#Burnout is my forever enemy

[stuckinapril]

Pacing myself & recognizing the big picture & sticking to a strict schedule & not racing to do everything at once because that’s impossible & still pushing myself where appropriate & setting firm boundaries w myself about what I spend my time on & taking nothing personally & always evaluating if I could be doing things more efficiently & doing my best always & trusting that hard work in the present will manifest in achieving my goals in the future & stopping to appreciate the current moment even during hectic transitional life periods & not saying yes to things so liberally anymore

[forlix]

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kim Kyeyoung «kyeyoungkim@snu.edu» To: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to hit his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall. Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that. “What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation. 

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.” 

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district��s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «ndaldello@pvm.com» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. But only sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It really fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I’ll genuinely commit homicide if I have to do all this again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[crescencestudio]

2023: A Year of Connection

Hi everyone!

As I told you last month, this month's "devlog" will be more like an end-of-year recap. For those of you who have known me a while, you'll know that I get ~in my feels~ and Very Nostalgic at the end of the year. And this year is no exception to that.

Looking back on this year, I realize I did much more than I thought I did. The year was filled with so many waves of uncertainty, burnout, and ruts, that I felt like I wasn't accomplishing anything in the moment. Now that the year has actually wrapped up, I can see that was Once Again my imposter syndrome whispering words of sweet nothings into my ears.

In fact, this year, I find that I did Way More than what I did last year. Crazy, considering how busy I remember 2022 being. Let's take a walk down memory lane, shall we?

Writing

If there is one thing this bitch did, it's fucking write LFMASODIJ. For all my complaining this year of routes taking too long, getting creative ruts, etc., I still wrote (what I consider) a Very Good amount. While I may not have hit my writing goals that I had set out, I still ended up writing around 255k words in total this year. Most of this being for Alaris, and some of it being for my dissertation (LOL) and other side games, like Intertwine and Jam Games.

This number also doesn't include deleted passages, edited passages, etc., so the amount I've spent writing, reviewing, etc. was Significant this year. Here's to hoping that momentum continues into next year and finishing the rest of Alaris!

Side Games

Something completely unexpected, but that I'll forever be grateful for, was my decision(s) to join game jams this year. It all started with Otojam, a visual novel jam I'd wanted to join for a WHILE.

Intertwine was, without a doubt, one of my most memorable moments from this year. The friends I made/grew closer to during that jam. The people I connected with because of Intertwine. The people I got to work with. Everything about the experience surpassed my expectations, and Van and Summer 2023 will always hold a very special place in my heart because of it. Thank you to everyone who enjoyed that game. It was my first full game I ever released, and I couldn't have been more nervous about it (no literally. I wasn't sleeping and I was nauseous for a week before release).

Knowing there was no "revision" afterwards that I could hide behind or promise that there would be a "better"/"enhanced" version made the release terrifying. But the reception you all gave to it and support from so many friends made me feel so connected and grateful for the community.

The other three side projects were... well, Unexpected. LOL. Before these jams, I'd never wanted to work in team settings, mostly because I have Mad Imposter Syndrome, and I've always imagined I'd be dead weight in any given game dev team. My skills on writing, art, and/or coding alone aren't "exemplary" enough for me to think I, well, deserve to be on a team. But when a couple of short jams were being held by a friend, and teams were being made filled with other friends, I thought maybe I could help, even if it's just to QA/playtest. But I've walked away from each of these experiences learning so much from other talented people and with very dear friends.

Each of these side games truly tested my chops in terms of writing, narrative design, and coding. But I'm glad I challenged myself to take part in each of these experiences because I've walked away with so much more than I would've expected.

Alaris

My Heart. My Soul. And at times, My Worst Enemy.

As much as I may have talked about how I Wasn't making progress on this baby. I, in fact, made A LOT of progress:

Art: 15 CGs, Updated Sprites, Kickstarter Artwork

Commissions: 20 BGs, Complete GUI, Personality/Affection Indicators, Editing, Voice Acted Lines, Complete OST (8 Tracks!)

Writing: Three Finished Routes

Shipped Kickstarter Merchandise

I'm going to be Real with you all. I'm not in the mood to recap everything for Alaris in the way I did with everything else LAFKMSDFOIJWOEI. Main reason being, I do that Every Month, and at this point, I would feel like I'm repeating myself for no reason. But let me tell you, when the Enhanced Demo comes out, you will see what I'm talking about with progress made. And I'm excited for the next year when I start getting to show things off (read: Demo Release and Route Beta Releases) now that assets have really come together ^^

I will say, thank you for sticking with this project for so long. It's easy to get bogged down in development when a project like this is as big as it is. It's just as easy to think that no one will care about this by the time I release, or people will start losing their patience with me as development goes on. So I'm forever grateful for how kind, supportive, and patient you all are, especially this year <3

Connections: The True Theme of 2023

If you've made it this far, I'm extremely impressed with you. And to reward you, I'll give you a moment of honesty and vulnerability which, to be frank, I Don't Do as a person and especially with my dev persona LMFAOO ((Before I do, let it be known, CW: mention of death, grief, alcoholism, chronic illness, suicidal thoughts))

Something I don't talk about much is that for all of 2022 and most of 2023, I was not in a good place mentally. At the beginning of 2022, I lost three very important people in my life back-to-back (I'm not exaggerating when I say back-to-back it was within 2 weeks, three separate deaths lol). That, on its own, was hard to deal with. But on top of that, I soon found myself having to cope/help with a family member's chronic illness and another family member's mental health (read: alcoholism, suicidality).

While this isn't a particularly unique situation, it was one that I found myself struggling with pretty severely on top of a pretty demanding work life. And it was a situation I found myself in until about midway through this year. Things have lightened up. I navigate a new life with some pretty severe triggers, and without the presence of some of my most loved ones. But overall, I at least feel like I can breathe and function, which is a state I didn't feel like I could exist in for over a year (and started to believe I may never exist in again).

Because of this new room in my life, I was able to connect with people again, in a more genuine way. I've grown closer to a lot of dev friends, to the point I consider some of them genuine close friends. And IRL, I've been able to reconnect with some of my dearest loved ones. The main reason I bring all of this up is because this year, I felt unbelievably connected to people, whether that was dev friends in the community, people who support my games, and IRL people.

And sometimes, when you interact with people solely online, it's easy to think they don't care as much about you as you do for them. But this has been disproven to me time and time again this year. And I've found myself in a state of appreciation for so many of the people I've been blessed to meet and befriend <3 I felt this especially so during some of the game jams, with the Secret Santa gift exchange, and with my recent Holiday Tree.

So thank you for everyone who has let me take up some space in their life. You literally Do Not Know how much it means to me and impacts me. This year, while I started it in a state of slightly hopelessness and numbness, I find myself ending it with gratitude and connection.

