#I never said I would win Snatch Game or even do mediocre | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bbyboibinnie · 4 years

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comfort zone

synopsis: all your life you’ve tried your best to maintain a regular routine and comfortable life. during your last year as a senior though, everything changed and suddenly you were pushed out of your comfort zone. pairing: bang chan x fem!reader genre: high school au, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, romance, little cliche but you gotta have some cliche stories in your life sometimes warning: mild swears wc: 11.8k a/n: this has not yet been proofread so my apologies for any errors! hope you enjoy nonetheless!

The hand on the clock was ticking excruciatingly slow. You’d been eyeing it for the last 10 minutes, trying to count down the time before math would finally wrap up and you could speed your way towards the cafeteria before everyone else began to flood in. It’s been like this for the last three, ongoing four years. You and your small group of friends had managed to secure a table in freshman year and that had been the hang out spot every day during the forty minute lunch period, which was frankly way too short. On most days, you spent half of those forty minutes waiting in line for the overpriced food that was barely considered edible.

Nonetheless, right as the bell rang you were already out your seat and past the door. Other students were scrambling into the cafeteria and you picked up the pace to reach the line. You were squished between the person in front and behind you and if it weren’t for the massive backpacks acting as barriers, you’d be disgusted by the close contact.

“I was wondering what took you so long.” Seungmin noted as you reached the wooden bench.

“I know, it took even longer than usual to get this plate of god-knows-what,” you poked at the crusty pile of what looked to be pasta on your plate. “Those idiots kept cutting and of course the principle who stood there didn’t bat an eyelash as it happened right under his nose.”

Seungmin shook his head and popped open the bag of chips he got from the vending machine. “The joys of high school right?”

“Thank gosh this is our last year here.”

“Amen to that.” You clinked your juice box with his and munched on the mediocre pasta, joining in on the card game the others had started.

“Oh I forgot, we have that rally thing today don’t we?” Your other friend—Lia—brought up.

“What rally?” You put down a queen and relished in victory as the others reshuffled the deck.

“The one for the football players or something right? We’ve been going to this school for the last three years and we don’t even know.” What Lia said was very true. Before you had started high school, your parents and basically every adult you talked to said to ‘make the most out of your high school years’ and ‘get the full experience.’ Frankly, you just had your head set on getting that diploma at this point because after a while, everything has just felt more draining and repetitive, including today’s rally.

“I guess there will be less class time then.” You shrugged, reaching out to grab the cards and continue the next round.

———

“I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” Seungmin said, turning to face you.

“Why football is so hyped at our school. I mean at other schools I get it because they actually win, but haven’t we just been losing all season?” The rally had been going on for over half an hour and another yawn escaped your lips.

“Yeah, I’ve been to every game and the best we got was a tie. Anyways, there’s only a handful of games left before this season ends. You should come.”

“And remind me why I should?” The two hosts of the rally were trying to hype the crowd up and you had to stifle laughter as the person in the mascot costume came out from behind the bleachers. Did they ever wash that costume? It must’ve reeked of sweat in that thing; yoed at the thought.

“Because you’ve never gone before? I know sports isn’t really your thing, or any after school activity for that matter, but it’s high school. You gotta experience it at least once.” Seungmin reasoned, pulling at your arm.

“I mean, you said they’ve been losing. I’m not going to pay and spend like two hours watching our school lose for the nth time.” The person in the costume was making rounds around the field now, starting a wave with the crowd.

“Okay, what if I pay for your ticket then?”

“But those two hours of of precious time will be wasted—“

“They have snacks there. Popcorn, churros, corn dogs, and your favorite and mine—fried oreos.” Events always sounded more appealing when food was involved, but you were hesitant. “C’mon please y/n? For me?” Seungmin was doing those puppy eyes with the pout to your dismay. Out of all the years you’ve known him, you could never turn him down whenever he gave you that look.

“Fine! But you’re paying for the food too.”

“Deal.”

————

Seungmin had arrived at your house at six thirty on the dot and you slipped on your shoes before shouting to your parents that you were leaving. When you had told them that you were going out, especially to attend the football game, they had been surprised then elated. Your parents were the kind that always tried to encourage you to get out of your comfort zone and enjoy new things, and considering you were a major homebody, this was a pretty big step out the bubble of comfort if you had to say so yourself.

“Wow I’m impressed, you even wore the school colors.” He said as you got in the car, eyeing your outfit.

“I mean if I’m going, might as well go all out right?” You ended up wearing the school hoodie with a white pleated skirt, the best part were the streaks of eyeshadow—red and gold—you had on your cheeks (no face paint because you didn’t have any on hand).

“Exactly, now let’s go, I want to be there early so we get good seats.” He stepped on the gas and you were on your way back to school, something you’d never thought you do after hours.

“Y/n pick it up, I can see a spot in the front row but someone else is gonna to snatch it if you keep you with that snail pace.” He looked back at you from atop the stairs of the bleachers.

“Well it’s not my fault you won’t help me carry all of this food!” You gave him an exasperated look as you tried to balance the drinks, snacks, and napkins all in your hand.

“Listen, I bought it so you do the heavy lifting and labor alright? Now let’s go.” He pulled on your arm and the corn dog nearly slipped out your hand as you tried to keep up with Seungmin.

You gave out an annoyed huff as you sat down, right in the front row just like how Seungmin wanted. The feeling of the cool metal bleacher sent a chill up your spine and the bitter autumn wind wasn't helping ease the cold. You were starting to regret wearing that skirt.

“We’re here, happy? Now take your food before I eat it all myself.” You rolled your eyes and handed him his share of the food while he excitedly starred off towards the field. The players were warming up and the opponents were off to the side, huddled with their coach.

You looked back at the people in the stands and the seats were packed. To be honest, you were just shocked that this many people showed up to watch even though the team had a losing streak. There were adults, schoolmates, little kids, and —someone even brought their dog. It seemed like everyone was eager for the game to start and although this wasn’t something you ever thought you’d do on a Friday night, you were one of the eagerly anticipating spectators in the stands too.

From beside you, Seungmin kept looking around the field, as if he were looking for something. You were puzzled at this but didn’t bother questioning him because wow, the fried oreos were delicious.

“Aye Chan!” Your friend shouted; he was sitting so close that it felt like he had screamed directly into your year. His loud voice managed to catch the attention of one of the players on the field as the boy with the number 97 on his jersey turned around and jogged towards where you and Seungmin were seated.

“Seungmin, you made it today!” The boy reached out over the fence that separated the crowd from the field to greet Seungmin and you were both confused and surprised at the sight. Seungmin knew one of the football players? Not just one of them but the football player Chan? Team captain Chan? You were with Seungmin five days a week at school and it had never occurred to you that he knew anyone on the team, much less the captain.

“Why are you so surprised? I come to every game.” He was leaning on the fence as he talked to Chan.

“Did you come alone again?” You tried not to eavesdrop but it was impossible when they were speaking directly in front of you.

“Nah, I actually convinced a friend of mine to come with me today for once. Y/n!” He shouted your name which made you look up in shock while in the midst of stuffing your face with fried food. Seungmin shook his head and grimaced at the sight. “Sorry, she usually isn’t this uncollected.”

You gave a slight wave towards the two and swiped the crumbs off your cheeks. This was so embarrassing, Seungmin was going to get an earful from you after this.

“Nice to meet you!” Chan shouted, smiling at your direction. You nodded and awkwardly tried to return the smile before giving up and going back to all the fried goodness that the snack stand had to offer.

They probably talked for another ten minutes before Chan jogged off to join his teammates and Seungmin came back to his seat where you immediately proceeded to throw questions at him.

“You know Bang Chan? How do you know him?”

“Yes, I do know him and we’ve known each other fo—“

“I’ve been your friend for so long, how come I didn’t know you were friends with the captain of the football team?!”

“Well, I do have other friends outside of our friendship grou—“

“Wait, I’m still your best friend though right?”

“Oh my god, y/n yes. We have been friends since elementary and nothing changes tha—“

“Seungmin, answer my questions!”

“I’m trying but you keep cutting me off.” He said which shut you right up. “Anyways, yes I know Chan. His mom and my mom are super close so we just started hanging out when our parents were together, that’s why you never saw me with him at school. And you’re my best friend and will continue to hold that title. No football player is going to take that title away from you.” You smiled in relief at the last part.

“Is that why you go to all their games?”

“Well yes, but I also genuinely enjoy the atmosphere of these events.”

“Ahh, as expected from the extrovert himself. I’m truly amazed how we’re best friends.” This thought had come to your mind on numerous occasions. Seungmin had that happy-go-lucky type of personality, always smiling and being the social butterfly while you were on the quieter, more pessimistic end of the scale. If it weren’t for the fact that you guys were assigned seats next to each other in the third grade, you don’t know if you two would’ve ever crossed paths otherwise. You’d have to thank your third grade teacher someday for doing you a massive favor with that seating chart.

“They say opposites attract y’know?” Seungmin threw an arm over your shoulder and annoyingly ruffled your hair—you felt like he was an older brother you never had sometimes. You swatted his hands away and tried to fix your hair.

“Can you stop doing that? You know I actually tried putting effort into my hair today righ—“

“Y/n shut up, the game is about to begin.” He shushed you as the band began to play and you begrudgingly stopped talking.

After the dramatic applause and cheers died down, the teams got into position and soon enough the game had started. You had never actually seen a game before, only seeing snippets of them in television dramas or in books, so you didn’t understand the penalties or all the ins and outs. Regardless, you watched silently for the most part and clapped when others did.

It was halftime and the scores were not looking so hot. You had finished your drinks and snacks long before and was starting to wish you’d stay home because this game was turning out to be another bust—-as you had expected.

“Seungmin, I’m getting bored. I tried being optimistic and hoped for a win but we are down by so many points.” You pouted as you looked at the scoreboard—five to twelve.

“Aw c’mon y/n, it’s only half way through. Anything could happen in the other half.” He made a good point but it was not making you have any more hope than before. “Hey, why don’t you try cheering for them in the next half? Maybe if we cheer louder and give them even more support, they’ll do better. I gotta say, your half hearted clapping is not very effective.” You playfully elbowed him in the stomach for that remark.

“If you say so, but if I scream at the top of my lungs and they still end up losing, I’m never going to another one of these games.”

————

The game had continued on after the short half time break and it seemed like your school was finally gaining points. It was neck and neck and everyone was on the edge of their seats by the time the last quarter of the game rolled around.

You had been so enticed with the game that you didn’t realize how late it was getting. You had arrived at six thirty and it was almost reaching the two hour mark. The sun had completely set by now and the field was being illuminated by the massive lights and whatever little light the stars and the moon in the sky were giving off.

“Not going to lie, we are doing better than I had expected.” Seungmin commented during the break session in between the quarters.

“Really? Are you telling me this is the team on a good day then?” You asked incredulously. The scores were so close but the opponents were still leading by a few.

“Sadly, yes this is a good day for us. Let’s just give it our all with the cheers for the last round and hope they win.” And almost as if on cue, the whistle blew and the players were back in their positions.

“Wooo!! C’mon guys!” You hollered as loud as you could. Then the ball was tossed and the clock was counting down the final quarter.

———

“YES CHAN! C’MON YOU GOT THIS!” You and Seungmin weren’t even sitting anymore, you had gathered near the fence and your eyes followed as number 97 was speeding down the field.

“Oh my god.” Your eyes were getting dry and you felt the need to blink but you forced yourself not to because you didn't want to miss this moment.

“Holy shi—.” You heard Seungmin barely whisper from under his breath. Heads were turned as everyone watched Chan pass the goal and into the end field right as the clock reached zero.

Before you knew it, the audience around you had erupted into laughter, applaud, cheers, and everything in between. Meanwhile, the football players had circled on the field and were all congratulating one another.

“Did we just win?” You looked at Seungmin and he turned to you with a gaping mouth, nodded rapidly.

“You just witnessed the first win of the season!” The two of two started jumping up and down like little kids, smiling and shouting excessively.

“My throat is so dry from all that screaming, but it paid off.” You smiled and felt light headed, unsure if it was because you were overjoyed or because of all the screaming and dehydration, probably all of the above.

“Let’s go find Chan and congratulate him!” Seungmin grabbed your arm and pulled you down the steps of the bleachers, past the track and onto the grass. You spotted him from a few feet away but the two of you waited for the crowd to disperse a bit before reaching him.

“You finally did it man! First win of the season!” Seungmin gave Chan one of those ‘bro-hugs’ and you stood back a bit to give them their space. Chan was just a friend of a friend so you felt awkward approaching him, but still you said your congratulations to him.

“Seungmin said it was your first time coming to one of our games right? Quite a show we put in tonight for you then.” He looked past Seungmin and directed the conversation at you, smiling like he had earlier. You didn’t notice this the first time but he had a dimple on one of his cheeks. His brown hair was tousled in every direction from wearing the helmet and the fringes of his bangs were matted to his forehead with sweat, undoubtedly you still thought he looked quite cute.

“Yeah, I don’t know anything about football but I think you guys were great tonight!” You said, trying to project your voice so that he could hear you amongst all the other chatter and commotion.

“She thought you guys were going to lose.” Seungmin noted, making you glare in his direction, silently telling him to shut up. Chan just laughed at the response, which made his smile grow wider.

“It’s okay, I know we usually don’t do so hot. I’m glad you guys could come and watch us succeed today though. What a relief I exceeded your expectations then.” You smiled and awkwardly chuckled in response, feeling guilty now that you’ve been exposed by Seungmin for being a pessimist.

