#&& c. zero / song of the end

[aetherose]

I wanna write Zero regenerating in a thread someday just to horrify the muse she's with because of how 'what the fuck' it is that she's reforming a body from the flower in her eye and seemingly turning herself inside out or something as her original body is just gone by the end of it.

And it's also definitely insanely painful for her but she just has no regard for herself and has gotten used to it. Oh Zero dear you've got so many issues.

[foreveia]

c(alc)ulus ⤨ tsukishima kei

⨭ genre; hard 2 explain but there's a happy ending so u shld read (jk its a college!au, frat boy!au)

⨭ pairing; tsukishima kei x f!reader

⨭ word count; 9.7k

⨭ descriptions; you're the last person kei wants anything to do with, but not even he can deny it: he, and the entire frat, needs you.

⨭ warnings; frat boy levels of alcoholism, explicit language

⨭ a/n; i love math but love blondes more. i also love rly long fanfics with plot and pretty language and feelings, so hope y'all enjoy this super long mess of a frat!universe haikyuu with college-core drinking habits, calculus talk, and a whole lot of simping for kei <3

song i listened to writing this: 'risk' by gracie abrams

one.

Kageyama is failing calculus.

This statement wouldn’t necessarily be a big deal—after all, he had barely passed most of his classes his whole life, getting into college solely with his athletic skills and having zero intentions to stay in academia in the future. He’s in university primarily just to have something to fall back on, and he has made it exceptionally obvious that he does the bare minimum to get his degree by sleeping through his lectures and procrastinating his homework to the night it’s due. He doesn’t, and has never, cared much about school, and has somehow made it through life anyway, so really, in most circumstances, Kageyama failing a class wouldn’t be a big deal at all. 

However, in this circumstance, Kageyama is also a brother of Kappa Alpha Rho, and therefore his grades reflect not just him but the brotherhood, meaning him failing a class has fully become Tsukishima’s problem, making this, in fact, a very, very big deal. He thinks he’s screwed.

And it’s completely your fault.

Tsukishima glares at the email notification sitting at the top of the screen, clenching his jaw so hard that he feels his back molars ache. 

ASU Policy Update: New Funding Requirements for Student Organizations

He’s already read it twice, but he clicks on it again anyway, as if the words would magically change now that it’s his third try. His fingers drum against the desk, anxious and annoyed all at once.

Effective immediately, all university-funded student organizations must maintain a collective GPA of C+ (2.3) or higher to remain eligible for financial support from ASU. Organizations failing to meet this requirement will be placed on academic probation for a select amount of time, after which, if under the minimum, will be denied funding for the academic year. 

He exhales sharply through his nose and shuts his laptop a little harder than necessary. His knee bounces under the desk as he stares at the wall, running the numbers through his head. A D- average to a C+? That’s not a small jump. That’s a fucking leap.

And it’s because of you. But then again, of course it is.

Tsukishima doesn’t even know you personally, but he knows of you. Everyone at Furudate University knows of you. It’s honestly impossible not to.

Your name gets thrown around like a fucking urban legend: the math department’s golden girl, every professors’ favorite. The kind of student whose name gets printed in bold on the Dean’s List every semester, top of the class in every single way, looking down at everyone else from your haughty position up there.

You’re the poster child for academic excellence, and this is exactly the kind of sanctimonious, holier-than-thou rule someone like you would pass.

He can practically see you in his head, sitting in some committee meeting, smug as you argue for “higher academic standards,” completely unaware of the absolute nightmare you’ve just created. 

He rubs his temple. He doesn’t have time for this. If Kappa Alpha Rho loses funding, they lose access to the house stipend, the event budget, the formal venue deposit—

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, already clicking through the chapter’s internal roster. He zeroes in on the worst grades. Not surprisingly (albeit disappointing nonetheless), Kageyama’s name jumps out immediately.

He has a 37 in Multivariable Calculus.

Tsukishima closes his eyes and counts to five. It doesn’t help. His laptop screen just glares back at him, the double-digits in bright red. He’s dragging the entire GPA down, significantly so. 

So if Kageyama fails, they’re all fucked. 

Tsukishima opens the frat group chat.

(11:42 AM) tsukishima: who here actually passed multi calc

It takes all of five whole seconds before the chat explodes.

hinata: LOL NOT ME yamaguchi: barely but yea? noya: i didn’t even know multi was real lmao

Tsukishima pinches the bridge of his nose. They’re useless. They’re all fucking useless.

(11:43 AM) yamaguchi: wait is this about the gpa thing? are we actually losing funding? tsukishima: we will if kageyama fails calc hinata: bro just make him pass it then tsukishima: do you think i control his brain (11:44 AM) tanaka: wait hold on. are you saying if we fail we’re actually broke?? yamaguchi: tsukki wouldn’t joke about this lol hinata: WHAT DO U MEAN BROKE. LIKE. BROKE BROKE?? noya: LIKE WE GOTTA PAY FOR KEGS OUTTA POCKET BROKE???

Tsukishima watches the messages roll in, each response growing increasingly more unhinged. He feels his blood pressure rising, ticking up with every single one.

(11:45 AM) tanaka: WE CAN’T LOSE FUNDING FORMAL IS IN 3 MONTHS hinata: NOOOO NOT FORMAL noya: NOOOOOOOOOO NOT FORMAL tanaka: WHO THE FUCK IS GONNA PAY FOR FORMAL

Tsukishima sighs, dragging a hand down his face. This is exactly what he didn’t want. The second these idiots realized the frat’s funding was actually on the line, everything was going to implode. Where’s the rest of the exec board right now? He misses them.

(11:46 AM) yamaguchi: okay but seriously what’s the plan tsukishima: kageyama needs to pass calc obviously tanaka: okay but like. how

Good fucking question.

Tsukishima leans back in his chair, thinking. Kageyama isn’t stupid—not in the traditional sense, anyway. He just doesn’t give a shit. If he had a decent tutor, someone to force the information into his thick skull, he might actually stand a chance.

(11:47 AM) tsukishima: does anyone know a decent tutor (11:48 AM) yamaguchi: y/n

Tsukishima physically recoils.

(11:48 AM) tsukishima: like… vpaa y/n??? yamaguchi: yeah?? she’s the best tutor in the math department hinata: wait isn’t she the one that profs never shut up about lol tanaka: bro we’d be paying for a 5-star tutor with beer money noya: u think she’d go for it tho?? hinata: tsukishima just bat your pretty little eyelashes and get her to help us 🤩 tsukishima: i will block you

There is no way in hell he is asking you for help. Absolutely not. Because if there’s anyone on this entire campus that would not hesitate to let Kappa Alpha Rho crash and burn, it’s you.

But then, Daichi—super convenient timing for the president to come in right now—sends the real kicker.

(11:49 AM) daichi: Text Y/N. Now.

Tsukishima grinds his teeth. His fingers hover over the keyboard. For a very, very long moment, he just stares blankly at the screen, until finally, he types.

(11:50 AM) tsukishima: someone send me her number.

And Tsukishima thinks, for not the last time, that he’s absolutely screwed.

two.

For someone who’s actively ruining his life, you’re surprisingly… okay.

At least, you were over text. You responded within minutes, and—without sarcasm, without question, without any needed negotiation—agreed to a tutoring session the next day. 

Tsukishima thinks he should be wary of this. Surely you have some ulterior motive, something that’s meant to prove to him (and yourself) just how much smarter you are than everyone else. 

Ah, yes. That’s probably it. You’re going to use the dumb frathlete to make yourself feel good.

After some contemplation, Tsukishima decides that he should be there. As idiotic and annoying as Kageyama can be, he’s still his brother, and Tsukishima isn’t about to let some pretentious academic just mock and insult him; Kageyama is shitty with words, so the least Tsukishima can do is be there to snap back for him. 

Tsukishima is almost certain that you’re doing this solely to stroke your ego. After all, why else would someone like you agree?

That being said, twenty four hours later, sitting across from you at a library table, he’s forced to admit—begrudgingly—that you’re actually not… terrible.

Tsukishima watches you carefully, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for the moment you slip up—some trace of superiority, some indication that you think this is beneath you. But to his surprise, you don’t smirk, you don’t sigh in frustration, you don’t roll your eyes every time Kageyama gets something wrong.

You’re just… patient. Shockingly, infuriatingly patient.

“Okay,” you say, tapping the corner of Kageyama’s notebook with your pen. “Walk me through your thought process. How did you get to this step?”

Kageyama stares at his paper, scowling. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you got this part right,” you say, circling something in the equation. “So let’s build from here.”

Kageyama frowns deeper, pressing his pencil so hard that the lead tears a little hole—Tsukishima expects you to finally snap, to lecture him for not paying attention, but instead, you just tilt your head and try again.

“I think you’re having trouble with double integrals, so let’s break those down first, okay?” you say, not at all unkindly, before flipping open your notes and locating the respective chapter in the textbook. Tsukishima notices, with mild surprise, that you don’t even have to check the table of contents—you go straight to the right page.

And then, even stranger: your own notes are written beside the original text. Your annotations are precise but casual, breaking down the wordy explanations into clear, digestible pieces; your diagrams take up the margins, and where there’s extra blank space, you’ve doodled functions, arrows, sometimes little stick figures interacting with equations.

Tsukishima shouldn’t care. He doesn’t.

But something about it—about how thoroughly you understand this shit—sticks with him.

And as you start explaining, Tsukishima quickly comes to understand why they call you the best in the department. 

Your voice is even, steady, and you don’t just read from the textbook—you reframe the concepts completely, breaking them down into comparisons, real-world applications, diagrams that actually make sense. It’s the kind of familiarity that takes years of experience and countless hours of practice, and you obviously have gotten to an incredible degree of expertise. And most importantly, when Kageyama hits a block or stumbles over the formulas, you don’t get irritated.

You just adjust.

Again. And again. And again.

Until finally, something clicks.

Tsukishima watches, arms crossed, as you do something no professor, no TA, and certainly no frat brother has managed before: you make Kageyama think. You make him care. Kageyama straightens slightly in his seat, gripping his pencil a little tighter; he scribbles something down, then nods to himself, like he actually understands. 

Tsukishima leans back, exhaling through his nose. 

He hates to admit it, but Yamaguchi was right: you really do know your shit. 

three.

An hour passes like this. Slowly, but gradually, Kageyama works through his problem set, stopping every so often to ask questions. You answer every single one without hesitation, without even having to double check, with the complete confidence of someone who simply knows that they’re right. 

Then, completely unprompted, you ask, “So, do you play volleyball?”

Kageyama pauses mid-writing. The question catches him off-guard—catches both of them off-guard, actually.

Tsukishima gives you a sharp look, but you just smile, amused.

“You retained information best when I used sports analogies to explain,” you continue, tapping the end of your pen against the table. “And when I used a volleyball as an example for triple integral applications, you corrected me on the radius in like, two seconds.”

Kageyama blinks. Then, looking somewhat sheepish, he mumbles, “Wow, that’s crazy. I’m on the university team.”

“That’s cool,” you say simply, clicking your pen. You doodle absentmindedly on an extra sheet of paper, this time drawing a little volleyball in the corner. “Our executive VP is on the team too. Sakusa.”

Kageyama hums an affirmation. “Yeah, we’re both starters.”

“As a sophomore? That’s really impressive,” you say. Tsukishima thinks that you’re pretty impressive too, considering you’re a sophomore just like them, but you don’t seem to be even thinking about that. “Why are you taking calculus, then? What’s your major?”

“Physics and kinesiology.”

“I didn’t peg you as a STEM guy,” you muse, still sketching in the margins. You’ve now switched to drawing a little banana.

Tsukishima, despite himself, huffs a quiet laugh.

Kageyama flushes slightly. “I, um, want to go pro after college,” he admits, ears bright crimson as he speaks. “So kinesiology felt right for an athlete. And for physics, well, I’m a setter, so I want to, um… I want to be able to calculate the velocity of the balls I send with more accuracy.”

It’s a ridiculous reason. Maybe even a stupid one. Definitely the stupidest reason Tsukishima’s ever heard for taking an incredibly intense and complex major like physics.

But you don’t laugh.

You just nod, smiling to yourself. “Thanks for letting me help you with your process, then.”

There’s a moment of silence, before Tsukishima bluntly remarks, “You’re weird.” 

It comes off slightly ruder than intended, and you pause, your pen coming to a halt on the paper. He adds, quieter than before, “I mean, you notice things like that?”

Your nose and forehead scrunch up in slight confusion, expression so befuddled as if he were simply asking you if the sky was blue. 

“Well, yeah.” You say this as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Everyone is different, with different interests and learning styles, and things get easier to understand when you break things down on their terms as opposed to yours. So of course I’ll pick up on things like that. I try to be observant of all the people around me.”

When your eyes meet his, he instinctively is on edge. Your tone is still light, but there’s something pragmatic about your eyes that makes him feel apprehensive, like he’s standing at the edge of a 50-foot fall and you’re watching to see if he’ll take the jump. It’s like you’re taking all of him in, like you’re taking everyone in. Like you see things other people don’t. 

If Tsukishima is being honest with himself, this perceptiveness is something he lacks. He willingly disregards much of the people and the things around him; it's a defense mechanism he has perfected over the years. It’s easier to stay detached. It’s easier to keep to himself; it’s easier to be indifferent. 

To be blunt, your astuteness unnerves him, and it’s a sensation he’s not used to grappling with. There’s a raw honesty in your gaze that feels almost invasive, peeling back the layers of his carefully constructed facade. You two had just met, but for a brief moment, he wonders if you can somehow see through him because despite your cheerful and carefree attitude, you are looking to understand people in a way he never has.

He quickly looks away, breaking the intense eye contact. “I guess that’s one way to look at it,” he mutters.

You don’t reply because your attention has already shifted back to Kageyama, with you leaning over his notebook and exclaiming, “See, you got this!” 

Kageyama has solved the several problems you gave him, his work still amateur but complete. You scan his notebook, pointing out the few areas where he could simplify his work, but the overwhelming beam on your face is nothing short of proud, and it incites a completely new determination in Kageyama. Despite his usual stoicism, your encouragement has visibly boosted his confidence and Tsukishima watches as the boy smiles and nods along when you flip the textbook to a new chapter, declaring loudly, “Okay! Let’s move onto vectors!” 

As you continue to explain, Tsukishima watches the two of you with a slight mixture of exasperation and something else he can’t quite put a name to. You are honest and true and it’s wholly unfamiliar, tiring in a way where he is overwhelmed. He’s not quite sure how to describe how he feels right now, sitting here with you together: maybe it’s a touch of admiration for you, maybe it’s just relief that someone else is dealing with Kageyama’s math woes for a change, but either way, at the end of it all, he finds himself settling back into his chair, a small, almost imperceptible amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. 

Minutes turn into hours, and before you know it, the sun is dipping lower and lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the library floors. By the time the library's closing announcement echoes through the halls, you have made it through half the vector fields unit and Kageyama has filled several pages of his notebook with neatly written solutions. 

“Well, let’s finish up. I think we’ve made some good progress today,” you decide, stretching your arms above your head. You begin to gather your things—if you’re not all out soon, the librarians will come and yell at you for sure.

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” Kageyama says earnestly, closing his notebook. “I think I’m starting to get it.”

“You are. Just keep practicing those problems, okay? You’ll pass this week’s quiz for sure if you keep at it,” you say cheerily. “Just text if you ever need any help. I’m always around.”

Your enthusiasm seems genuine, like you really do want to help Kageyama succeed. Tsukishima’s not sure what to do with this information.

He should be suspicious. Should assume there’s something in it for you—some academic accolade, some resumé boost, some smug satisfaction in proving you’re better than everyone else. But you don’t gloat. You don’t even act like this is a favor Kageyama—or, by extension, the frat—owes you for the rest of time. 

You just offer your help like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal to give this much of your time, your energy, your effort.

It’s strange. It makes him uncomfortable.

“You’re always around?” he says, unable to stop himself. His voice comes out dry, skeptical. “Sounds like you have way too much time on your hands.”

You blink, then laugh, genuine and light.

“Not really,” you say, slipping your notes into your bag. “I’m just good at making time for things that matter.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and for some reason, that sentence sticks in his brain.

Good at making time for things that matter.

Before he can think too hard about what that implies, Kageyama—completely unaware of the odd shift in atmosphere—stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll text you,” he says. “Uh. If I get stuck.”

“Good,” you say, satisfied. “See you both next time.”

And with that, you’re gone, stepping out of the library doors, the evening sun catching in your hair before you disappear down the hall.

There’s a brief silence.

“…She’s nice,” Kageyama says, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets.

Tsukishima sighs, shaking his head. “Don’t be weird about it.”

“I’m not.”

“You sound weird about it.”

Kageyama scowls but says nothing, already distracted by whatever thought process is rattling around in his thick skull.

Tsukishima, however, lingers.

He doesn’t want to admit that today went better than expected. That you weren’t condescending, that you didn’t treat Kageyama like a lost cause, that you were actually kind of impressive to watch. That there’s something about the way you carry yourself—the way you see people, notice things, care about things—that makes his stomach twist in a way he doesn’t like.

He exhales sharply. Nope. Not going there.

Instead, he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and starts toward the exit, brushing off whatever this feeling is. After all, this is just the first session.

There’s still plenty of time for you to prove him right.

four.

After the fifth tutoring session, Tsukishima notices two things.

First: since you’ve started helping Kageyama, his calculus average has jumped dramatically from a 37 to a 60. Considering he has to catch up on the whole semester, this much progress in such a short amount of time is insane, and Tsukishima—who has spent years watching Kageyama be a stubborn idiot—is actually kinda baffled by it.

Second: it’s not that you look down on him, or Kageyama, specifically. You just look down on Greek life as a whole.

It takes him a while to realize it. At first, he assumes it’s personal—that you have some vendetta against Kappa Alpha Rho, some deep-seated superiority complex. But then, over the next few weeks, he starts paying closer attention.

You don’t sneer at Kageyama’s jersey. You don’t mock him for struggling, don’t look at him like he’s a dumb jock barely worth your time.

But when Tanaka and Noya come to pick Kageyama up after a session, still wearing their frat hoodies from some brotherhood event, Tsukishima catches the way your eyes flick to their letters. The way your lips press together, just slightly.

When Kageyama makes an offhanded comment about formal, you barely react—just a small exhale through your nose, something unimpressed.

And then there’s today.