I hope the rest of this year (the very few couple of days we have left LOL) treats everyone well. I'm excited for how we get to start 2024 and what we'll get to experience together <3 Thank you again for the memories and support, love you all very dearly ^^

[euniveve]

the status of the long fics is still ongoing. my works often feature the same themes of trauma. tags colored red should be cautioned over as it may not catered to everyone's taste.

Long Fics:

The Phoenix to His Dragon - Morax/Fem!Reader, archon war, isekaid!reader, violence, blood, death, lore heavy, past!unrequited!guili, exploration of morax's trauma, mentions of reader's past, implied parental abuse, angst, slowburn, strangers to friends to lovers, marriage (currently being rewritten)

The Laws Regarding Attraction - Neuvillette/Fem!Reader, Attorney!Reader, Sassy!Reader, Reader is from Liyue, Forced Marriage, Arranged Marriage, mentions of trauma in relation to the reader, unhealthy relationship dynamic (at first), angst, enemies to lovers, slowburn, initial unrequited love, one-sided pining, takes place 3 years before the Fontaine Arc. (Projected to be finished this year)

Drabbles/One-Shots/Imagines:

Together Forever - Zhongli/GN!Reader, imagine, dark content, cannibalism, yandere!zhongli, grieving!zhongli, angst

I'm Okay I Think - Zhongli/GN!Reader, one-shot, MASSIVE hurt/comfort, insecure!reader, angst, reader is implied to have depression.

I Can't Keep Control - Zhongli/GN!Reader, imagine, major character death (you), desperation, obssessive!zhongli

(How Morax Got His) Red Eyeliner - Zhongli/Wife!Reader, one-shot, domestic fluff, slight angst, mentioned!xiao

My True Love Gave to Me - K. Ayato/Fem!reader, drabble, modern!au, christmas, angst to fluff, hurt/comfort

Coming Soon (long fics):

Rex Lapis' Wife Would Like To Rest In Peace - Zhongli/fem!reader, arranged marriage, post archon-war liyue, emperor!morax, imperial harem, politics, suicidal!reader, exploration of trauma, reader is implied to have depression.

This Blade That Carves Loneliness - Zhongli/fem!reader, figure skating au, modern au, yuri on ice inspired, dealing with topics of depression, burnout, and guilt.

Tales of The Wisteria Chamber - K. Ayato/Fem!Reader, politics, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers to enemies lovers, angst.

[earthtooz]

hi hi! so this is one part of my 5k event where i am accepting only EIGHT requests (so i don't burnout) from my followers for fics! to make this easier for me to write, i'm going to provide you all with a list of characters i'm willing to write for and some prompts + tropes!

please read the guidelines and rules if you are going to request!! happy requesting, hope to see u in my inbox ;>

˗ˏˋ EVENT MASTERLIST ´ˎ˗ THE CROSSED OUT MATERIAL MEANS YOU CAN NO LONGER REQUEST FOR IT

PROMPT LIST + TROPES: you are allowed to request more than one prompt/trope so go wild! the more material you give me, the more motivated i am to write it!

FLUFF: • 'i love every part of you, even the parts you don't' • 'i can't imagine a life where i don't adore you' • 'wow... you look... amazing' • 'sorry for the 7395 calls, i was worried' • 'you didn't ruin anything. actually, you made it better by coming.' • 'can i get a kiss? i think i deserve one.' • 'can i kiss you?', 'there's people watching!', 'let them' • 'go on a date with me and if you don't feel the same then i'll drop it, i promise' • 'you're not fine. c'mon, let me take care of you' • 'are we on a date right now?' • 'don't make me spell it out for you pretty, you know i want you' • 'am i your lockscreen?' 'you weren't supposed to see that' • 'when can i see you again?' (fluff or angst lol) • 'you came to my room at 4am to cuddle?' • 'i've waited so long to hear you say that' • 'stay with me. be it only for the night or forever, just please stay with me' • 'if there's really nothing going on between you, you won't care if i ask them out on a date, right?', 'no don't do that!'

ANGST: • 'i'm not going to kiss you- you broke my heart' • 'you're in my head, even when you're not supposed to be' • 'walk out that door and we're through' • 'please come home.' • 'you lied. you lied!' • 'if they even touch one strand of hair on your head, they're dead.' OR 'i don't want one strand of hair on your head damaged, do i make myself clear?' then taking the hit for them. • 'it's okay to leave me. please leave me.' • 'who could ever love someone like you?' • 'of course it was a lie the entire time. i was just pretending!' • 'don't fucking touch me!' • 'delete my contacts, we're done. don't ever talk to me again' • 'this is your favourite, isn't it?', 'was' • 'take what's yours then leave. i don't want to continue this anymore'

TROPES: • fake dating • dating for a bet • pining • forced proximity • accidental confession • soulmate!au (you can specify which version of the trope :D) • rivals to lovers • there's only one bed OR there's only one seat • 3+1 (my beloved) • enemies to lovers • or any trope you would like me to write!!! no dark content or i will kick you out >:( jk but no dark content!

CHARACTERS I'LL WRITE FOR:

from haikyuu!!: kuroo tetsuro + oikawa tooru + suna rintaro + miya atsumu + miya osamu + kageyama tobio

from blue lock: itoshi rin + nagi seishiro + michael kaiser + reo mikage + isagi yoichi + itoshi sae

from boku no hero academia: todoroki shouto + bakugou katsuki + kirishima eijiro + shinsou hitoshi + midoriya izuku + hawks

from jujutsu kaisen:gojo satoru + geto suguru + kamo choso + fushiguro megumi

aot: levi ackerman + eren yeager

RULES:

001: please do not give me your whole story!!! an ideal format would be something like this: 'can i get levi ackerman with 'it's okay to leave me. please leave me' and 'you're not fine. c'mon.' with the soulmate!au? this way i still have some creative liberty but you can still have some aspect of a story engrained in your request!

002: no nsfw, no dark content

003: i'm sorry, but i will not write for the requests that i can't see a storyline shaping. with that said, i might change up your ask a lil to see if i can get something going, so if your request isn't the original version, i'm sorry!

004: be nice. that's all !! ^-^

[hawkmothmoon]

“The thing that gets you to the thing.”

“What?”

“It was you. It was always you.”

Halt and Catch Fire forever 🖤

When this show was out I was in sort of a strange place in my life in my mid/late twenties when I felt sort of untethered and unbelonging. Things eventually shifted—I’ve got a wonderful job and community these days—but because I saw this show during a personally tumultuous time it’s got a lot of importance to me.

