalgia : a feeling of a million swords, piercing your heart.

~Anupriya Sharma

(nerdinacoolway)

20 April 2020.

[jyiori]

Slow and Steady

Arcana Fan Fiction | Khayalan Alnazar x Adrian Devorak  It’s time for some self-indulgence~ Thank you ever so much for lending me Adrian, dear @lazyvoyager ~ I had a great time with this one, it’s been a while! A long one, so I’ll be keeping things under the cut. Lime? Lemon? Warning. Exploring their dynamics, mostly... I think I love them a little too much ><

Notes: Kak means elder sister / respectful / endearing term to refer to an elder female in Malay Flickering amber hues lighted the otherwise dark, dingy place. The stench of sweat, booze, and the odd sickeningly sweet perfume constantly permeated the air, while one find themselves easily drowned out by the ambient sounds of shouting matches, raunchy jokes and loud guffaws. The Rowdy Raven has always been one of Khayalan’s favourite haunts, more so because it was so effortless to mingle with the crowd and blend in with the unusual crowd that frequented the place. It was harder to go unnoticed that very night, though. The entire crew and cast members of the Vesuvian community theater’s latest performance were crammed into a large corner of the seedy tavern. Fans, admirers and detractors alike jostled for a closer spot to mingle with the cast, especially the star performers. Tall and graceful with a roguish charm, Khayalan Alnazar was born with beguiling violet eyes, lush raven locks streaked with blue and a devilishly disarming smile. He was used to being the center of attention most of the time, although his head seems far in the clouds that night. Holding his fifth tankard of Salty Bitters of the evening, he gave it a mild shake and gazed unseeingly at the swirling contents. The others paid him no heed and partied on, they knew better to than to intrude when he was in one of his ‘moods’, more so if it involves brooding over a pair of smoky grey eyes. “Isn’t that one of the Devoraks?” drawled a fellow performer, rousing him from his reverie. She indicates a heavily bejeweled hand across the room towards the entrance of the tavern doorway, where the feisty Rhys Devorak stood in an intense discussion with two rough-looking individuals that dwarfed her being. Khayalan swerved his head in sudden interest, although his enthusiasm simmered down a little when upon locating and recognizing the owner of the mop of auburn hair. “Mmn…Rhys. Why?” It didn’t take long for him to fully grasp the gravity of the situation, his eyes narrowing in distaste as one of the men started brandishing a huge fist close to his friend’s face. "I owe you one, kak Zita," he murmurs as he gets up swiftly, lips briefly brushing across the back of the veiny outstretched hand she lazily offered to him. Knowing eyes followed idly as the determined figure navigates deftly through the crowd to reach his friend. A slow, satisfied smirk appears on her face as she reaches across the table to claim Khayalan’s drink for herself – he won’t be coming back anytime soon. The oracle chuckled quietly to herself, a toothy grin showing a glint of solid gold filings. Ah. So easy, so very predictable. If the constellations are right, as they usually are… you owe me a lot more than just one, dear boy. ~~~ It wasn’t before long that Khayalan got the full gist of the dealings between Rhys and the ruffians. Negotiating a new deal however, seemed pretty bleak since his friend already traded off the item they were clamoring for. They were insistent on having her drink from a special brew as a wager, although it was as obvious as daylight what shady contents might be involved. “So back OFF, pretty boy,” the taller of the duo snarls vehemently. “Lil’ missy here deals with us.” “HEY WHO ARE YOU CALLING LITTLE –” “Look.” The word was quietly spoken, yet the icy tone it took froze all parties involved. Holding up a hand, Khayalan waited until he had the full attention of Rhys the disgruntled men. “A deal is a deal, no? Sailor’s oath? Or whatever you call it,” his eyes glinted dangerously, though he continued smiling as he spoke. “If I manage to finish every single drop of liquor wagered without passing out, that fulfills her part of her bargain. Both of you shall no longer give her trouble, yes?” Their eyes bulged almost out their sockets at the blatantly confident proposal, even Rhys tugged on his sleeve urgently. “Khayal, there’s poison –” He turns slightly to face her, long hair falling over his shoulder and obscuring part of his face from the debating brothers. Eyes narrowed into reptilian slits, he gives her a conspiratorial wink – and it returns to normal in a blink. She stares, realization dawning on her face. Oh. Right. Rhys had quite forgotten that her friend was immune to most common poisons. Not that she was really thrilled to test that theory out, but it did seem like an extremely useful skill to have in this particular situation. The