“Well it was great seeing you again man, you gotta come over soon. My mom keeps asking where you are these days.” Chan turned back to Seungmin and they exchanged some more words before he focused back on you. “Also, thanks for coming tonight y/n to watch the game, and for accompanying my friend here, he usually goes solo and I pity him sometimes seeing him in the stands alone. Hopefully you’ll come back for our next game.” Honestly you had no plans to, but looking at Chan with his dimple, warm eyes and being convinced by his charming words, you felt like the urge to clear your schedule for it.

————-

“What do you mean you’re not coming?!” Seungmin spun around in your desk chair and rolled towards your bed where you sat, surrounded by an innumerable amount of paper and textbooks.

“It means I’m not coming, what words are you not understanding?” You replied without looking up, flipping to the next page in your calculus book.

“But why not?” He was starting to sound like a whiny toddler and you were already getting frustrated with trying to solve this stupid math equation.

“Seungmin,” you said firmly, looking at him in the eyes, “why can’t you just find someone else to go with? Can't you see I’m busy? This project isn’t going to finish itself.” You gestured towards the loads of work scattered everywhere. “Go ask Lia or something.”

“No, the last time I tried to bring her along she just kept talking about how pretty she would’ve been as a cheerleader and started to sulk over the fact that she didn’t make the squad. Anyways, you missed last week’s game too! Plus, you had so much fun the first time around.” Seungmin whined, saddened by your blatant, harsh rejection.

“Right, but like I said I have to get this done. You know I’ll prioritize school work over a sports event any day. Plus, that was a one time thing. I just went for the experience. And now that I’ve experienced it, I can check it off my high school bucket list and move on.” Your focus ripped away from your friend and back to your notebook which was filled with scribbled and incorrect math solutions. You’d been working on this project for what seemed like an eternity and the light at the end of the tunnel was not showing itself. You wanted to scream in frustration.

“Please come, it’s so much better with you there! Whenever I go alone I feel so… alone.” He watched as you crumpled up another piece of paper and threw at the trash, completely missing. “Plus, take it as a break from all your hard work and studies. You’re clearly stressed and need to unwind, treat yourself!” You eyed him from where you were sitting, going over his words. Maybe he’s right. You did have a lot of fun the first time you went and this project wasn’t due for a few more days.

You sighed, “I don’t know. Perhaps I do need a break.” His eyes lit up at your response and he quickly reached over to shut your textbook and push your notebooks to the side.

“What are you waiting for then? Those first row seats are going fast.” After a moment, you caved into his words.

“Alright, grab me the hoodie in my closet.” You ordered and he happily complied. Quickly you threw your hair into an updo and put streaks of gold and red on your cheeks. Slipping on the hoodie, you turned towards Seungmin who gave you a thumbs up. “Okay, let’s go.”

Right as you guys were about to step out the room, you pulled him back. He gave you a questioning look. “By the way, you should consider being a salesman because sir, you really have a way to convince people with your words.”

“Please spare me of your corny jokes y/n.” You punched him for his lack of appreciation for your humor as he led the way to his car. With that, you shut the door and the two of you were once again on your way to the school.

———

“Oh sorry.” You apologized as you bumped into somebody as you tried to squeeze through the crowd and to the bleachers.

“It’s oka- oh, y/n! Hey, you came back.” The person talking had a familiar voice so you looked up and Chan’s grin came into view.

“Chan, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on the grass like warming up or something?” Over his shoulder, you could see the rest of his team mates stretching and whatnot by the field.

“Yeah, but I had to run back to grab something from the lockers. Guess my timing was impeccable because now I’ve run into you. I noticed you didn’t come to the last game so I wasn't expecting you today either.” In last week’s game, Chan had thought you’d tag along with Seungmin like the other time but when he noticed you weren’t there, he felt a slight tinge of disappointment. “Is Seungmin with you too?”

“Yup, he went to grab some food. Sorry about missing the game last week by the way. I was busy.” It sounded like a pathetic excuse but it was the truth, you were caught up trying to study for exams and prepare for a presentation so there was no time in your agenda for a football game.

“Ah, no worries. You’re here now right? Plus, you didn’t miss anything last week anyways. We ended up losing, pretty badly actually.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and you felt bad for him. Before, you had always made jokes and poked fun at the team for constantly losing but if you were in their shoes, you would’ve felt so discouraged and perhaps even frustrated. At that moment, you sympathized for him and his teammates.

“Don’t worry Chan, that was last week so it’s the past now. Focus on today and have hope that you’ll win! Go out there and give it your all. I believe in your and the other players.” You gave him two thumbs up and a cheeky smile and he couldn’t help but laugh at your attempt at a motivational speech.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He genuinely meant this. Lately, he’s been getting at himself for all the losses this season. Was it because he was an incompetent player? Was he a bad captain? Was he even good at football? All these questions swirled in his head and kept him up at night but having recently won, hearing your cute speech, and seeing you beam sweetly at him, those doubts vanished.

“Chan! There you are, come over here so we can take some pictures for the school yearbook together!” One of the cheerleaders approached Chan and you watched as she clung onto his side. For a moment, you had forgotten he was the popular team captain.

“Uh, maybe in a bit Tiffany. I’m busy right no—“

“Come on Chan, the photographer for the yearbook club is already here. Plus we look good together.”

You felt like you were intruding on something here and felt so uncomfortable as you witnessed the girl flirt with Chan. You had to get yourself out of the scene.

“Well I’m going to go grab a seat, good luck Chan!” You hurriedly fled to leave those two alone.

“Tell Seungmin I said hi. Also, cheer loud for me! I need the support!” He shouted as he was dragged away with the girl. You made your way up to the stands and sadly, you hadn’t made it in time to grab the front row but thankfully, you spotted an empty area not too far back and sat down.

While you were sitting there waiting for Seungmin—what was taking him so long to get the food?—a realization struck: you just had a full on conversation with the captain of the football team and it was completely void of any awkward tension. You had only met the guy once before and merely exchanged a few words with him. You’d never thought you’d even attend a football game much less two, and now suddenly be on speaking terms with Bang Chan. Senior year was something else.

“Earth to y/n?” A hand waved in front of your face and you snapped out of your thoughts. You realized it was your best friend—he had finally gotten back with the food. “You good? Why are you spacing out?” He sat down and started munching in the kettle corn.

“Just thinking how weird it is that I ran into Chan of all people and managed to have a full on, not-awkward conversation with him.” You left out the last bit where the cheerleader came in though, because that was beyond awkward.

“How is that weird?”

“I don’t know. I just never thought I would be this far out of my safe little shelter. I mean think about it. I’ve stuck with the same handful of friends since freshman year and it wasn’t until like two weeks ago when I finally went to a school event. Now, I’m suddenly chatting up a storm with the captain of the football team and am sitting here sipping on hot chocolate waiting for the game to start, thanks for the hot cocoa by the way.” You blew glenty on the drink and observed the steam dissipate into the night air before taking a sip, pure instant mix hot chocolate flavor, just the way you liked it.

“Well, when you put it like that, I guess it is sort of odd.” Seungmin nodded in agreement before continuing, “But as long as you’re enjoying yourself, then there’s no problem. Sometimes stepping out of your comfort zone to experience new things has its benefits.”

“You’re right, I guess I’m just finally realizing that now.” You smiled to yourself and watched as the two teams raced around the field. You still lacked knowledge about football, but watching this time around felt even more exciting than the first time.

———

The team ended up winning again and of course you and Seungmin were so proud of your school for taking home another victory. Just like last time, you two waited around after the game to approach Chan and shower him with compliments and words of praise.

“I didn’t think we’d be able to do it but we did it.” Chan was still dripping sweat and catching his breath, but his eyes shone brightly with joy.

“Of course you’d be able to do it! You’re Bang Chan! The one and only.” You bobbed your head in agreement with Seungmin’s words. You had to give it to him, he was the best hype man a person could ask for.

“Thanks. Anyways, the team and I were planning to grab some pizza at the local shop nearby as a mini celebration, do you guys want to come?” Immediately you shook your head while Seungmin on the other hand had accepted the invitation without a second thought.

“I know this is a lot to ask of you and you’re probably going to say ‘sorry, I have to go finish my math project’ but please y/n. You’re already here and the night is still young.” Seungmin was clinging onto your right arm like a koala and you rolled your eyes at his antics.

“If you knew I was going to bring up my math project then why bother trying to beg? Now let go of my arm you big baby.” You tried to wriggle your arm from out of his clutch but then someone grabbed onto your other arm.

“Please y/n.” You looked to your left and Chan was acting like koala 2.0. You expected this from Seungmin, you’re long-time best friend, but you had just met Chan on one other occasion and yet he acted like you two were the best of pals. You were taken aback by this but couldn’t manage to get either of them to let go, and the close proximity to Chan was starting to make the blood rush to your cheeks. God, you had to get them off of you before your face grew any redder.

“Yes, okay! I’ll go!” They instantly detached themselves from your arms and high-fived each other, you let out a breath of relief. “One of you has to pay though, I don’t care who.”

So there you were, sitting in the red and white colored booth stuck between Seungmin and the football team captain himself with a slice of piping hot pizza in front of you. This is not how you thought things would turn out.

When everyone had arrived at the pizzeria, it was chaos. People were throwing out their orders and topping preferences and others were fighting to grab a table. You quickly told Chan your order, as he offered to pay, and pulled Seungmin to a booth before all of them were taken. Luckily, there was one last one that was unoccupied at the corner. When Chan had came to the table with the pie in hand, you thought he would take the other side of the booth but someone had spilled sticky soda all over the seat so that’s how you found yourself in this current predicament, squished between two teenage boys in a stuffy old booth, on a weekday night.

The three of you were eating and mindlessly talking when a group of girls drew closer towards you guys. You figured they must’ve wanted to talk to Chan so you continued eating quietly.

“Chan you were amazing tonight! You really led the team to another win, I knew you could do it.” You recognized her, it was the same girl from earlier—Tiffany?

“Thanks, hope you enjoyed the game.” Chan responded politely.

“Of course I did silly. Anyways, do you want to join me and the others over there?” She pointed towards the other side of the pizzeria where most of the players and cheerleaders were gathered.

“I’m good here, thanks for asking though.” She looked shocked at his response and for the first time, she averted her attention away from Chan to focus on you and Seungmin. Her eyes rolled right over Seungmin but stopped at you. Her gaze made you feel all ansty and self-conscious, but you tried your best not to show it. “Okay, well call me then.” She said before turning back and moving back to the other side of the room.

It was silent for a while before Chan broke the tension.

“So you like pineapple on pizza?” Chan said, biting into his own slice.

“Well yeah, it’s the superior topping.” The combination of sweet and salty was the best.

“Do you perhaps like mint chocolate ice cream too?” He asked, handing you a napkin as he noticed the smear of tomato sauce on your cheek. You nodded in thanks.

“It’s not my favorite but I wouldn’t pass it up if offered.” You shrugged and grabbed another slice of pizza.

“Seungmin,” Chan said, which caught the attention of the boy on the other side of you. “I like this girl. She had good tast–” Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at his words and he didn’t manage to finish his sentence before you started coughing, almost choking on your food.

“Y/n, are you okay?” They simultaneously asked in alarm and you silently gave them the ‘ok’ hand signal while inhaling down your drink, trying to wash down the pizza and calm yourself.

“All good.” You were not all good. You were just about to choke on pizza while some guy you barely even knew proclaimed that he liked you out of the blue.

“Anyways, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by someone choking.” You slapped his arm and he laughed in response. “She’s got good taste and quite the sense of humor. I see why you ditch me at school to hang out with her now.” He joked, was he teasing you already? This guy seriously warms up to new people fast.

Thank gosh no other light-hearted confessions were made for the rest of the dinner, you didn’t think you could handle anymore heart-stopping jokes for the night.

“Wait.” Seungmin said suddenly, just as you guys were about to start wrapping this up and leaving.

“What?” You looked at him, waiting for a reply.

“I think y/n is our lucky charm.” He said with too much confidence. You whipped your head to look at him.

“What nonsense are you sputtering now? I am no one’s lucky charm. Do I look like that tiny leprechaun on a box of cereal to you?” You asked, feigning offense.

“Well, I think you got the tiny part down.” Chan pointed out, and for the nth time you smacked him on the arm. Sure you were on the short side but there was no need to rub it in.

“That’s not what I meant y/n.” Seungmin gave you a deadpanned look before carrying on. “Anyways think about it guys, the first time y/n came to the game, the team won. Then she didn’t go to last week’s game and we lost. And today, she attended and we won again. Seeing a pattern?” He looked at you two expectedly, waiting for you guys to catch on. “I’ve connected the two dots.”

“You didn’t connect shi-” You started but Chan cut you off.

“You’re right!” His face brightened and turned towards you. “Y/n, you are our good luck charm! . You facepalmed yourself, these two shared the same three brain cells.

“Right, and you’re Santa Claus.” You said with thick sarcasm dripping from your voice, “You guys are ridiculous. Now help me clean up please.” You referred to the table which was covered in dirty napkins, crumbs, and parmesan cheese packets everywhere. Thankfully they obeyed and started clearing the mess.

“No seriously, we have been losing all season and the moment you show up, it’s like all that is erased and we win!” Chan tried to reason, but you weren’t having any of it.

“It’s just a coincidence. It’s you and your teammates that are doing the work and bringing in the luck. I am merely just an audience member, an observer.” You shook your head at them and continued wiping down the table.

“Don’t take our word for it then, but you have to go to the next game!” Seungmin announced as he tried to reorganize the condiments on the side. You had just gone to the game and no time had passed before you were urged to go to another one.

“I’ll think about it.” You peered over at Chan and he was smiling uncontrollably while Seungmin was happy dancing. What did you just get yourself into?