I especially think it’s a show folks who are just starting their careers and lives after high school or college should check out. It takes place in the 80s and early 90s but a lot of it still checks out: impossible people working on impossible projects; balancing innovation with burnout and money with corporate life; when relationships end not because of anger or negativity but because sometimes people just diverge and have different needs; when people throw you under the bus to get ahead; when you should try to make it work and when you should let it go.

It’s also got a really wonderful friends/enemies/friends platonic femme friendships, and just great platonic friendships in general. Obviously, romance is awesome! Love that! But I think the friendships this shows portrays are really lovely.

[softguarnere]

For Whatever We Lose

Lewis Nixon x OFC (slow burn, enemies to lovers)

Chapter Five: Enchanted

Summary: She may not be fond of Guarnere, but she would rather have a group than be the odd one out. A/N: Battling through burnout this weekend to post a chapter for the first time in forever 😰 Fun fact: it was originally over twenty pages long! Amazing what ADHD can allow you to do when you're avoiding other things, huh? I've split it into two different chapters for everyone's sake, though, but it does make the end of this one feel very sudden The title for this chapter comes from "Enchanted" by Taylor Swift because of course I'm using her lyrics for titles again, it's me we're talking about here Warnings: mentions of the Boarding School Era Taglist: @dcyllom @kujofam

The morning is muggy. Fog clings to the camp like a wet blanket, the moisture so heavy that no one can tell if they’re sweating, or if their shirts are clinging to them because they’re heavy with the water that seeps out of the air all around them. Either way, it’s uncomfortable, and people are complaining about today’s activity before it even starts.

They stand in groups. Easy Company’s men stand to one side, clustered in their small cliques that have already formed, and the women stand to the other, doing the same. Although no one is brave enough to bridge the divide between them, there are curious glances thrown across it, like a scouting party being sent ahead into the unknown before the adventure can officially begin.

Nixon has a feeling that this is either going to go very well, or very poorly – which, to be fair, is how most of life works. But either the men will begin to include the women and successfully integrate them into the company, or they will effectively ostracize them, thereby causing Sink’s great experiment to fail. No pressure.

He, for one, has no intention of ostracizing the women. Quiet the opposite, actually. He’s already searching the scene for Sergeant Revels as he and Dick approach the group.

But Dick stops suddenly. Nixon stops, too, looking back at his friend.

“Wait a second,” Dick commands, his voice quiet, yet firm. Although Nixon has never been in the habit of doing as he’s told, he obeys his friend’s order, taking a step back toward him so that they won’t be overheard. Dick’s voice is low when he says, “Whatever you’re planning – don’t.”

Nixon can’t help but blink. Feigning surprise, innocence, has never worked that well for him, but here it’s at least half true; he has no clue how Dick has figured out what he’s been thinking, and is rather surprised that he’s noticed at all.

“What?” He asks anyway.

“What if it were Blanche?” Dick says, very straightforward, as usual. “Or my sister? What if they had this opportunity, only to end up being sent home because some guy couldn’t help fraternizing with them. Because we both know the consequences for the man would be nothing in comparison to what the women would face.”

Before his friend had spoken, Nixon had planned on teaming up with Sergeant Revels for the scavenger hunt. Now, though, he’s too busy considering what Dick is saying to worry about what he was going to say to her. Instead, he has to figure out what to say to his friend.

“Dick, I was just gonna – “

“You’re married,” Dick reminds him. He raises a gingery eyebrow to punctuate the point. “That wouldn’t look good for anyone.”

“That’s never stopped anyone with the last name Nixon before,” he mutters, mind flashing back to his own father, his own mother, his own childhood – everything from before the Army that mostly feels very distant and easy to forget nowadays.

“Nix,” Dick warns. “Getting the women integrated into the company is going to be hard enough with Sobel accusing everyone of fraternization left and right. Don’t give him any more excuses to revoke a pass. And don’t be the reason that someone gets sent home.”

Nixon hasn’t even done anything yet, technically, but the look of disappointment on his friend’s face is so strong that some terrible feeling that he hasn’t felt in a very long time begins to fester in his chest. Dick can’t really tell him what to do like this. And yet, Nixon is sure that if he doesn’t obey, he might lose the best friend that he’s ever had.

And, okay, maybe Dick does have a point. If someone ruined Blanche’s career, her future, he would probably hunt the bastard down and kill him. He prefers being alive . . . most of the time.

After a moment of doing nothing but staring at his friend, openmouthed – how embarrassing! His mother would kill him if she could see! – and hesitant, he finally snaps it shut, forces his lips into a firm line, and acquiesces. “Fine.”

Dick nods. “Thank you.”  

And with that, he approaches the group ahead of them like nothing has happened.

Silence falls as the lieutenants approach the group. Men and women alike stand at attention, ready. Dick nods, smiles, and they all fall at ease.

“Not the most agreeable weather,” he begins casually. “That’s part of why today’s exercise is optional.” He pauses while a sigh of relief runs through the crowd in front of him. “However, I think you will find the reward for those who do choose to participate to be far greater than for those who bow out.

“Somewhere in this camp, there is something that you need to find. You may find it immediately, or it might take you all day. But trust me when I say that it will be much easier if men and women work together.”

No one speaks, but everyone glances at each other in question. Together? Even with the fraternization policy?

“Don’t worry about your passes,” Dick assures them. “You can’t learn to be a real, cohesive company if you’re never allowed to interact. It’s encouraged from now on.”

The men and women glance at each other again, much less shyly, and much less confused than before. Some people clearly seem more excited about this news than others, though. That part becomes even more obvious when Dick allows them to split into groups. Some of the men throw glares at the girls before turning on their heels and heading back to the bunkhouse. It is their day off, after all, and they’ve been told that this is optional.

The rest of them, however, tentatively begin to break away into groups. Some men band together, creating all male groups, but others whisper amongst themselves before glancing over at the girls, figuring out which ones to ask to join them, and how to go about doing so.

“Oh, Anna! He’s looking at you again!” Lucinda teases as Floyd Talbert throws a look in her direction.

The singer keeps her cool, though, only shrugging. “Well, he’ll have to do more than that. Skinny Sisk is the one coming over here.”

On cue, Easy Company’s favorite reprobate swaggers up to her, smile bright. “Hello, Anna.” He nods to the rest of the girls in greeting before putting his full attention on the Tennessean. “Would you like to join my group?”

“Depends.” Anna glances behind him. “Who else is coming?”

“Shifty, Popeye, and McLung.”

“Okay then. Sure.” With that, she follows him off, casting a smile back at the other girls and completely ignoring Talbert, who watches with wide, forlorn eyes as she goes.

Liebgott is the next to approach, which may or may not be because Talbert, looking so crestfallen, whispers something to him before beginning to stalk over himself. Ed Tipper follows them, but he doesn’t look as aggravated as Talbert, or as determined as Liebgott.