brunette crossed her arms with a pout, tapping her feet on the ground impatiently. She would have preferred an all-out brawl, she’s pretty confident about winning, anyway. “Do. We. Have. A. Deal?” Khayalan enunciated each word slowly, taking a threatening step towards the towering men. They looked at each other nasty grins, passing half a bottle of uncorked wine over. He gives the wine a cursory sniff, sheer bravado waning when he couldn’t really tell what sort of poison it holds. With blind determination and a hopeful prayer, the man downs the contents as it is. Waiting eagerly for the alcohol’s effects to take hold, the duo was sorely disappointed to note even after half an hour of patient waiting – it seemed to have zero influence on the dark-haired male. Only Rhys noticed the small slips in her friend’s façade, the slight slurring of his words, the almost imperceptible flush on his bronze skin and the sweat that started beading on his face. Of course, she was not going to point that out to the thugs. Cursing the defective product and bemoaning their bad luck, the two shambled away from the establishment with their loss. Literally moments after they were safely out of earshot, Khayalan’s body gave an involuntary violent shudder and he swayed, staggering to keep his balance. Quite alarmed, the younger Devorak rushed forward to support him by the shoulder. Only upon contact does she realize that his body was almost feverishly hot. “Rhys. Rhys. I don’t think… this was such a good idea after all,” he whined pitifully, trying to walk in a straight line as she tried her best to drag him along. “You think? Idiot,” came the curt reply. “We should have stuck to my plan and kicked their butts.” There was a brief silence when all could be heard was Khayalan’s labored breathing and gasps for air, and then he broke into a faint smile upon hearing her voice again, in the faintest whisper. “…thank you. Idiot.” How they managed to arrive in one piece at the Devorak household was a mystery. Both of them were sweating bullets with the physical exertion by the time they arrived – to be greeted by an extremely upset elder brother. “Thank you for standing up for Rhys,” Adrian grimaced and shuddered at the possible scenarios that might have played out if her friend was not present. He bustled about preparing a large array of various antidotes, laying the herbs on the table. Shooing his protesting sister unceremoniously off to bed, Adrian directs a question the patient who seemed to have grown extremely fidgety in his presence. “Please can you try to describe the taste of the poison?” ~~~ Thus it soon came to light that the poison was in fact, not truly poison after all. In fact, it was an enhanced aphrodisiac. After learning the full story behind their shenanigans, the doctor felt utterly bewildered and plain exasperation about the way both of them handled the entire incident. Prescribing restful sleep as a cure, he settled Khayalan into his own bed for the night. Returning with a fragrant jug of hot lemon tea, Adrian gulped audibly and almost dropped the entire jug on the floor as he came across the sight of Khayalan. Pants nowhere to be seen, his top was dipped low to reveal an ample amount of glistening skin, almost barely covering his manhood. With the alluring expression on his face and legs spread slowly and seductively, the combined effect set poor Adrian’s face on fire with a ferocious blush and he involuntarily took a step backwards. Unsettled by the tepid reaction, Khayalan buried his face into the pillow without much thought, mumbling vague apologies as he tried sinking himself into the bed entirely. It was only a few seconds that the doctor took to set down the jug of water, quickly covering up Khayalan’s body with a blanket – but to Khayalan, it felt like an eternity. He felt a dip in the bed beside him, and a slightly hesitant but soothing hand on his back, calmingly stroking him in a circular motion until his trembles and incoherent mumbling stopped entirely. “You’ll be fine in the morning, Khayalan,” said the doctor, his voice coming out oddly hoarse. “It’s just the effects of the tampered wine.” “What if it isn’t?” the muffled response came from the depths of the pillow. Adrian blinks slowly, uncomprehending. As the younger man sits up on bed to face him, woeful hazy purple eyes meet the clear greys. “Am I not allowed to love you?” “It pains me so… doctor. Knowing I’m in love with someone unreachable.” There was forlorn sadness in Khayalan’s voice, his shoulders drooping like a wilted rose as he gazed mournfully at Adrian through his long lashes. Almost reflexively, he shifts closer towards the doctor to get a better look… oh how he simply longed to kiss away the worries in those constantly furrowed brows. Upfront honesty was rare for him, and it gave him comfort that he would have alcohol as an excuse to fall back on the next day. His mind raced ahead, fabricating even more excuses