You’re explaining another concept—Tsukishima isn’t really listening; Kageyama is nodding along, so he figures he doesn’t need to pay attention—when Hinata, of all people, shows up at the library. He bursts through the doors like a chaotic, overexcited golden retriever, completely disregarding the quiet study environment as he waves both arms above his head.

“Kageyama!”

Kageyama physically tenses. Tsukishima watches, vaguely amused, as he slowly turns to the orange-haired idiot now bounding toward them.

Hinata slaps a recruitment t-shirt onto the table. “You left it at the house, dumbass! Daichi said to bring it to you.”

Kageyama looks vaguely murderous. “Shut up.”

Tsukishima smirks. And then, he glances at you.

And there it is again: that brief flicker of something. That same exhale through your nose.

You don’t say anything, don’t react much at all—but Tsukishima sees it.

You hate frats.

And now, he wants to know why.

Luckily for him, it actually doesn’t take much to find out. 

It comes up casually, in the way most revealing things do—offhanded, unguarded, something you don’t realize you’re giving away. 

Kageyama is the one who brings it up. Not intentionally, obviously—he's never been intentionally insightful a day in his life—but between scribbling down an answer on his problem set, he suddenly asks, “Why’d you make that rule, anyway?”

You glance up, caught off guard. “Huh?”

“The GPA thing,” he clarifies. “You’re the VPAA, right? So it was your idea.”

Tsukishima watches as you blink, your grip tightening just slightly around your pen.

Then, after a moment, you exhale, setting it down. “It wasn’t just me,” you say. “It was a committee decision.”

“But you agree with it,” Tsukishima says, leveling you with a look.

Your lips press together. There it is again—that tiny flicker of something. Then, you sigh. 

“It’s just frustrating seeing people waste their potential,” you say finally, voice careful, deliberate. “I mean, don’t you want to succeed?”

Ah. So that’s what it is: you think that all fraternity boys are idiots who only care about partying and drinking games. You think they don’t care about their futures. That they’re lazy, entitled, wasting the opportunities they have.

Tsukishima exhales slowly through his nose, tipping his chair back just slightly. He should be annoyed. He should be pissed off.

But instead, he just smirks.

“You think we’re all just dumb party boys, don’t you?”

Your eyes flick to his. You don’t answer, which, really, is answer enough.

So obviously, he challenges you.

“Come to the house,” he says. “See for yourself.”

Your expression shifts into something guarded, something skeptical and unimpressed. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you clearly don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Tsukishima says simply.

Kageyama, ever helpful, chimes in: “Hinata’s even worse at math than me.”

Tsukishima watches you pause, purse your lips, obviously considering. It’s a long pause, you staring down at the desk for a full minute, until finally, you sigh. “Fine.”

Oh, you’re in for a disaster.

five.

Walking into the Kappa Alpha Rho house for the first time, you’re not sure what you were expecting.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t… this.

The first thing you’re hit with when you enter the house is, simply put, noise. 

The music is loud—too loud for a weeknight, you think absently, because there’s no way none of these guys have morning classes tomorrow. Someone in the kitchen is yelling indistinctly over the sound of clinking glass, and from somewhere deeper inside the house, there’s a resounding crash, followed by an enthusiastic, “It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t worry about it!”

Tsukishima watches as you visibly tense, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. You’re standing near the entrance like you’re considering leaving, like maybe you’d rather walk straight back out the door than step even a foot further into this chaos. You wouldn’t be the first: he’s seen people walking into the house for the first time and immediately regretting every life choice that led them here. The frat is loud, messy, chaotic in a way that isn’t easy to handle if you’re not used to it. And you—pristine, calculated, Type-A to your very core—are definitely not used to it.

He watches you closely, waiting for you to scoff any second now, to turn around and walk out.

But then, you hear it. 

“Integrate or drink, loser!”

As an applied and theoretical math double major, the sentence instantly piques your curiosity, and you can’t, in your conscience, just walk out after hearing that. So you square your shoulders, and saunter in.

And when you see it, you stop in your tracks.

The scene before you is, frankly, absurd. Kageyama is standing at the end of a beer pong table, furrowing his brows like he’s solving a differential equation rather than playing a drinking game, and Hinata, vibrating with excitement, looks one misplaced shot away from combusting. Around them, the rest of the guys are watching with varying degrees of amusement: Tanaka and Nishinoya are grinning like they already know something Kageyama doesn’t, Yamaguchi is stifling laughter behind his hand, and Tsukishima—leaning against the wall, arms crossed—is watching you.

You glance at the table. The setup is questionable, at best. The cups are unevenly spaced, some tilted at an angle that defies both gravity and common sense. The whiteboard behind them has the remnants of what was probably meant to be a scoring system, though it's mostly illegible thanks to a combination of bad handwriting and smeared marker. And then, of course, there’s the absolute nonsense of what just came out of someone’s mouth.

You shift your gaze to the ping-pong ball in Hinata’s hand, then to Kageyama, who still looks personally insulted by whatever just happened. You blink once, then twice.

“What,” you say flatly, “am I looking at?”

“The future,” Nishinoya says dramatically, throwing an arm around Tanaka. “The greatest intellectual drinking game of our generation.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Sugawara mutters. You didn’t even notice him and the other two, presumably, seniors, sitting lazily on a couch against the wall and supposedly monitoring. 

“It’s simple,” Hinata says, barely containing his enthusiasm. “You make a shot, the other guy has to solve a math problem right, or they drink.”

Silence. You stare at him.

Kageyama’s expression darkens. “It’s stupid.”

“You’re just mad because I got the last one right,” Hinata shoots back.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did! The integral of sine is cosine, dumbass!”

“The answer was negative cosine—”

“Same thing!”

“It is literally not.”

“You know what,” you interrupt, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Forget I asked.”

At this, Tsukishima makes a quiet noise—something between a laugh and a scoff—but you don’t look at him. You’re too busy assessing the catastrophe in front of you.

Because, to be honest, this is ridiculous. A complete mess of a game, poorly thought out and even more poorly executed. But…

You bite the inside of your cheek.

The concept isn’t terrible.

It’s just wrong. And you, for better or worse, cannot let a flawed system stand.

Tsukishima watches as something in your expression shifts. You set your bag down with purpose, stepping closer to the table, eyes narrowing as you take in the setup. Then, voice completely serious, you say, “You’re playing it wrong.”

The entire room pauses.

Tanaka, who has a ping-pong ball balanced on the tip of his finger, squints. “Huh?”

“You’re playing it wrong,” you repeat, arms crossing as you survey the table like it’s a crime scene.

Hinata frowns. “No, we’re not.”

“Yes,” you say, “you are.”

Tsukishima raises a brow, intrigued. You’re not mad at them for playing. You’re not disgusted by their antics. You’re just… offended by the execution.

“The whole premise doesn’t work,” you continue, gesturing vaguely at the cups. “You can’t just shout out an integral and expect them to solve it in two seconds. You need rules. A system.”

Tanaka exchanges a glance with Nishinoya. “Bro,” he says, in awe. “We don’t have a system?”

“We do have a system,” Kageyama huffs.

You promptly ignore him, already reaching for a marker. “Okay. If we’re going to do this right, it should work like this.”

And just like that, you take over.

In what seems like an instant, the frat house—which is usually ruled by sheer chaos and barely functioning groupthink—is now operating under your direction. You’ve got the whiteboard in a chokehold, a marker uncapped and poised between your fingers as you outline a system so airtight, so horrifyingly efficient, that even Tsukishima has to admit it’s impressive.

Suddenly, the game makes sense. Instead of random, impossible integrals, each shot now corresponds to a category—concepts from the last five chapters, ranked by difficulty.

And as if just to add to the disbelief, everyone is listening.

Kageyama, glaring at the rules with an unreal intensity, is following along, his brows furrowed like he’s mentally poking holes in your system but failing to find any. Tanaka and Noya are nodding like you’ve just changed their lives. Ennoshita, who had previously been lurking near the drinks table, is watching you rewrite the game’s structure with increasing fascination.

Even Sugawara nods sagely. “She makes a good point,” he says solemnly. “The game did lack structure.”

“Thank you,” you reply, as if this is a serious academic debate and not an impromptu beer pong overhaul.

Tsukishima can’t even be mad about it. Not when you’ve very quickly become the most interesting thing in the house.

And especially not when he watches you, against all fucking odds, join in. As if you were some god tier frat boy in a past life, you sink a cup with infuriating ease on your very first throw, the ball arcing perfectly without any slightest bounce back. You don’t even blink. 

As if on cue, the whole house erupts.

Tanaka and Noya nearly combust on the spot, clutching each other in sheer exhilaration, while Kageyama’s jaw drops so fast you think it might actually unhinge. Even the seniors look mildly impressed. 

And Hinata… well, Hinata looks very afraid. 

“You—” he starts, pointing at you like he’s about to accuse you of something heinous.

But you don’t let him. You simply cross your arms, unimpressed, and say, voice smooth as ever, “Basic derivative. Give me an answer, or drink.”

There’s a split second of silence.

Then, absolute carnage.

Hinata scrambles for the marker like his life depends on it. “Uh—uh—five x to the—no, wait—”

You tilt your head. “Is that your final answer?”

“Shit, no—”

“You took too long,” you say, entirely unsympathetic. “Drink.”

Hinata lets out a strangled noise of distress as Tanaka and Noya dissolve into laughter. Even Daichi, who up until now has been observing like a wise elder, shakes his head in amusement as Hinata accepts his fate, downing his drink in defeat.

Tsukishima watches the entire thing unfold, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable.

Huh.

He’d expected you to bail before even stepping past the threshold. Expected you to scoff, maybe say something scathing about how frat boys had the collective IQ of a teaspoon, and leave without looking back.

And yet, here you are, rewriting the rules of a drinking game with the kind of ruthless efficiency that would put actual math professors to shame. Even worse: you’re winning.

By the time you sink your third consecutive shot, the rest of the guys have gone from mildly entertained to genuinely invested. Even Kageyama, who Tsukishima assumed would be sick of math by now, is begrudgingly playing along, answering derivatives and integrals like his pride is at stake.

Tanaka and Noya have fully accepted you as one of their own, chanting your name every time you land a shot. Hinata, despite his earlier humiliation, is practically buzzing, clearly determined to redeem himself. Even Yamaguchi, who usually prefers watching Tsukishima verbally eviscerate people from the sidelines, has been sucked into the chaos, trying (and failing) to solve an integral before Kageyama can.

It’s a disaster. A ridiculous, mathematically-inclined disaster.

And you—poised, serious, utterly deadpan as you call out equations like you’re running a boot camp—are the reason for it.

Tsukishima doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Yamaguchi elbows him.

“You’re enjoying this,” Yamaguchi says, low enough that only Tsukishima can hear.

Tsukishima scoffs. “Please.”

But Yamaguchi just gives him a knowing look, then pointedly nods toward you.

Toward the way you command attention without even trying. The way you challenge their game without hesitation. The way your focus sharpens when you're confronted with something that, even in the realm of absurdity, still needs to be corrected.

Tsukishima exhales slowly, shaking his head.

Of course you’d walk into a frat house for the first time and immediately take over. 

Of course you’d turn a drunken joke into an actual intellectual challenge. 

Of course you’d be—

“Tsukishima.”

He blinks.

You’re looking at him now, one brow arched, an extra ping-pong ball in your hand. The room quiets just a fraction, the weight of attention shifting ever so slightly. “You haven’t played yet,” you say simply. Your gaze is intense, and it makes his stomach twist, his chest strangely warm. 

Tsukishima stares at you for a long moment.

Then, very slowly, he pushes off the wall. Rolls up his sleeves.

“Alright, genius girl.” He steps up to the table, arms loose, completely at ease. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The room erupts once again.

And for the first time that night, you grin.

six.

After two months of knowing you, Tsukishima notices something else.

Your bag always contains not just the calculus textbook but several others as well. Every time he sees you on campus, you’re sprinting from place to place, dashing between study halls and libraries and the ASU building. Whenever Kageyama does need help, you’re true to your word and always there, but Tsukishima observes the way you rub at your temples when you think no one is looking, the way you blink a little too long, like you’re stealing micro-moments of rest in the middle of a conversation. The way your hands tremble slightly when you reach for your coffee, as if you’ve been running on caffeine and sheer willpower alone.

So one day, after Kageyama has already run off to his volleyball practice and it’s just the two of you in the frat house’s study room, Tsukishima finally asks the question he’s been wondering for weeks.

“Why do you do this?”

You still, your hands stopping midway as you pack up your belongings. You pause, looking up at him. “What do you mean? Tutoring?”

“Well yeah, tutoring, but also everything else—ASU, TA-ing… all of that. Why?”

You hum as you think over his question, a thoughtful look gracing your features. For a minute, it’s just silent in the room.

“I mean, do I need some grand reason to do it?” You decide after a moment of consideration, shrugging. “There’s a few reasons, I guess. But the biggest one is just that I genuinely like helping people. Like, being there for them and getting to see things click for them. That’s super rewarding in itself.”

“And the other reasons?” He watches you intently.

Clutching your laptop to your chest, you sigh, biting your bottom lip tentatively. It’s the first time he’s really seen you look vulnerable, now that he thinks about it. You’re always so calculated.

“Well– I guess it’s actually only one other reason. It’s also just… the only thing I’m really good for– sorry, at. But whatever, that’s kind of just–” you’re stumbling through your words before you cut yourself off mid-sentence, shaking your head. “At the end of the day, the only reason that matters is that I like seeing other people succeed.”

He nods slowly, sensing your discomfort and deciding not to push any further. “Yeah, okay.”

A small, wistful smile grows on your lips. “In the end, I’ll still be here. The time will pass anyway. I might as well spend it helping people find the happiness I find in math, you know?” 

“So you’re tutoring him again tomorrow?” 

You nod. “Mhm, from noon until two. I would go longer, but I think he has practice, so I’ll probably just do some work. I have a few policy briefs to go over.”

“Were you not busy enough today?” He drawls, gesturing to the sagging bag on your back. 

You laugh with pink cheeks, almost as if embarrassed at the question; you slightly scratch the back of your head. “Um, well, I don’t know. I had a really early class and then I had TA stuff, and then two tutoring sessions, and then a committee meeting and then this. So a pretty packed schedule, I guess,” you admit. Tsukishima gives you a look, and you quickly wave your hands. “I’m good though! I like all of it, so it’s not like it’s bad. It’s a lot, but not the worst, so it’s okay.”

Tsukishima watches you closely, taking in your words and the lilt in your voice. He can see the fatigue etched on your face, the prominent dark circles ringing under your eyes, but there's also a light in your eyes that speaks volumes about your genuine passion for what you do. It’s the same look that sparks up when you watch Kageyama succeed at a problem, the one that makes your eyes look like they’re dancing with fire and sets that weird fuzzy feeling in his stomach going again. It's both admirable and concerning, and he can't help but feel a strange mix of respect and worry.

“You really care about this, don’t you?” he says softly, almost more to himself than to you.

“Yeah, I do,” you reply. Your voice is purely sincere, completely direct. “Even if I’m super busy and stressed out and tired, it’s all worth it because I get to be a part of someone’s life becoming even just a little bit better.”

He’s quiet for a moment, processing everything you’ve said.

He used to hate you. He deemed you pretentious for the GPA rule, assuming you were just another overachiever with a superiority complex, or someone who enjoyed making things harder for people like him and Kageyama. Even beyond you personally, he’d always mocked people like you for flaunting their overtly virtuous and self-righteous personas, always seeming to crave attention and recognition for their altruism. 

But now, for the first time, their actions don’t seem self-serving: it’s a sacrifice, a genuine and earnest effort to make a difference that has nothing to do with personal gain. You don’t push people to do better because you think you’re above them. You do it because you believe they can be better. Because you care. Because, despite everything, you genuinely want to see people succeed. You dedicate all of yourself to others, to strangers unaware of your existence, simply because it’s the right thing to do. Simply because you can. 

You’re standing there, shoulders weighed down by the sheer number of responsibilities you carry, yet still speaking with unwavering certainty. You don’t expect anything back—in fact, you barely even take credit for the work that you do. You are just kind for the sake of being kind; even when you’re exhausted, even when you have nothing left to give, you keep going. You work yourself to the bone for the sake of everyone else, and no one seems to notice—not your professors, not the students you tutor, not the countless committees that rely on you.

Except now, Tsukishima does.

And because he doesn’t know what else to do with this realization, he sighs and just says, “You should eat before you go.”

You blink at him, caught off guard. “Huh?”

“The house is making dinner.” He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’re here anyway. Might as well eat something before you collapse.”

You huff a quiet laugh, but there’s something warm in your expression, something soft. “I’m not going to collapse.”

Tsukishima raises a brow. “Yeah, well. You look like you might.”

You roll your eyes, but to his surprise, you actually consider it. Then, after a pause, you sigh. “Okay, fine.”

And when you follow him toward the kitchen, Tsukishima tells himself it’s nothing. That he doesn’t care. That he’s just making sure you don’t keel over in the middle of a lecture hall somewhere.

But later, when you’re laughing at something Yamaguchi says, plate balanced in your hands, that strange, unfamiliar warmth creeps up his spine again.

And he thinks, not for the first time, that he might be screwed.

seven.

Since the first day you had dinner with them a few weeks ago, you’ve come to spend more and more time at the KAR house. 

And well, you admittedly didn’t see it coming, but you like the Kappa Alpha Rho boys.

They’re loud. They’re class clowns. They spend many, many weeknights drinking and blasting 2000’s pop at maximum volume, so much so that you can hear the telltale tunes of old Miley Cyrus and Britney Spears from halfway down Frat Row. They are, in many ways, exactly what you expected.

They’re also… really sweet. 

They’re all extremely determined to help each other to succeed. They care about each other so deeply; they’ve opened their arms to you, too, without question or complaint. They’ve looked after you in a way that you’ve never been cared for before. They gifted you a frat hoodie—your initials stitched beside the KAR letters. You have a designated mug in their kitchen cabinet. They don’t even ask if you’re staying to slide a plate in front of you at dinner. Tsukishima watches you closely whenever you pick at your food, and you pretend not to notice when he scoops an extra helping onto your plate.

They’re driven too, in their own way: as if inspired by Kageyama’s improvement, they’ve all begun to care about school, even if their study methods always seem to include some variant of rage cage or beer pong. You’ve seen how passionate they’ve grown about it, celebrating each small academic win as if it were a final exam. The whole fraternity has been clawing their way out of academic ruin, grinding through assignments, struggling through tests, pulling their GPAs up one painstaking decimal point at a time, going from one of the organizations with the lowest GPAs to being so close to the C+ minimum.