“Bianca,” Liebgott says with a smile. “You wanna join us?”

The Italian girl’s eyes widen. For a moment, she stands stock still, like a deer in the headlights. Ever since they joined Easy Company, everyone with eyes has been able to see that Liebgott likes her – except Bianca, that is. Though some argue that she knows and that the real problem is that she’s just too shy and too Catholic to do anything about it.

Finally, she nods. “Sure.”

More men have plucked up the courage to approach them now, and the other girls find themselves receiving invitations that range from bold and bordering on flirtatious to hesitant and downright painful to watch.

It’s not until a familiar face approaches that Lori thinks she’s been saved. For there, out of the crowd, approaches none other than David Webster. She hasn’t seen him in ages. If she’s being honest, she never really cared for him much at social events – he was a bit socially awkward and always managed to find a way to turn the conversation into one about literature or about sharks, neither of which have ever really sparked Lori’s interest. Nevertheless, he’s walking over, and Lori is willing to put all of that aside for the sake of finding a group to join; the comfort of finding something familiar within the unfamiliar.

That is, until he walks straight past her.

“Lori,” he says, offering her a polite nod.

“Hello, David,” she replies, making sure to show off her brightest smile.

But then he continues walking, his friends by his side hardly giving her a glance. What’s worse is that she has to watch in disbelief as he approaches Minerva.

“Good morning, Sergeant Revels,” he greets her.

Minerva smiles. “Hello, Webster. Nice to see you again.”

“Care to join our group?”

She doesn’t know the other men standing with him. And even though she hardly knows Webster himself, he’s always been polite to her, right from the first moment that he came over and introduced himself. The gesture is much appreciated considering all that the women have been through.

“I would,” Minerva agrees. “Thanks.”

She’s just about to take off with him when a hand takes hold of her elbow, stopping her in her tracks. Keziah is staring at her, brown eyes wide as she watches the sergeant go. She doesn’t have to say anything – her eyes dart toward the next group of men approaching, and Minerva can see the problem immediately.

Bill Guarnere is at the head of the group, and he’s heading straight for Keziah. Anyone could have guessed that this would happen. He always seems to have an eye on her.

“What am I supposed to do?” she hisses.

“Kez,” Minerva says, patting her friend’s shoulder. “Just give him a chance.” Guarnere might be boisterous and laugh a lot, but none of the girls have ever had a bad thing to say about him, and it seems like the men don’t either. Besides, when he looks at Keziah, it’s completely different than the expression that he uses when surveying the rest of the company; he’s like a man trying to piece together a puzzle. “I’m sure he’s not as bad as you think.”

Keziah fixes her with a hard look that seems like she’s resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “He’s always looking at me.”

“But I don’t think it’s for the reasons that you think it is.”

He’s upon them now. His friends all greet the girls, flashing bright, handsome smiles. It’s clear that Bill is the leader of this expedition, though.

“Keziah, do you wanna join us?”

A beat passes where it looks like she’s going to say no, to laugh in his face, to refuse him. What no one else seems to notice, though, is the way Lori is edging in at the periphery of Keziah’s vision. She may not be fond of Guarnere, but she would rather have a group than be the odd one out. And if she wants that, then she’ll have to accept before Lori can throw her hat into the ring.

“Sure.” There is no pleasure in her voice, but no malice either. There is nothing but resignation, an acceptance of one’s own fate as she follows Guarnere and his friends away through the camp.

With that sorted, Minerva turns to her new group and offers them a smile. “Well, boys. Where should we start?”

At least Guarnere’s friend is funny.

Keziah has heard about George Luz, though she’s never noticed him much. She recognizes his voice, though, as soon as he introduces himself. He’s Easy Company’s funny man. And his other friend, Joe Toye, is quiet, reserved, but polite enough. Luz’s polar opposite. He offers Keziah a nod when she joins the group.

“Well, fellas,” Guarnere starts. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he pauses, corrects himself. “I mean, er – Well, you know what I mean. Should we start with the mountain?”

Luz groans. “Bill, we climb that thing every damn day. This was supposed to be our day off, and here you are, wanting to make us go right back up there.”

“If something is hidden in this camp, don’t you think it would be up there?” the NCO asks.

“That seems too obvious,” Keziah cuts in before she realizes what she’s doing. All eyes are on her. Clearly no one else expected her to offer up a contradiction, either. “I mean, most people are probably going to assume that it’s on the mountain. Everyone will be going up there.”

“Unless they think it’s too obvious and avoid it,” Toye points out. He shrugs. “Could all be a mind game.”

In the end, they decide it can’t hurt to hike up Currahee just in case. Especially since no other group seems to be doing it, and it might be, like Toye said, the obvious answer.

Keziah wishes that they would run. Then they could get this thing over with. But the boys seem intent on walking – almost at a leisurely pace – and talking the whole time. And talking to her, no less, which was not something that she expected when they set out on this expedition. When she was invited to join the group, it was obvious that it was Guarnere’s idea. She didn’t expect his friends to welcome her with such openness like this.

“So, Keziah,” Luz begins as soon as they’re past the initial incline that starts the trail. “Am I saying that right?” He stops to say it slowly, Kuh-zai-uh, working each syllable and then looking to her for approval.

She nods. “Yeah. Like from the Bible.”

“Job’s daughter,” Guarnere muses.

“Anyway,” Luz continues. “Where are you from, Keziah?”

That’s a good question, and one that she’s not too fond of answering. “Oklahoma.”

Guarnere raises an eyebrow. “Really? You don’t have the accent, though.”

Toye scoffs, checking Guarnere’s shoulder with his own. “What? Should she talk like a cowboy, or something?”

Guarnere shrugs, rolls his eyes. “I don’t know! I’ve never met anyone from there.” He turns to Keziah. “Do people have accents in Oklahoma?”

“Usually.” At a younger age, she would have said no. But now that she’s older, and after spending time away, she can hear it every time that she returns, and can note the different types, too. Her grandpa and father have the distinct tone that comes from speaking Choctaw, whereas her little sister probably sounds more like the cowboys that Guarnere is imagining.

“You don’t have an accent,” Guarnere notes.

“No. I was sent away for school.” Where they would rather die than let you hold onto any semblance of home, she doesn’t add.

Toye’s eyes go wide with realization. Guarnere, however, doesn’t pick it up as easily and plows ahead.

“Oh yeah? Where’d you go to school.”

“God,” Toye sighs.

“What?”

Keziah watches him for a moment, waiting to see if he’ll catch on. When he doesn’t, she tells him. “A boarding school. You know, the kind for Indians.”