and jokes to brush off the confession. Perhaps nothing in the world would have prepared him for the answer he received. “I think… I do care for you,” Adrian blurted out despite himself, the fiery blush on his face evident down to the last freckle, especially in such close proximity. “Doct– …Adrian?” Their noses were almost touching, hot breaths mingling together. Adrian felt the heat flush on his face, but somehow, he wasn’t able – simply couldn’t tear his gaze away from the half-lidded violet eyes. Khayalan voice was slightly hoarse, yet oh so soft as he gently cupped the side of the brunette’s face with one hand, tracing the outline of his trembling lower lip with the other, “Please… may I?” It came as a surprise when the doctor made the first move. As he shifted forwards suddenly, their lips meet in a clumsy crash. Eyes widening in astonishment at first, Khayalan smiled into the kiss as he closed his eyes to savour the moment. Their arms seek each other urgently, enveloping one another with a passionate embrace that closed the distance between. He fell back onto the bed obediently at the slightest push, raven locks of hair splayed wildly over the pillows. To his absolute delight, the doctor pressed further, deepening the kiss for some long, wild seconds before releasing him to catch a breath. Instinct and heated desire taking over, Adrian finds himself trailing bruising kisses down the smooth bronze skin. Was it because of the taste of the potent drugs on Khayalan’s lips? It was as if his mind was taken over by a haze of lust. Encouraged by the tantalizing soft moans and the way the younger man arched his back for more, more – the temptation was almost too great for him to stop. However, a nagging feeling at the back of his mind kept whispering to him, a voice of reason that told him what he was doing was very, very wrong. Panting slightly, Adrian realized belatedly his own predicament as he found his arms caging the younger man… feeling a slow heat rise from his arousal as it pressed itself snugly against the other’s. Yet even amidst this moment of passion, Khayalan was quick to catch the flicker of worry that creased his love interest’s brow, the flash of uncertainty that came with it. Carefully, gently, he chooses his words, touching a reassuring hand to Adrian's flushed face, “Will you… take me?” He reads the relief in the other man’s eyes as the reply came, quite readily, as his mind snapped back to sudden clarity at the question. “No.” “Just. Not… today. Not like this,” Adrian added, apologetically. Slightly soothed by the understanding smile he received, he hastily disentangled himself from the bed to excuse himself from the room. A warm hand softly catches his wrist as he turns to leave, and he finds himself once again lost in Khayalan’s pleading gaze. “Please, will you stay?” Relenting with a crooked smile, he picks up a book from the nearby desk and settles himself into the chair next to the bed. Mustering his most practical doctor-like voice, he sternly chides the other figure, "I'll be here. Now, sleep." Comforted by Adrian’s presence, Khayalan drifts off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep. It was unusually difficult for the young doctor to concentrate on his medical book tonight, especially when he was having difficulty willing his unattended business to calm down. Busying himself, the doctor methodically sets out fresh clothes for his sister’s friend to change into for the morning, blushing lightly as a vision of Khayalan in his own clothes comes unbidden into his mind. He heaves a sigh as he sits back in the chair, frowning at the book unseeingly. Unbeknownst to him, the reason he was having difficulty comprehending was probably because he held it upside down, and mostly because he kept stealing glances at the sleeping beauty. What. WAS that about? Long, delicate eyelashes. Inky black hair with the dash of colour. Adrian had often caught himself wondering more than once, how it would feel like to run his hands along it. To idly twirl his fingers around the dark blue streaks and watch as it bounces back upon letting go. And that he wondered, even as a child when Khayalan made frequent visits to play with Rhys. Adrian himself always had his nose buried in a book. Yet he puzzled, for a long time… if those secretive glances and winning smiles Khayalan threw in his direction were truly meant for him. The odd times he would find new, difficult-to-obtain books on his meticulously scribbled read-list placed on his desk. Never an indication as to whom or where it came from, but always, always with the faint lingering smell of sandalwood incense that prevailed through the Alnazar household. They were cordial friends, that much is certain. It was mostly because of their bond with Rhys, and also because of the closeness between their families as the Devoraks and Alnazars. Had there always been something more? The way Khayalan looked at him that sometimes