–––––

Ever since the spontaneous pizza meeting and the half hearted promise to attend the football games, you’ve been seeing Chan more and more at school. Sometimes you’d just notice each other in the halls and mouth “hi” or other times it was passing period and he’d see you and ask “how are you?” before the seven minutes were up. As the days continued, he just increasingly appeared in your frame of vision and it left you confused.

Both of you had been in the same grade year, at the same school for the past four years but you swore you’ve never even noticed him before and now he was everywhere. He’d be near your locker in the morning tagging alongside Seungmin, greeting you with a sunny smile and fresh look that contrasted greatly to your own glum expression and ‘just rolled out of bed’ appearance. It was seven am, you had an excuse to look like this you reasoned, making yourself feel better.

Lately, he even sat with you and your tablemates at lunch. Your group of friends was shocked at first. Questions like “why is a football player sitting with us?” and “why is the football team captain sitting with us?” were exchanged amongst the table and you didn’t know how to answer because, why was he sitting with you guys all of a sudden? Eventually everyone got used to it though; he came around so often and no one objected. Initially, your friends had thought he was the stereotypical jock that acted all mighty and superior, but soon enough they realized he was the complete opposite of that. He was nice, funny, intelligent, and easy to get along with. He’d help your friends whenever they were struggling to finish their homework last minute, and he’d join in on the games of uno, go fish, and whatever else.

Frankly, you didn’t mind his presence either and Seungmin was absolutely basking in delight because both of his best friends were now with him at school, playing the same card games and eating the same shitty school food together. You didn’t know when or how, but Chan just eased his way into your life and you had accepted it for the most part. However, there were moments when you still questioned him though, and one day you figured you might as well clear the confusion in your head.

“Hey Chan.” He was currently teaching you how to play poker.

“What’s up buttercup?”

“Don’t call me buttercup.” You fixed a glare at him. “Anyways, I hope this doesn’t come off as a weird question but, why have you hung out with us everyday at lunch?” He didn’t say anything for a second and you regretted asking.

“Hm, I guess I just like it here. Your friends are nice, Seungmin is here,” he pointed towards the boy who was on his third pack of vending machine chips. “And you’re here.” You tried not to make anything out of that last comment and brushed it off.

“What about your other friends?”

“Other friends?” He raised an eyebrow at you and continued shuffling the cards.

“You know, the people you normally hung out with before you started hanging out with us?”

“I didn’t have any friends.” He said and you scoffed, not believing it for a second.

“You? Captain of the football team. Mr. Bang Chan himself didn’t have any friends until you met us?” You said incredulously.

“I mean I had Seungmin.”

“He couldn’t have been your only friend.”

“No, I guess he wasn’t–”

“I knew it.”

“You didn’t let me finish. He wasn’t my only friend but I felt like he was my only true friend.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it all felt so fake, so forced. Like I have my teammates and they’re chill, but we were just teammates, we didn’t hang out much besides practice or games. It’s like, just because you’re classmates, that doesn’t automatically make you all friends right?” You understood what he was saying and agreed. “And everyone else… well, it just felt ungenuine. I know many of them just tried to befriend me for the connection and to have the ability to say ‘I’m friends with the football captain’ but it wasn’t anything more.” At that point, you had wished you never pried. You felt like you had just pushed him to open Pandora’s box and that’s not what you had intended.

“Look Chan, I’m sorry I got nosy. I didn’t mean to ask you that and pry–” The apology started spilling out your mouth but the smile on his lips made you stop. “Why are you smiling? Shouldn’t you be offended and mad at me?”

“No, of course not. I know you must’ve felt weird that I randomly started hanging around you and your friends and I’m glad we got to clear up any confusion.” He said softly, looking at you from across the table. “I genuinely enjoy being around everyone at this table, especially you, so you don’t have to question it anymore. Okay?”

You kept replaying the words in your mind, ‘especially you.’ How could he say these things so easily and not realize how fast it made your heart pound or how sweaty your palms got? You couldn’t focus for the rest of lunch as he tried to teach you the ins and outs of poker.

————-

Weeks had passed and you, Seungmin, and Chan were like three peas in a pod—inseparable and going everywhere together.

One day, you guys had planned on a hang out with three spots on the schedule planned. First was to hit up the arcade—Chan’s idea—and then grab dinner at Olive Garden—Seungmin said he was craving their breadsticks—-and lastly the cherry on top would be ice cream—-your suggestion.

“Ready to get your ass handed in air hockey big shot?” You teased Chan as three headed to the arcade.

“Oh, you’re so on.” He narrowed his eyes at you in the rear view mirror and you laughed from the backseat.

“Woah, we should make this more exciting. Make it a wager.” Seungmin proposed from the passenger’s side.

“What do you have in mind?” You stuck your head in between the two seats and looked at him.

“Whoever loses...has to dress up as a fanatic at the last game of the season.”

“Isn’t the last game next week?” You asked, and the boys nodded in confirmation.

“Anyways I was thinking big fluffy tutu, face paint, a colored wig.” Seungmin listed out.

“Oh, and my jersey!” You made a disgusted face at Chan.

“Your jersey? You mean the one you sweat in and get both mud and grass stains all over?” The image of it alone was already disturbing, you couldn’t imagine actually putting it on.

“You know I wash it right?”

“Well regardless, what are we going to do if Chan loses though? He can’t do any of that, he had a uniform code to abide by.” You pointed out.

“Good point, if he loses he has to wear all of that to the after party then.”

“After party? Isn’t that only thrown when the team wins? What if the team doesn’t win?” You pointed out.

“The team will win.” Chan said with full confidence.

“No offense, but how are you so sure?”

“Because, you’re our lucky charm.”

________

“This is so unfair! He is an athlete! His hand eye coordination is way better than us common folk!” You shouted in disbelief as the last puck went into your goal, signaling that both you and Seungmin lost.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” Chan teased as he proceeded to do a victory dance as you and your other friend stared at him unamused. “Oh wait. I only have one extra jersey though, so only one of you can wear it.”

“All yours Seungmin!”

“What, no way! You should wear it, you had the least amount of points between the two of us.”

“I– you– ugh!” You couldn’t argue with that. You had to accept the fate of wearing that dingy, stinky, jersey now.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll do my best to wash it before then.” Chan added, finding it cute how you scrunched up your nose and pouted.

“Great, how reassuring.”

“Ok that’s enough arcade for tonight. My pocket is running dry and those breadsticks are waiting.” Seungmin stated before making it towards the door with you and Chan following behind.

The night was coming to an end and you guys were at the last stop–the ice cream shop. The three of you ordered a sundae and took turns scooping from the mountain of frozen dairy, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and rainbow sprinkles.

“Are you nervous for the last game? You're going against the toughest school right?” You asked, looking at Chan who sat on the other side of the table with Seungmin.

“A little, but for some reason I just feel really confident in the team so I think we will be fine.”

“No doubt you got this in the bag man.” Seungmin said through a mouthful of ice cream.

“Nasty! Shut your mouth while you're eating Seungmin!” You tossed a crumpled up napkin at him.

“You’re one to talk, you’re quite a messy eater yourself.” Chan mentioned, reaching over to swipe the chocolate syrup off the corner of your lips. Regardless of how close you two had gotten over these last few weeks, his little gestures like these always caught you off guard, like wiping the corner of your mouth, guiding you somewhere with his hand on the small of your back, walking you to every class period. You’ve known Seungmin for years and he never did these things! Was it because he wasn’t chivalrous enough? Or was Chan too chivalrous? You shook your head of those thoughts and helped the two finish up the sundae.

–––––––––-

This had got to be the worst outfit you ever wore you thought to yourself as you looked at your reflection in the mirror. The tulle skirt was actually cute but everything else was simply hideous. Seungmin had brought over the accessories in the early evening and you two had spent the last hour or two dressing up and getting ready for tonight’s game. You wore a wine red wig with gold stars painted across your cheeks and of course you kept your end of the deal and had Chan’s jersey on too, which surprisingly smelt of fresh linen. Seungmin on the other hand wore a bright yellow mohawk wig with half his face painted red, adorned with his very own tutu, which was layered over his pants, as well. You two looked awful but extremely hilarious.

“If I don’t get accepted into a college. I could go to the circus looking like this.”

“Clown college is always an option.” Seungmin joked and you two laughed at your appearances until there were tears in your eyes.

“Ready to go?”

“Yup, let’s blow Chan’s socks off with these outfits.”

While you two were busy getting ready for the game, Chan was trying to prepare himself too, but mentally. It wasn’t that he was nervous about the game or the team losing, he had total confidence tonight would bring in another victory. The team had been doing well so far and everyone had been practicing extra hard for this final event. What he was really nervous about was seeing you.

It had been weeks since he had first met you and the more he had gotten to know you, the more feelings he developed and the harder he fell for you. He had first seen you in the stands when Seungmin introduced you to him and he thought it was funny, yet adorable how your cheeks were stuffed like chipmunks with fried oreos. As time passed, he realized that you weren’t just cute, but so sarcastic, funny, and clever. He loved the way you made him laugh so easily and seeing your eyes turn to crescent moons whenever you smiled affected him more than you would ever know.

He was planning on confessing to you today, to finally say the words ‘I like you.’ He had tried to do it multiple times before, but he never had the courage. Today was different though. Today you’d be wearing his jersey to the game and he was going to win, afterwards you’d meet him on the field and he’d run to you to say those three words and you guys would gaze into each other's eyes under the twinkling stars before going to the after party together, officially as a couple. That’s how the scene played in his head anyways.

It was hard to not notice you when you had arrived. Both you and Seungmin stuck out like sore thumbs with the extravagant wigs and tutu combination. He couldn’t keep in his laughter and approached you two, meeting halfway.

“You guys look amazing. Stars of the show tonight.” He looked at Seungmin before switching his gaze to you. Although he admitted the outfit had some clashing elements, he still thought you looked cute and pretty as ever. Seeing you in his jersey, which was just a bit too big on you, made his heart flip. There you were smiling at him with the light shining on your face, rosy cheeks, and his name written on your backside. How could he stop himself from falling for you?

“Thanks man, if we didn’t lose that game in air hockey, we would’ve never had the excuse to dress up like this. Like the mohawk?” Seungmin pointed to his hair.

“Love it. It’s a great look on you.” He looked at Seungmin before switching his gaze to you. Although he admitted the outfit had some clashing elements, he still thought you looked cute and pretty as ever. Seeing you in his jersey, which was just a bit too big on you, made his heart flip. There you were smiling at him with the light shining on your face, rosy cheeks, and his name written on your backside. How could he stop himself from falling for you?

“We’re going to the party after the game too right? I told my parents I was going to be home late today.” You asked.

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” Chan said.

“The game is about to begin, you should get going Chan, we will be in the stands cheering for you.” You reassured him before moving towards the steps to the bleachers, he grabbed your wrist to stop you though.

“After we win tonight, meet me down on the field right after okay? Don’t wait, I have something important to tell you.”

“Okay, now go before you’re scolded by the coach!” You ran up the stairs and assumed Seungmin was right behind you, in actuality he had stayed back for a second to talk to Chan.

“Are you ready man? After you win you gotta use whatever adrenaline left and build up the courage to tell her.” Seungmin reminded Chan, hoping he wouldn’t back out of the confession again. He had been the wingman for weeks now and every time he thought Chan would do it, he didn’t. When his best friend first told him that he had a crush on your other best friend, he was momentarily appalled at the idea. However, after hearing Chan’s explanations on why he likes you and his feelings, he figured third wheeling you two wouldn’t be too bad as long as the both of you were happy, so he went along with it.

He thought you’d catch onto Chan’s hints and subtle flirting, but either you were too dense or intentionally ignored it. Regardless, he and Chan had been planning this night for too long and he could not let his friend fail again.

“Don’t worry. I’m going to do it.”

“Okay, I’m really rooting for you.”

Then Seungmin joined you in the bleachers and shortly after, the game commenced.

———-

It was intense. The opponents were just as good as the rumors made them out to be and your school’s team wasn’t leading, but they weren’t far behind either.

The other team had called for a time out and so the game was on pause. You were nervously eyeing the scoreboard and looked around in the field to find Chan. Was he feeling more pressured now? Hopefully he still had the confidence from earlier. You spotted him, with his back turned, but it was as if he knew you were looking at him because he circled around and locked eyes with you. You gave him two thumbs up and he returned the gesture.

The whistle blew and everyone got back into their positions. The time was running again and the crowd was cheering nonstop.

They had to win.

It was the first game you’d ever gone to over the last few weeks that had gone over time but surely enough, the school reigned victorious.

“Y/n, remember you had to meet Chan at the field right?” Seungmin reminded you, and thankfully he did because you were so caught up with the win that you’d forgotten for a second

“Oh, right. Are you coming?”

“No, I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit.” With that you left Seungmin and hurried down the bleachers. You had made it to the track and was halfway to the field when you noticed Chan, but he wasn’t alone.

You stopped mid-step and watched as the unknown girl wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. You couldn’t see her face form here but you had a feeling it was Tiffany again. Your eyebrows furrowed at the sight and there was a sinking feeling in your stomach.

He said he had something important to tell you. When he said that, a big part of you was looking forward to the end of the game. Not because you wanted to see them win, but because you wanted to hear him tell you what was so important. Was it that he liked you just as much as you liked him? When these feelings first developed, you tried to bury them. Not only was he Seungmin’s friend, which would make things weird, but because you weren’t sure if he was single, and even if he was, why would he like you when there were so many other girls at the school? But you were bad at burying feelings and it didn’t help that you saw him everyday at school and even more so when you hung out.