“Oh.” The Philadelphian cringes at his own mistake. For what it’s worth, he looks like he wants to kick himself for that one. “Sorry.”

At least he sounds sincere. “It’s fine.” Keziah shrugs it off. She may only be nineteen, but she knows better than to let it weigh her down, to turn the situation awkward. She’s stuck with these men until they find whatever it is they’re looking for.

So she takes a page from Luz’s book and makes light of it. “That’s why I’m the best at close-order drills. Been doing them all my life.”

“The best, huh?” Guarnere raises an eyebrow, his embarrassment at his earlier mistake ebbing away. “We’ll see about that.”

[strawberryfaced]

i don’t know about u but i relate to each and every one of the owl house characters so much. and they make me feel safe on a different level. and it’s not like id ever type a 15 page long essay about it what do you mea

thinking about when Amity stopped herself from watching Luz’s video without her permission despite being immensely worried. thinking about when she confronted Luz and made sure to communicate first and comforted her instead of accusing her of stuff and how Healing it was for me to watch that. thinking of Lumity’s enemies to lovers and how obsessed i was and how completed i felt. this ship meant so much to me no one will ever know. forever the kiss scene the animation the dialogue everything i will cry thinking about it Every Time 

thinking about Willow and Gus’s friendship. thinking about them so hard. i personally relate to both Willow and Gus soooo strongly. Willow is me in so many aspects: the therapist friend, kind of underestimated, sort of the mom but also cradled as the child and Gus is just a silly guy as well as the smallest one in the friend group which i highly relate to. strangers tell me and my twin sister apart by me being smaller than her and my friends call me short and small on a daily basis. okay and them together is Crazy. i loved the way they met and Willow’s tactic to calm down ive been using for a few months now whenever i have a really bad day. and it genuinely helps so Fucking much so i will forever owe that to TOH. i think my dream will always be to have friends like the two of them 

don’t Even fucking get me started on King and Eda and Hooty and Luz and the actual owl house. my home actually. they mean the absolute most to me out of the whole show. when they reunited in s3 i cried for a good hour. im shedding a tear writing this. oh my fucking god i don’t know what it is about them but their found family thing they have going on is insane. they will honestly forever mean more to me than the hexsquad. no words will explain how much like home they feel to me. on my worst days i imagine being there. oh MY GOSH OH MY GOD AND WHEN EDA SAID “alright, kid. listen to me. im going away, and i don't know if i can bounce back this time. watch over King, remember to feed Hooty. and Luz, thank you for being in my life”. top 10 hardest times i cried. I sobbed so hard my chest hurt. 

ok next Hunter. to be honest i was never the biggest fan of him merely because of how over hyped he was by the fandom just because they all had crushes on him but he’s genuinely such a cool guy. he was such fucking good representation and idk but the way we got to watch him form relationships with everyone. it was beautiful. and i heavily relate to him despite him being a sort of grouchy dude and me being an overexcited puppy. he’s got this gifted kid burnout and obsession with validation vibe that is identical to mine and it means a lot to me to see my weirdest most annoying toxic traits seen in him

okay as you can tell im unhealthily attached to this show. these paragraphs are kind of silly but i don’t think anyone will Ever Ever understand no matter how many words i write . i remember starting the show in quarantine and being so obsessed with it and staying in bed all day. i had to hold in my smiles all the time it was exhausting. one time i tried to explain the show to my sister and i cried and couldn’t stop. it’s been a while since it’s ended but i still think about it on a weekly basis. 

[nightolmaster]

YES, AFTER 10 YEARS! The Adventures of Ristar and Dynamite Headdy Episode 32 is complete!

It took me 10 years to finish this comic. It’s pathetic, I know.

Why it took me a decade? That’s because at the time my ideas was very low and I was lazy. The comic gave me a burnout as well.

Not only this comic is finished, it helps with my creativity to solve this impossible puzzle. I replicated my old art style because using my current one with this oldie will be out of place.

In this version, the title is called, Mindless Head instead of Ristar in Wonderland. (The title is a bit misleading.)

I give Dynamite Headdy more screen time because the story is about him being manipulated by his enemies while having amnesia.

Victory Concent Vs Duke the Crow Fight is here!

I added new scenes that show more explanation. Example: An anvil was on a brink of falling.

The last scene forshadows the next episode of my original plan for a series finale. It’s when everybody, even villains defeat the most powerful ultimate Bowser like beast and everyone became friends and forever peace blah blah blah.

I can’t wait to remake few of these scenes.

[mondaybear21]

10* games to know me! (*it was hard to fit ten games onto here so here's kind of a good analysis of it)

1. Wandersong

Ahh, this was the first game I think where I was involved with a fandom and for good reason because Wandersong is so dang good after hearing some stuff about it on the internet years ago! Chicory: A Colorful Tale also is related since the man who made WS also made this too.

2. Dicey Dungeons

Dicey Dungeons is becoming one of my new favorite games because of the easy to learn game style, cool art style, and great soundtrack as well! Also, because of working with mods with art for enemy and player sprites, this game kind of is responsible for getting me back into making art.

3. Guitar Hero/Rock Band

These two game series was kind of my first experience with rhythm gaming and also it actually got me into drumming in real life! I still play these games nowadays to some degree thanks to Clone Hero (fan game which plays like these two series).

4. Racing games in general

I grew up playing a lot of arcade racing games and still play some to this day, so basically this could be considered one of my favorite genres. Games I love from this genre are Hydro Thunder, the Rush series, the Ridge Racer games, Mario Kart DS and 8 Deluxe, Midnight Club II and 3 REMIX, the early Gran Turismo games, the Burnout series and the list could go on, but it could go on forever.

5. Skateboarding games in general

Skateboarding games are super fun! I play the early Tony Hawk’s games because of the addicting gameplay and the Skate series because tricks are super good when you get used to the control setup and the Skate games are the types of game where you can relax, get on, and ride around in the city and do tricks whenever you feel like doing so.

6. Dance Dance Revolution

Another rhythm game series that I do enjoy a lot since this was another first experience of rhythm gaming for me! There was a period in my life that played the heck out of this and got very good, but nowadays I would probably never reach the same skill level as back in the day, heh heh 😅 The beatmania and pop'n music series also are related since they also fall under the same umbrella of rhythm games that Konami makes (under the BEMANI brand) and has somewhat shaped my music tastes nowadays (plus I kind of do like pop’n music’s art style).

7. Pikuniku

Ahh, this game is so good! I love this game’s quirky style and the soundtrack matches the games tone as well, it’s one of my favorites! The only thing that is my least favorite part was that it’s so short to beat the game though, man this game honestly needs a sequel

8. Rhythm Heaven (series in general)

Ooooh, the Rhythm Heaven games are so great with the gameplay, the soundtrack, and the art style too! I personally prefer the DS installment and Fever.