They’re so close. So close.

But technically, the frat still falls under that 2.3 minimum.

You realise this, sitting at your desk in the ASU building, because the deadline for organizations on academic probation to get their GPA up is inching closer and closer. The deadline that you set. From the policy that you put into place.

You stare at your desktop screen, at the open PDF of the passed policy, unblinking. The text is sharp and unforgiving. Academic probation lasts one semester. Organizations must raise their cumulative GPA to at least 2.3 by the end of that period or risk losing university funding. No exceptions.

You remember writing that clause, steady in your resolve at the time. It was supposed to be fair. Cut-and-dry. The goal was to push organizations to take academics seriously—to ensure that no fraternity or club skated by on empty promises and minimal effort. But now, the words feel different. They feel wrong.

You click open the academic records, searching for Kageyama’s name. His grades appear on the screen in neat rows: a scatter of past failures, single digits that make your chest ache, then a stark and steady climb. He’s sitting at a B-average now, a remarkable turnaround considering where he started. 

But as you do the math quickly (a habit at this point), calculating projected GPAs based on their current grades and the remaining assignments for the semester, you realise the bitter, indisputable results: no matter how hard they push, it won’t be enough. KAR’s overall GPA still won’t meet the minimum.

The weight of that realization settles deep in your stomach.

Your policy is flawed. 

For the first time since writing it, you see its error clear as day: it measures results, but not effort. It punishes past failure while ignoring present growth. It demands perfection in a system that, by design, allows only for progress in small, slow steps.

Something about that feels deeply, fundamentally unfair.

You think about the very principles that allowed you to sit here in the student union building, to have earned the title of Vice President of Academic Affairs. Because you’re not a natural genius, either: you’ve put in countless hours of hard work and effort into your studies, pulled countless sleepless nights and worked through countless practice problems just to get things right. Your policy was meant to encourage others to do the same. 

To reward hard work, and drive. 

And you’ve witnessed it for yourself, out of a group of rowdy, rambunctious frat boys.

You inhale sharply and sit up, rolling your chair forward. The cursor blinks in the empty document in front of you, a quiet invitation.

Slowly, carefully, you begin to type.

eight.

The night before the deadline, the Kappa Alpha Rho house is unusually quiet.

It’s strange. Even with music thumping from the speakers, even with bodies packed into the living room and voices rising in conversation, the usual energy—the chaotic, unrelenting, borderline obnoxious joy—is gone.

The party isn’t really a party. It’s a wake.

They all know what’s coming. Without funding, they’ll barely be able to keep things running. They’ll have to gut their budget, cut out every major event, every tournament, every social they used to host. They’ll lose their momentum, their presence on campus. They aren’t naive; they know what happens to a fraternity that can’t sustain itself.

So they drink. They celebrate what they were while they still can.

Tsukishima stands near the kitchen, beer in hand, watching the scene with a quiet irritation that hasn’t left him in days. It’s not just the situation—it’s you.

Because you’re not here.

And you haven’t been, not for days. No texts, no calls, no sudden appearances at dinner. No slipping into the house with your laptop and a resigned sigh, no sarcastic quips over Tsukishima’s shoulder while he studies. He knew you’d take this hard—he’s watched the way you’ve thrown yourself into their academic comeback, has seen the way your eyes light up when someone passes a test or raises their grade.

But he never thought you’d disappear.

The realisation sits heavy in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. It bothers him more than he wants to admit.

“Have you heard from her?” Yamaguchi asks, appearing at his side with a drink in hand.

Tsukishima exhales sharply through his nose. “No.”

Yamaguchi frowns, but doesn’t say anything else.

The thought festers in Tsukishima’s mind as the night stretches on. He should be angry at you. A part of him is angry at you. But mostly, it just doesn’t make sense: no possible explanation he comes up with does. You’re not someone who runs from responsibility; if anything, you take too much of it on yourself. But if you’re not here, if you can’t even look at them, then maybe you really do feel guilty. Maybe you really do think you failed them.

The idea makes something twist in his gut, makes the irritation curdle into something else.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that feeling.

So he stands there, arms crossed, listening to the frat he’s come to love mourn itself in real time.

And then the front door opens.

The music isn’t loud enough to drown out the sound—the soft creak, the shuffle of movement as someone steps inside. Tsukishima looks up, and the irritation he’s been holding onto vanishes in an instant.

Because it’s you.

You look exhausted. Shadows hang under your eyes, and your hair is slightly disheveled, like you’ve spent too many hours hunched over a desk. But still, you’re here.

And in your hand is a folder.

You walk straight toward him, weaving through the crowd, your expression unreadable. His breath catches in his throat before he realizes he’s holding it.

You stop in front of him, holding out the folder.

“Here,” you say simply.

Tsukishima doesn’t move. He just stares at you, at the folder stamped with the massive, obnoxious university logo, at the way your hand doesn’t waver. Hesitantly, he reaches out and takes it, fingers brushing against yours as he pulls it open.

His eyes scan the page.

ADDENDUM TO THE ACADEMIC PROBATION POLICY

His heart stutters.

It takes a moment for the words to register. The fraternity’s cumulative GPA is still below the requirement. But this—this thing you’ve spent the last few days working on, the thing you’ve evidently been breaking yourself over—it changes everything.

Organizations that show substantial improvement will still qualify for funding. As long as they continue to raise their GPA, they won’t be penalized.

He blinks. Once. Twice. The words blur slightly as he rereads them, brain struggling to keep up.

And then he looks up at you.

“You did this,” he says, voice lower than he intended.

You smile, small and tired but real. “You deserve it.”

Tsukishima feels like the air has been knocked from his lungs. 

For a moment, he can’t speak. He can’t move. He just stares at you, at the quiet certainty in your expression, at the exhaustion lining your face, at the way you’re standing here, in his house, telling him that they deserve this. He’s digesting the fact that you cared enough about them, that you respected their effort so much that you admitted your system’s faults to the entire university, published and notarized with physical proof.

Then, without thinking, without planning, without hesitation—he grabs your wrist.

The folder nearly slips from his grasp as he pulls you toward the center of the room, toward the rest of the fraternity. Someone notices first—Hinata, probably, judging by the sudden yell of surprise. Heads turn. Conversations still.

“What’s going on?” Kageyama asks, brow furrowed.

Tsukishima doesn’t answer. He just holds up the folder.

And then he watches it happen. The shift. The confusion, the realization, the moment the words sink in.

Kageyama’s eyes go wide. Yamaguchi’s jaw drops. Someone swears. Someone else shouts. And then, chaos simply erupts.

Because the next thing Tsukishima knows, they’re celebrating.

It’s different from before. This isn’t a goodbye party anymore. It’s loud, and wild, and joyful. There’s yelling and laughter and Hinata practically tackles you in excitement before you’re pulled into a flurry of hugs and cheers. Someone turns the music up. Someone else pops open a bottle of champagne that they were definitely not supposed to be saving for this occasion.

Tsukishima doesn’t join in.

Instead, he watches you.

Watches the way you’re laughing, exhausted but triumphant, surrounded by the people who care about you more than you realize. Watches the way they pull you into the celebration like you’ve always been one of them.

Watches the way you belong.

And for once, he doesn’t fight the way his chest tightens at the sight.

nine.

The party winds down eventually—not the joy, just the noise.

Most of the fraternity has either passed out in their rooms or sprawled out in various corners of the house, too tired (or too drunk) to make it any further. The music is still playing, but softer now, reduced to a faint hum that drifts through the open windows. Even the air feels different—lighter, easier, like the very house itself is breathing again.

Tsukishima finds you on the back porch, sitting on the steps, nursing a half-finished White Claw. He hesitates for only a second before stepping outside, letting the screen door creak shut behind him.

You glance up at him but don’t say anything as he sits down beside you. There’s no need to. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It lingers, settled, like something well-worn and familiar, like you’ve known him forever.

It’s Tsukishima who breaks it first.

“Why?”

You tilt your head. “Why what?”

He huffs, staring down at his beer. “Why’d you do it?”

You blink at him, then let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Because I was wrong.”

Tsukishima looks at you then, sharp eyes flickering with something unreadable. You don’t waver under the weight of it, and he remembers the way you look when you simply know something, that quiet certainty, that unshakable conviction. It sends a warmth through his chest, the same warmth he’s been trying to ignore for weeks now, the same warmth he always seems to feel when he’s with you.

“They deserved to have their efforts rewarded,” you continue, voice steady. “I wrote that policy thinking I was setting a fair standard, but all it did was punish people for starting at a disadvantage. They—” you gesture vaguely toward the house, where distant laughter still filters through the walls—“worked their asses off. I watched them do it. I wasn’t about to let that mean nothing.”

Tsukishima doesn’t respond right away, but he doesn’t need to. The way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers drum once against the step before curling into his palm—he gets it. He knew before you even said it.

“You didn’t have to kill yourself over it, though.”

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t.”

He levels you with a look.

You sigh, glancing away. “Okay. Maybe it wasn’t easy.”

That’s an understatement, and you both know it. You don’t admit just how much effort it took, how much red tape you had to cut through, how many meetings you had to schedule, reschedule, and push through just to get the addendum approved in time. You don’t tell him about the sleepless nights, about the pages of drafted revisions, about the quiet, gnawing fear that it wouldn’t be enough. You don’t tell him how you single handedly powered through academic records for every single organisation on campus, just to make sure this change gets written into law. 

You don’t have to.

Tsukishima already knows.

He clicks his tongue but doesn’t push the subject further. Instead, he shifts, stretching his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands. “Tanaka and Noya are already losing their minds over events now that the funding’s secure.”

You snort. “I can only imagine.”

“They’re talking about a full house party lineup, a tournament series, and some kind of insane spring break trip.” He exhales sharply, something that vaguely sounds like a laugh. “It’s exhausting just listening to them.”

You smile softly. “Sounds about right.”

He hums in agreement. Then, almost offhandedly, he adds, “They mentioned formal, too.”

You nod, swirling your drink absentmindedly. “Makes sense.”

A beat of silence.

Then.

“…Can I take you to formal?”

You freeze.

It’s not like you haven’t been asked out before, but it’s different coming from Tsukishima. Maybe it’s the way he says it—not cocky, not casual, not even teasing. Just direct. A little uncertain. A little careful.

You don’t mean to hesitate, but you do. Just for a moment.

It’s a moment too long.

Tsukishima sighs, looking away. “Forget it.”

And that’s when you see it—so brief, so subtle, but there. The way his shoulders tense, the way his lips press into a thin line, the way his fingers twitch like he’s bracing for something. Like he expected you to say no. Like he’s already trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care.

Before you even think about it, you reach for his hand. Your fingers lace through his, warm and solid, and you squeeze lightly, grounding him.

“Yes,” you say. “I want you to take me.”

Tsukishima goes still. He stares first at your joined hands, like he can’t quite process the fact that you’re holding his. Then, slowly, his gaze flickers back up to yours.

His voice is quieter when he asks, “…Not out of pity?”

“Have I ever done anything out of pity?”

He considers that for half a second before huffing out something that’s almost a laugh. “…No.”

“Exactly.”

You don’t let go of his hand, and he doesn’t pull away. Instead, you shift slightly, moving just a little closer, lifting your interlocked fingers as you lean into his side. It’s easy, natural, like something inevitable.

For a moment, Tsukishima doesn’t react.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, he squeezes your hand back.

The porch is quiet, the sounds of the house fading into the background. Somewhere inside, Tanaka and Noya are still arguing about something, Kageyama is grumbling, someone bursts into laughter—but out here, it’s just you and Tsukishima, sitting in the soft glow of the porch light, hands entwined.

Neither of you says anything else. You don’t need to.

And in that moment, Tsukishima is certain that he’s screwed. But right now, with you curled up next to him, knowing you deeply the way you seemed to know him the first time you met him, remembering everything that has brought you two here, to this moment, he is equally certain about this: he will be there. He’ll keep noticing things about you that you think no one bothers to see, and he’ll be the support that you always offer to others but never ask for. He’ll let you—make you, if he has to—rest; he’ll take care of you the way you do for everyone else. 

And above all, he’ll be the person to prove to you that you are incredible. Not just for being good at tutoring, not just for being good at math, not just for being good at school, but that he’s in awe of you and who you are. 

He’ll love you how you should be loved. 

He swears it.

⨭ closing notes; very very attached to this one bc i started it in 2019. yes, 2019. she's gone through an insane amt of rewriting and cuts, but i am super proud of this final draft and i rly rly love it. this is also 1/3 of my asu trilogy so look out for that!!! as always #comment #like #reblog i literally see them all and it keeps me going :') thank u all sm if u made it to the end!

[ericscroptop]

Work Hard, Play Harder

✧ pairing: bf! sunwoo x gf! reader

✦ genre: smut w/ hints of fluff

✧ warnings: 18+ (minors DNI), smut, p!rn without plot, inexperienced and a bit shy reader, nervous/insecure about sex, fingering, dirty talk, c!m tasting from both, praising, pet names, cursing, kissing, marking, fluff

✦ word count: 5.4k words

✧ synopsis: you laying on his bed is so enticing. he can’t help that he wants to play with you and show your fried brain a little fun.

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

How foolish of you to think even for a second that you’d be able to get homework done with Kim Sunwoo in the same room?

Normally, you’d get your assignments and whatnot done in isolation because you work best with minimal-to-zero distractions. But today, you’ve somehow let Sunwoo convince you to do homework in his bedroom.

The past couple days, you hadn’t seen your boyfriend much. Schedules were opposite and conflicting, so it was only today that each of you had a slot of free time.

Still, you recalled that you had a task to complete before a deadline that was approaching. The sooner you finished it, the better.

Today seemed like a perfect day to lock in, but Sunwoo kept texting you that he missed you so much, insisting you two should hang out.

While you also missed him, it would be the smarter choice to get your homework done before you hangout with him. Which, is what you tried to tell him. But while you were mid-text, he was already knocking on your door.

You lectured him for bothering you, knowing you’d fold for his big pleading eyes, plump pouty lips, and his sweet voice.

Next thing you know, he’s telling you to grab your laptop and book bag, and driving you over to his place to work on schoolwork together. There’s a few assignments he should probably get around to doing anyways, too. So, a study date it is then!

That’s how you found yourself lying on your stomach over his bed, head facing the end of it, laptop and other essentials spread out in front. Meanwhile, he sat with his back against his pillows and headboard, laptop sitting over his lap.

After about an hour of having small snacks, chatting, and catching up from the days you’ve been apart, (which is exactly why you needed to be locked up alone to avoid distractions like him), you sighed when you realized the time you let pass and recalled what you were supposed to be doing in the first place.

Perhaps it was good to recharge with Sunwoo before getting to work; that way, you both at least got some of that pent-up excitement out from not seeing each other.

Well… that’s what you had hoped.

Now, you each settled into your own spots on his bed, a blended playlist of you guys’ current favorite songs playing faintly in the back via his laptop. Some sound was needed to fill the silence while you two worked.

You bounced from tab to tab on your screen while you began researching and citing quotes for the paper you’re working on. It’s tedious and frustrating to craft it, but you’re determined to write a mean paper that’ll hopefully get you an A.

Every now and then, you’d just stare at your screen blankly, complaining mentally in discouragement, or trying to conjure up ideas for the way you phrase your next sentences. But in other moments, you get inspired and furiously type away, getting into the groove of having ideas flow out smoothly.

Sunwoo smiles to himself when he hears your fingers clicking the keys at an unremitting rhythm. It seems like you know what you’re doing, when in contrast, his discussion post prompt is sending daggers at him, patiently waiting for him to actually start it.

It’s not difficult to become distracted, especially given the fact that he’s doing something mundane like homework. It’s such a chore, one that was crucial to his academic success.

Bullshitting his assignment or procrastinating even more sounds inviting. Even you had your moments where you don’t try as hard and leave things till last minute because it’s exhausting to even think about. But Sunwoo said you guys would do homework, so he should get on it.

Your form working diligently on his bed only distracted him further. How could he focus when watching your engrossed state looked more appealing?

He’s unable to see your face of concentration, only listening to the occasional exasperated groans that would leave your throat, and watching the way your feet would sway in the air in different directions, at various tempos and patterns. He’s noticed how fidgety you’d get sometimes, particularly with your legs. Your feet also would rub together and draw shapes into his comforter while you worked.

It’s endearing to watch your habits, not aware that he has disregarded his discussion post to admire you instead.

As he’s observing the way your legs roamed freely, he shamelessly starts to wander his eyes over the rest of your body.

Since all you planned for today was to be swamped in your paper, you dressed comfortably. A baggy t-shirt and sweat shorts was your attire of the day.

Your legs are left exposed. He soaks in the detailing of your skin, and runs his eyes to your bottom.

Sunwoo likes to think he’s a respectful man, and you’d definitely agree. He’s always patient with you, respecting your boundaries and has always been a gentleman. He treats you like any other human— with kindness, but is extra affectionate and clingy because he’s obsessed with you.

He thinks highly of you. While he loves you for your personality and quirks, he also sees you as visually stunning. His heart pumps fondly and blood rushes when he eyes your physical features.

While decorous, he has to admit that he does stare at various parts of you for a little too long. How could he not in situations like now, where your rear is facing him? Somehow, your oversized shirt bunched upwards, leaving the swell of your ass for his viewing pleasure.

Even though you were clearly clothed, he still had an imagination. He started picturing how your ass would look unveiled. Thinking about exploring every curve of your body with his lips and hands. Wondering about what delicious sounds you’d make when doing naughty things with him.

Unconsciously, you were tantalizing him.

His mind is going towards the gutter. You’re just trying to write your paper like the good student you were, while he was yearning for some attention from you. You were on the bed together, but you made it clear you meant business.

Though, Sunwoo doesn’t think he can wait much longer to hold you for as long as he pleases.

“Baby, can you read this real quick for me?” he suddenly asks. His eyes are entreating as they look at the back of your head. He still has yet to write a single word for his assignment, meaning he just came up with an excuse for you to pay any mind to him. His laptop isn’t even over him anymore; it’s been pushed to the side.

“Gimme a sec.” you uttered, fingers typing quickly and face still directed towards your screen.

He grins mischievously in the short amount of time you finish writing out one last sentence before switching your focus towards him. The grin falters into a faint smile once you fully turn around, scooting up until you’re right next to him.

“You actually got some work done? I’m impressed.” you scoffed, prepared to read his assignment.