made his heart race, the way he phrased his words like he was hinting at something deeper. He buries his face in his hands as he remembered his vague confession, although he doubted any amount of rephrasing would sound better. Troubled by the uncertainty of the nature of their relationship, the brunette finds his eyelids drooping as he drifts off uneasily, hands folded neatly on the book that resolutely remained upside down. ~~~ It was in the middle of the night when Khayalan woke to a heavy thud, and a mild whimper. He blinked hazily, eyes adjusting to the dim candlelight. A low chuckle came from his throat as he realized that Adrian’s heavy book fell out of his lap and landed partially on his foot, and yet was tired enough to sleep through it all. Sliding smoothly out of bed, he picked up the offending book and smoothened out the creases with a murmured spell, placing it carefully on the desk. He glances at the tired person contemplatively, before just cautiously sliding an arm around the slender waist and another firmly supporting the legs. A small thrill made his heart beat faster as Adrian’s head lolled backwards, nuzzling into his neck. In slow, confident strides Khayalan reaches the bed, setting down the sleeping person without jostling him too much. Settling right next to him, he debates if he should try giving a shoulder massage, but dismisses the idea for fear of waking him up after taking too many liberties. Instead, he contented himself with gently tracing patterns and connecting the freckles on Adrian’s skin, replaying their previous conversation in his mind. It wasn’t exactly a secret, how he felt about his best friend’s brother – but to hear reaffirmation and reassurance from Adrian himself, it was as if a dream too good to be true. As the flickering candlelight peters out eventually, sudden doubt seizes him. What if it was just a rush of adrenaline, some feral attraction based on purely instinct and nothing more? Or even worse… pity? Mind made up, Khayalan gingerly removes one of his earrings and drops it onto the pillow. Landing with a gentle thud, it gleamed inconspicuously on the white cotton folds. After a cursory survey at the clothes laid out for him to change into, he decided to go with the shirt and nothing else – the bottoms looked a little too form fitting for his liking, although it would probably look divine on the doctor himself. Pausing near the door, he cast a regretful look back at the sleeping form peacefully sprawled out on the bed. The first rays of day light filtered in the windows, casting an enchanting glow on the tousled flaming red hair. How long would it take before he could laze blissfully in those warm and comforting arms, never having to leave? A twinge of dread fills him – what if this was the last time he ever gets this close? So he stared, long and hard, committing the scene to memory. From the unruly locks that framed Adrian’s chiseled features, the way the sun kissed that delightfully freckled skin, the loosened collar that showed a delicious sample of skin. Khayalan drinks in the sight thirstily like a man deprived of water, blows him a kiss before turning away regrettably. On his way out of the building, he casually saunters by a second, shorter redhead, mouth agape and eyes widened with incredulity. “Morning, Rhys.” There was no response, although Rhys’ wandering eyes intently took in her brother’s shirt and the questionable blemishes unapologetically displayed on her friend’s neck and collarbone. Before she could come to, Khayalan flashed her a smug smirk before winking conspiratorially and disappeared from the front door. It was seconds after he barely left before a high-pitched shriek of “ADRIAN–” resonated throughout the building, leaving the young lad convulsing with mirth. There was a tremendous bang on Adrian’s bedroom door, kicked open with full force. An excited Rhys stormed into the room like a mini tornado, knocking over a stack of books in her haste. “Wha…?” the prone figure startled awake, rubbing his eyes and trying to focus. “…Rhys?” “…didn’t think you had it in you,” she chatters away at top speed, not really noticing the lack of a proper response. “WAS that why you wouldn’t let him sleep in my room??” Wearily, Adrian stretches out his long limbs, his mind duly registering that he was in fact, in bed and not on the chair. Waking up with a start, his eyes darts to the empty space next to him, that side of the bed fully made up. The glint of gold on the pillow next to his catches his eye as his sister drones on, “Hey. Hellooooo, are you even listening-” Carefully picking up the delicate trinket, Adrian makes a conscious decision to return it to its owner that very day. … … Except that he nearly didn’t. ~~~ The clinic was busy throughout the day, and by the time the last patient left, it was almost dark. As the young doctor reached the magician’s shop, it stood silent and empty of its usual inhabitants. Undeterred, Adrian