9. Neopets

Oh yeah; I’ve been playing Neopets since 2008 and am still am to this day to some degree! My first account sadly got frozen but I am still going strong on my second account :)

10. Tiger Woods PGA Tour 2004

I put this one on here because TW2004 also feels like somewhat of a “relax and just play” game as well, although it’s better if you beat the main campaign beating all the golfers first (which is tough but doable!). I would also put TW2003 and TW2005 too because I grew up with those ones but I heard 2004 is the better version with more courses and such and it shows.

[alpinelogy]

Started following you after reading your Ferrari chalex fic

Any kinda lore/director’s cut about the chalex time travel Ferrari fic

tell me why u follow me on/off anon (& backstory on my fics)

[rises from the dead two months later] HELLO, now entering a world my beloved. Ferrari chalex you will forever be famous

Rambling under the cut o7, heads up for spoilers

God where do I begin

First of all, this was posted post-chapter 4 but it is still a wonderful silly little rant on the story and my thoughts into it. By then I had the rest of the fic figured out and I was really just setting up the future plot points 🙂‍↕️

However, heres is some random rambling on the fic because I have so many thoughts:

I started working on the fic last January, and initially I was hesitant if I even wanted to go on with this, I had just finished writing we found wonderland (you and i got lost in it) few months earlier and in that one the ghost of Max Verstappen too somewhat haunts the narrative and I hate repetition. Then Kiro my beloved asked me to do some writing sprints with her one afternoon and I wrote about 5k of mildly disconnected scenes and I was dedicated to the bit since then

Also initally, this was meant to be either a three or four chapters long fic, clocking in at some odd 24k - 40k. Already a massive range (3 - 4 chapters, each 8k - 10k), but nowehere near the final 51k I ended up at

Please perceive my spreadsheet of plans. Obviously that ended up deviating and I discarded the three chapter option before I even outlined this but some extra things I wanna note:

All options open with the second loop/first time he goes back. I tried to start with the first loop but I could never get it to work. At the end of the day, we all know how roughly the race week works, what is the point in me writing a series of shite but otherwise average race weeks

Yes the first Charles is acting weird loop is in spirit loop 16. I like my number symbolisms even if they have zero mention of the actual fic. Tho also perceive that no plan the idea was for chapter 3 to be loops 5 - 16. Chapter 2 really ran away from me

Congrats to chapter 4 for sticking to the plan. Loops 17 through 22, exactly as it should be 🙂‍↕️

Now as for chapter 5... yeah, that chapters loop was supposed to be the final one. It was actually the plan until like... a week before I posted that chapter, and then I decided to go back and fix my pacing. Therefore while it is not relevant, Alex gets sent back to Bahrain a grand total of 23 times/goes through the first three races 24 times

With each loop being 24 days with a handful of exceptions, if we round down to 21 days that means Alex spent ~500 days in the timeloop. Thats more than a year. Fun!!

Hey what caused the loop? Well thats for me to know and for you to find out in wolves standing (towards the enemies) coming... well I wanted to post the first part on Dec 1st but I fear that is not happening. Burnout is a bitch

Ngl took me a while to figure out what exactly is the way out of the loop. Never let anyone tell you you cannot treat your silly little fanfiction with the same importance as original fiction, I wanted to have a point to the loop, a meaning and I eventually got it; letting people in and trusting that they will not betray you

Charles and Max are significantly more important to the narrative than it may seem. At the end of the day the fic in a way is about the treatment of teammates, and how Alex had to learn that his RBR experience is not universal. Did I have to put him into a timeloop? Yes. Yes I did

Hey why did Charles know about the timeloops? Did he know about the timeloops? What is going on with Charles? That's for me to know and for you to find out in wolves standing. That one is Charles' POV, you get to figure out everything with him there. That being said, subconsciously, Madoka Magica had a lot of impact on the plot and minutia of the timeloop possibly. Make of that what you will

Funnily enough however, initially Charles played a minor role at best. He was meant to haunt the narrative like Max does, not be fully involved and pulling the strings in the background like he actually ends up doing

Last one little silly fact; the fic was almost named wolves standing (towards the enemies). Ended up gong with now entering a world (from which you will never return) but as obvious that original name got stuck and I am using it for the (unplanned) sequel

Anyway I am definitely forgetting something but this is all that I could think of, sorry that it took me so long anon, hopefully you are still here <3

Finally, I will leave you with my favorite line from the fic, coincidentally one of the lines that solidified it for me that i want to write the entire fic

"It is not a declaration of love. It is the closest Alex will ever be to declaring just how much he cares about Charles as long as he is repeating the same three weeks. It is an admittance that he has lost the battle long before it even started. But maybe that was the point, maybe he has to lose the battle, position his troops wrong so that Charles’ cavalry can trample them, to win the war. To be forced to have Charles as his ally rather than his enemy." now entering a world (from which you will never return) chapter 6

One of my favourite things I've ever written, period. I regularly think of this line

As well as the links to the song that gave the fic its name, a remix of it that I listened to a lot when I was writing it, and the song that gave the sequel its name

[pinkseas]

[parasocial bestie] I HAVE TO BE FRFRFR WITH U IT TAKES JUST AS MUCH PRACTISE. AS WRITING I THINK. altho with my current experience in Writing thats not walls of texts of Ramble and Self Indulgence i be thinking writers wud have it harder esp vocabulary.... like man how u words how do u get the pacing right YOU DID GOT IT SO RIGHT HAVE U ANY IDEA REREADING UR TWO SILLY FICS + VIOLENCE FIC STILL GETS ME IN TEARS or i am just that of a sucker to specific emotions in general SKDFJHSDKJFH LIKE IDKKKKK like holy facken shit it took u a decade and my first attempt at just Writing even 500 words it felt like forever...... turns out intense eyeballing on chunks of words in great fics do not work like i do to improve in art nods nods [takes notes] yes that is my only way of even Understanding how art works LMAO

"words of someone who would KILL to be able to accomplish this tone and such in So Many Fewer Words but who does Not Know How To Do That so ten hundred billion words it is" HAHRGKADFKSDJH I WONT STOP UUUU ALTHO ITS A BIG BEEG STRETCH I WILL ALWAYS SUPPORT YEW WITH MY LITTOL ANON HANDS SHIELD U WITH MY COOL ANON SHADES....... in these cases u shud not stop someone from burnout by blocking da way u shud JOIN THEM AND PUSH ON TOGETER AND DAS A MOTTO