You see he doesn’t bring his laptop to his lap or hand it over to you, making you raise your brows in question. Instead, he makes the move of pulling you in between his legs.

“Hey! What are you doing! Stop—” you choked out but interrupted yourself with broken giggles due to how ticklish you were.

Your heart was pounding, startled and delirious as your form was now in between his legs. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you firmly with your back pressed against his chest.

His chin settles into your shoulder, turning his head to graze his lips over the shell of your ear.

“You’ve been working too hard. Let’s take a break, hm?”

You’re stiff as hell. You guys have kissed one another, made out, cuddled, took naps together, etc., but your body and mind still malfunctioned when you were this near to him.

All the focus centered on the tension from close proximity. You could hear his breathing and sense his air from such fanning over your neck and ear.

“You didn’t actually get anything done, did you?” you muttered, fingers clutching the skin of your thighs as he invaded your personal space. It’s not that you didn’t like it— quite the opposite, actually. You just didn’t know how to react.

“How can I when we haven’t properly spent time together?” he hums, pushing some of your hair back to start leaving soft kisses over your sensitive spots. Instinctively, you shut your eyes and angle your neck, succumbing to his tender gesture.

“Sunwoo… my paper.” you reminded him as his kisses were seemingly growing fervid. Somehow your shirt exposed your shoulder, riveting him to redirect his mouth to the spot. A hand of his rubs your clothed tummy, dragging wet kisses across the bare skin.

Your body shivers, goosebumps appearing instantly. Uninhibitedly, you squeezed your thighs and let out a shaky breath. Your body temperature was rising and you felt so small.

“It can wait. I can’t. I missed you so much.” he voices. His hands loosen from your stomach and he brings one of them to your hair, smoothing over your locks.

By this point, you gathered strength to turn your head somewhat to look at him. With his free veiny hand, he cups your cheek, searching every inch of your face with his orbs as if he’s trying to memorize it.

“Did you miss me, too? Tell me you missed me.” his big dark, yet soft eyes hold vulnerability and longing. His look leaves your throat parched, still growing hot all over. You even feel something akin to a heartbeat down south between your legs.

Sunwoo was so needful. That’s one of the things you liked about him. He was cool and collective to the public and friends, but when around you, he never abstained his openness about how much your presence soothed him.

“You know I always miss you.” you answered, still maintaining eye contact with him as he continued to hold your cheek. Deep down, he knew your answer but still wanted to be affirmed aloud. It contented him, but he needed you to touch him back now.

He takes initiative to close more distance between you two, leaning his face further until his nose is brushing against yours.

You can feel each other’s breath face to face. He brushes his features over yours, his nose and lips grazing past your own in a gentle back-and-forth motion.

“Kiss me, baby.” he ghosts over your lips. You’re breathless by just his teasing actions, your own nails digging into your thighs to keep yourself grounded.

It’s impossible to refuse his precious plead. He’s caught you like a fish on a hook. You fall for the bait of his charms, and connect your lips with his own.

The kisses shared start out moderate, lips meeting and touching, pressure light. Your back still rests against his chest, slightly at an angle to continuously kiss him. He keeps you near to his liking by not letting that one hand of his part from your face.

It doesn’t take long before a few tastes make you both greedy.

The sounds of your lips puckering and the sensation of one another’s appendage meeting together creates heightened sensations. You each start fighting for more. It evolves into something wetter, his tongue darting out to flick against yours, tongue tips touching.

Desperation clouded your mind with the way this has grown into making out. Sunwoo has your body unable to remain calm, wiggling and unthinkingly pushing your core down into his mattress

Your breathing alongside his, has grown heavier. Although whipped in chasing your lips, he clearly catches the low moan that lets out your throat.

The naughty sound has him smirking against your mouth. There’s excitement within him, mentally and physically. His manhood is getting pumped full of blood, warming up and swelling the more you two make out fiercely.

His lustful instincts get him to maneuver his free hand towards your thigh. Since your shorts were generously short, he had easy access to your bare skin. His palm and fingers stroked it, making your spine and pussy shiver at how close he was to your private area.

As you two continue with the fiery embrace, he’s only wishing for more contact and intimacy. His fingers start trailing towards your inner thigh, dangerously closer to your covered sex.

Having his hand near such a concealed and sensitive spot makes you shut your thighs together on impulse, thus squeezing his hand in the process.

You butt your back against him the more touchy he gets, causing you to take note of something firm prodding into your lower back.

If you’re not mistaken, you think that is his—

“You got me so hard, baby.” Sunwoo rumbles, parting lips for a moment to catch your breaths. He’s burning for more of you. And while he also is igniting something within you, you’re unfamiliar in what happens next.

“Feel that? It’s ‘cause of you doll.” he slightly pushes himself against you, as if you two aren’t already close together. His erection is hard to not notice now, bringing you interest yet anxiousness.

While you guys have been dating for a decent amount of time, there hasn’t been any initiation of doing anything past kissing and cuddling. You didn’t think much of it— as you were still a virgin. And as horny as you still got from time-to-time, you were a tiny bit apprehensive for the day you did do something sexual with someone.

You imagine that right now is when things go further for you two.

“Sunwoo… I haven’t… I’ve never…” your cheeks got hot and reddened, feeling a bit embarrassed to have this conversation. You didn’t want to let your boyfriend down or kill the mood.

He stilled behind you, eyes softening once your words clicked in his head. Your eyes avoided his own, fidgeting with your limbs.

Although you felt mortified, Sunwoo believes he should be the one to feel ashamed. You two never had the conversation of sex before, so how would he have known? But nevertheless, the last thing he’d want you to feel is distressed or cross a boundary he shouldn’t have.

“Shit… did I make you uncomfortable? Hey, look at me.” he thumbs your cheek with one hand while the other goes to enfold one of your own, holding it lovingly.

You do look at him, worried that you’d disappoint him with your lack of experience, palms all sweaty.

“I… I’ve never done anything past making out.” you admitted more clearly.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready or comfortable with it. I’m sorry if I got too carried away.” he offers you an apologetic look, still caressing your cheek delicately.

“We should get back to doing our homework. I shouldn’t have bothered you.” his voice is genuine, tinged with regret of letting his hormones loose.

The look on his face, the way he shows that he respects you, and his apology (that you believe was not needed but still kind), has you melting. He’s definitely sheepish, but you don’t want him feeling that way.

If anything, Sunwoo was working you up. Sexual frustration was becoming a bitch to you. Your core’s experiencing a wind of warmth, unable to dismiss it. You think you need some sort of alleviation.

“Babe,” you reached a hand up to his hair, shaking your head while massaging his fluffy strands.

“I really want to do stuff with you. So bad, Sunwoo.” there’s so much honestly within your words and tone, longing and sentiment coating your orbs.

“I just don’t know… I don’t know how i’ll react or if you’ll like me.” you almost whisper, suddenly insecure of yourself now that you’re admitting this aloud to your boyfriend.

Every now and then, you wondered what it would be like to get intimate with another person. It would be vulnerable for you to show your bare body to someone. You can’t help but overthink that Sunwoo might not feel satisfied with you, or that you wouldn’t enjoy it— possibly finding it uncomfortable, instead.

Without a doubt you trusted him, but fearing unfamiliar territory was natural. You simply didn’t know what to expect.

How would you know unless you actually tried it?

A scoff comes out of Sunwoo, followed by an empathetic smile.

“Of course I like you, silly girl.” he chuckles, reaching for the hand that was in his hair and connecting it with his own. He gives it a reassuring squeeze, prompting the corners of your lips to raise in seeing and hearing him make that gentle sound.

“I love you, Y/n.” I will cherish every part of you. You’re so damn beautiful.” he brings your hand to his lips, dotting soft kisses over your knuckles. His other hand stays on your hip protectively.

“You’re safe with me. I wanna treat my girl right. I’m yours.” he means all of it, clear sincerity as bright as day twined in his tone and words.

Hearing his words is dulcet to your ears. There’s this wave that washed over you. It’s like a sea that gets you lost. Lost but secure from his touches and statements.

“I want you to feel comfortable with me. You’re the priority here. If you don’t wanna do anything that’s completely fine.”

“But if you wanna, we can start slow. If you give me the okay, i’ll take care of where it aches.”

It feels like your tummy does a somersault at that. You’re positive your cheeks are flushing, all rosy with how he always knows the right things to say. He really does care about you.

As if on cue, your pussy throbs more when he acknowledges that it must be craving for some stimulation.

You’re feeling so shy about letting him see or touch your bare sex, but one look at those bambi eyes of his and you think you’re ready. Ready for Sunwoo to help pleasure you.

Amenability glazes your eyes when you look at him. Although still slightly lacking confidence, you’re sure you want to take your relationship somewhat further.

“Okay…” it comes out faintly from your voice. You pause for a few before gaining strength to speak up a bit. “Touch me, Sunwoo. Please.”

Sunwoo’s gaze is tender as you spoke with vulnerability, granting him permission to un shield a part of yourself that you reserved for someone you trust and care for deeply.

That someone being him.

A part of him is nervous to touch you. He’s not planning on going past fingering with you for now, but he still wants to make this an enjoyable experience for you.

Aside from that ounce of concern, his body is overly excited to reach third base with you. It’s been awhile since he’s sensually touched someone else. Your existence brought him so much warmth, and he often craved to have you in sexual ways.

He’s been a patient boy. And now, you were going to allow for him to rub you as he pleased.

He’s determined and delighted to give you some delectable pleasure. To show you how much he cares about you through this new form of intimacy.

You feel like you’re hallucinating and definitely are perspiring and clammy from anticipation. Even so, you weren’t going to let your nerves fuck you over. You wanted to try this.

Once more, he double checks to ensure your consent, and you simply nod with a positive ‘yes.’

“I’ll take it slow. Just relax for me and I’ll do all the work. Lemme know if you wanna stop or if anything hurts, alright, baby?

“I love you, Sunwoo.” you smiled, all misty eyed from how caring he was being in this moment.

“I love you, too, Y/n.” he returns your smile, then gravitates his lips towards yours. You kiss passionately, but the embrace of lips is still smooth. It further stresses the respect and cosmic attachment he has for you— and vice versa.

After lip locking, his hands begin to explore your skin. With you sitting in between his legs, he directs you to lean back comfortably. His hands creep their way under your shirt, tracing your bare sides up and down like he had all the time in the world.

He also patted at your stomach, smoothing over it protectively. Instead of diving his fingers straight into your sex, he wanted to ease up your body first to get used to these sensual touches of his.

Slithering downwards from your abdomen, he continues to love up on your body, massaging the flesh of your thighs.

It’s his mission and wish to soften your core and muscles, getting you to enjoy this moment. Additionally to his tactile movements, he pairs them with words laced with so much sugar that he’s starting to give you a rush.

“Body so soft.”

“Never wanna let you go.”

“You belong here in my arms, hm.”

“Such a sweet, sweet girl.”

In between compliments, he rotates from kissing your temple, cheek, and the corner of your mouth. Your head rests back against his shoulder, eyes resting shut as you feel yourself getting more and more comfortable and aroused by the minute.

When his dominant hand finally finds itself in between your legs and over your clothed crotch, your breathing grows shaky from him cupping at it, shivering at the hold.

“You okay?” he doesn’t remove his hand but stills it, making sure you’ve not grown uncomfortable.

To answer, your thighs squeeze his hand, willingly grinding down into it.

“Keep going, show me more.” you whimpered, getting Sunwoo to smug at your reaction to his efforts. Oh, just you wait.

“Gonna take off your shorts, hm?”

You let him do it, and when they’re off, your bottom is left in your cotton panties. They’re not the most sexy undergarment, and you honestly wish you would’ve worn a different pair. But that was not on Sunwoo’s mind at all.

All he cared about was that he’s one more layer closer to his treasure. He’s beyond excited to meet your pussy. The view of your soft panties being the only thing that comes in between his hand and your folds is heart-stopping.

His fingers experimentally touch your pussy lips through the fabric, slightly applying pressure teasingly. You quake at the touch, a breath stuck in your throat as he strokes the area.

His plump lips part and shift into an amused expression, pleased in how he’s getting you going.

“Hurry… please, Sunwoo.” you whined, cheeks definitely blushing at how overly needful you sound— and are.

A chuckle escapes from Sunwoo’s throat, “Patience, doll. You’ll get my fingers, ‘kay?”

Given how keyed up you are, he strips the last bit of fabric off with your cooperation. Now tossed away, your sex is exposed to the air, and Sunwoo finally gets to touch it raw.

His fingertips carefully sweep over your vulva, tonguing at his teeth when he feels moisture. You shyly mewl at the bare contact.

“Fuck, so wet for me. You excited, baby?” his throat rumbles.

You whined again, red-faced at the vulnerability of all this. In response, he kisses your cheek for comfort, still exploring your outside parts.

“Don’t be embarrassed. How can you be so cute and sexy, hm?”

Before you know it, he finds your clit and nudges at it with diligence, earning a squeak turned moan from you. Bingo.

It inclines you to push your hips upwards, squirming at your boyfriend touching you like this. It’s so different to have someone else play with your cunt. Different, but you can see yourself becoming addicted to it.

He only allows himself to tease your bundle of nerves for a few before diverting his fingers lower, starting to trace around your hole.

“Relax for me.” he murmurs. You let out a breath, allowing him to use his left hand to rub your knee in support, and encourages you to spread your legs out a little more. “Doing so good. Yeah, that’s it.”

After coaxing you, he unexpectedly removes his hand away from your sex. You huff out and draw your mouth open in confusion and protest, but nothing else comes out when you watch Sunwoo stick a finger in between his lips, too stunned at the close-up scene of something so erotic.

For extra insurance, he pops a finger in his mouth to lube it with saliva, lathering it well. He’s aiming for this to go as smoothly as possible.

He smirks while you watch, humming before taking it out and moving back to your cunt.

Once again, he circulates over your entrance, teasing you more before he at last, slips that one finger prudently past your slit.

A whimper bounces out of your mouth from the initial stretch, accommodating to the sensation of your boyfriend’s finger making its debut.

“Ahhh, mhm…”

“Shhhh… It’s okay, I gotchu. Gonna make this feel so good for you.” He gives you heartening kisses, still lingering not that far in yet, giving you time to soak it in slowly.

He’s pretty patient. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. Even if you’re impatient for it, he keeps his movements gentle and careful.

A little at a time, he has a decent portion of his finger inserted. He doesn’t move immediately so you can fully adjust.

You then give him the green light, and so he starts playing with your inside.

His finger testingly swirls, intrigued to discover this new territory that gets to be his home— for hopefully forever.

Soft moans come out your mouth before you realize, and you’re suddenly too aware of this intimate situation, feeling like you’re getting a fever.

It’s taking everything in you to not squirm. You opt for burying your face into your boyfriend’s neck in attempt to cover more smutty sounds and burning face.

Sunwoo is displeased with that, though. He halts his finger, pausing any action.

Your brows furrow and the sudden lack of motion has you lifting your head up.

“Why’d you stop?” your eyes were filled with worry. Maybe he’s bored or something’s wrong?

“Don’t hide from me.” his voice is serious. “Lemme hear those pretty moans”

Oh.

His finger moves again. Only this time, he starts to curl it and begins a slow flow of driving it in and out of you.

“Hmmphhh!” you whimpered, breath shaky and heart beat ascending at how sensational it is to have someone fucking you with just their finger.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he smirks, not planning on stopping until he pushes you to your breaking point.

Your sex hormones are going wild, feening for incessant sexual pleasure until you can’t take it anymore.

You’re bucking down to meet the movement of his finger, it having grown not enough rather quicker than you anticipated. Sunwoo has to titter at that, wowed to see how fast you’ve adjusted, and yearn for more.

Since you’re so desperate, he doesn’t warn you when he pushes a second finger past your hole. You gasp, followed by a curse word at the additional stretch.

“Shit, this tight pussy must love me.” his voice is breathy and deep as he feels your walls grip at his fingers.

He’s fucking your cunt now with two fingers, gradually with more pressure and firmer. His fingers pump against the ridges of your walls, moving and bending them, thus bringing you highly concentrated pleasure to your core.

Your arousal soaks his long fingers, above turned on that your hot boyfriend’s hand is creating a new high for you that you thought was unimaginable.

He inflames you even more when he starts to nip at your neck. His mouth’s latched onto your skin while down below, his thrusts just become deeper and deeper. He’s too keen on giving you a divine time that you’d think about for the rest of your life.

“Right there, Sunwoo! Oh my God, s-so good!” you gasped out when he hits a spot that scratches your senses so good.

“Right there, huh?”

Luckily, your boy knows what he’s doing, so he continues to hit that spot continually and not let up. He believes now is when he enhances your brain and body further by making use of his thumb to position over your clit.

He thumbs at your swollen bud, massaging it in an unhurried, but consistent rhythm.

And that sparks something inside you lower region. If you thought your pussy was aching before, it definitely is now.

Your breaths sound quicker and he takes note of you bringing a thumb to your mouth, biting down on it while mewls still slip past your lips. His pumps persist while your walls suck his fingers in like a vacuum as he moves in and out.

Every sound and the sight of you writhing, unable to remain calm, encourages him to not dwindle down on his ministrations.

The pressure applied towards your clit is even but remains slow, making you savor every second of stimulation you get, gradually increasing and turning almost-tender to be touched.

Hot pangs hit in your belly, and you feel like you’re starting to sweat, blood pressure spiking. You’re whimpering pathetically, muscles burning and tensing to break free and let yourself collapse.

It’s clear to Sunwoo that you can’t handle this any longer, evident he’s going to bring you to cum.

Squishy sounds and breathy moans are harmonic to the ears while he’s focused on getting you to snap.

“Gonna cum on my fingers? Is baby girl gonna let my fingers get even more soaked with her cum?”

Mhmphhh! Su— Sunwoo.” you cry out.

“Go ‘head. Lemme feel it.” he coaxes, and like the good girl you are, you do let loose.

As your knot unties, you deeply moan, hand that was near your mouth now gripping at his comforter. Your orgasm takes over you, shivering slightly, ass and thighs becoming spastic.

Your eyes are heavy and you see stars that are sparkling and fading, any sounds coming from the two of you sounding distant as you come down.

“I’m so proud of you, doll.” he mumbles as you catch your breath, face falling into his neck. While his fingers still remain in you, he uses his free hand to caress your head, commending you for staying strong and cumming for him.

As you progressively revert closer back to normal, your mind softens, and you’re craving to melt against your boyfriend. You need to logout from reality, Sunwoo having tired you out from getting busy with your pussy.