You had been hopeful though, perhaps by some miracle he had a crush on you too. But from the looks of it now, you had been wrong. So you stood there staring like a fool as the girl continued to kiss him. It must’ve been only second but it felt like forever. You snapped out of it when you realized hot tears were running down your cheeks, so you turned to leave through the school gates.

————-

Chan pushed her off and immediately put distance between himself and the girl. “What are you doing Tiffany?!”

“Why do you keep calling me Tiffany? You used to call me Tiff or princess.” She said, stomping her feet out of frustration. Chan wanted to roll his eyes at her childish behavior.

“That was before.” Before was when Chan and Tiffany were together and known as the ‘it’ couple amongst the school. She was the head cheerleader and he was team captain, it was just like all those cheesy teen rom-coms. At the time, he had never dated anyone before and thought what they had was fun, but there was no real chemistry. It had lasted for almost a year but Chan had broken it off. “We’re not together anymore.”

“Then let’s get back together.” She reached out to him but he stepped back.

“No, there’s no chance for us anymore Tiffany. I gotta go find someone.” So he left the flabbergasted girl in the middle of the field as he ran off in search of another girl who was in a brightly colored tutu and the jersey with his name on it. With no luck he saw Seungmin and went up to him.

“Where is she?” Chan asked anxiously.

“What do you mean? I thought she was with you.” Seungmin asked in a wary tone.

“What? No, I haven’t seen her.”

“Chan, she left right after the game ended to look for you. How can you possibly be telling me you missed the girl in a bright ass wig and a tulle skirt?” He asked in disbelief.

“Oh shi—“

————

Thankfully the walk home wasn’t too bad, besides having the cold air nip at your bare skin, it wasn’t a very long walk and before you knew it you were already on the front porch unlocking the door.

Your parents were already fast asleep and you didn’t want to wake them so you gently closed the door and made way to your room. Your reflection in the mirror revealed the streaks of eyeliner that were smudged around your eyes and the face paint was no longer intact. Washing your face, you tore off all the ridiculous clothes and slipped on your oversized t-shirts and sweats.

This was so stupid. You felt like a protagonist in one of those typical romance films which is the last thing you had wanted. There you were wrecked in tears, crushing over some guy on a Friday night and he didn’t even realize it. The game was over so he was probably at the after party with that girl right now, meanwhile you were sulking under the covers in bed.

The phone on your nightstand was chiming non-stop and it dawned on you that you just left Seungmin without a single word. Quickly you swiped your screen open and went to your messages.

Over thirty-two texts–twelve of which were from Seungmin and the rest were all from Chan. You disregarded the latter and tapped on your best friend’s name.

(8:42 pm)

[ seungminnie ] hey, wya?

(8:45 pm)

[ seungminnie ] r u in the bathroom?

(8:46 pm)

[ seungminnie ] wait, did u leave already?

(9:04 pm)

[ you ] yeah, i was feeling tired so i left. sorry, hope you have fun at the party tho.

You hit send and shut off your phone for the rest of the night. The rest of the night was uneventful as you laid awake, running through everything that had led you up to this point. From the first football game, meeting Chan, befriending him, falling for him, then being crestfallen because of him.

This is why you always stuck to the things you knew, the things you were comfortable with. It had been like this for so long and the one time you finally tried to live life a little bit carefree with less restraints, it backfires. You wanted to blame him for causing this pain in your chest and the waterworks, but at the end of it all, it was your fault for thinking things would be different. Meeting Chan made you optimistic; perhaps those stereotypes about football players and high school kids were wrong. It was your fault for stepping outside of your safe little bubble and expecting things to be okay. You were naive.

————

The afterparty was a bust. After Seungmin had received the text from you, he informed Chan and the two of them were no longer in the mood to go, but everyone else was still in a celebratory mood and the team ushered Chan to join. How could the team captain not go to the party?

So there he was, sitting on the couch while Seungmin was off trying to grab more sodas. He had plastered on a fake smile when people greeted him. Sure he was happy that they had won, but he didn’t feel like dancing, or mingling, or whatever else teenagers did at parties. All he could think about was how he messed up again at trying to confess to you. You must’ve seen what happened, there was no other reason for you to leave so abruptly like that. He had sent so many texts, sporadic apologies mixed with incoherent explanations. All left unread, unresponded. How was he going to fix this? You clearly didn’t even want to talk to him.

Seungmin came back with two cans in hand and Chan thanked him before popping it open with a satisfying fizz. His friend joined him on the couch and for a while, they just sat quietly, occasionally sipping on the sweet drink while the room around them continued to move to the music and muddled conversations filled the atmosphere. Finally, one of them spoke.

“What am I going to do?” Chan asked, defeat lined his voice.

“Do you really like her man?” Seungmin already knew the answer, but he had to ask.

“Yeah, I really do.” He said without a moment’s hesitation. Chan didn’t have much wisdom or experience when it came to relationships. He’s had crushes on different people before and many have tried to get his attention but none of them had the same effect on him as you did.

“Then wait until she’s ready to approach you again and fight for her. It’s going to take time but if you want to make it happen, you have to try.”

Seungmin was right. This wasn’t going to be simple, but he had to try. For you, he would.

————

You tried to recover over the weekend and Seungmin sent you some texts, checking up on you to ask if you were alright. You were grateful for his concern and reassured him that you were okay, and in a way, it was a half lie, half truth. It was going to take more than two days to get over heartache, but you were prepared to let it go and move on, especially when you realized that it was your mistake to begin with and that even if Chan didn’t like you that way, you still enjoyed having him as a friend. All these weeks you spent with him brought you happiness and you didn’t want to erase all of that just because of some silly feelings.

Coming to that conclusion, you finally opened the texts that he had sent but you had been ignoring for the last three days.

(Friday 8:50 pm)

[ chan ] seungmin told me you left, i hope you made it home safely

(Friday 8:51 pm)

[ chan ] he told me u were going to meet me after the game. u must’ve seen us. im sorry

It was difficult to continue reading as your eyes began to blur but you swiped away the tears that threatened to spill and kept scrolling.

(Friday 8:53 pm)

[ chan ] i really wanted to talk to u. Ik what you must be thinking but it’s nothing, i promise. she isn’t my girlfriend. we used to date but that was a long time ago. it's over now.

[ chan ] please reply.

[ chan ] im sorry y/n. seriously, im so sorry.

(Friday 9:27 pm)

[ chan ] i’ll wait for u until ur ready to talk to me. gn

That was the last text he sent you. It was just a few sentences but you let out a shaky breath and tossed your phone to the side. He wanted to talk to you, and you wanted to talk to him too. Was it just a big misunderstanding? He said the girl wasn’t his girlfriend, but rather an ex. That didn’t automatically guarantee he was single though, did it? Also, if she was an ex, why did he kiss her then? You groaned and fell into your bed, face planting into the pillows.

This was so confusing. You should’ve never developed feelings for him. Whether he was single or not shouldn’t matter to you anymore, you just wanted to joke around, make sarcastic comments with each other, and be platonic friends like before. It was less stressful and complicated that way.

————

Monday rolled around and you gave yourself a mini pep talk before walking through the school doors. You were determined to face him and not break down. This was going to be fine. You whispered to yourself as you spotted Seungmin near your locker, Chan wasn’t with him. Both a little disappointing, yet relieving.

“Morning gorgeous, you doing well?” Seungmin leaned against your locker door as you grabbed your belongings.

“Well hello to you too gorgeous.” You joked, no matter how bad your weekend was, having your best friend nearby always cheered you up. “I’m doing alright this morning, woke up on the right side of the bed.”

“That’s good, um, are you going to talk to him today?” He asked cautiously, hoping that it didn’t come off too pushy or nosy.

“Yeah. He said he needed to talk to me after the game right? Might as well see what he had to say.” You shut the metal door and together, you and Seungmin walked to first period.

Half the school day had passed and the bell rang, signaling that it was lunch. This was it, you were going to face him now. You were afraid he’d avoid you because he didn’t sneak up behind you in the halls or walk your classes today like he usually did, but you saw his figure sitting at the lunch tables through the glass windows. Slowly you made your way to the bench. His back was turned to you so you gently poked his shoulder; he turned and looked up, a gentle smile spread across his face when his chocolate brown eyes locked onto yours.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” He breathed out, standing up to match you. “Can we go somewhere to talk?” His hands were shoved in his pockets and he looked at you nervously.

“Yeah.”

He led the way and you stuck close behind him. Soon the school’s garden came into view and thankfully most people didn’t come here, it was sort of hidden behind all the buildings, so you two had the area to yourself. It was so quiet and mellow here, there weren’t many flowers in bloom due to the recent season change, but it was still very beautiful.

You sat on the little wooden bench that was placed in the center and he did too, leaving some room in between you two.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” You started, looking down at your lap to avoid looking at him.

“I’m sorry. That’s the first thing I want to tell you.” He had all his attention on you. Chan paused for a moment before continuing, “You saw me with that girl the other night didn’t you?” You nodded your head wordlessly. His shoulders slumped at your confirmation but he figured you did.v“I know what you saw must’ve been really bad and you probably came up with many assumptions but I’m here to tell you that none of that is true. We aren’t together.” He said firmly.

“Then why did you kiss her?” Your voice was a mere whisper.

“I didn’t kiss her, she just came onto me and I was shocked. Once I had realized what was happening and who it was, I immediately stopped it and told her that she and I were completely over.” Some of the pain in your heart eased hearing this but you didn’t want to be too optimistic.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I need you to know that I am not with her. I am not with anyone.” He said vehemently, leaving no room for doubts. “Y/n, please look at me.” When you didn’t, he gently grasped your chin and turned your head so he could finally meet your eyes. You had a dejected expression and your eyes were glazed over with trapped tears. He cupped your cheek with the palm of his hand; the warmth and closeness made your heart flutter.

“Y/n.”

“Mmhhm?” You didn’t have the ability to form words at the moment. His touch made you lightheaded and you couldn’t think straight.

“I like you.” His gaze never tore away from yours.

“What?” Your forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. He liked you? Bang Chan, captain of the football team. The boy everyone wanted to be friends with and the guy nearly all the girls swooned for. Bang Chan liked you?

“I. Like. You. Not just as a friend. I like you as a person that I want to go on dates with, hold hands with, make happy memories and experience the highs and lows of life with.” He was so close to you now that you could feel his breath on your cheeks. “You are the girl I wanted to hold in the middle of the field that night and say these words to. I’m sorry that didn’t happen but it’s better late than never.” The words were slowly processing through your head but unconsciously, a grin formed on your lips and red was rushing to your cheeks.

“Chan, I like you too.” The words came out so easily and the boy immediately broke out into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen.

He leaned in close but before your lips connected he whispered, “Can I kiss you now?”

“Yes.” If someone were to have told you a few months back that you’d be kissing Chan under the cloud-dotted, blue autumn sky after he just confessed his feelings for you, you would’ve guessed they were insane, but there you were now doing exactly that and nothing could’ve made you happier.

You had always been afraid of trying new things and straying from your typical routine because you didn’t know what challenges life had in store once you’ve ventured too far. Undoubtedly, stepping out of your comfort zone was difficult. Nevertheless, it was worth it because it led you here to this very moment.

also here is my masterlist in case you want to read my other works!

#skz oneshots #stray kids oneshot #skz au #stray kids au #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #bang chan x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz angst #stray kids angst #bang chan #stray kids masterlist #skz masterlist

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nuttynutcycle · 4 years

Text

Blades

“You’re better than the others give you credit for.” The villain’s voice was dark, considering. He stepped out of the shadows with an eyebrow raised. “I didn’t even notice you until a few blocks ago.

Aw, shit. She whipped around to face him, “And you’re more observant than I thought.” Plan B, then. A tremor slipped into her voice. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Drop your weapons.” His eyes didn’t leave her shaking form.

She let the sword fall to the ground. The villain didn’t move. “Do you think I’m stupid? The infamous Chameleon is not known for her swordplay.”

A twitch provoked her eye, the only evidence of any feeling besides terror. That better not be a double entendre. She reached down and fiddled with her suit. Glittering blades fell from her body, clashing against the dark ground. Cold eyes followed her every move. His head tilted, arms folded. The intensity was almost distracting.

“All of them.”

“That’s everything.” She let fear shine in her eyes.

The villain snarled. He strode forward and twisted her against the wall before she could react. Bricks scraped at her face, covering the flush rising from a body pressed against hers. She felt a hand pin her arms against her back while the other frisked her for more weapons.

“What is this?” She asked, a sob escaping her throat. The villain didn’t answer. He seemed bored by her scared act. Good. “Please let me go.”

The villain paused. Warm breath brushed her ear. “I was very excited to meet you. The tales of your exploits were exceptional.” The hand slowed, and his touch became much more… sensual in nature. A shiver ran through her body.

“But this? A sobbing coward who gives up without a fight? Disappointing,” Nails dug at her sides, evoking a forced whimper. Almost… “Mediocre,” She panted, pushing against him. “Dull,” The hand slid around to her front. “Failure.” Now.

A knife jerked from its hiding place at the back of her waistband into her hand. The surprised exhale was music to her ears when she stabbed backwards into his abdomen. He staggered away from her, hands clutching his stomach. Too easy.

She stalked towards him, dropped facade leaving her cool and methodical. A grin split her face. “Was that too boring for you? Need some deadly closure? Don’t worry, I never leave a date with my partner unfinished.”

Laughter cut through the air as the villain’s head lifted to meet her stare. His eyes darkened, lit by a twisted hunger. “There you are,” he breathed. “I was wondering when you’d come out to play.”

This was a different reaction to a stabbing than she usually got. Less screaming. “Is it really a game if you lose so quickly? Sorry babe, I’d love to play, but I have a job to do.”

“Who said I’ve lost?” He quipped.