takes out the earring Khayalan left behind and cast out for the familiar trace of magic. Although there was a large concentration of magic residue at the shop, a fresher trail led away from the building. As he followed the gradual pull of magic, Adrian eventually found a lone figure perched upon tall crates at the docks. Heat flushed his face when Adrian realized the other individual was still wearing nothing but the shirt he lent, yet worry creased his brow as he saw how those downcast eyes were staring forlornly at the setting sun. Did Khayalan wait for an entire day…? The doctor cleared his throat audibly, rousing Khayalan from dark thoughts. The way Khayalan face alighted with joy, the dazzling smile he offered was such a stark contrast from the previous mood that it took Adrian’s breath away. With the grace of a feline, the other man leapt down from his perch and landed easily beside him. “Hey. You found me.” Wordlessly, Adrian offered the earring back to its owner, whose fingers tingled with warmth as they lingered a few moments on his hand. Surprise coloured his voice, almost as if he entirely forgotten about the jewellery he left behind, “Oh. Thanks.” There was growing disappointment in Khayalan’s heart when Adrian remained silent, although he tried to smooth things over by talking quickly. If the doctor was having second thoughts, perhaps a hasty exit would be the best for all parties involved. Turning away abruptly from Adrian, he started walking away even as he started his monologue, “Sorry… you had to come all the way for just this. I can drop off your shirt with Rhys later, after I get it washed…” Yet he didn’t manage to get far before Adrian’s shaky voice called out, halting his footsteps. “Khayal, please.” “We need to talk.” As he faced the doctor again, there was a gradual tinge of blush on Adrian’s countenance that Khayalan had not noticed in the first place, and it gave him wild hope. Sensing that Adrian was struggling with words, he offered his own. “…did you really mean what you said last night?” Khayalan’s voice was so soft that it was almost drowned by the gentle crash of the waves. The brilliant blush on Adrian’s face bloomed to the tip of the ears, and his lowered gaze fell to his own boots as Khayalan continued, “That you also care… about me, that way?” “…Yes.” Adrian mumbled without looking up, still focusing his attention on his feet. He could hear the other man shift, hear the wooden boards creak lightly under soft footsteps, and finally a pair of feet came into view, right in front of him. Still, there was enough space. He could breathe. He focused on it, taking deep breaths, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat. He was… confused. It was unusual to be overwhelmed by feelings, of this sort. No amount of reading or research could have prepared him for this. A firm hand tipped his chin upwards, letting go when his gaze lands once again on pleading violet eyes. “Would you allow me a chance…? A chance to get to know you better?” A flicker of surprise came over the red-head. Honestly, he half-thought it would be a more… difficult or intimate request. There was a slight pause, only the soothing sound of waves crashing on the rocks in the background. “I saw another shipment of books come in the other day. Maybe we can go book hunting? Or…perhaps reading… together? Drop by the theatre? Maybe, tea?” the words just tumbled over themselves in their eagerness to please, as Khayalan prattled suggestions one after another. It was all so very simple and contrary to his many worries, that Adrian just stared blankly – and then started laughing heartily, tension dissipating from his shoulders. “Perfect,” he gasped, after catching his breath and regaining his composure with difficulty. “What, tea?” a seemingly perplexed look coming over Khayalan’s face, unconsciously twisting his fingers together. “All of them.” And the dear doctor smiled, that perfect crooked smile that always made Khayalan’s heart skip a beat. Things were off to a great start. He can live with that. Khayalan reached out to Adrian then, lightly wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him closer till their foreheads were resting against each other. They stayed like that for a while, eyes closed and noses gently nuzzling, when Adrian finally placed his hands around the other’s waist – closing the gap entirely. Even with the cooling salty mist that the waves sprayed, Khayalan could feel the heat of the fierce blush on Adrian’s face. With the warm reassurance of the hands place tentatively around his waist, life seemed like it couldn’t feel any better. It felt… it just felt right. Tipping his toes slightly to reach upwards, he placed a tender kiss right between the ever-worrying eyebrows. “Thank you.” ~~~ And thank YOU for reading it, if you’ve made it this far~! 50 points to whichever House you belong to! (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