He coos at you when he makes you whimper and lift your head at the removal of his fingers. To your surprise, he then gravitates those fingers towards his mouth, closing around them and seemingly drinking up whatever stuck to his digits.

Your eyebrows furrow, joined with the part of your lips at him willingly tasting your fluids. He just looks at you, making exaggerated sounds from sucking and sends you a flirty wink.

You shiver and divert your gaze in shyness, flushing as you look back curiously, watching him pull out his licked-clean fingers.

“I knew you’d taste good.” he growls from the act and your essence getting savored by his taste buds.

“Wanna try?” he asks like nothing, seeing that you’re not calling him out for it, just eyeing him inquisitively.

You don’t say anything, but you still have that look gracing your orbs. He dips his fingers down to your core again, lathering them up in more of your spilled cum. You feel tingly during those seconds that he does so, and he raises them up again, nodding at you if you wanted a taste, too.

Your face leaning in slowly is enough of an answer for him, so he goes to hold your chin with the other hand, delicately slipping his fingers into your hot mouth.

You kindly close around them, timidly licking a finger tip for just a second, then getting comfortable to lap up the rest of your own spills. Your teeth even rake over his digits and your eyes fluttered shut with a hum before opening them.

When you do, there still lays a cutey-appearance behind those eyes he adores, even with you licking your own cum.

From that moment, he recognizes that his obsession for you will be death of him.

“Fuck…” he breathes out, stroking the tip of your chin.

“That’s all you, baby girl.”

“So perfect.”

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

[eisforeidolon]

Hellers still going on about “Watching Over Me” being about Cass. Claiming Jensen confirmed it in a meet and greet. It’s funny they never have video proof beyond, “Misha said it”.

That's kind of what they do.

One of them comes up with a totally bonkers interpretation of something, completely makes some shit up they claim totally happened (trust me bro!), or Misha queerbaits them to keep the minion attention/money flowing. The rest of them, like the gullible and obsessed desperate conspiracy theorists they are, repeat it among themselves over and over and over as "proof" their ship(s) are totes real until the heat death of the universe. The part where it's batshit insane, has zero evidentiary backing, or even has been clearly refuted? Completely irrelevant!

Here, one of them came up with a totally bonkers interpretation of the song while desperately searching Radio Company's catalogue for secret hidden clues that Jensen was pining away, miserable that the SPN finale didn't end with D/C. Misha heard about it, and because he's a spineless backstabbing weasel with all the integrity of a disintegrating toupee, quote unquote joked about it being true. I can't remember if someone made up the M&G story of him confirming it wholesale or if it was a creative reinterpretation of someone else's M&G report, insisting Jensen confirmed it when the fan actually reported him saying something to the effect of not intending/wanting to say songs had specific meanings. Regardless, believing it's actually legit requires ignoring:

The part where it's pretty absurd to think Steve and Jensen are sitting around writing songs from Dean's PoV, and batshit insane to think Steve and Jensen would be sitting around writing songs about a fictional non-canon ship Jensen has made it clear multiple times he is baffled by the popularity of and sees as no part of Dean's story. Especially when Jensen has said the majority of the writing is actually Steve's. The part where Misha couldn't even fucking name what song it supposedly was that was totes for real about Dean and Cass. The part where there are specific reports that STEVE talked about that song in a Patreon livestream to say it was about having an angel watching over you that you don't want watching over you, not some schmoopy romance. The part where, once again, Jensen supposedly validates D/C all the time ... just so long as no one is recording him.

None of that matters, and if one of them mustered up the idiocy to ask Jensen onstage at the next convention if it was a D/C song and he literally just stared at them in angry bafflement and said, "No." before immediately moving on? They'd make up a million reasons he was lying, didn't understand his own song, or how "No." was aCtUaLLy super secret code for "OMG YES."

It's the same story with their meta ~*interpreting*~ a love story out of bad stereotypes and random minutiae. It's the same story with their constant tales of Jensen telling a fan in detail how he totes lurves D/C now in ops/autos - often at the same cons where he shoots it down onstage. It's the same story with their absurd claims Misha was a third lead and saved the show. It's the same story with all their myriad conspiracies about the finale regarding the network/secret footage/secret scripts/Jared/NDAs/etc. It's the same story with their insistence Jensen hates the aired finale and barn scene because he didn't like the initial pitch. And on and on and on and on...

Being a heller means actively rejecting living in a rational, fact-based reality in favor of steeping yourself in The Undeniable Truth of Detestiel until your brain boils away to nothing.

[chadxroyalx]

Stolas' realization

I absolutely adored the new episode of Helluva Boss "Mastermind". It was one heck of a ride emotion-wise and I've never wanted to hug the "owl-boy" so much. Also loved that we were finally able to see all the sins (except Lucifer, but loved the easter egg of his throne c: ).

And the song "Mastermind" absolutely slaps! ♥

One particular expression of Stolas stuck with me: The sheer horror and the point of realization of what just happened and the realization of being unable to see his daughter Octavia any longer (probably)...

If you haven't checked out the newest episode yet, go ahead and watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IoVB5Hn2m_k&t=975s

I do not own the character! Stolas belongs to Vivienne Medrano: https://www.youtube.com/@SpindleHorse

Outlines were drawn traditionally and the colors were added via GIMP. Hope you guys like it!

********************************

And I'd also like to take this post (again)to inform you about another hiatus of the Comic "TotH":

I do not have any pages left so far since I still absolutely have about zero time to draw at the moment... So I am yet again forced to put TotH on another hiatus until my patrons are at least 5 pages ahead again. I am so sorry that it has come this far again but I sadly can't change the facts...

I hope you guys have patience with me and keep looking forward to new pages and/or pictures/writte stories.

The hiatus will (for now) last until December 31st. I hope you guys have the patience to wait until then. If I can I'll make sure to end it sooner than that but just to be sure I'm going to pause the comic for three weeks.

Thank you in advance for sticking around and for your absolute tremendous patience!

Take care until then ♥

[yuzurujenn]

[2025.02.09] Kyodo News - Yuzuru Hanyu, tearful Echoes tour finale: Full Comment

Yuzuru Hanyu, the two-time Winter Olympic gold medalist in men's figure skating, performed in the ice show "Echoes of Life" on the 9th at Lala Arena Tokyo Bay in Funabashi, Chiba. The solo tour, for which he served as the executive producer, concluded with a passionate performance of 15 songs over more than two and a half hours. After skating, Hanyu, deeply moved, thanked the audience, saying he "skated with all my soul," while his eyes welled up with tears.

Hanyu completed all seven performances, including those in Saitama last December and Hiroshima this January. In the short program from the 2018 Pyeongchang Olympics, to Chopin’s "Ballade No. 1," he executed the quadruple salchow, triple axel (a 3.5-revolution jump), and a flawless quad-triple loop combination. His performance was breathtaking, thrilling the audience of approximately 8,300 people. "I was able to end it with a performance that couldn’t have been better. I’m a bit in a daze right now," he said, soaking in the sense of accomplishment.

The full comment from Hanyu after the performance is as follows.

Q: Now that the "Echoes of Life" tour has come to an end, how do you feel right now?

A: I just feel like I really gave it my all. Also, the scale of the people involved in this ICE STORY is something unparalleled. So many people have been a part of this. I am filled with gratitude for how many people have moved and worked for me.

Q: This was your final performance, and you wrote the script and performed. How would you rate your own sense of completion in terms of this project?

A: I was able to finish with a performance that couldn’t have been better. I’m a bit in a daze right now. I can’t fully express it with just words or text, and I think that this ICE STORY is something that can’t even be fully expressed by skating alone, it’s something one-of-a-kind. It really makes me happy that today’s performance, direction, and story will be preserved in footage and remain in the memories of the people who came to see it.

Q: You presented a variety of programs, but your "Ballade No. 1" was particularly remarkable. The rink for the show was a bit narrow and dark. How did you approach performing "Ballade No. 1" today?

A: TV Asahi (who asked the question) has been following me all along, so I think you know, but I’ve really struggled with it from the very beginning. Looking back at the short program, it was a short program under the old judging rules, and in the second half I did two jumps. They were a triple axel and a quadruple-triple (two consecutive toe loops), and I really felt how difficult the jumps are. There's a different kind of tension to the free program, and unlike the free program, there's no room to recover (from stamina). That's what makes the short program so difficult, and I felt that again throughout this tour. And on top of that, I had already done four pieces before during 'Piano Collection,' so I was already thinking, 'This is tough,' before going out to do the 'Ballade.' Also, performing with show lighting was something I wanted, but it was also challenging, especially since the rink size changes depending on the venue. It was difficult, but thanks to the efforts of everyone involved, including the ice crew, I was able to make it work.

Q: It’s just finished, but do you have any plans or ideas for the future?

A: (immediate answer) No. Zero. (laughs) Honestly, I’m kind of in a daze right now, and my mind might not be working as clearly as usual. But more than anything, I’m just reflecting on how special it is that so many people gathered together, and I’m taking in this moment deeply, appreciating the present as it is.

Q: Previously, you said that skating = living. As you look toward the future, what kind of way of living do you want to show?

A: One thing I’ve realized and reflected on while writing this story and completing this tour is that 'the future is something no one can know.' That’s the biggest thing that stayed with me during this tour. It was the same with the (2022) Beijing Olympics, but there are times when you feel like no matter how hard you try, it won't be rewarded, and no matter how many good things you do a day, and no matter how many good things you repeat, something unfortunate is bound to happen in the future. That's why I can't easily say that this is the way I should live my life, but for now, I want to live the present, believing in my heart and my own sense of justice and moving forward.

Q: What was your mindset as Nova (yourself in a virtual space) during the fourth song, "Mass Destruction -Reload-"?

A: That song itself is a battle song. So, I'm fighting with some kind of sound, using sound as a weapon, or rather, with sound, well, how can I put it, persona. In the Persona game, there is an enemy called Shadow, and I'm using sound to summon my own persona and fight. I wonder how to explain that to the general public (laughs). Essentially, I felt like I was enveloped in sound, dancing, and using positive emotions like joy and fun to crush negative emotions like hatred.

Q: For today’s "Danny Boy," during the Saitama performance, I felt a sense of relief. Today, there was a feeling of calm. What was your mindset while skating?

A: (pauses for a few seconds) "I’m thinking back on it now, trying to remember what kind of feeling I had. At that moment, I was just focused, doing everything I could. I was skating with the image of praying with my whole body. That prayer was something that is at the origin of Danny Boy, a prayer for the deceased, but it's also a prayer for the hopes of everyone here, for my own personal happiness, and for the staff who helped create this show. There were many different prayers all mixed together, and in the end, I was just praying through the music, with the intention to express it all as one."

Q: Was there also a prayer for the purification of hatred, in terms of the story?

A: That scene is when Nova finally begins to realize that life has sprouts again in a world where it has almost completely disappeared. It's like a prayer for life to grow around him, or rather, that each and every life will grow, and that everyone will live. At the end, he says, 'Everyone, live.'

Q: Looking back at the progression from the first to the third installment of 'ICE STORY,' loneliness has been a consistent source of inspiration throughout. In every work, there is always an answer provided to the concept of loneliness. What does loneliness mean to you now, having had these experiences?

A: I don’t really think of it as loneliness. There are times when we have to fight alone, and of course, everyone has these moments. But we can't share everything with others. It's a very sad thing, but we can't share all our suffering or joy with others. In that sense, I feel like everyone experiences loneliness. But that's also why humans use words, write, and express themselves. What I wanted to convey in Nova was that even if you're alone in that world, as long as there are words, records, or sounds, you're not truly alone. I don't really think of myself as lonely, these days. But I wanted to express the feeling of 'It’s okay' to the little loneliness that exists within everyone, the kind of loneliness that no one else notices.

Q: Just like in competitions during the season, the performance kept getting better and better as the shows progressed. After these 7 performances, is there anything you feel you’ve surpassed or achieved?

A: I've also started new training, not just increasing my range of motion or improving flexibility, but focusing on how to move my body more effectively and how quickly I can recover. I've been working on refining my movements, as well as enhancing the fluidity and beauty that are my strengths. I started practicing this around the time of the Hiroshima performance in January, and now I finally feel that it's coming together. So, I truly feel that I can continue to evolve and improve from here on out.

Source: https://digital.kyodonews.jp/deepedge/ice-show/94275/

[diaryofageekgirl]

Cross-posting more of my meta/ranting from the Helluva Boss subreddit. Originally posted June 25, 2024 (here):

He might get something, I just don't think it will be enough to balance things out, the show has invested a lot of time in 'Blitzo sucks' and 'Stolas is sad'....a lot of time.

That's exactly what I've been feeling. Like, we got three back-to-back Sad Stolas Songs™ (Just Look My Way, his part of When I See Him, and All 2 You), all about how much he loves Blitzø and feeling sorry for himself and all that. With how biased a big part of the fandom already is towards Stolas, it really feels like they're laying it on too thick. Like, when I was watching Apology Tour for the first time, it took everything in me not to roll my eyes when Stolas started singing. Which sucks! I love him, I love Bryce's singing, I love this story, but another Stolas song? Already? The same thing happened at the beginning of the show - people were put off by how weird and creepy Stolas was in the pilot and Ep1, but it took one nice lullaby to his daughter in Ep2 to make people love him.

The closest we've gotten to any of that for Blitzø is stuff like the hallucinations in his own mind tormenting him in Truth Seekers, or him self-destructing at Bee's party.

Pivoting from that point, I've seen a lot of people's reactions to Apology Tour include stuff like "Blitzø needed this wake-up call", or "He needs to know that his actions hurt people other than himself", or similar sentiments, and I COMPLETELY disagree. He hates himself. He hates himself. He already blames himself for people leaving him, and thinks they're better off without him. He already scribbles his face out of every photo. He's already convinced he's going to die alone. You think putting him in a room full of people that throw an annual party about how much they hate him, filled with pinatas and knife-throwing games and bonfires destroying representations of him is somehow going to HELP?!

And sure, Stolas can claim that "There is a crowd full of people here, who cared so much", but that's categorically false. Dennis is there, who Blitzø made out with at a party one time. Wally Wackford is there, and their only on-screen interactions are just a running joke of Wally's business ventures getting fucked up by Blitzø/I.M.P. All of Verosika's succubus crew is there, and there was zero indication in Spring Broken that they knew Blitzø or vice-versa.

I genuinely believe that there was a grand total of maybe 5 or 6 actual exes at that party (including both Verosika and Stolas) - everyone else was either a) a friend of one of the exes who showed up as solidarity; b) someone who had been "hurt" in some capacity by Blitzø in the past but had no romantic or sexual connection with him (like Wally Wackford, for example); or c) just demons excited to go to a party thrown by Verosika Mayday (who I believe to be the vast majority of people there).

I mean, we saw Blitzø's hallucinations in Truth Seekers. We saw his camera roll at the end of Ozzie's. We know who the people that matter to him are: Fizz, Verosika, Stolas, Millie & Moxxie, Loona, Barbie. Everyone at that party were nameless, faceless background characters, and I cannot imagine a single one of them actually having a meaningful relationship with Blitzø, because if they did, wouldn't he have also cared about them in return, at least a little bit? Wouldn't we have gotten some kind of foreshadowing that a new character from his past would be showing up? Wouldn't there have been some meaningful interactions between Blitzø and someone other than the already-established ex-girlfriend and the current bungled situationship?

I also can't imagine that someone who hates themselves as much as Blitzø does, who openly states that they don't do romantic relationships (which we know he's lying to himself about, but consider: self-hatred and self-worth issues), would then go on to have that many long-term relationships. That just doesn't add up in my mind.

(Sorry for the super long and only tangentially-related reply... I am incapable of being succinct, lol 😅.)

[woofs-silly-ships]

Ahem

Spoilers below

WHAT

THE

F U C K

WAS THAT

THEY WERE ACTUALLY GOING TO MAYBE REDEEM HIM

MEGGY ACTUALLY DID SOMETHING WITH THAT, SHE DID WHAT ALL THE PUZZLES FANS HAVE BEEN WANTING TO DO

LEGITIMATELY FUCK YOU MARIO

IT HAPPENED IN ALL OF 5 SECONDS TOO

I WAS TRYING SO HARD TO PROCESS WHAG JUST HAPPENED

(Mario has gone from one of my favorites to by far my least favorite character and will never be moving back up, no matter how silly or resentful my guy is he had zero reason to do that, especially when puzzles was now friendly with the person standing RIGHT NEXT TO MARIO… that genuinely broke me beyond belief and even if Puzzles breaks out I’m still not changing Mario’s rank now /srs)

I mean I’m glad he’s not dead but still

He’s going freaking insane rotting in a freaking jail cell and it broke my heart

I still get to have my AU where the didney crap doesn’t happen and the canon storyline where my s/I starts killing everybody so yippee I guess?

Aside from that the episode and song were freaking awesome

That song went from me happily head bopping to depressed head bopping near the end LMAO

Oh and I NEED that puzzles plush and shirt grrrrrgrgrgrggrgr

I do hope that they’ll maybe give the arc some time before putting Puzzles into play again, because they clearly want to and I’m happy about that, but we need time to breathe or the fandom will implode again lmao

TLDR: not as depressing as I thought but still sad lol, good WOTFI, Western Spaghetti is still my favorite smg4 movie tho

[trans-snart]

#Davechella is wrapping up, so I'm making myself put up my playlists! Shocking everyone, I made them for Bridgens and Peglar.

(liner notes included below the cut if anyone wants to see them)

At the first Terror Tracks, I made a Bridgens & Peglar playlist inspired by Baz Luhrmann's Red Curtain Trilogy and Were the World Mine and that, plus the 2023 Q&A responses, inspired a Rufus Wainwright connecting thread with three additional playlists.