“You have under an hour before your heart stops. Less if you annoy me.”

“Then we better use that hour well.” No, she would not get distracted by his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“I plan to.” She picked up a few of her daggers from the ground.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take this in a more pleasurable direction? My silver tongue has other uses besides flirting.”

“I don’t dance with arrogant idiots. You were pretty foolish to get that close to me.”

He shrugged. “The benefits outweighed the risks.”

A flush rose on her cheeks. Oh, she was going to enjoy his death. “Any last words before I slit your throat?”

Without warning, the villain dropped his hands from the wound with a grin. Her eyes latched onto the smooth, unblemished skin beneath. Colour drained from her face. No. That’s not possible. She could still feel the knife sliding past flesh, cutting through organs. “How?”

“Oh sunshine, you couldn’t kill me no matter how hard you try.” The villain pounced on her, stopping her defensive slashes with a snatch of her wrists. The last of her weapons fell to the ground. He leaned down, lips hovering above her own. “But I promise to enjoy your attempts.”

Heart racing, instincts roaring at her to take advantage of the situation, she felt her lips part.

Victory flashed across the villain’s face at her reaction. The indignation jolted her out of the stupor. No way was the cocky fucker going to win. She pressed her body against his, savoring the sound of his breath hitch. “And I promise to enjoy every second of your pain.”

Usually, she would never leave until a job was finished. He was an exception – to a lot of things. She twisted out of his grasp and was gone in the night.

The villain watched her run, a smile playing on his lips.

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prynnehesters · 3 years

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i think the drag race finale was ok. i think s13 is equivalent to like...s7 in terms of my enjoyment. it's not a god tier season, but it's not absolutely horrid/super rigged. there were certain episodes i enjoyed more than others.

things i enjoyed

phenomenon

100% pure love (and chicago drag excellence)

the snatch game was honestly the best one since s7 (s12 only 2 people were funny and then s11 no one was funny...w this one 4 people were consistently funny)

it is a very quotable season (as are many drag race seasons...but i mean this one...gagatrondra...flopiana...legit anything tamisha or lala said)

the joey jay flashbacks (in general kandy having a crush on joey jay)

most of the lip syncs were pretty good (this could veer into bad/neutral because a lot of them seemed like they could go either way, but like, they were consistently good whereas s12 there were a few lipsyncs where i was very close to turning off my tv because they were boring/bad)

most of the bonus content that came out was pretty good (mik's makeup tutorials, denali's dance videos, etc.)

lala ri winning miss congeniality (tbh i fully expected olivia to win it based on how the show set her up, but like, lala deserved it for being funny and genuine and sweet)

i think crowning symone was the right choice because she is unapologetically herself and it was reflected heavily in the show. her fashion/concepts are amazing, she is naturally charismatic, and in general, i feel like she is a good representative of what the show and brand stand for

things i didn't enjoy

the first episode. it felt so mean/like a set up. there are so many reasons it didn't work. and the fact that we knew it was coming was like...kind of not helpful? idk. also there seemed to be no stakes in the lip syncs considering no one was going to immediately go home (that would've been a gag tho, but like, i think it doesn't work for a show like drag race in comparison to something like worst cooks in america)

blatant bias towards mik bcuz of tokenism/them being well known (but i mean, i did enjoy mik bcuz she was funny/had good fashion)

the fact that it was blatantly obvious that 2 queens were trying to be miss congeniality (neither of them got it so...they both also got weird/annoying edits)

there was drama, but the pacing of the drama was not good and a lot of storylines were kind of left hanging (they set up rose vs olivia/tina, but didn't really go anywhere with it. same w tamisha vs kandy...that was a one ep thing, then tamisha forgave kandy when she was eliminated but like...there was no payoff. there was even tina v elliott, but even that got a mediocre payoff. kandy mik and tina were set up as diet rolaskatox but that didn't go anywhere lol...kandy was given more of an instigator/narrator edit, mik was given a positive edit, and tina was given a relatively negative edit/it didn't seem like production liked her)

some of the edits were kind of weird/mean (olivia, kandy, utica, elliott come to mind. olivia seemed sweet but they were like "secret diva" and utica was dorky and fun in her promo but she had some issues/worries about social justice/how she'd be perceived and then that was thrown out the window. normally i like the weird quirky queens, but like, utica has an eye for style, she just seems too weird for me lmao. elliott got the "feel bad for me/underdog" edit but like, they were apparently a bigot...)

how obvious the season was set up (u knew symone was gonna win, u knew mik/kandy would make it to top 4...yeah)

the twists in general were not good

the fact that they put the covid special in the middle of the season

the roast was not that good (i think because it was legit like 3 people in the audience + the 3 congenialities)

the rusical was not good (symone honestly had the boppiest song and the fact that she didn't do it justice was upsetting...and in general, the concept was meh. russian hackers were the best part lol)

i think the first episode set up more problems than they hoped for, but it'll be some good all stars storylines (im mainly talking about rose and denali)

the reunion didn't feel like a reunion because they didn't really have a conversation. it was just all the queens talking with ru/answering fan questions. the top4 were just going to do rehearsals for the finale. they had performances from the queens, but it honestly felt more like the halloween special for the s12 people. idk. it just felt weird.

no puppet challenge

the fandom sucks and they were total assholes to kandy.

the finale felt like a parody of itself. ru did a dance number (weird, never happens, she was very stiff, it felt forced), then the top4 had like, a ball type thing where they walked in outfits that cost more than my college tuition (like...at that point, they were waaaay too fancy to be drag outfits), then they had the lip syncs and it was super obvious that rose, mik, and symone all had reveals. kandy i was not expecting it. but you can't out do sasha velour. even for the second lipsync, it was super obvious symone had a reveal and kandy surprised us with one lol. idk...based on that, kandy should've won.

yeah, it was ok. just weird pacing. we'll see where s14 goes

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spiralledcupid · 4 years

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‘ people say friends don’t destroy one another (what do they know about friends?) ’

Peter Lukas/Elias Bouchard, 1947 words.

Peter and Elias watch The Weakest Link.

CW for toxic dynamics and british game shows

They’re almost always busy. Organising the apocalypse was hard work, and when Elias wasn’t submerged in paperwork and plotting, Peter was out to sea and mourning his failure – and when Peter wasn’t on the Tundra, Elias was too busy laying traps for his Archivist. It was nothing personal, though Elias sometimes liked to act like it was, just to bait a reaction. It was simply hard to schedule time for relaxation, hard to plan when getting hold of each other was near impossible. But, on the nights where they both happened to be available and in England, Peter always ended up on Elias’ doorstep. Somewhere along the line, Elias would let him in, they’d pour drinks – cider for Peter and red wine for Elias, the latter stocked high and the former with just a few cans gathering dust in a corner – and they’d end up in front of the television. And Peter would put on a game show.

They’re an odd little fascination, one Peter developed during a horrid interval when the Tundra was trapped portside for a week, or maybe two. Though he’d expected his enjoyment of them to pass when he was finally free to sail on his silent ship once more, the habit stuck and more often than not he found himself watching one quiz show or another. Not the silly ones like Eggheads or Pointless, when it all boiled down into teamwork and collaboration, but the truly cutthroat ones, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire and such, where the contestants were pitted against each other from the start. The ones where they were all so obviously praying their fellow contestants would fail so they could get their chance at whatever meaningless award was offered.

Elias – though he had been James Wright at the time, if Peter remembered right – had called Peter for the first time ever when that couple cheated Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, gloating over how they’d worked together to snatch the top prize from ITVs helpless hands. It took all the fun out of it, really, working together. It robbed the shows of that intoxicating isolation that populated so many of them, the terrifying knowledge that there would be no help given, that everything had to be done alone. That was quite wonderful.

Peter allowed himself to sprawl over their shared sofa. For once in his overlong life, Elias had decided to be pleasant, only complaining twice when Peter commandeered the remote to put on a rerun of The Weakest Link. And he’d kept quiet during the best bits, when the contestants nominated the contestant to leave the show that round.

“You are being kind tonight.” Peter remarked, when the second-rate replay channel shoehorned in yet another ad break.

“Am I?” Elias asked, swinging his long legs into Peter’s lap. Peter shuffled away to the tune of Elias’ laugh. The last thing he needed was Elias ruining the delicious pain of second-hand isolation by forcing Peter to remember his presence. He regretted talking at all when Elias began prodding his toes into the worn jean of Peter’s thigh. His socks were covered with eyes, tessellated together into some sickening collage of sight.

“Can you see from those?” Peter asked without thinking. On the television, some pointless celebrity offered up a brand of washing power in a variety of scenarios, her face never losing a bland smile, her eyes clinging to hollow vacancy. Peter’s heart rose. There was nothing more enjoyable than the knowledge that this woman, whoever she may be, would have left the recording studio for a flat far too big for her in the centre of a bustling city, the open plan forcing her voice to echo and rebound from the stock-photo walls should she try to call any of the fake friends she had. But there were still millions of women across the country watching her vacant face and wishing with all their lonely little hearts that they could be her, convinced that if they just had her hair or her face, her money or her family, they could wash the loneliness from their lives for good. They were wrong.

Peter hoped no one told them.

“Can I see through my socks?” Elias mused, closing his eyes. Seconds, minutes later, he blinked them open again, “Your trousers are terribly frayed.”

“I don’t need to see through my socks to know that.”

“You should fix them.” Elias suggested, in the voice that meant he wanted Peter to do no such thing. Elias fed from making sure Peter always felt his Eye on one of his flaws or another and Peter, in turn, fed from never listening to Elias’ opinion when he chose to give it. It made Elias feel terrifically, terrifyingly lonely, when people didn’t care what he thought about them.

A five second clip of the introduction music signalled the end of the nauseating ad break. Peter was very conflicted about ad breaks. On one hand, it didn’t really seem fair to exchange five minutes of mediocre television for five minutes of mind-numbing adverts displaying things no one person could possibly need, even if they lived as long as Elias had. On the other hand, advertisements were built around the need to make the viewer feel inferior, a gateway drug to loneliness if there ever was one. Where there was inferiority there was insecurity, the fear of being left out or left behind, and both of those were fears The Lonely found delicious.

Yes, Peter would adore ad breaks, if he didn’t have to see them too.

“How could they cancel this?” Peter sighed, as onscreen Anne Robinson belittled a contestant for enjoying wrestling.

“It’s possibly the only good thing the BBC has ever done,” Elias said, purely to provoke a reaction, “I mean it. I’m not antagonising you.”

“I didn’t think antagonising, I thought provoking,” Peter said pleasantly, “I would prefer it if you stayed out of my head, though.”

The thought of Elias watching his thoughts, taking a personalised tour through his brain like a tourist at an isolated art gallery, sent Peter’s skin crawling. It was the worst thing about spending time with Elias, the knowledge that he, should he feel inclined, could dip into Peter’s head and watch to his heart’s content, dig up every little secret and throw them back into Peter’s face just to see how he’d react. And the knowledge that any reaction Peter gave would feed Elias’ patron.

“What a shame.” Elias remarked, tugging Peter’s attention back to The Weakest Link.

“What happened?”

“She didn’t bank. Lost them almost all of the money.” Elias clicked his tongue in a sham of sympathy.

Peter groaned, “You made me miss it.” The frustrated looks of the other contestants weren’t nearly as satisfying without the memory of the woman’s mortification to back them up.

“What a shame.” Elias repeated. His feet were still pressed against Peter’s thigh, a constant, bony reminder that Peter wasn’t alone anymore, would never be alone again should he ask. He wondered if he should be happy about it.

“You think,” Elias said, “far too much. What does it matter if you’re not always lonely? I’m not always Watching.”

“You had your Eye on that archivist of yours not ten minutes ago.” Peter said, taking Elias’s sudden frown as confirmation of his hunch. But that was all wrong too. Surely normal people wouldn’t be joking if their partner had spent a night with them watching one of their co-workers. Surely they’d be upset about it.

“We’re not partners.” Elias reminded him.

There were two contestants left, vying for the money that hadn’t been lost by their idiotic competitor. Peter tried to focus on them, and not on the way Elias was looking at him, on the half-smile playing across the lips Peter liked so much. When they were together, of course. When they were apart, Peter thought, Elias’s mouth was just another mouth.

“Liar.” Elias hissed. The bolt of insecurity that darted through him was honeysuckle sweet. In retaliation, Elias dug his heel into Peter’s leg as he stretched out over as much of the sofa as he could, crowding Peter against the arm. Peter didn’t look away from the television.

“The man on the left wins,” Elias snapped, “It’s a question about Hadrian’s wall and he snatches it right out from under the other man’s nose. He spends his pathetic gains gambling himself into worse debt then he started with.”

“Oh,” Peter complained. Anxiety swelled in his gut at the show of Elias’s power. He didn’t know Elias could dip into the minds of people on television too. Was there anything he couldn’t See, any secret he couldn’t Know as soon as he wished to?

“I can’t. I’ve just seen this one before.” Elias said, observing Peter’s wide eyes with barely-concealed delight. What did Elias care if the power he’d hinted at didn’t exist? Peter’s original rush of fear had been enough to make them even.

“You,” Peter said, “are a bad boyfriend.”

“I don’t care, as long as I’m not yours.”

Careful, Peter closed a hand around Elias’ ankle, covering some of the eyes that danced and winked along it. Elias’s smile widened.

Peter tugged, and Elias let himself be moved.

Peter lifted, and Elias let himself be raised.

When he sunk his fingers into Peter’s hair and pushed his nails into Peter’s scalp, Peter didn’t protest. Instead, he placed Elias in his lap and let himself be kissed.