[obciidian-archived]

“Don’t worry about me.” + “You always worry too much.” Solmi to Dohyun

source    :    open    :    @anscendie

      it  can  be  fiendish  to  subsist  inside  a  mind  where  ghosts  taunt  each  and  every  second  yet  there  is  no  catharsis  at  sight.  in  fact,  the  world  is  bleak  and  the  vision  is  ebony  and  one  cannot  sense  the  placation  at  last  filling  the  thorax.  ribs  are  shattered  into  millions  of  fragments  and  dohyun  confides  it  is  best  if  he  just  goes  silent,  for  once.  shutting  his  mouth  and  not  meddling  in  others’  deals  would  be  a  brilliant  idea  of  him  –  of  his  inquisitive  eyes  and  mind  to  cease  prying  and  pondering  perpetually.  

            alas,  worry  is  all  he  knows.

            he  is  stripped  away  from  will  and  yearnings  –  those  remain  solely  as  reveries,  and  the  heart  is  no  longer  content  on  its  own.  there  are  duties  to  fulfill,  they  are  lives  who  matter  on  the  line  –  his  own  keen  to  observe  and  nurture…  he  has  only  one  aim  and  he  is  inadequate  to  perform  it  properly.  the  clock  is  ticking  and  years  pass…  he  still  goes  nowhere.  he  only  becomes  older  and  jaded,  furthermore  fatigued  to  roam  in  this  world  every  day  with  the  dread  of  never  being  enough.  yet,  dohyun  knows  he  is  privileged.  he  is  privileged  for  he  has  grown  with  loving  parents   ( brutally  taken  away  from  him )   and  he  is  privileged  to  be  standing  on  both  feet  with  good  health.  he  is  privileged  for  he  does  not  need  to  be  apprehensive  of  his  spendings  more  than  the  normal  being  –  he  has  more  than  she  does.

              is  he  ashamed  ?

              ❛    don’t  say  it  like  that…  you  know  you  worry  over  people  that  you  care  about  –  you  do  that,  too.  it’s  natural.    ❜  

              there  is  solicitude  in  the  eyes  and  it  is  manifest.  although  it  is  barely  noticeable  his  simper  is  woeful  as  he’s  dreading  of  her  heart  to  become  gelid  towards  him.  just  how  many  more  obstinated  words  until  she’s  pushed  away  ?  until  she  decided  that  she  wants  him  no  more  ?  he’s  temperate,  well,  he  attempts  to  be,  when  offering  her  the  world  in  the  palm  of  his  hands  while  knowing  perfectly  well  that  he  cannot  truly  afford  to  coax  her  with  saccharine  words  and  dazzling  grins  and  chortles  –  for  she  feasibly  never  will  be  satiated.  perhaps  he’s  not  what  she  needs.

            ❛    solmi,  stop  being  stubborn.  accept  my  help,  please  ?    ❜  

[snowfallen-nymph]

💤

From alluvial earth rose blossoms painted of lilac and ivory ascending skyward, licking the branches they were born from; but a myriad of trees encompassed by mist. What manifestation of a world was this where the snow drifted heavenward, greeting nimbus--mother of their very creation--rather than enveloping the ground as a coverlet for the flowers' eternal slumber? It was but one of many the nymph wove into creation; a serendipitous sequence of phantasmagoria that one may have found themselves to be blessed with upon an evening of what was usually restless sleep.

There she was, the orphic dreamer; the silhouette of a woman in white centered within the clearing of that iridescent forest. So delicately perched and fragile was she along the points of her toes as an ethereal balletic apparition, seemingly crystallized by paraselene moonlight. Her arms spread wide and extending upright with palms open as an offering to the Gods where petals and snowflakes traipsed her fingertips like dancers. Beneath her veil of pellucid silk and lace remain vague imagery of what should've been a visage. Swathed in equally gossamer fabric billowing weightlessly behind her, no presence of air nor breeze could be fathomed beyond such idiosyncratic display. Oh, may all that is known defy gravity, and even the laws of physics defined by the perfectly imperfect beings not of the realm of dreams. With her this was truth, and it shall always be and thusly remain so.

What was this for one to even begin to feel, or even to understand? These dreams were unlike the nightmares perpetuated by unholy manifestation—no.. this dream was of her creation. So strangely serene it was that it almost hadn't felt organic.

Once one’s presence had been known, the infinitesimal nymph's figurine froze statuesque. The faintest incline of her chin bid errant curls of opalescent snow to spill from her veil, further eclipsing a mien bearing woeful expression that one may have only caught but a glimpse of. Slowly, a hand rose in a faithful dainty manner, reaching forth a sinuous limb with spidery digits delicately curling inward as if to beckon the vessel of this reverie closer. When she spoke, it was so very quietly. It would be a wonder if she had spoken at all. Then, from plush rosebud lips spilled haunting locution woven as a forlorn soul's lullaby; a mellifluous sound drawn-out and eerily alluring albeit quite as transient as her very being.