In the Q&A, Dave answered one of my questions (who could possibly forget the "Bridgens wanted to be the one to carry his lover across that threshold" moment) and recommended the movie 'Weekend' to me. I watched it and absolutely loved it, and understood why he brought it up during a question about privacy and how stories are being told or exposed inside of a narrative - and I started thinking about my other favorite gay films and began working on these playlists not too long after that and have been messing with them ever since, so I'm making myself post them now for Davechella and considering them finished! (for now)

I used Rufus Wainwright as a thread because he is one of my ultimate favorites, and ended up making a Rufus-only Bridgens playlist for Terror Tracks II, which I consider a spin-off of the Bridgens-centric playlist since I used the two different versions of Sonnet 29. Each playlist is inspired by the soundtracks and music moments of some of my favorite and formative films. ❤️

Additionally, much love to my own lending library who was my inspiration and soundboard for these as I nitpicked them over the past year ❤️❤️❤️

This playlist is Bridgens-centric. I kept it to 14 songs to make a sonnet, but divided it into 2 "Acts" denoted by the Wainwright Shakespeare sonnets. Which makes zero sense but it makes sense somehow to me!!! This one is more a narrative playlist than a DJ set, focused around Bridgens' fear and caution, but deep longing for romance and companionship. A soundtrack for if they had a film just to themselves; the first half set more pre-Terror with romantic slow dance songs, and the second half set during the show and more weary, fearful, and sorrowful for what's inevitably ahead.

Inspired by the more blues/folk/country soundtracks of Big Eden, Desert Hearts, Wilby Wonderful, God's Own Country, Brokeback Mountain, Angels in America, etc.

-When In Disgrace With Fortune And Men's Eyes (Sonnet 29)

• Sonnet 29!!!! Feeling like a social outcast but finding comfort in the thought of your loved one and knowing that's all that matters, oh Bridgens..

-Unchained Melody

• couldn't resist the C, the C pun in the title but honestly what a SONG!! "Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea, to the open arms of the sea" I wanted them to have the classics, the romance, the clichés, etc etc, it's what they deserve!

-Welcome to My World

-Something About What Happens When We Talk

• I am so serious about Big Eden that I took 2 songs from the soundtrack. It's such a perfect movie. RIP John Bridgens, you would've loved Big Eden 😭

-Mellow

• ngl I did have Your Song on here for a time but ultimately swapped it because I felt like it was Too Obvious, which worked out in the long run because it was too perfect for the Jamie playlist. Wanted something a little syrupy and sultry, "watching the coal fire glow"/"Peglar is remembering happier times"

-House

• Were the World Mine was what introduced me to Patrick Wolf and this has been one my favorites of his for years, the original is from the Lupercalia album which is not on Spotify, but thankfully this reworking of it from his Sundark and Riverlight album is and fits here even better ❤️ "I see Dylan Thomas in your face, recite Butler Yeats there in your grace"

-Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye

• A gorgeous song that I think nails the longing, but also a nod to Derek Jarman's Edward II (with John Lynch! where this song was performed by Annie Lennox as the lovers were separated

-Moon River

• Moon River is THE Bridgens song to me!!!! One of my all-time favorites across the board, but I love the "what I see, who I become" line from this version too much not to include it here

-Sonnet 43

• "All days are night to see till I see thee", and this begins "Act 2" where I wanted to explore the perspective from the book and that Dave mentioned in the Q&A that they weren't necessarily together anymore when the plot picks up, but still cared very deeply for each other

-If I Should Fall Behind

• I couldn't just NOT include a Bruce song here, "you and I know what this world can do"

-You Can Close Your Eyes

-Don't Talk (Put Your Head On My Shoulder)

• 2 all-timers for me, simple and earnest

-Keeper Of My Heart

• really wanted a moment to explore Bridgens' anger and sorrow and I think this song is perfect for it, truly gut-wrenching emotion in that last verse "I will be the reaper, if you will be the keeper of my heart"/"-Bridgens wanted to be the one to carry his lover across that threshold"

-The Promise

• A gorgeous, gorgeous song that I think fit into the idea that they weren't together anymore but still loved each other, and the promises they made to one another at the end that we weren't witness to

-I, Carrion (Icarian)

• what a doozy of a song 😭 thinking about "allow the ground to find it's brutal way to me" as Bridgens lets himself succumbs to the elements......

-Lullaby

• another one of my all-timers, "so tonight I'll drift in a dream with you"/"When he wakes up, he's going to be with Harry Peglar."

-The playlist for Peglar took me in all sorts of directions before I finally settled keeping it as different from the Bridgens playlist as possible to create a balance and contrast between the two. So, a modern version of Peglar - upbeat songs that lean into that swelling, giddy feeling of love, loving your community and the space you occupy, feeling joyful and secure in that love. "We have too much fear, John."

Inspired by the more disco/pop soundtracks of Were the World Mine, Pride, Broken Hearts Club, Priscilla, All of Us Strangers, etc.

And my third playlist for #Davechella was actually made for Terror Tracks II, but I wanted to link it anyway since I enjoy it so much, and it continues the Wainwright thread that they all have.

Rules and Regulations - a John Bridgens mix:

[dustedmagazine]

Listening Pest: The albums that disappointed, bored and infuriated us in 2024

We’re lovers, not haters, here at Dusted.  We’ll go to the mat for records you never heard of, records that you probably couldn’t find even with the old, functional Google Search, and a few records that, maybe, technically, legally, don’t actually exist.  We celebrate what’s good and mostly ignore what’s bad or mediocre, at least we do for all but one feature out of a year of them.

Readers, you have arrived at this feature. 

Here, Dusted writers reflect on the music that pissed them off, the songs that, when they turned up on “best of” lists, made us clap our foreheads in consternation, the albums that should have been so much better.  We recognize that these are personal views, and we sincerely hope not to hurt the feelings of people who love and esteem these records.  But we also relish the chance to let loose, for once.  The writing in this feature is some of the best you’ll read all year.  It’s my favorite thing to edit—not sure what that says about me, but there you go. 

Not everyone participated (see paragraph one), but Jonathan Shaw, Patrick Masterson, Jennifer Kelly, Bryon Hayes and Ian Mathers did.    

Blood Incantation — Absolute Elsewhere (Century Media)

A slab of maximalist prog and irritatingly supercilious “heavy” music, Absolute Elsewhere pulls off a notable trick. Blood Incantation has conjured (the better word here is likely “produced”) a variety of death metal that’s utterly bloodless, duller than dirt displaced from the grave. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so literal. Death metal doesn’t really have to be malodorous, moldy or mutilated — but it doesn’t hurt. But that suggests a more significant point: the best death metal hurts. It’s full of disgust, dreadful drama and rage at the human condition, which is always doomed to death. Blood Incantation seems to have zero interest in feelings of doom and diminishing concern with the fate of bodies and their meaty materiality. The band would rather get smoked out and gaze into the heavens, spinning Wish You Were Here (check out the near-quotations from “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” in “The Message [Tablet III]”) and paging through a pile of Orson Scott Card novels with sticky fingers. Whatever. You do you. But the concepts — a word the record’s arch sensibility just about insists on — are risible, and the music’s preening theatricals have all the charm of Rick Wakeman’s gold lamé cape ‘n’ cowl set. It’s death metal primed for an extended gig at the Las Vegas Sphere, and that might explain why Absolute Elsewhere has ended up on so many highly visible EOY lists: Pitchfork, The Needle Drop, NPR(yep, NPR…). It’s got spectacle, and there are a couple parts where it gets loud, but ultimately, it’s a safe bet.

Jonathan Shaw

Sabrina Carpenter — Short n’ Sweet (Island)

Truth be told, this should really go to Lake Street Dive for me, but I somehow managed to avoid actually listening to them for most of the year. Sabrina Carpenter, though, was much like Chappell Roan and Charli XCX in being unavoidable for several months during the summer. It didn’t matter what kind of place it was, if I stayed long enough, I’d inevitably hear “Espresso.” I couldn’t tell you when it first hit me because, unlike a good shot of the stuff, Carpenter’s sub-Ariana Grande pipes and the casual acoustic guitar plucks do anything but “hit,” the equivalent of aural wallpaper. I’m listening to this record again right now, repeatedly forgetting it’s on, and nothing has swayed my opinion — this is an album and a moment for people really going through it to the point that they can’t hear how boring the vindictiveness is. I’m not even talking about the “everyone except privileged white men” moment, either; I’m talking about your longtime girlfriend cheating on you with your barber and now you’re posting one-star Yelp reviews to get back at them. If that’s not you, if you’re just wallowing in the general malaise of being alive, you don’t count. Also, not for nothing, but I wrote all of this, and I still haven’t gotten to “Slim Pickins” yet. The longest 12 songs and 36 minutes of the year by a comfortable margin (and if Lake Street Dive put a record out, please don’t make me test that theory).

Patrick Masterson

Kim Deal — Nobody Loves You More (4AD)               

Kim Deal is responsible for some of the most monumental—and at the same time minimal—of all rock bass lines, from the ominous pulse of the Pixies “Gigantic” to the anarchic bounce of The Breeders’ “Cannonball.” Her first-ever solo album is very much NOT like that. Instead, it swathes fragile melodies in full-to-overtipping arrangements, with orchestras of strings, Hawaiian slack key guitars, and mariachi bands worth of brass, a lushness that only highlights the ordinariness of her voice and songs. Let’s put some more whipped cream on that turd, how about it?

Jennifer Kelly

Fontaines DC — Romance (XL)

The Dublin five-some swings wide on this fourth full-length, appealing to the masses with pastel colored choruses and limp indie flourishes. It works on a commercial level — after all, this is the disc that got them Grammy nominations, endless “best of” love and a slot on Obama’s play list — but excises everything that made Fontaines DC exciting. What if we took out the dank broody bits and fell in love? What if we ditched the Irish-ness and took a stab at Coldplay? What if we chewed down Fontaines DC’s dark magic into pablum, something so soft and ingratiating that even the Spotify addled masses could get it down? Rarely have I been so excited to listen and so quickly, bitterly disillusioned. One good song comes right at the end in “Death Kink” but that is NOT enough.

Jennifer Kelly

Mercury Rev — Born Horses (Bella Union)

I was so looking forward to this record, the first Mercury Rev album after an almost ten-year gap. I love both the harried brilliance of the band’s early records and the lush psychedelia born of their marriage with David Fridmann. My synapses were short circuiting in anticipation of Born Horses. This fact amplifies my disappointment with the record. Between Jonathan Donahue’s spoken-word delivery, which comes across as a hushed ASMR-inducing purr, and the band’s milquetoast reading of their once-grandiose chamber-psychedelia, I feel the bile rising in the back of my throat and I get choked up whenever I try to play the record. I get it: Donahue and Sean "Grasshopper" Mackowiak are looking for new directions to take their sound after decades of exploratory music making, and they’re lacking Fridmann’s guidance, but I’d rather experience another See You on the Other Side than this weak-limbed attempt at chamber-beat poetry. Let’s hope this is a mere meander away from the otherwise eclectic and intriguing trajectory traveled by these upstate New York weirdos.

Bryon Hayes

Jessica Pratt — Here in the Pitch (Mexican Summer)

In personal relationships, saying “it’s not you, it’s me” is commonly regarded as the mark of a cad and/or liar, a convenient excuse at best. But here, I swear I am being both sincere and (as far as I can tell) accurate. I know I first heard of Jessica Pratt around the time her second record, 2015’s On Your Own Love Again, came out and I’d been idly meaning to check out her work ever since then. She seemed to be having a real moment this year with Here in the Pitch, she seems like a cool person, and looking at her discography I deeply respect her commitment to the sub-32 minute LP (an underrated length). But after I hit play and quite enjoy the instrumental intro to “Life Is,” Pratt starts singing… and it just hits my ears wrong. I can’t explain it. I don’t at all think she has a bad voice (arguably I like several other singers that have various things in common with her, vocally). I realize, seeing Here in the Pitch show up on more and more year-end lists (including Dusted ones!), that I am in the minority here, and honestly, I think that’s good! But seeing comment after comment praising the singing here specifically is just a stark reminder that sometimes, people just hear things differently. I wish I did like Pratt’s voice; I suspect I’d enjoy this album quite a bit, maybe enough for it to make my own list. And to be clear, unlike some other acts I don’t enjoy, there’s no part of me that irrationally feels like everyone else is ‘wrong’; if anything, I feel frustratingly close to getting the appeal! But I just can’t seem to get past viscerally not getting her singing. I went back to the LP months after my first try, figuring maybe I just had to get used to it, but no. Really, truly: it’s not Pratt, it’s me.

Ian Mathers

Vampire Weekend — Only God Was Above Us (Columbia)

The arguments over Vampire Weekend’s class tourism and cultural adventurisms are old and tired, but the band keeps making gestures that churn up the discourse. See the video for “Gen-X Cops,” which features Vampire Weekend riding a battered, tagged-up subway train, likely making the run to the Bronx — note the several moments at which the train rises into sunlight, onto Upper West Side elevated tracks. The graffitied car conjures a historical NYC, all grainy celluloid footage, lurid spray paint and flashes of urban spaces and experiences now lost to multiple forces: gentrification, trauma, mortality. The video rolls on, unbothered, and briefly Vampire Weekend’s three members sit facing us, having scored seats; the camera presents a further imaginary provocation, as Koenig (still baby faced, ever belying the impression that he should know better by now), Baio and Tomson suddenly wear NYC cop uniforms. The visual metaphor seems to ask: Who has the right to police culture? Whose cops work the history beat? Koenig sings, “It wasn’t built for me / It’s your academy.” The vaguely anti-institutional bent of the lyric is complicated by the video’s closing images: a crowd exiting the subway train in the density of a morning commute. It’s the masses. The camera shifts to a perspective that hovers over them as they make for the exits. One wonders if an additional metaphorical resonance were intended by that vantage: the band’s desire for a place above the press of humanity, observing its struggle but not in it. That’s on the nose for Vampire Weekend, a band that has never made music for those people, has never indicated any sort of an interest in them. Promo chatter about Only God Was Above Us talked up the record’s “grit,” but I can’t discern any. The songs provide the usual gloss and gleam, distractingly slick surfaces and irritatingly bright tones. It’s mostly blithe, here and there preciously mopey, full of snide winks at “Prep School Gangsters” and love letters to uber-hip Soho gallery owners. Whose academy is that? The best Koenig can do by way of answer is in the chorus to “Pravda”: “Your consciousness is not my problem.” OK. Then please stop cluttering it with your effete quietism and get off the A Train. It’s public space, in which everybody’s consciousness is everybody’s problem.

Jonathan Shaw

[sirenjose]

So I've been really into your analysis lately and I'm a huge fan now, wanted to ask some questions, feel free to not answer any

1- what was your favourite idv story/event to analyze?

2- your least fav of the latter?

3- are you into anything else besides idv?

4-how do you find the motivation to analyze stuff? I've tried before and it was very draining :')

Thanks for your time, hope you have a lovely day

I'm very happy to hear you're enjoying yourself despite my own low opinion about much of what I put out. I'll do my best to answer!

Hmm I always dislike picking favorites because I'm bad at picking eheh... But the ones I liked most... I honestly enjoy T&I and COA (1-5) even more than the main story. So I think I might pick... Atropos' Ropes for T&I and for COA, thats harder... 3-5 are my faves but I might pick 4 just because of how it felt it had the most story/details given than all the rest. Even the *SONG* had story. I loved it.

Least fave, eh... Orfeo and Zinaida immediately come to mind, though Orfeo I'd say was worse... COA 1 is another primarily because of how DIFFICULT it was for me to figure it out enough to put together an analysis. And I had to rewrite that thing at LEAST 3 times to the point I'm just hoping it's good enough and leaving it alone. Time of Reunion I think is another that comes to mind, mainly because I didn't appreciate how they treated Norton in there, especially in the videos (but at least those aren't canon like the in-game event was). So based on all that, I might say Orfeo if I really had to pick 1. Then rank ToR 2nd and Zinaida/COA1 3rd.

FF14 and Honkai Star Rail especially I'm playing actively these days, but I honestly like a lot of stuff. Like Persona (espeially 4), 999 aka Zero Escape, and Star Ocean Til the End of Time. Least in terms of games.

Hmm... Maybe because the 1st reason I play a game is because of the story, and gameplay is always 2nd to me. If the story and characters are good, that gets me interested. Issue with IDV is we only get bits and pieces. Really need to look deeper to really understand some of the characters. I actually only started analyzing because I challenged myself (partially out of curiosity for the answer) to see if I could prove if Norton wasn't as evil as people thought (based on all the comments I saw when I 1st joined the fandom a long while ago). From there, there was Jose who I wanted to analyze because he honestly had so many plot holes I couldn't (and still can't completely) solve. So I get the most enjoyment analyzing something that doesn't have a clear answer. Which is why I don't always post for every letter. A big part of it is I enjoy history and culture and such, so it's fun for me to learn about different foods, or time periods, or how bad the environment was for miners or sailors back in the day, etc... I dont think I have an easy answer (I can see I'm rambling). Norton I actually only began to like because I was spending so long working on my 1st analysis for him (and my perfectionism made me analyze all of Norton's essences before i could call it finished). Jose was because I love Captain Hook, and then after because of the plot holes that bothered me. Then for others, I think I enjoy making analyses to... try to sometimes change people's opinoions/beliefs. Like with Margaretha or Vera. With Edgar was because I was more interested in his story and him as a character only once I put together all his lore. Sort of goes on from there. I could ramble on but I'm going to get even more guilty. I hope this helps somewhat, but let me know if it doesn't and I'll keep going. Maybe the simple is A) I like history/culture/research, B) I like to convince people that certain characters arent as evil as they think or change beliefs I think aren't quite accurate, C) I like solving puzzles and I love story, D) I already think too hard about literally everything, and combined with my perfectionism, we get analysis

[twoidiotwriters1]

Almighty (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Ngl it's taking me ages to finish this book bc the parts I wanna write are all in the fucking end -Danny Words: 2,995 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'THE LONELIEST' -by Måneskin

XLVI: RIP Brutus You Would've LOVED Stabbing This Caesar

When her automatons are leaving the storage room, her group tackles her back in. "Die!" Hedge tries to hit one of hers and she yanks him back.

"What the—stop, Hedge I changed their settings!"

"Run or stay?" Lester asks. "We're about to be cornered."

"Apollo, what have you got?" Hedge turns to him.

"What do you mean?"

"What's the ace up your sleeve? I did the Molotov cocktail. Grover dropped the boat. Ara got us a small army. It's your turn. Godly fire, maybe? We could use some godly fire."

"I have zero godly fire up my sleeves!"

"We stay," Grover throws a boat paddle at Lester. "Apollo, block those doors once the automatons are all out. Coach, can you play a song of opening for the loading-dock door?"

Ara looks at him with surprise. "You know how to play the pipes?"

Hedge makes a face. "Haven't done one of those in years, but I'll try. What'll you be doing?"

Grover turns to her. "Daedalus twenty-three, was it?"

Ara smiles. "You know it."

"And they listened to you?" Lester asks in annoyance.