Kissing Elias was a little like breathing in a burning building. It was a little like Christmas, or existing on a crowded ship. In other words, it was unbearable, but Peter wanted, needed it anyway. It was choking and over-hot and crowded and pushy and Peter wanted it more and more and more and more, until he couldn’t breathe without Elias pressed firm against his chest.

Elias pulled his mouth away, because it wasn’t enough for Peter to just feel his smirk apparently.

“Your metaphors are ridiculous.” He wiped his mouth with one hand and smoothed his hair with the other.

“I never was fond of words.”

“That much is clear.” Elias said, as if they hadn’t had this conversation a thousand times before, as if they wouldn’t have it a thousand times again before they were finally done with each other. Peter caught his breath as Elias rolled his shoulders, blazer slipping down from the movement, before craning his neck to glance at the television. Peter watched the credits reflect in his shiny, dark eyes.

“Can we put Big Brother on? After all,” He patted Peter’s cheek, “You’ve had your fun.”

“If you want.”

All those people trapped together but encouraged to hate, to isolate even when there was nowhere to go, to say one thing when they thought and felt another, to not trust anyone they were confined with. It was lonely enough for Peter.

“Everything’s lonely enough for you,” Elias said, rubbing at the faint red of beard rash decorating his cheeks, “You’re very simple to please.”

The familiar panic washed over Peter again, the fear encapsulated in the knowledge that Elias would always, somehow, Know Peter better than Peter knew himself. The fear that, whatever Peter was, Elias could See it and take it and keep it for himself.

Peter pushed Elias from his lap.

They split a pack of biscuits, though they were both hungry for something more sustaining, and Peter wondered if he could never get used to having all his secrets laid out in a glass cabinet, for Elias to view as he pleased.

The look on Elias’ face said that, even if he could, Elias wouldn’t let him.

#tma #the magnus archives #peter lukas #elias bouchard #lonely eyes #long post #fanfic #fanfiction #spoon writes #did this a few nights ago n forgot to put it on here whoops

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virtuoso-lol · 5 years

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2020 LEC Pre-Split Team Power Rankings

It’s that time of year when everyone following professional LoL has to aimlessly make an attempt at predicting the strength of teams they’ve never seen play before. Although I am entirely self aware of this, I continue to try irregardless. I’m sure there’s something to be said about pursuing futile objectives at 2 in the morning, but I can’t concern myself with such matters. Time is of the essence! Below are my League of Legends European Championship, or LEC, team power rankings.

#1: G2 ESPORTS

It doesn’t take a genius to make this prediction. G2 is the most dominant team to ever play in Europe, making it to finals essentially uncontested last worlds, and absolutely smashing all of the competition until they had to face their Chinese overlords. No roster changes were made over the off-season, but the one wildcard for this team is the Perkz and Caps role swap. Judging by the success of the Perkz roleswap last year, I don’t see the roleswap hurting the team too much, and even in the worst case scenario, I don’t think there’s a world where they don’t come top 3.

#2: FNATIC

In my opinion, Fnatic is the only team that has a chance of contesting G2 for the European title. The only roster change they made in the off-season was replacing Broxah with Selfmade, which I honestly consider an upgrade. Both players are exceptional, but Fnatic seemed to have stagnated with the roster they ran last year, despite Nemesis getting comfortable throughout the year. There was allegedly some internal issues between the team, and I think changing the jungler is the best way to change the team’s pace. There are few junglers that could fill the shoes of Broxah, but I think Selfmade is more than capable. Only time will tell whether or not the change will garner Fnatic another championship.

#3: ROGUE

This is where we start to get into the more controversial opinions. Despite this, I feel very confident in my picks for top 4. Rogue shocked fans across the world last year after they gave their rookies starting positions and surged to a startling 3rd place finish in the summer split, where they even defeated Splyce, who would eventually go on to represent Europe at the world championship as 3rd seed. Rogue is filled with young talent eager to prove themselves, and I think that this is their year to do just that. The main detrimental factor of Rogue last year was their ADC, Woolite, who they seemed to win in spite of, rather than as a result of. This year, though, with the acquisition of European staple ADC Hans Sama, their roster is stacked and I expect great things from them.

#4: ORIGEN

Origen absolutely has the potential to come top 3, but there are too many question marks for me to grant them that spot on this list. Origen looked absolutely lost at the end of the 2019 summer split, and made roster changes accordingly. Acquiring Upset and Xerxe is arguably the best 2 pickups they could have made. However, I’m left with two big questions revolving around this team; firstly, it’s impossible to tell for sure how their support, Destiny, will fare against European competition. Origen followed the trend of importing OCE talent that several orgs seem to have been on this off-season, and it could pay off big, or bring the whole team down. Additionally, it’s difficult to tell whether or not we will get 2019 summer split Nukeduck or LEC finalist Nukeduck. His play was a perfect epitomization of how lost Origen was at the end of last year, and if Origen wants to compete for a worlds spot, he’s going to have to step back up to his peak level of performance that we’ve seen from him in the past.

#5: EXCEL ESPORTS

Excel reaped the benefits of the Splyce and Origen boom. Picking up Patrik and Tore (formerly Norskeren) gave this team a serious upgrade in the bot lane, which had essentially been an empty void for the entirety of the org’s existence. Both of these players are top level competitors in the region. On top of this, the return of Mickey brings a solid player back to the mid lane, another role in which Excel struggled to fill in the past. Despite his apparent interpersonal issues (none of which are confirmed to be true), Mickey is a player that has proven he can compete with the best and I think he has what it takes to bring Excel to the playoffs. Expect has also been a pretty consistent rock in the top lane for Excel, so his return is no surprise, and more than welcome. The one issue I have with this team is keeping Caedrel in the jungle position - perhaps they tried and failed to acquire a new jungler, but I worry that Caedrel will simply get outjungled by the stacked jungle competition in the LEC and will prevent the rest of their team from realizing greater success. I wasn’t impressed with what he brought to the table last year, but maybe he will surprise us this year now that he has a real bot lane to play around.

#6: FC SCHALKE 04

I’m not entirely confident in my placement of Schalke here, and I think any one of the teams below them can and likely will surpass them, but Schalke has the benefit of being a team made up of familiar faces. Odoamne and Abbedagge both performed quite well last year, which is why I give them an edge over the other teams. Additionally, if Forgiven is still in form, his pickup will be huge for them, but it is a high risk for a pretty low chance of reward. Dreams is a player that I have found to be mediocre and unimpressive, but perhaps being paired with Forgiven will allow him to shine more. My biggest issue with the team is, similarly to Excel, the jungle position. Gilius has shown fairly high highs and significantly low lows. If we get peak Vitality Gilius, then I feel more confident in granting Schalke playoffs positioning, but if he flops, then I don’t expect the team to come higher than 7th. Schalke is a coinflip team that mostly depends on the performance of Forgiven.

#7: MAD LIONS

As we get lower on the list, you’ll notice these teams will be increasingly filled with rookies, which makes it more and more difficult to predict where they will place. I personally put Mad Lions over the other rookie-filled teams because of two reasons. One, I think Humanoid is the best individual player on any of these rookie rosters, and his presence in the mid lane should be able to lift the ceiling for his teammates. Additionally, Carzzy is one of the few rookies that I know enough about to consider promising. His performance in the academy scene gives me confidence that he can compete with the best ADs in the region, and I think he will quickly become a staple in the league. Ultimately, the loss of Splyce created a lot of opportunity for other European teams to snatch up their talent, and I don’t think the sole return of Humanoid is enough to even approach the level of success the Splyce squad had - but I think in comparison to the other rookie squads, it has a higher ceiling for success.

#8: SK GAMING

SK has a lot of promising rookie talent on its roster, but I’m less impressed with its returning players. SK retained its AD and Top laner of Crownshot and Sacre, which I think both performed sufficiently but failed to really break through into the top tier of competition. Sacre has had praises sung about him by pros and fans alike, which I think gives him an edge over the lower half of the LEC competition. Additionally, losing Selfmade hurts SK a lot, although acquiring former G2 and Schalke jungler Trick band-aids this hole somewhat, I don’t think Trick has as high of a ceiling as Selfmade did. On the other hand, I’ve seen and heard a lot of good things about SK’s returning mid laner, Jenax. If he’s as good as the rumors suggest, perhaps he will be able to help carry SK to a lower seeded playoffs position. He looked solid last split, but insider opinion suggests he can perform at even higher levels, which I would be eager to see. I haven’t heard much hype about their rookie support LIMIT, but his high placement in EU masters gives me hope that he will be able to compete against other European bot lanes, especially being paired with Crownshot, who I think has a lot of potential. As with all rookie squads, as we saw with Rogue last year, this team has the ability to contend for a playoffs position, but they lack the confident veterans that many other teams have.

#9: TEAM VITALITY

Similarly to MAD, Vitality has the benefit of retaining Cabochard from last year, which gives them a rock in the top lane who is almost guaranteed to perform. However, I don’t think that top lane is as influential as mid lane, so MAD gets the upper hand there. Additionally, keeping Jactroll is a penultimate failure and I think is a main factor holding Vitality back from a playoffs position. Somewhere along the line he lost his way that allowed Vitality to go to worlds as second seed two years ago, but his play last year was absolutely atrocious, and he had some of the worst stats for a support in the league. I don’t know enough about Vitality’s rookies to make confident statements on them. Although I’ve heard good things about their rookie ADC Comp, I don’t have as much faith in these rookies as much as I do other teams, and I think failing to get an upgrade or rookie support hurts this roster big time.

#10: MISFITS GAMING

Misfits as an organization has been on a downward velocity ever since their series against SKT in the 2017 world championship. This team gave European fans a glimmer of their chance against the Korean giants that teams like G2 and Fnatic would soon realize. However, since then, a series of unfortunate roster acquisitions wrecked this team. In 2019, they built what should have been a superteam, and likely cost them a lot of money, and it was an absolute trainwreck. Despite being filled with historically great players, the team just didn’t mesh, and failed to achieve anything. In light of this, Misfits is taking an alternate approach and fielding a few rookies. However, their decision to retain Febiven and pick up Bvoy perplexes me. Febiven was one of the worst looking players on the failed 2019 squad, but perhaps with a change of environment we can see him succeed as much as he did on Fnatic and Clutch. Bvoy, on the other hand, has struggled a lot since leaving Young Miracles in China and hasn’t found success since. Maybe Misfits still sees potential in him, but from an outsider perspective this is a head scratcher. Additionally, the pickup of Razork and Denyk from Giants in the mid and support positions respectively is a bit of a coinflip. On one hand, they have past synergy, but on another, they weren’t even the best team in Spain’s amateur scene, so it could fail horribly. I do think that promoting Dan Dan from Misfits Premier to the starting roster is a good and safe move, but it’s not enough for me to see this team placing any higher than 9th unless several teams completely collapse.

–

Well, that just about wraps up what I have to say about these teams before the season starts. Feel free to send me pms or asks with any questions or statements about these rankings! I’m more than open to criticism, conversation, or clarification. Keep an eye out for my LCS power rankings tomorrow, and expect more content on LCS and LEC players, champions, meta, strategies, and more as the season starts up!

#lol #esports #leagueoflegends #league of legends #predictions #power rankings #rankings #LEC #europe #virtuoso #2020

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imhereforbvcky · 6 years

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Make Me Believe - Part 2

Sophomore Year: A Lesson in Flirting Too Far

Masterlist - Series Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 3

Summary: College AU - Bucky continues to pretend you’re his girlfriend at the oddest times, pushing the limits of your friendship. (Tropes abound! college AND fake dating au. I’m a mess.)

Warnings: Drinking and silliness

Word Count: 1970

Author’s Note: Oh my god this is so late in getting an update. Wow! I was very stuck with it for a while but I’m moving on it now! Thank you for being patient with me. Hopefully I don’t ruin it.

“You’re fidgeting again,” you complained, lifting your eyes to Bucky in a sharp glare.

Beneath your legs, his feet bounced, jostling you and your textbook with them. He sat on your couch facing the TV as he played some first person shooter video game of war and aliens. You sat sideways, your legs draped over his with your book on your lap and your notes in hand, a pen between your teeth.

“I’m bored,” he grumbled, dropping the controller unceremoniously beside him. “I can’t beat this damn Infinity War game.”

“I warned you that I need to study today,” you let your eyes drift back to your notes, swapping a pen for a highlighter. “I have an Organic Chemistry exam on Monday.”

Bucky had known this when he came over; but hadn’t cared. You routinely spent hours doing next to nothing together. Sometimes it was relaxing or fun; sometimes it was like this.

Over the last year you’d developed an odd sort of friendship that you couldn’t quite define. Your roommate often teased you by referring to him as your boyfriend. You knew he wasn’t that. But still he chose to sit with you curled up on the couch when he could be playing beach volleyball with his friends. And you chose to smile at his constant interruptions rather than go to the library with your study group.

“You need a break, it’s been hours,” he squeezed your shin.

“Yes, Bucky. That’s how studying works. Time and concentration.”

“I’ve got an idea.”

You eyed him warily, protesting as he snatched your books from your lap and snapped them shut.

“Bucky,” you whined as he reached for the stack of board games beside the TV. “I definitely don’t have time for a game. I really have to study.” The precariously balanced tower nearly toppled as he jerked a game free.

“This is studying,” he smirked. A crooked grin lit up his face; the one you still hadn’t figured out how to deny even now, a year and a half after he’d stolen your place in line at the coffee shop.

You sighed, defenseless while he cleared your papers and books away from the coffee table. Relenting, you closed your laptop and set it on the ground, too.

He unfolded the Scrabble board and shook the letters in the bag. “Alright, if you spell an Organic Chem word, you get a double word score. If you spell it and define it, you get a triple.”