“I-.. I know you, do I not..? I've… felt you b-before. Once upon a dream…”

{ @blacksorrow-wra <3 }

[adleryoung]

"Percy died?" I asked, somewhat surprised.  "Years ago you say?  What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Ethel explained.  "He was just old."

"How did he escape the, um," I started to say.  "How long ago was that?"

"I dunno," Ethel shrugged.  "Percy le Gobelet died years ago, before I was even born."

"It's been that long??" I wailed, as the realization of how much time I had lost came crashing down on me.

"Hey," Ethel snapped.  "What are you implying?  You make it sound like the time before I was born was AGES ago.  I'm not that ancient!  I don't look ancient do I?"

"No wonder the Duchess is so far ahead of me!" I groaned.  "Everything has changed!  Nothing is like it was!"

"Oh hey," Ethel quipped, interrupting my woeful reverie.  "Speaking of the Duchess, are you serious about me being your General-In-Chief and War-Marshal?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, this is one of the dumbest stories I've ever heard, but it's also the most interesting thing that's happened in a while, so I'll play along.  Assuming for the moment that there really is a shrub army, and it isn't some fable your ladybugs concocted to amuse themselves at your expense -"

"We do not lie about such things," Typantronn insisted haughtily.

"I believe your lord gave you a mission," Ethel reminded the Ixie.  "And as his second-in-command, I'm reminding you to be off and fulfill your duty.  DOUBLE TIME, SOLDIER!"

Typantronn reflexively saluted and buzzed away.

"Now then, Randall, if the reports are true then your objective must be to help the Duchess win the battle against the shrubs.  I can't believe I just said that.  Still, that's what you must do.  You've got to do it from a safe distance and in such a way that she does not win without suffering heavy losses.  Because you want her to be weakened from the encounter, unable to turn and attack you next.  Black powder isn't going to be any use to her against an army of trees, and it won't be any use to you either, so we have to come up with a different strategy."

I thought to myself that the powder might be far more useful than she thought, if it were properly steamed ... but I was too awestruck by Ethel's military Wiles to say anything.

"If you actually can do magic," she continued.  "Now would be the time to work up a spell involving axes, or .."

She suddenly turned and pointed at an eerily familiar-looking bird skulking behind one of the menhirs.

"A SPY IN OUR MIDST!" Ethel yelled accusingly.  "Is this one of the Vulpians you mentioned?"

"Vulpitanians," I corrected.  "And no, I doubt it, because it's not a fox and it isn't wearing the proper uniform."

"Is that Adler Young?" the bird asked, pointing at me.

[cherieblossem]

If only

If my tears are the memories of you,

I would force these eyes to cry just to get rid of you.

If you are the fluorescent that lights up my room at night,

I would rather turn it off and stay somber off the light.

If you are the music that stills my messy heart,

I'd just blankly stare the wall making reverie as an art.

If only my blink could make me oblivion,

Maybe now, you're just once a piece of white on my crayon.

If only.. What if..

These words could mend our woeful hearts,

These words could ease our trouble minds,

But it won't unless you do something to make it happen.

[autrienne-blog]

❝ did i mean anything to you? ❞

(◞ ◊ . *       –––––––       J .

DO        NOT        GRACE        A        RESPONSE.      hold        steadfast        these        words        which        bleed        daggers        between        your        ribs,        the        place        he        used        to        fill        between        each        beat        of        your        heart.       *        oh        !                 would        you        be        surprised        to        find        that        he        does        still                ?                hide        away        from        him        now,        your        shame                &               miseries               &               woeful        presence.        you        are        not        deserving        of        such        love               &               dream-like        reveries        that        he        blesses        you        with.        his        tone        is        grievous,        you        can        hear        it        in        the        quiver        of        his        voice                &               the        ancient        flower        of        love        that        blossomed        only        for        you:              NOW    WITHERS.               tired        eyes        blink        closed,        hide        truest        feelings        to        spare        his        in        turn                /                break        him        now        to        save        him        later.        obsidian        night        would        better        his        life        than        you.        beautious        plague        of        the        conscious        mind               !                thoughts        of        happiness        will        drown        you,        love        tears        itself        apart        over               &                over.        hand        pushes        open        the        door,        a        final        glance        behind        to        a        silhouette                  sans        coeur.                   bite        thy        tongue               !               do        not        go        to        him,        do        not        tell        him        your        truths.        instead        inhale        sharply,        speak        bitterly,        empty-voiced.           ❝           no.        i’m        sorry        you        thought        otherwise.            ❞