"Hey, I'm a general, of course they would!"

Macro enters, ruffled and offended. "You can't activate my automatons! You haven't paid for them! Military Madness team members, apprehend Apollo! Tear the satyrs apart! Stop that infernal whistling!" 

The automatons get too many orders at once and get confused. Ara's army advances and encircles Macro and his guards. "Stop this!" He yells. "I order you to stop! No, not you!" Macro calls as his automatons freeze. "You all don't stop! You keep fighting—No! I can't—! Help! The Horse can't see me like this!"

"I'm done showing mercy," Ara approaches the man and draws out her spear. "You won't be seeing anyone." She acts fast, Macro crumples into a pile of dust and causes her automatons to inch closer and closer to one another, thinking there's still an enemy to suffocate.

"Enough! The door, please." The automatons unlock their arms, turn, and walk straight into the loading bay, pushing it like the plastic lid of a food container. "Thanks!" Ara urges the group forward and then she walks out. "Go to sleep." The automatons turn off, the metal door falling back down on them. "Everyone okay?"

"How's the buzzing?" Lester asks. 

"Oh, I didn't use my blessings," she points over her shoulder. "I learned how to use those old things during the battle of Manhattan. Annabeth taught us."

"And you just had that information lying around inside your brain?"

Ara laughs. "I remember my entire life now, Lester. Right from the moment I was born."

"Ah," he blushes. "Right."

"Yeah, anyway, it's super late now and the dryads must be hungry—" She tenses, hearing a pair of hooves approaching. "Dumpster. Now." She ushers them inside the large container.

"Hey, Big C? Yeah. It's me... Nah, the place is gone. I don't know. Macro must have—I know, could've been a false alarm, but... Ah, nuts. Human police are on the way. I could search the area? Maybe check those ruins up the hill... I know you think you took care of it, but, look, that place is still dangerous. I'm telling you—Okay, C. Yes. Jupiter's jumpers, calm down! I'll just—Fine. Fine. I'm on my way back."

The voice sighs heavily and then speaks aloud to himself. "Kid's gonna give me colic." The horse slams its hind leg against the dumpster, making an indentation, then gallops away. 

Ara asks in a small voice. "Was... was the horse talking?"

"Yeah." Lester gulps. "A talking horse."

"All horses talk," Grover argues. "They just talk in Horse."

"Wait—You mean you two understood the horse?" Hedge asks.

"Yes, that horse spoke in English. We need to get out of here," Lester says anxiously.

"You know who the next emperor is, don't you?" Ara clocks him.

Lester doesn't deny it. "Tell you once we're safe."

Once they're all eating enchiladas, they dedicate the night to retelling their findings. "...I think the Labyrinth was helping us, bringing us home."

"Helping us?" Prickly Pear scoffs. "The same Labyrinth harbouring fires that are destroying the whole state? The same Labyrinth we've been exploring for months, trying to find the source of those fires with no luck? The same Labyrinth that's swallowed a dozen of our search parties? What does it look like when the Labyrinth isn't helping us?"

"I know we're all worried and frustrated. But the Burning Maze isn't the entire Labyrinth. And at least now we have some idea why the emperor set it up the way he did. It's because of Apollo."

"Just to clarify," Lester pipes up, "it's not my fault. Tell them, Grover. Tell your very nice... very spiny friends it isn't my fault."

"Well, it kind of is," Grover scowls. "Macro said the maze was a trap for you. Probably because of the Oracle thingy you're looking for."

Ara hums. "Any chance Helios is looking forward to helping the upstart god that took his job?"

Lester deflates. "Probably not."

Grover ponders. "They must be at the centre of the maze as some sort of bait for Apollo. Also, there's a talking horse."

"All horses talk," Mellie points out.

Once Grover explains that bit, Ara turns to Lester. "You knew." Lester shuffles awkwardly, and she insists. "You promised you'd tell us."

"His name is Incitatus," he begins, eyes fixed on his shoes.

"And he talks," Meg presses, "Like, in a way humans can understand."

"Yes, though normally he only speaks to the emperor. Don't ask me how he talks. Or where he came from. I don't know. He's a magical horse. The emperor trusts him, probably more than he trusts anyone. Back when the emperor ruled Ancient Rome, he dressed Incitatus in senatorial purple, even tried to make him a consul. People thought the emperor was crazy, but he was never crazy."

"That line from the prophecy: The master of the swift white horse," Meg points out after some thought.

"Incitatus belongs to the emperor. Or perhaps belong isn't the right word. Incitatus is the right-hand horse to the man who now claims the western United States—Gaius Julius Caesar Germanicus."

"Alright," Ara says impatiently, "that's the second time someone says his full name and it don't ring a bell. Who the heck is he?"

Lester continues in a quiet, resigned voice. "The emperor is better known by his childhood nickname—Which he despises, by the way, so I'm sure you'll be dropping it left and right just to spite him. History remembers him as Caligula."

"Ohhhh," Ara feels something twisting in her gut. "Yeah, that do ring a bell."

"I've always hated that name," Grover shivers. "What does it mean, anyway? Satyr Killer? Blood Drinker?"

"Booties," Lester says.

"Booties?' Joshua Tree looks around in confusion.

"Yes. His father's soldiers gave Caligula the nickname when he was a child, he wore teeny-weeny legionnaire's boots, caligae, and they thought that was hysterical. So they called him Caligula—Little Boots, or Baby Shoes, or Booties. Pick your translation."

Ara can't help the stupid laugh that bubbles out of her. "Love that."

"I don't care if the guy's name is Snookums McCuddleFace. How do we beat him and get our lives back to normal?" Prickly Pear demands grumpily.

"We have to be careful," Lester shakes his head. "Caligula is a master at trapping his enemies. The old saying Give them enough rope to hang themselves? That was made for Caligula. He delights in his reputation as a madman, but it's just a cover. He's quite sane. He's also completely amoral, even worse than—" 

He stutters and glances at Meg anxiously. "Anyway, Caligula is smart, patient and paranoid. If this Burning Maze is some elaborate trap, part of some bigger plan of his, it won't be easy to shut down. And beating him, even finding him, will be a challenge."

Ara makes a face. "Now I kinda regret letting Commodus warn this guy about my arrival... kinda feels like he'll—"

"Most definitely will use that against you, yeah," Lester looks at her disapprovingly. "So we shouldn't be name-dropping all over the place."

"But what could he do, really?"

"Set up a trap with demigods in need to cage you in the same place where he's holding our oracle?" Lester offers.

Ara pouts. "I don't like it when you get smart either..."

"Nobody is unbeatable," Grover reasons. "Not Titans, giants or gods—and definitely not some Roman emperor named Booties. This guy is causing Southern California to wither and die. He's behind the droughts, the heat, the fires. We have to find a way to stop him. Apollo, how did Caligula die the first time?"

"They pulled an Ides of March on him, didn't they?" Ara offers.

"A what?"

"His own guards killed him," Lester translates, "which I'm sure has made him even more paranoid. Macro mentioned that the emperor kept changing his personal guard. First automatons replaced the praetors. Then he changed them again to mercenaries and strixes and... big ears? I don't know what that means."

"No decent big-eared person would work for such a villain! What about other weaknesses? The emperor must have some!" A dryad with quite large ears says heatedly.

"Yeah!" Coach exclaims. "Is he scared of goats?"

"Is he allergic to cactus sap?" Aloe Vera inquires.

"Not that I know of," Lester sighs. "But so far, I think our best chance at overpowering him is our beloved general," he nods in Ara's direction with reticence.

"Nu-uh!" Ara lifts a finger. "Our best chance is the prophecy, so we gotta find the oracle."

"For that, we need to find the westward palace—Which must mean Caligula's base," Lester paraphrases. 

"No one knows where that is," Pear huffs.

"Also from the prophecy—I have to wrest from him the crossword speaker's breath. Meaning, I think, that I have to free the Erythraean Sibyl from his control."

"Does this Sibyl like crosswords?" Reba perks up. "I like crosswords."

"The Oracle gave her prophecies in the form of word puzzles. Like crosswords. Or acrostics. The prophecy also talks about Grover bringing us here, and a lot of terrible things that will happen at Camp Jupiter in the next few days—"

"The new moon," Meg mumbles. "Coming very soon."

"Yes."

"There's another line," Grover adds. "Walk the path in thine own enemy's boots? Could that have something to do with Caligula's booties?"

"Well, he's called Lil boots, I'm saying yes, probably," Ara retorts.

"I hope not," Lester scoffs. "But if we could free the Sibyl from the maze I'm sure she would help us. I'd like to have more guidance before I charge off to confront Caligula in person."

"That brings us back to where we started," Joshua raises a brow. "You need the Oracle freed. We need the fires shut off. To do that, we need to get through the maze, but nobody knows how."

"Maybe somebody does," Hedge comments looking uneasy.

"Who is this somebody?" A dryad asks.

Mellie starts quietly. "Most of you know we've been living with the McLeans..."

"As in Piper McLean, daughter of Aphrodite," Lester glances at Ara. "Your former sister." Ara wrinkles her nose. She'd never been able to be a real sister to her, always unavailable.

"I was Mr McLean's personal assistant," Mellie continues. "Gleeson was a full-time stay-at-home father, doing a great job—"

"I was, wasn't I?" Gleeson says proudly, patting his son's head.

"Until everything went wrong," Mellie sighs. "Long story. The point is, a couple of weeks ago, Piper had a dream about the Burning Maze. She thought she'd found a way to reach the centre. She went exploring with... that boy, Jason. When they came back... They said they had failed. But I don't think that's the whole story. Piper hinted that they had encountered something down there that... rattled them."

The first time they met, Mellie adored Jason, blushing over his off-handed compliments, and now she speaks as if disappointed... Ara gets reminded of that vision she'd gotten a few days ago, the one with Piper holding a torn picture where Jason used to appear. "Ah, Styx..." She curses, guessing what they'll find once they go to them.

"We need to talk to those demigods," Lester says, much to her chagrin.

"I can't take you," Mellie pouts. "Going back... it would break my heart."

Hedge starts hesitantly. "Maybe I could—" Mellie scowls. "Yeah, I can't go either."

"I'll take you," Grover offers, albeit tiredly. "I know where the McLean house is. Just, uh, maybe we can wait until the morning?"

Ara nods, relieved that she doesn't have to deal with it right this instant. "For the best, we can't do much at this hour."

"There's more," Lester adds guiltily. "Your sanctuary might not be safe for much longer..." 

He tells them what the horse said about checking this place before he left Macro's store. "H-how could they know about Aeithales? They've never bothered us here!" A dryad demands.

"I don't know, guys. But... the horse did seem to imply that Caligula was the one who had destroyed it years ago. He said something like I know you think you took care of it. But that place is still dangerous." Grover says.

"Doesn't make sense. Even we don't know what this place was," Joshua frowns.

"A house," Meg is quick to answer, though softly. "A big house on stilts. These cisterns... they were support columns, geothermal cooling, water supply."

Silence. Then Lester speaks. "Meg, how do you know this place?"

The girl glances at Ara. "Because it was my home. My dad built Aeithales. See you in the morning," Meg gets up without adding anything else to her revelation.

Ara sighs. "I'll go."

"Me too," Lester follows her. They find the girl seated on the edge of the passageway they climbed to get there that morning. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"No."

"If Aeithales is the place mentioned in the prophecy, your ancient roots, then it might be important to know about it so... we can stay alive?"

"Here," Meg reaches both of their hands without warning.

Ara gets pulled into a different time, but she recognizes it as the same spot they're at, only greener. She sees Meg's dad, a man with dark hair and kind green eyes, his love for nature so infectious it makes Ara think of Calypso. She would've liked living in a house like this one, fresh and bursting with plants. The man shows the girl a few strange seeds before the scene changes.

It's the man in the dead of night, speaking agitatedly over the phone. "No, I don't understand—You have no right. This property isn't... Yes, but my research can't... That's impossible!" He's pacing around, shaking with distress. "You don't understand—This is more than my life's work. It's centuries. Thousands of years' work... I don't care if that sounds crazy. You can't just—" He turns and spots Meg, his face shifting to feigned joy that couldn't fully reach his eyes.

The scene changes again to them running away, leaving those strange seeds behind in a hurry to escape something—someone.

Ara comes back to the present, a tight lump in her throat. She'd constantly compared Meg to herself, wanting to care for her and save her from heartache, but there is a huge difference between being an orphan and knowing fatherly love only until your teens, and being born into the arms of a loving, dedicated father, just to witness his violent death.

Ara feels unprepared to be this girl's role model, she knows that Meg looks up to her, but now she feels unworthy. How dare she talk about struggles and losses to that girl? "Ara?" Meg voice calls at her.

She gives a start, sensing that the girl has tried at least two other times to get her attention. "Yes?"

"Phillip," Meg says with a tremble of realization in her voice. "My dad's name was Phillip McCaffrey. I couldn't remember, like you with your biological dad. But now we both know."

Ara runs her fingers through the girl's hair, absorbing only the negative emotions. "Your dad's name is nicer than mine's."

"Phillip McCaffrey was a very good father," Lester says hoarsely. "Like Paul Blofis."

"He smelled like mulch," Meg sniffs. "In a good way."

"My dad smells like coffee and mint," Ara's eyesight gets blurry, she misses her dad. "I hope he's alright."

"Caligula did this," Lester says bitterly. "That's what Incitatus meant when he said the emperor took care of this place."

"We're going to find out. Tomorrow. You two, me, Grover. We'll find these people, Piper and Jason."

"And if Piper and Jason don't know anything helpful?" Lester asks.

Meg turns to Ara. "They're part of the seven, right? Your friends?"

Ara nods. "They're good at finding out stuff."

"Then we'll find Caligula. We'll explore this mazy place and free the Sibyl and stop the fires and whatever."

When she was younger, Ara hated being told 'It's more complicated than that', or 'It's not that easy'. She would never say that to Meg, she's earned every bit of respect Ara can give. "If he did this, Meg, I'll hold him so you can land the first punch."

The young girl doesn't smile, but her eyes are slightly brighter. "We should sleep now." Meg leaves Lester and Ara alone. 

He clears his throat, testing the waters. "That is... if you feel sleepy?"

Ara sighs. "Considering I slept all day, I won't be sleeping for the next three, give or take."

"Ara, there is something I haven't told you..."

"That you're forgetting your life as a god?" She asks. "Or that you know I'm forgetting how to be human? Or that you know there isn't really a way to stop what's happening to me, or—"

"That I'm forgetting things, yeah," he cuts her off. "But I was thinking... well, if we help each other to remember, then we might slow down our changes?"

"Lester, eventually one of us is going down," she says wisely. "You know your father wants it to be that way. He realized he messed up with us two, so he's counting on us fighting each other to survive."

"He could never make me hurt you," Lester says, so intensely that it makes her blush.

"A year ago I would've happily died to return you to your rightful throne, but now..." she sighs. "I have a duty to my demigods," she raises a brow. "And so do you. We must fight and let the best take over."

"I'm not going to fight you," the boy scoffs. "I'll find a way."

"You promise on the Styx?" She says sarcastically. Lester's face fills with determination and she plants one hand over his mouth. "No!"

Next Chapter –>

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[nepheia]

07 ∙ the hidden yizhan song no one is talking about: return to zero

[ ✼ part 7 of the self is not me, but us series ]

yes, we're all victims of the goodnight syndrome — myself included, because it's been like three weeks or something and i still have it on loop. i'll get to that in the next part, where you'll realise i am! absolutely! not normal! about that song!

BUT. also dropping on that same day was return to zero, which i haven't really seen too many people talk about. to me, it's as heavily yizhan-coded as goodnight, if a little subtler, and not just because of the mountains on the lyrics poster (which thankfully aren't snow-capped, else i would've been Even More Insane):

if goodnight is yz in the present, in their disgustingly sweet power husbands married couple era, then return to zero is yz in the past, circa 2018.

❝ the silence of sighs and someone's secret time flows backwards the blurs of light and shadow confusion and clarity ❞

this verse and the nature-related imagery of the lyrics took me back to the tail end of that whirlwind summer, where — if you'll let me project a little — both xz and yb were likely having to confront the intimacy they've shared over the course of filming cql.

after months of "time-travelling" every day (jumping between past to present-day wangxian, from period to modern-day yizhan), xz had to leave their little bubble of security. the cast and crew who've taken in stride their egregiously open secret, their egregiously open displays of affection. the convenient excuse of playing soulmates in a passion project they don't even know will air. 

he had to go back to a time where they didn't get to spend hours and hours together every day. to a time where he would have both clarity ("if i spend time apart from him, maybe i'll be able to figure out what this is") and confusion ("but now that i've experienced it, can i unlearn what it's like to spend every waking moment with him?").

he had to take that japan trip to walk away from wei ying and, as some say, to figure out who exactly he felt those emotions for.

❝ the letter that was never sent and the you who is unknown ❞

re: "never sent" — for those of you familiar with the japan trip cpn, there's the wechat block theory… i've always been ambivalent about that so i won't include that here. but that's an alternate and very applicable line of thought!!

there really was no need for letters, was there? because that "i miss you" may have been woven onto a cap, but it might as well have been a loudspeaker, with how persistently and publicly its owner wore it. and well, xz did figure it out sometime during that trip. after all, when he came home, the modern man wasn't unknown anymore; he was going to be named c:

❝ it turns out reality and the dream world zero out together ❞

where did you find love, xz was asked once. in a dream, he said.

and what could be more dreamlike than finding your soulmate while filming a story about, well, soulmates?

you could read these two lines as xz resurfacing from that trip with a more nuanced answer to "is what i feel because of the role or because of the person?". fiction and reality have cancelled each other out, because he is allowed to have both. (to keep with the theme of multiple selves: he is both.) his feelings for yb are as real as they come, and they can co-exist with the realisation that as the person who brought wei ying to life on screen, a part of him will always love lan zhan. that's the kind of story you will never, ever be able to tell again. 

but i also like to think of these lines as his thought process during that trip.

it always made sense to me that xz maybe needed some time to think about it all, and to figure out how to reconcile what they have (dream) with what they're allowed to have (reality). they were both rising stars with a lot to lose, but they're also just people, who i believe were — are — acutely aware that this isn't something you find every day, sometimes never even in a lifetime.

so he decides they'll make it work.

and you know when the books describe the oh moment? when the world seems to pause on its axis, when everything is suddenly clear and bright and beautiful?