“This isn’t going to be easy,” you laughed. “They’re not exactly short words.”

He only shrugged. “It’ll be a challenge. Help you remember.”

“Help me remember words I already know!”

“Unless I know them,” he smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye as he moved to make the first play. 6 tiles. Ketone.

You rolled your eyes. It was a good start. It would be a better start if Bucky knew anything about chemistry. But he was a mechanical engineer; he hadn’t touched a chemistry book in years other than to shove yours out of his way.

Your eyes locked on his grimacing face as he concentrated, searching for a definition. The smug grin on yours was too frustrating for him to cede defeat. Bucky always loved that smile when you were playing beer pong together, taunting someone else. But turned on him, it was an uncomfortable mix of infuriating and enticing.

“Time’s up!” you smacked the table after 30 seconds. “Do I get to steal?”

“Fine,” he grumbled climbing back to his feet and heading to the kitchen, “But if you get it wrong, you take a drink.”

“And who’s going to fact-check me? You?” you scoffed. “You didn’t know it in the first place.”

He returned with a bottle of cheap tequila and two shot glasses. “I’m trusting you to be honorable. This is your grade on the line. We’re studying.”

“With tequila and board games?” you snorted.

“Y’know what? You’re taking one with me for questioning my methods,” he snapped, pouring each glass slightly over half full.

With a laugh and the soft clatter of glass and sloshing liquor the game began.

An hour and a half later, the game had progressed down to the last handful of tiles. Bucky had held his own, but you suspected he was peeking at your textbook. There was no way in hell he remembered that much of a field of study that wasn’t his own.

You’d answered way more definitions, and stolen his. In total, you probably had spelled more on-topic words, but he saw the board better. He played to win and laid pricey tiles on triple letters with double words like helix which you argued - unsuccessfully - was more biology than chemistry.

His damn engineering brain just had better spatial reasoning and he kept up despite your stronger subject knowledge.

Now, with only the tiles on your trays left to play, every turn was critical. Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek as he eyed the board. You watched him carefully. Taking in the sharp angle of his cheekbone as he thought, the concentrated pull of his lips. You knew that look. He had a word, and he had a place to play it.

You on the other hand, were totally screwed. You had nothing. Four mediocre letters including a freaking Y. A seven-point bomb waiting for Bucky to end the game and explode in your face. If you didn’t play it this turn he’d end the game and you’d lose. You could see it in his face.

You had nothing unless... you could convince him that compounds in nomenclature counted. Which they should, damn it. If you had to memorize all those prefixes, you should get something for them. Such as the sweet taste of victory over Bucky Barnes.

Biting your lip, and looking up at him with a grin and a dark shine in your eyes, you began placing tiles.

He caught the look and laughed. “What are you up to,” there was a playful trepidation in his voice as he watched you. His eyes were locked on your face, on that grin, on the laughter in your eyes, not on the word.

“Ethyl!” you shouted and sat back against the couch. You crossed your arms over your chest and lifted your chin in triumph. “Double word, for being on topic, that’s twenty-two points, and the game, I do believe.”

“Hold on,” he argued, “That is not a word! That’s a couple of prefixes mashed together.”

“What do you think words are?” you scoffed, pouring his loser’s drink. He immediately pushed it back to you.

“No, no. That’s an abbreviation, practically an acronym. Those don’t count.”

“That is not the same!” you snapped, leaning over the table, the heat rising as your competitive nature took hold. You knew it had been a risky move but now you were invested. Commitment won board games as much as skill. “Stop being a Scrabble-baby and accept defeat.”

“I haven’t been defeated!” he laughed, leaning forward to meet your intensity. “And don’t call me a Scrabble-baby, when it’s you being a Scrabble-brat! Trying to steam-roll your way to a false victory.” He rolled his eyes with a broad smug smile as he spoke. “You haven’t even defined it!”

“I don’t have to!” you scoffed, “I win with just the double points.”

“Okay, this was supposed to be a fun way to study,” he laughed again, which really set your blood on fire. How could such a soft sound be so distracting? You knew you were being irrational, getting way too worked up. But he’d been plying you with alcohol and feeding your competitive spirit in a way only Bucky could. “Tell me the definition and I’ll give you the win.”

You glared at him for a moment. That wasn’t what you were expecting and you knew the answer, you did. But just now, it was the furthest thing from your mind and you couldn’t call it back. You sat staring, grappling and nothing came of it. It was so rudimentary, so obvious but you had absolutely nothing.

“Oh my god,” he chuckled, “You can’t remember.”

“I’m going to murder you,” you laughed. “And then when I never get my degree, and disappoint my family and never become a doctor, it’ll be because I’m in prison for manslaughter.”

“Only manslaughter?” he laughed.

“Yes! Because it’ll be understandable. No jury will convict me of actual murder. You’re too annoying.”

“What’s going on here?” Natasha asked, as she came out of her room. Fighting with a knee-high boot, she plopped down on the couch beside where you sat on the floor pouting.

“Y/N’s about to lose,” Bucky grinned, eyes glittering blue heat. His gaze never left your face as you shook your head. That stare started something knotting in your stomach and burning hot in your veins, whether from competitive irritation or something more, you couldn’t say.

“Bucky’s being a Scrabble-bitch,” you frowned with great exaggeration.

“A what?” he laughed. That rich, full laugh that always set you off too as he threw his head back. “Okay, we’re done. You have been studying all day and it’s turned you into a cute but very wound up little demoness.”

Natasha looked down at you, quirking an eyebrow. You rolled your eyes at her. You could practically read her mind; hear her snappy remarks in your own head about your not-boyfriend describing you as “cute” and sitting with you all day to help you study.

“Well I’m going to Tony’s tonight, if you want to go out,” she said over her shoulder as she rose from the couch and grabbed her keys.

“Yes we do!” Bucky volunteered before you managed to get a word out. “This one needs to blow off some steam,” he explained, nodding toward your slouching form, still slouched on the floor leaning against the sofa.

You’d already picked up your textbook again. With a sharp roll of your eyes you made absolutely no move to get up. “This one just wasted 2 hours playing games and needs to study.”

“That was studying!” he argued. Before you could protest again, he hooked his arms under yours and dragged you abruptly to your feet. You swallowed hard as you stumbled into him, your hands steadying yourself on his chest as his dropped to your waist to steady you.

For a moment his gaze darted across your face, lingering on your lips where a soft surprised gasp had escaped as you looked up at him.

The moment passed as quickly as it had come on when he turned you out of his hold and toward your hallway. “We’re going. Get dressed.”

If you had a snappy retort locked away at some point, it was gone now. It had dissolved in the few moments Bucky had held onto you, and withered to dust in the way he’d looked at you. It may have been brief but you knew Bucky, you cared too much about him to miss it. So you made your way to your room in a daze, thinking, always overthinking.

Meanwhile a few steps away, Bucky sighed, pushing a hand through his hair, doing the same.

Natasha stared at him with narrowed eyes and a raised eyebrow.

“What?” he barked.

“You two are playing with fire.”

He rolled his eyes and sat back on the couch as she slipped out the door for the party.

Bucky knew how to pick up girls, and he knew how to make friends. He had no idea how to make his friend into his girl. So instead he shook his head, trying to rid himself of the feeling as he reached down for the shot of tequila you’d refused to take. Maybe the sting of alcohol would wash away this frustration too.

Next Chapter >>

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fluff #college au #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #make me believe 2 #mmb 2 #fake dating au

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khalifaalsuwaid1 · 7 years

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Drag Race Winners Ranked

I should start out by stating two things:

1) This is not a “least favorite to favorite” list. If it were, these would be in a completely different order. I’m ranking the queens based on their runs on the seasons they won in, the queens they were up against, and their overall C.U.N.T.

2) These are my opinions, and mine only. If you disagree, fantastic! People have different opinions, it’s what makes us human.

Edit: Updated with our Season 10 winner, Aquaria!

13) Trixie Mattel

Trixie isn’t a bad or mediocre queen by any means, despite undoubtedly being the most undeserving Drag Race winner as of yet. If it weren’t for All Stars 3′s (one of the most disappointing, soulless Drag Race seasons, but that’s another post entirely) ridiculously flawed jury twist, where previously eliminated queens decide the top two All Stars, and BenDeLaCreme eliminating herself, she wouldn’t have won. Her performance on All Stars 3 was mediocre in the first half of the season, but she turned it out in the second half. There were, however, other queens that did much better than her throughout the season, and were solid all the way through. I think Trixie’s great, but her win felt extremely anticlimactic, and it wasn’t really her fault.

12) Sasha Velour

“Four challenge wins, four challenge wins..

Then the finale comes and the crowned queen is?…”

Sasha is a great queen. She’s intellectual, artsy, unique, annoyingly endearing with her history lessons that pop out of seemingly nowhere, and her run on Season 9 was relatively great, landing in the bottom once and never having to lip sync for her life. She’s winner material through and through. Why is she this low on the list, you might ask? Two words: Shea Couleé.

Let’s be honest, Season 9 was Shea’s season. She won four challenges, a record which she shared with two queens at the time, Sharon Needles and Alaska Thunderfuck (AS2), both of whom won their respective seasons. Even the editors weren’t expecting Sasha to win, since Shea was very clearly getting the winner’s edit. Season 9 felt like Season 8 most of the way through in terms of how obvious the winner was. “There’s no way in hell Shea isn’t winning this” the majority of people thought. Then it happened. In one of the most iconic moments in the show’s history, rose petals came flooding out of Sasha’s wig during her lip sync against Shea, and it all came crashing down.

“It’s not right but it’s okay” was the perfect final lip sync song, indeed.

11) Violet Chachki

This is where things get tough, because from here on out, I genuinely believe every single winner deserved the title of “America’s Next Drag Superstar.”

Oh, Season 7. Such a great cast wasted on a stupid amount of acting challenges. It’s a shame Violet never got the chance to REALLY shine during the non-runway parts of the season, because she’s a fantastic queen. Interestingly, her best moment came from an episode of Season 8, not 7. At the end of Season 8′s crowning episode, she came out wearing what is, in my humble opinion, the best thing to walk down a runway in the entirety of the series, stealing the three finalists of Season 8′s thunder.

She might not have always been at the top during the challenges in her season, and she can come off a bit rude, but when it came to the runway, she never under-delivered. Being up against, in the words of Trixie Mattel, “a partially sedated twink from Brooklyn” might have helped her win the crown, though. Ginger Minj was stiff competition, but in the end, Violet prevailed. Thank God she did, because she gave us one of the most iconic moments of Season 8, one which I’m obviously still not over.

10) Tyra Sanchez

Let’s get this out of the way: No, Raven was not robbed.

Look, Tyra can be mean-spirited, hateful and rude. Tyra on Season 2 was, in all honesty, a bitch. But you know what? She fucking deserved the crown. Her reasoning behind being a bitch was that she was focused on winning the season, and while I’m not sure if that’s true or not, she definitely slayed the game. Tyra delivered in almost every single episode of her season, and has her fair share of iconic moments (”DIS GROOB IS FOR MAH GIRLS” remains one of my favorite Drag Race moments ever!) She unfortunately gets a lot of unwarranted hate from “fans” of the show for “robbing” Raven of her crown and being a bitch.

Being nice is great and all, but Tyra showed us that you don’t have to be Miss Congeniality to be America’s Next Drag Superstar.

Unfortunately, Tyra has lost her way recently. It’s extremely unfortunate, because she’s extremely beautiful and talented.

9) Chad Michaels

I’m going to try my best not to reference The Hunger Games during this section.

If there’s one thing the Drag Race fanbase can universally agree on, it’s that All Stars 1 is objectively the worst season of Drag Race ever, because of its oh-my-god-this-is-so-stupid-who-thought-this-was-a-good-idea teams twist. This is why Chad’s win is usually swept under the rug in the community, but in all honesty, I’m just glad Chad won something.

During Chad’s run on Season 4, he showed us how a professional drag queen acts, dresses and talks. If it weren’t for Sharon Needles, Chad would have probably won the season. There’s really not much else to say other than Chad was a really polished queen that deserved to win something, even it was the worst season of a great show.

8) Bebe Zahara Benet

Dubbed “The Lost Season,” Season 1 of Drag Race is kind of a mess. The best kind, of course. The budget was paper thin, they had that awful vaseline filter throughout the whole thing, and nobody knew what they were doing. Not Ru, not the producers and definitely not the contestants. In a way, Season 2 was actually the first season of Drag Race, whereas Season 1 felt like an elaborate pitch. There was no “Snatch Game,” a challenge that would become a staple in the series, for example.

However, Season 1 has something later seasons lack in a major way: genuineness. The contestants of Season 1 didn’t really come in with catchphrases prepared, or cared how “fans” would harass them on social media. They were a bunch of men in wigs having fun. One of those contestants, Bebe, really stood out. Born in Cameroon, as she likes to remind us (she really, really likes to remind us) she had and still has a sense of presence none of the other contestants on the show have. When she walks on stage, you really feel like a Queen is walking down the runway. To this day, she is the sole queen that gives off those vibes.

She is sadly always forgotten, despite having a stellar run on Season 1 and being the OG winner. Thankfully, All Star 3, where she had another great run, put her back on the radar. May she never be forgotten again. Cameroooon!

7) Aquaria

In all of my years watching Drag Race, I’ve never done a complete 180 on a Ru Girl as hard and fast as I did on Aquaria. Rewatching her “Meet the Queens” video, I still have no idea why she presented herself the way she did. Going into the Season, I saw Aquaria as a bratty look Queen that was extremely full of herself, and to be quite honest, the first few episodes didn’t change my viewpoint.