NO BUT THAT SILLY GENUINELY MAKES ME A LIL SILLY A LIL UEUEUEUEUEUE i didnt expect that extra comment like srsly cus like UHUHUHUHU IM GLAD U THINK THAT WAY and i honestly think its either a natural response to me or not cus me with my own circle of close friends we'd always support each other in ways it's on equal respect depending on what need to be treated like yknow?? altho by default we're all nice to the other its always a main thing not to let another person's slip ups slide, bad moments carry them away or get our egos inflate so hard so that sort of morals we had tgt kinda ingrained on me to treat any other person like dat like its normal... im nawt gonna lie to u i used to be Way more insensitive and impulsive before and our exchanges coulda been wildly different if it werent for my own besties and it helps me gather!! more besties out of my safe space!!! LIKE YEAHGHHHHAHHHH KDSJFHSDKJH AND IT GOT ME TO U!! AND I WANNA BE GENUINELY NICE AND SUPPORTIVE TO U WHEN I CAN EVEN BEHIND THESE LIL ANON SHADES!!!!!!!!!!! cus its always been. a normal human thing 2 do. like yknow. and i am not gonna keep contradicting myself when dats something id want to influence on my stories and silly lil brainrots too anyways i also got a lil silly but idc ilysm <333333333333333 AND U DESERVE ALL DA KINDNESS FROM ME AND ALL UR BESTIES TOO :muscle_arm: x2743573495 cus i am sending this ask thru pc sob

vocabulary 🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿 my bestest friend my worstest enemy im so srs it is Everything to me and also i cannot stand it. horrible. awful. beautiful. perfect.

YOU CANT JSUT TELL ME YOU RTEREAD THEM ILL FUKINGCCG EXPLODE OH MY GODFDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD i need to write violence fic part 2 and maybe even a part 3 where its not the same little world and the violence is scaramouche himself hunting dottore down ohhhhh that'd be so lovely but also i dont think im good enough or creative enough with gore to do that thought justice im gonna be SO fr. YOU CANT JUST SAY THEY GET YOU IN TEARS I WILL FUKCVINFG EXPLOFDE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

dies. dies. dies. anyways. i will never forget being like 11 or 12 years old and roleplaying warriors cats on my kindle <- genuinely my introduction to writing for fun outside of just school stuff. i wrote for YEARS and then i all but stopped writing for Also Years to the point where i genuinely thought i just. couldnt do it anymore. gone. i barely managed anything no matter what i tried and i got sooo frustrated and also just didnt really enjoy it? but thats bc my mental health was fucking horrific and the better i started doing the more i started really writing who would've thought LMAO no bc like 2?? years ago ??????? id basically given up !!!!!!! and then there were a couple tiny fics and then photosynthesis and i was like oh. i Can still write and i Do still have so much fun with it. and now i am unstoppable amen

writing is weird bc reading fics CAN help but i think reading books helps better? and its this constant state of like. ive heard with art that tracing genuinely helps, ofc you cant claim it for your own or anything but there's that sort of muscle memory and learned proportions and the practice of doing the same thing over and over again i think is a good thing? i think ??????? and in writing you rly cant copy anyone word for word and get anything out of it, it doesnt teach you anything it doesnt get you any further there's no sort of muscle memory connected with it. but what ive done a lot is looked at writing i rly loved and been like. okay so if i wanted to do this how would i accomplish it? i cant guess other writers thought processes but i can figure out how id reach a similar end goal ig ?? and in my own writing if im failing to accomplish what i want its a matter of ok, what DO i want, what if i change pov, what if i change the setting, what if i change the circumstance, etc etc which i think you could probably do the same thing in art if smth felt off or wasnt looking right ?? maybe ??? idk at this point my writing is a massive patchwork quilt of countless other authors and fic writers and a surprising amount of my own experience and ive noticed a lot of repeating elements in my own writing whether fics or original content and i dont really know How i got here but here i am. and ON TOP OF THAT actually seeing fanart ALSO helps my writing because ill see an expression or design or setting or anything that i really love and immediately start thinking of how to describe it in words yknow ???

im literally rambling so much today this is so fucking awful. awful day for the pinkseas community or at least pinkseas herself god help me

JOIN THEM AND PUSH ON TOGETHER............ UR LITTLE ANON SHADES............................. crying shaking sobbing bawling ily so fucking bad :((((((((((((( /pos we r pushign forward Togehter...

my rly close friends and i are the same way its SO so so lovely, having that constant respect and support and helping each other grow and learn its soooo. dsfmgndfmgfd. and trust me i also used to be a lot more insensitive and impulsive than i am now but ive learned sm and my own friends have helped sm and !!!!! we are soooooooo handshake emoji rn 10 million handshakes for us

UR SENDING IT ON PC AND IM ANSWERING ON PC </33333333 no bc organizing my thoughts on my phone is the worst ever but on my pc i dont have a bunch of heart emojis to spam at my fingertips its so sad....... sometimes when i rly wanna include them ill save as a draft and just put the emojis in and post it on my phone LMAO

[jameshowarchive]

w/ Gabi.

The Interrupters:

A Friend Like Me

By My Side

White Noise

Take Back the Power

She Got Arrested

Haven't Seen the Last of Me

Media Sensation

Too Much Pressure

Loyal

Sound System

Family

Green Day:

Know Your Enemy

Bang Bang

Revolution Radio

Holiday

Letterbomb

Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Longview

Youngblood

2000 Light Years Away

Hitchin' a Ride

When I Come Around

Waiting

Christie Road

Burnout

Scattered

Minority

Are We the Waiting

St. Jimmy

Knowledge

Basket Case

She

King for a Day / Shout / Always Look on the Bright Side of Life / Teenage Kicks / (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction / Hey Jude

Still Breathing

Forever Now

Encore:

American Idiot

Jesus of Suburbia

Second Encore:

Ordinary World

Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)

[thehiddenbaroness]

Baroness' General Writing Tips, Part I

I decided to finally start compiling little (and big) things I've learnt over the 20+ years I've been compulsively recreationally putting one word in front of the other; I hope it's helpful or at least reassuring!

While much of this is slanted toward fiction, a lot of it applies to nonfiction as well. I've also gone for more general tips this go round. You're welcome to pick my brain about specific topics and I'll do my best to answer.

The key thing to remember is that this is what I have personally found helpful; they may have more or less degrees of usefulness or relevance to you personally, but they can still serve as starting points. Part II

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

(1) Your method is your method...

This goes for whether you plan ahead or just roll with it, but also things like when/where you write.

(2) ...but discipline and practice will help you do the heavy lifting.

At some point the difference in your personal skill plateaus is down to how often you write regardless of your mood, knowledge of where it's going, or perceived skill. Persistence will be your strongest ally during the inevitable droughts and valleys of self-doubt.

(3) Reading is good and helpful...