❝ the wind is flying past the fog is dusted over the sky suddenly held its breath ❞

❝ a loud explosion from the moment i saw you ❞

yeah stand up mister xiao "team love-over-time but suddenly couldn't say that when roseonly asked if he believed in love at first sight" zhan

⎯⎯ ୨୧ ⎯⎯

and now just for fun, because i'm already insane and might as well go all in:

🎪 bonus round — a series of cute etymological coincidences!

remember i said thankfully no snowy mountains in the poster visual? 

零 (zero), like many a chinese character, is made up of different component characters or radicals: 雨 (rain) + 令 (lots of different meanings depending on context, sorry!!). coincidentally, this is the same 令 as in 陈情令 / cql, and we also know xz and yb are both self-proclaimed rainy day enjoyers.

coincidentally also, 零 (zero) and 雪 (snow) both share the same 雨 radical.

i yoyo quite intensely between the idea that obviously no one has the goddamn time to think about all this (except me, apparently) and that this is also xz's specific brand of nerdy linguistics (• ◡•)

⋆

← prev ┊ part 6: the elephant in the room: reading this album as a cpf → next ┊ part 8: on goodnight, all the same, and the ordinariness of love

[shiicheol]

silent converstions ~ 2

‣ pairing: jeon wonwoo x oc 

‣ summary: Maxine found comfort in regularly sending messages to the number of her deceased ex, seeing no harm in it—until she received a response from a persistent stranger named Wonwoo. What are the chances of forming a connection with this unexpected stranger? How will their story unfold?

‣ genre: strangers to lovers. angst.

‣ chapters:

one

‣ disclaimer: The ideas and personalities depicted in this Alternate Universe (AU) do not reflect the actual views or characteristics of the artists. Their names are used purely as placeholders. Please remember that these stories are fictional and do not represent reality. Thank you!

NOTE: Text messages are in italics, while non-italicized text represents thoughts and narration

Wonwoo's POV

Texting Stranger

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for being a bother. I'm sorry because you have to put up with a stranger persistent enough to message a person who is no longer here.

What life do you live that makes it feel like you should apologize for grieving?

Texting Stranger

Please, don't respond anymore. You will never hear from me again. Thank you for your time.

There's so much I want to say but in respect to you, I will hold back.

No messages from you? I said to myself, as I observed the lockscreen of my device.

I'll assume that you're in the process of moving on. I hope you're doing well wherever and whoever you may be. 

However, as if one cue, the name of the Unknown sender had flashed on my screen again.

Texting Stranger

Hi, love. I told myself that I'll stop messaging you but here I am with a bottle of alcohol and a million emotions running through my heart.

I remember you used to commend me for having exceptionally good typing skills despite being drunk. It once used to be a memory I hold dear to my heart but now the thought of it wrecks me in unimaginable ways.

I was fine. I've been fine. Or maybe I thought I was.

How can I ever be fine, right? How is it possible for me to move on? You've managed to move on but why can't I do the same?

Fuck.

I'm rambling again, aren't I? I remember every time I would be in talkative mode, you would interrupt me and it would lead to an argument. Believe it or not, I miss it so much.

Please, love, stop me from rambling again. I promise I won't get mad at you. Just, please.

I don't know you personally but why do I feel your pain? 

Texting Stranger

Can I call? Please?

Her message had been surprising, yet my response was beyond me. The next thing I knew, I was waiting for the call, not hesitating to click the answer button, as if the panic i had felt previously had been abandoned.

As soon as I picked up the phone, a sense of regret flashed through me as I was met with mere silence at the end of the line.

I thought that maybe she had fallen asleep.

Seconds passed. 

Minutes passed.

Nothing.

I released a breath of relief I didn't know I was holding upon realizing the possibility of her being in a drunken state.

"Hmmm," I heard a soft groan from my device just as I was about to click the end button.

I looked at it with wide eyes, waiting for her to speak again.

"Love... I miss you, love," the voice slurred out.

"P-please, come back," said the soft voice again.

I couldn't seem to do anything but listen.

That was until I heard a whimper.

"Shhhhh," I tried soothing her.

What could I do, right? What can I say?

For a time, it became a cycle. She would repeat words such as "Love." "I miss you." "Please, come back." Then I would try to calm her down.

Until she asked a question that caught me off guard.

"C-can you please sing me a song like before?" She said with a voice that showed zero signs of sobriety.

Me? Sing? That was something kept private between me and the confines of my own space.

"Please."

But declining would be too selfish when I know the state she was already in.

I sigh.

With no second thought, I started humming a lullaby.

"I can't hear you." she slurred.

With another sigh, I made my voice louder but not too much for it to disturb next-door neighbors.

Just when I was about to finish singing the 3rd song, I heard silent snores from the other end of the line.

I released another breath of relief I realize I was holding.

I looked at the clock and it read, 4:30 am.

We've been on call for 2 hours.

I considered ending the call but it didn't feel right. I thought of staying the entire time but it didn't feel right either.

So after much contemplation, I decided to wait 20 minutes before hanging up.

That way, I'll know that she's in the middle of her deep sleep.

As I waited for time to pass by, I wondered why I was doing this in the first place.

I'm not one to do favors for others.

I'm not one to do phone calls late at night.

I'm not one to sing a song.

I'm not one to empathize.

But why?

I would say out of pity but is it really?

If it was simply out of pity, I would feel nothing but sorry for her.

So, why?

Why do I care so much?

Why do I feel the need to be there for her?

Why do I want her to feel happy?

Why does it hurt when I hear her cry even though I don't know who she is?

Why?

Why do I see myself in her?

[omegaremix]

Finds For 2018.

XXYYXX B-Sides

Odd Nosdam Trish

Goth-Trad “Air Breaker”

William S. Burroughs “Summer Will”

Girl Pusher “Better Off Alone” (live)

Liars “Staring At Zero”

Prayers “Edge Of The Blade”

Gary War “Don’t Go Out Tonight”

Pond “Colder Than Ice”

Contrepoison “Heartbeat”

Bad Zu “Motherfuckers”

Silent Servant “The Strange Attractor”

Peaches “Convincing People”

Deerhoof “Singalong Junk”

Ron Morelli “Radar Version”

Zola Jesus “Siphon”

Goth-Trad “Disorder”

Bad Zu “Queen”

Believer/Law “Foxhole Prayers”

Tame Impala Currents B-sides

Lust For Youth “Display”

Grizzly Bear “Mourning Sound”

Adult. “Dance Avoid”

Molly Nilsson “I Hope You Die”

Blvck Ceiling “Hello, Miracala”

Silent Servant “Self-Hypnosis”

Princess Century “Crummy Bones”

Uniform “The Lost”

Pharmakon “Transmission”

Grimes “Genesis” (Blvck Ceiling RMX)

Russell Haswell “Hardwax Flashback” (Powell RMX)

Ninos Du Brasil “A Magia Do Rei II”

Cults “I Took your Picture With My Eyes Closed”

Machine Girl “Freewill (Phase β)”

Silent Servant “Disassociation”

KVB, The “White Walls”

Moon Diagrams “Magic Killer”

Men, The “( )”

Sunn O))) “It Took The Night To Believe”

Ninos Du Brasil “Vagalumes Pirilampos”

Rezzett “Zootie”

Horrorist, The “Programmed” (Silent Servant RMX)

Silent Servant “Cut Unconscious”

Drvg Cvltvre “Waging A War Against God”

Believer/Law “Ashes”

Rainforest Spiritual Enslavement “Watery Grave”

Boy Harsher “Pain”

Brainbombs “Drive Around”

I Hate Models “Cyanure Dance”

Vatican Shadow “Weapons Inspection”

Stars Are Insane “I Stayed Up All Night Thinking Of You” (demo)

Kajun SS “Know Your Place”

James Clarke “Silent Summer”

Leon Gardner “Who Are You”

Frumpies, The “I Just Wanna’ Puke On The Stereo”

Raveonettes, The “I Wanna’ Be Adored”

Black Dice “Cowboy Soundcheck”

War On Women “Lone Wolves”

Sun Ra Nuits De La Fondation Maeght Vol. 1

Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass “Spanish Flea”

Buddy Rich The Bus Tapes

Ghost Spell self-titled

Digital Leather “Ruining Everything”

Black Boot 2013 demo

Plugz, The “Touch For Cash”

Deformity Shards

Ajax 2015 demo

Vinnie Paz “Cheesesteaks”

Robert Viger “Limpidite”

Stiv Bators “It’s Cold Outside”

Frigs “Solid State”

MF Doom & RZA “Books Of War”

Les Savvy Fav “Hold On To Your Genre”

Ros Sereysothea “Kon Komsot”

Blueblack “Branches Broke”

Pat Metheny “San Lorenzo”

Can “Vitamin C”

Versus The Stars Are Insane

Jedi Mind Tricks “Design In Malice”

Wolf Alice “Sad Boy”

World / Inferno Friendship Society The True Story Of The Bridgewater Astral League

Rezzett “Gremlinz”

Boy Harsher “Modulations”

Nick Cave “I’m Your Man”

Boards Of Canada “Orange Romeda”

Cabaret Voltaire Extended Play e.p.

Letlive “Day 54”

Kedr Livanskiy Ariadna

Jan Jelinek “Them, Their”

Thomas Leer “Saving Grace”

Killing Joke “Penny Drops”

Nails Abandon All Hope

Public Image Ltd. “Poptones”

Chris Norwood “The Norwood’s Prayer”

Puccio Roelens “A Silness Song”

Aby Ngana Diop Liital

Curses “Pedal To The Metal And Don’t Look Back”

Keiji Haino “See That My Grave Is Kept Clean” (acoustic)

Azymuth “Jazz Carnival”

Joanna Brouk “The Space Between”

Thomas Leer “All About You”

Viet Cong / Preoccupations “Disarray”

Lower Dens “Ondine”

Black Marble “A Great Design”

Hot Flash Heat Wave “Glo Ride”

Still Corners “The Photograph”

Odd Couple “What Kings Do”

Oldbills “Tablecloth”

System, The (UK) “Find It In Your Eyes”

Holydrug Couple, The “I’ll Only Say This”

Negative Gemini “Bad Baby”

Refreshers “How Bout U?”

Sam Smith “I’m Not The Only One”

Secret Circle “Tube Socks”

6lack “Prblms”

Spizzenergi “Soldier Soldier”

Basic Nature “Love Won’t Always Be There”

Camp Cope “Anna”

Dilly Dally “I Feel Free”

Eyedress f. Pyramid Vritra “1990”

Oldbills “Salsa Verde”

LaMont Jackson Aces

Uniform & The Body “In My Skin”

Water From Your Eyes “We’re Set Up”

Beat Detectives “Call It What You Want (Segment One)”

End Of A Year / Self Defense Family “Self-Immolation Family”

Lanark Artefax “Glasz”

No Age “You’re A Target”

Ice Age “Under The Sun”

Daughters “Satan In The Wait”

Nothing “Blue Line Baby”

Sean Price “STFU Pt. 2”

Tislatin Onzar 3=2+1

clipping. “Ends” (Xanopticon RMX)

Nothing “Zero Day”

Prison Religion “007”

Big Boss, The motion picture soundtrack “The Killing Fight”

Oldbills “Black Ice”

Cults “Gilded Lily”

Eyedress “High Street Drive”

Tanya Tagaq f. Shad “Centre”

Fall, The “Australians In Europe”

Pond “Sweep Me Off My Feet”

Uniform “The Walk”

BreakBeatBuddha “New Delhi Dank”

Ta-Ra “L’il Bit”

Xiu Xiu & Mitski “Between The Breaths”

Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever “Time In Common”

Sweet Valley “Sentimental Trash”

Wati Heru X Kashaka “BKWYA”

All These Fingers “Puerta Vallarta”

Body Without Organs “Osiris Rises”

Cults “Talk In Circles”

Miss Red “One Shot Killer”

Underworld & Iggy Pop “Bells And Circles”

Alt-J “Story 4 Sleeplessly Embracing” (clipping. RMX)

Moor Mother “Washington Park”

Erick Arc Elliott “Breaking”

Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever “An Air Conditioned Man”

Cansei De Ser Sexy “Girlfriend”

Choir Boy “Blood Moon”

Flastbush Zombies “The Results Are In”

Miss Red “Come Again”

Cold Cave New Moral Leadership

Prison Religion “Glass”

Diseno Corbusier “Ritmo 21”

Happy Meals / Free Love “Pushing Too Hard”

Jessica Rylan “Wishing Well”

Erick Arc Elliott “Fifteen Minutes”

Palm “Dog Milk”

Body, The “Sickly Heart Of Sand”

Oldbills “Weekendluv”

Ariana Grande “Into You”

Imagine Dragons “Thunder”

Moor Mother “Creation Myth”

Cellars “Real Good Day”

Addison Groove “Footcrab” (DJ Rashad & DJ Spinn RMX)

Charles Manson Lie

Water From Your Eyes “That’s The Girl”

Anti-Nowhere League “Snowman”

Bug, The f. Liz Harris “Black Wasp”

Eyedress f. Prefuse73 “Living Room”

Miss Red “Dagga”

Malcomb McLaren “Zulu’s On A Time Bomb”

Idles “Danny Nedelko”

Aube “Parametalizest Pt. II”

Menace Beach “Black Rainbow Sound”

Chvrches “Never Say Die”

Nine Inch Nails “The Background World”

Oh No “Banger”

Oneida “Whitey Fortress”

Ariana Grande “Moonlight”

Happy Meals / Free Love “July”

Curren$y f. The Game & Prodigy “The Type”

Casisdead “Leon Best”

Diseno Corbusier “Meta Metalic”

Malcomb McLaren “Soweto”

Nine Inch Nails Bad Witch

Jessica Rylan “Way Home”

Max G. Morton The Devil’s Music

Beat Detectives“(Undiscernable) Repetition Heavy Traffic: New NYC Vibe 2”

Origami Girl “After All These Years”

Killing Joke “Follow The Leaders”

Philippe Hallais “Hero / Fall / Angela”

wosX “Armageddon”

Ramadanman “Blimey”

Caroline K “Chearth”

Eomac “Don’t Fear Your Own Heart”

Rapid Tan “Dumbo”

End Of A Year / Self Defense Family “Indoor Wind Chimes”

Errors “Early Nights”

JK Flesh “External Transmission Stage”

Beths, The “Great No One”

Impalers “High Wired”

Glowing Palms “I Don’t Wanna Come Daaan”

Mean Girls “Summer Bodies”

Vatican Shadow “Tonight Saddam Walks Amidst Ruins”

Pasteur Lappe “Mbale (Face To Face With The Truth)”

Ash Pool “Cremation Is Irreversible”

Reptaliens “If You Want”

Rixe “Infatigables”

Teyas “Jamauba”

Serge Gainsbourg “Je T’aime Moi Non Plus”

Vatican Shadow “Jet Fumes Above The Reflecting Pool”

Powerflo “Less Than A Human”

Death In June “Little Black Angel”

Pop Group, The “(Amnesty Report II)

Erica Eso “Vaccination Free”

Fire Engines “(We Don’t Need This) Fascist Groove Thang” (Peel Session)

Heem Stogied X EyeDee X Tha God Fahim ”Drive By”

Young Fathers “Lord”

Kegcharge “Medal Of Honor”

Boy Harsher “Motion”

Badlands “Heavy Sighs”

La Secte Du Futur “Hundred Songs Of Love”

Jitwam “I Ain’t Scared Of No Devil”

Russell Haswell “Special Long Version” (demo)

Frankie Cosmos “Outside With The Cuties”

Illuminati Hotties “Pressed 2 Death”

Iceage “Catch It”

clipping. “Something They Don’t Know” (Bad Zu RMX)

Poison Idea “Right”

Sky Ferreira “Voices Carry” (demo)

Gnarcissists “We All Just Wanna’

Morbid Angel “Maze Of Torment” (RMX)

Subhumans “Mickey Mouse Is Dead” (live)

Plexi “Roller Rock Cam”

Joan Jett “Shout”

Jesu & Nothing & Prurient “Silver” (rehearsal)

Purling Hiss “My Dreams”

Brian Eno & Kevin Shields “Only Once Away My Son”

Bikini Cops “Midnight”

Council Estate Electronics “Type LK-60YA”

War On Drugs, The “Up All Night”

Council Estate Electronics “Urals”

Fellony “Whisper Song”

Death In June “13 Years Of Carrion”

Council Estate Electronics “60 Megawatts”

Holy Wave “Spooky Fuckin’ Blues”

Paris “The Days Of Old”

Intelligent Hoodlum / Tragedi Khadafi “Grand Groove”

Blackbyrds, The “Mysterious Vibes”

[silver-starss]

Ahsoka finale thoughts

Holy shit

Morgan's upgrade was pretty cool ngl

Kanan convo! Giving him the respect he deserves.

Loving Ezra's new lightsaber! I always preferred his blue look, since it keeps in theme with him being a blueberry c:

Not sure how I feel about Sabine using the Force like this. Sensing stuff, I'm fine with, but suddenly she's 100% able to use telekinesis?

Morgan's rematch with Ahsoka is leagues better than their first fight back in Mando

Ahsoka is canonically a ronin :)

Ahsoka is canonically stranded in another galaxy :(

Welp. It happened. People were left behind.

What was that ending with Shin? Is she taking over the raiders? Is she seeking out fights because she's alone?

HOLY SHIT MORTIS GODS

And here I laughed at Mortis related Ahsoka theories. Shows how little I know. Maybe those Abeloth theorizers were onto something...

I love how this shot has absolutely zero significance to casual fans but is utterly game-changing for those who watched the shows

Am I tripping or is the Daughter missing from the statues?

It's a shame that Baylan's arc ended on not only a cliffhanger. Though the writers couldn't have anticipated real life tragedies.

EZRA AND HERA REUNION!!!

NO HUG???????

ANAKIN!! In full Jedi robes like ROTJ!!!

Ahsoka's smile at the end. She knows he's watching over her <3

WHERE THE SUN SAILS AND MOON WALKS MY BELOVED/BELOATHED. SUCH A GOOD SONG BUT HOLY FUCK THE ASSOCIATIONS

Between Morai and Anakin, Ahsoka's got one heck of a guardian posse. And she seemed awfully confident that she and Sabine have some sort of purpose here. I wonder what's in store for her, because I have a feeling that she won't stay stranded forever (even if it explains her absence in the sequels)

I'm not sure if this cliffhanger is meant for Dave Filoni's movie or a potential season 2, but I want more and I know I'm not getting more anytime soon and it's making me sad :(

I can't deal with these feelings oml