Read widely, read deep. Learn from the successes and mistakes of others. Learn what you want to emulate and what you want to avoid. Broaden your perspective, take note of different techniques, build your knowledge base. Train your discernment. Likewise, back-reading your own material to see where you left off can be useful if you struggle with consistency / sticking to the point. (4) ...but don't let it distract or saturate. Sometimes, back-reading your own work can scratch the itch you had to work on something and you end up not writing new material. This can happen with others' work in a related genre/field -- it scratches the itch you had for that type of content, or conversely you begin unhelpful comparisons between their work and yours.

Most of all, you will need to learn the difference between being inspired by something and mimicking it to the point of plagiarism.

(5) Learn to take a break, not to quit. If you feel a piece truly isn't working, don't let your first response be to give up on it. Put it away for a while and come back to it, then maybe try, for example, a different angle or point of view. (6) Light immersion in related media helps with burnout while still being useful. Sometimes writing isn't going to be the most helpful thing to do. You will always need to replenish your creative batteries, but sometimes this can feel like avoidance or laziness -- it isn't. Browse concept art. Sketch. Work on some worldbuilding that'll never make it in. Visit a museum. Listen to an audiobook in your genre. Watch a documentary on the same topic.

(7) Your first draft is just that -- a draft. Be open-minded and forgiving, and embrace the process. The most important thing in this stage is to get content on the page, because you can't do anything without it. Trust your gut and let the words flow how they want.

(8) There is immense opportunity in the editing process... Often the best breakthroughs come through asking questions during your editing. The answers can forge new links or callbacks, or open up new avenues for plot, or enrich what's already there. Editing isn't pass/fail -- it's a conversation. (9) ...but don't be a forever-editor. Perfectionism is the enemy. Nothing will ever be perfect to you -- accept that sooner rather than later -- but it will be perfect to someone out there. Yet they'll never see it if you don't let the project out into the world. (10) Read it aloud. No matter your experience, this will inevitably catch clunky sentences, weak pacing, and even sub-par semantics. It's very important to do this with dialogue so that it sounds natural.

(11) Accept you belong in the writerly ecosystem just as you are.

There's three aspects to this: first, that everyone feels like an imposter at some point and probably will in the future, regardless of their experience or how much they have published. Second, that there are no new ideas, but your telling will always be new. And third, that you remain a writer if you haven't written for years or struggle to jot down a sentence a week just as much as if you churn out a book a year. Don't let these things hold you back.

[mylordshesacactus]

Suncrest Campaign Character Highlights Thus Far:

Since it’s our off week (we run on a 3/1 schedule, taking the last week of every month off to avoid burnout) I thought I’d take some time and list my favorite moments for each of the campaign’s PCs.

Farrah

Favorite Combat Moment: MAXIMUM RAT DAMAGE

Favorite Non-Combat Moment: We LITERALLY have Farrah to thank for the demented conspiracy map. Where would we be without Farrah’s conspiracy board? Nowhere I want to think about.

Audie

Combat: There was a phenomenal moment in this last session where Audie, who is the party WIZARD, the literal squishiest possible spellcaster, physically shoved her way between a wolf bandit and an unconscious 19-year-old civilian, in melee range, summoned a firebolt in his face, and snarled “You want to step away from the kid.” There was so much going on that there wasn’t a lot of time to highlight it during the session, but it’s legitimately I think the most badass thing anyone has done in the campaign so far, and they killed a dragon at level 4. Same session, she pulled out Vampiric Touch for the first time, got a nat 20, and cut the enemy’s HP in half in a single action.

Non-Combat: Spending the first like eleven sessions lamenting the fact that she didn’t have a pearl and so couldn’t cast Identify, the ONE THING she’s best at; consistently forgetting to go purchase one every time she was in the city; finally finding one in a blue dragon’s hoard; and immediately pouncing on it like a cat as it rolled down a pile of silver while going “HAHA! YES!”

Andromeda

Combat: Oh man that one’s hard to pick because she’s had some awesome “oh hell yeah FUCK HIM UP” moments so honestly, let’s give her a shoutout to her dynamic entrance to the campaign, dropping out of the sky onto the head of a death dog.

Non-Combat: “WAIT, I’M A PALADIN?!” tied with her extremely sweet EXTREMELY formal apology to Arlette, complete with fancy half-remembered court bow, because she realized she’d accidentally been pressuring Arlette to out herself and wanted her to feel safe.

Nimbus

Combat: Fucking annihilating the wolf bandit threatening his baby sister. Slit throat from behind with a silver shortsword, no warning, no fucking mercy.

Non-Combat: Honestly his player has done some FANTASTIC roleplaying in this werewolf arc (and the Nat 20 Of Love to find Paisley’s trail in the woods is gonna stay in the highlight reel forever I think). But the other highlight I think has been the fucking TWENTY-EIGHT ARCANA he SOMEHOW rolled during the night hag arc, where he torpedoed a slow-build horror mystery by strolling up to the group and casually going “oh hey, a hag fingernail!”

Max

Combat: Dude MIND-CONTROLLED a FUCKING DRAGON and single-handedly prevented the dragon from taking any offensive actions against the party for basically the entire combat. AT LEVEL FOUR. Also, he got off a CLUTCH Bardic Inspiration last session as well, pushing Farrah just over the save DC she needed to avoid being thrown back by an enemy spellcaster’s Thunderwave--and thus preventing the spellcaster from escaping without provoking an attack of opportunity.

Non-Combat: Right before the hags, when the party was talking over the threat with Arlette, and she was trying to explain to them that they didn’t have to take on an entire hag coven themselves, and Max just very quietly went “Who else will?” and that was actually the moment Arlette saw the group as unlikely heroes for the first time--as opposed to a group of ragtag misfits in way over their heads who needed her protection.

[hawkmothmoon]

“The thing that gets you to the thing.”

“What?”

“It was you. It was always you.”

Halt and Catch Fire forever 🖤

When this show was out I was in sort of a strange place in my life in my mid/late twenties when I felt sort of untethered and unbelonging. Things eventually shifted—I’ve got a wonderful job and community these days—but because I saw this show during a personally tumultuous time it’s got a lot of importance to me.

I especially think it’s a show folks who are just starting their careers and lives after high school or college should check out. It takes place in the 80s and early 90s but a lot of it still checks out: impossible people working on impossible projects; balancing innovation with burnout and money with corporate life; when relationships end not because of anger or negativity but because sometimes people just diverge and have different needs; when people throw you under the bus to get ahead; when you should try to make it work and when you should let it go.

It’s also got a really wonderful friends/enemies/friends platonic femme friendships, and just great platonic friendships in general. Obviously, romance is awesome! Love that! But I think the friendships this shows portrays are really lovely.