As the season went on, however, she started to show her true self. Aquaria went from a brat to a sweet, awkwardly endearing dork, and I loved every single microsecond of it.

I’ve failed to mention her runway looks, which were nothing short of excellent. Every time she walked out on the runway, all you saw was polish from head to toe. Her Mermaid, Hats Incredible and Evil Twin looks are absolutely breathtaking. Her performance in the challenges was just as good. If you had told me Aquaria would win Snatch Game at the beginning of the Season, I would have laughed in your face. But she did. Week after week, she defied expectations and was always full of surprises.

She didn’t deserve the crown, the crown was deserved by her. It truly is the dawning of the Age of Aquaria.

6) Bob the Drag Queen

I’m paraphrasing, but Thorgy Thor, a contestant on Season 8 of Drag Race, said something along the lines of knowing she wasn’t going to win when she saw Bob walk into the werkroom for the first time in an interview.

Season 8, perhaps more than any season of Drag Race, had the most predictable winner, and yet, nobody was really mad about it. The reason being is that Bob deserved every single fake jewel on that crown. Season 8 had a fantastic cast, but Bob was so much better than the rest of them, it bordered on being unfair. You could sense that the moment he walked into the werkroom.

Fashion and Makeup is where Bob usually faltered, but more than made up for it by being absolutely hilarious in acting challenges, killing Snatch Game, and all around just being a good sport.

There’s this thing about Bob that other winners lack but I can’t quite put my finger on it. He feels…”Real,” I guess? I don’t really know how to put it into words, but whenever Bob talks, he exudes friendliness, whereas most of the other winners have an “aura” around them. It makes him very, very special.

5) Jinkx Monsoon

Everyone loves a good underdog story!

For the first half of her season, Jinkx mostly flew under the radar, despite constantly doing great in challenges. The other queens started realizing that she was a threat around halfway point of the season, when it was a little too late to be able to do something about it.

Because of this, Rolaskatox, a clique created by Roxxxy Andrews, Alaska Thunderfuck, and Detox Icunt, started going ham on Jinkx, bullying and hating on her every time she did as much as draw a breath. It felt very similar to Season 3′s “Heathers vs. Boogers,” except this time, “Boogers” was made up of one person. Seeing Jinkx take them down one by one felt fantastic and oh, so satisfying.

Jinkx, out of all the winners, is probably the nicest and most innocent one. She’s kind and completely unbothered by any kind of drama whatsoever. She marches to the sound of her own drum, and it’s honestly so refreshing.

4) Raja Gemini

Raja gets major props for winning hands-down, the most difficult season of Drag Race yet. Queens frequently say that Drag Race is the “Olympics of Drag,” and rightfully so (Yara Sofia wouldn’t have broken down during a lip sync if it weren’t. Season 3 in particular was pretty bad.) But other than that, Raja served some of the most creative and iconic looks to ever grace the runway. Her Marie Antoinette and Native American looks, I imagine, are engraved in everyone’s minds because of how beautiful they were. Her drag is extremely different than everyone else, especially than the ones that were on her season.

She also gets props for beating Manila Luzon, who is undoubtedly the most talented runner-up in the show’s herstory.

To this day, Raja still delivers some of the most gag-worthy looks to come out of Ru girls, and managed to stay relevant by being the co-host of “Fashion Photo Ruview,” a show where she and Season 2′s Raven Toot and Boot looks from episodes of Drag Race.

3) Sharon Needles

When Sharon walked down the post-apocalypse runway dressed up as a half zombie, half mummy thing, with blood pouring out of her mouth, she made an impact on the entirety of drag. Up until that point, drag, especially on Drag Race, hadn’t gone there.

This is why Sharon is celebrated, because she showed everyone that drag wasn’t just about looking fishy, pretty or anything of the sort. Drag can be spooky, disgusting and horrifying. I don’t believe Sharon invented this kind of drag, but she certainly brought it to the forefront. I honestly believe that Dragula, another drag competition, would not exist had Sharon not won Season 4.

She was also a part of one of the best Drag Race storylines, if not the best: Sharon vs Phi Phi. No matter how hard the show tries, it just can’t replicate the legendary rivalry between those two girls. Sharon obviously prevailed at the end, but it was a story for the ages.

2) Alaska Thunderfuck 5000

I’m going to say something a bit controversial here: Alaska isn’t really one of my favorite queens. She comes off as a bit of a perfectionist, something I personally despise. Why is she this high on the list, then?

As I stated at the beginning, this isn’t a “least favorite to favorite” list. It’s a list based on queens’ strength, and I struggle to find someone as unapologetically talented as Alaska.

She is, in my opinion, the most well-rounded queen in the show’s herstory. She can act, sing, lipsync, serve looks, read…I could go on. She’s the epitome of “Jack-of-all-trades, master of all.” She absolutely swept the floor during All Stars 2. Yes, it might’ve been rigged for her, but even if it weren’t, she’d still easily sweep the floor and win.

She’s also a Drag Race superfan, and will probably get any sort of reference you throw at her.

1) Bianca Del Rio

Pretendstobeshocked.gif

I mean, was there really any other choice? We’ve reached a point where I personally believe we’re never getting a winner as good as Bianca, and a season as good as Season 6 of Drag Race, and I’m at peace with that.

Bianca is the living embodiment of C.U.N.T. She’s charismatic as all hell, unique and unlike any other queen, can and will read a bitch whenever she gets the chance to, and she’s out-of-this-world talented.

She sailed through her season, never landing in the bottom 3. Just like Bob, everyone knew Bianca was going to win the moment she walked in, but nobody cared because it just felt right.

It felt right.

#rupaul's drag race #rupauls all stars #trixie mattel #sasha velour #violet chachki #tyra sanchez #bebe #chad micheals #bob the drag queen #jinkx monsoon #Raja #sharon needles #alaska thvnderfvck #bianca del rio #Aquaria #Drag Race #Season 10 #Rupaul

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buzzworddotie · 6 years

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Snatched my Heart RDPR S10E07

Snatch Game!!!

Yes it is time for everyone's favourite episode right up until Season 10 happened! I've been sick all week and haven't had the energy to even think about writing.

Until now! I consume a lot of Drag Race related media from podcasts like Alright Mary, the subreddit, you get the gist. But by far the best thing you can watch alongside the main show and Untucked is Miz Cracker's Review with a Jew.

It doesn't matter that she is not a Drag Race rockstar right now in terms of performance but Miz Cracker is great and Review with a Jew is the perfect peak behind the curtain. And her episode for Snatch Game has made me enjoy the episode a little bit more.

Firstly though I was glad she confirmed this wasn't a good Snatch Game. I totally agreed.

To start the show the library is open. The reading challenge was so heavily edited, Monet got the biggest raction in the room for that Cracker read and then Ru announced Eureka's win as if it was just totally obvious. Felt weird.

Anyway, on with the show... Bianca Del Rio enters the work room and pretends she doesn't know anyone already. She is also made out like this Snatch Game hero, the best in the game. Which she wasn't. Her Judy was fine but Ben was better... Twice!!! But I'd imagine De La was not willing to come back, again.

Pearl was funnier for Christ's sake!!

But there we are.

Eureka pretends Devine was an option before being "convinced" she should do Honey Boo Boo.

Monet is going to make Chi Chi look really bad with her Maya Angelou.

Kameron Diaz is doing Blac China the wrastler.

Monique Heart never redeems herself as Maxine Waters.

Cracker is doing Dorothy Parker. (?) Interesting to note she reveals in Review that she had some nuts republican character to do but was advised not to given what a racist scumbag the women apparently is. I get the show doesn't really want to go there, probably for a ton of reasons, but I do think Cracker would have made that funny...er.

Asia can't do Whitney without a drug reference. Lies and fallacies America. She could have figured that one out, come on... So she chooses Beyonce instead?! Seriously?! Have you not watched Drag Race.

And The Vixen is Blue Ivy. Leave the Knowles alone girls. The Knowles/Carters are not Snatch Game ready.

Finally, Aquaria is Melania Trump. Not going to lie, I kind of loved this. Plus her acceptance of being a bit awkward with speaking to people, flubbing over her sentences was adorable, sweet and totally relatable.

Snatch Game

So Snatch Game just seemed so low energy to me, you had Eureka giving it socks the whole way through, Monet had just great moment after great moment. I don't care if the soliloquy was pre written, they were great.

I thought Aquaria captures Melania perfectly, her jokes worked, the Michelle Obama name card, the China comeback, she was spot on even her facial expressions were so good.

But beyond these three things took a dive.

Cracker disappeared for me and Chyna did too. This is where Review with a Jew shines a whole new light on Snatch Game. It's 2 HOURS LONG!! It takes them two whole hours to film it! According to Cracker they were warned to make it good or Ru would be pissed, they had a ton of awkward moments, it was really hard and sounded like a nightmare. And what we saw of these two was their best! Which wasn't that bad but pretty mediocre.

Asia and The Vixen's bit totally flopped. Aggressive Beyonce is not the Bey I want to see! I get it, she was trying to do this behind the scenes Beyonce but it was horrible! Plus if you're doing Bey don't over think it, just go act like some kind of robotic stepford wife or something, play off the demeanour we see, exaggerate it, cartoonify it, whatever. It always works best when it's clearly a parody. But Beyonce is one star who never lets you see her get mad or see her flip out. Beyonce is composed and sooo self aware. There is a joke there but Asia didn't come close.

The Vixen had an idea with Blue Ivy, I get there was an idea there but it wasn't fully formulated and it just didn't work.

Monique broke apparently twice, we got to see it once when she laughed at Ru. She had no jokes. Nothing. And it was shit because Monique is a funny Queen.

But it was two hours of filming... Ouch.

Mermaids...

The Queen's served Mermaids on the runway. Run run runway.

Cracker and Kameron made sense being safe and both were cute on stage. Monet, Aquaria and Eureka were tops. Aquaria's look was stunning though and I wasn't mad she won.

Asia, The Vixen and Monique were bottom. I think Asia should have been bottom two. There, i said it. And I'll say this, that fucking fish head thing, I hated it!! I loved her concept and idea in the voice over. She didn't tell Michelle that which was weird but I got it, I liked it.

But the look was not cute.

I hated The Vixens outfit and I hated that Monique was in the bottom. But mostly I hate that she didn't know the words.

And America, the Heart of the competition is outta here.

Let's Untuck this

On the main stage the Queen's were asked who should go home and it went down really well, didn't stir any shit and everyone was best friends after.

No wait, everyone except Eureka said The Vixen, The Vixen said Eureka, Eureka came for The Vixen's opinion and then they all had to disappear off stage.

In Review with a Jew, Cracker reveals her and Kameron were back stage for ages and then she does this great bit taking the piss out her obvious plug for Object furniture.

When the rest of the gang arrives The Vixen is wounded. She comes for every girl who picked her getting a bit nastier everytime right up to telling Monique she was the least prepared there. She also looks for back up on her opinions on Eureka but never gets it.

Now in her review Cracker explains how, I think Monique said at some live watch that Eureka had been told by the judges earlier to not rely on fat jokes and something else... Can't remember, also can't remember if we were shown that... But anyway she hints at this being a frustration of The Vixen that Eureka never changed like the judges asked and is skating by on it.

But that doesn't make The Vixens outburst Ok. But she has been goaded by Eureka as well, we saw it, I do believe The Vixen when she said Eureka is annoying.

Regardless of all that, The Vixen was clearly feeling hurt, she broke down when she saw her mother which was so beautiful to see, very sad.

Monique's exit was very sad, such a great character for the show, I really feel like she would have been missed in the work room. I hope she gets lots of opportunities from this gig because she really deserves it.

And that was Snatch Game. Can't recommend catching Review with a Jew from Miz Cracker enough, YouTube that shit... Until next time

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pessimisticpleasure · 7 years

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I was rooting for you All Stars 3! We were all rooting for you!

All Stars 3 done fucked up drag (again).

I said last year that the formula of contestants eliminating each other simply doesn’t work on Drag Race. Unless you go full on Survivor with reality TV wherein it is established from the beginning that likeable people cannot win on personality alone and manipulation and strategic alliances are what are rewarded in the game you cannot suddenly switch. Drag Race for the most part is a show which rewards hard work, charm, and track record and the reason the fans detest the queens eliminating other queens formula is because after a number of seasons where that was consistent suddenly it isn’t anymore. I’m all for a change but a shows basic premise and rules should show consistency and after the shambles that was the eliminations last year it’s baffling that they would try to stick to it instead of holding their hands up and saying ‘fine, that didn’t work, we hear you’. Once again, a year later, this stupid idea has ruined yet another season.

I’m actually not mad that Trixie won because while I’m not a big fan of hers I definitely saw a fight in her (*cough*which Alaska didn’t have*cough*) and clearly since her season her confidence has skyrocketed. What pisses me off is that Shangela deserved to come second AT LEAST - despite her already prevalent career she works hard, she is incredibly likeable, and she had an excellent record - which by the way is what everyone harped on that they were judging by all season. I really don’t blame Kennedy before anyone comes for me, I view her almost like Roxxxy last season in that it’s not her fault she was there and of course she was going to fight for her place.

The thing that irritates me most is that Rupaul was visibly shocked by their decision indicating that is not what would have happened if he was judging but it’s his fucking show! Surely, theoretically, Rupaul could intervene and say ‘sorry, you’ve negated your decision making powers by making a dumb decision’. In the end, it is Rupaul and the producers of the show who this ‘twist’ is reflecting badly on and Rupaul should be careful because a reality show about drag is a very niche market and if you turn the fans who have been loyal for years off with what they view as consistently poor decisions, it is Rupaul’s career which could take a hit, not the contestants.

I’d like to really stress that I do not blame the queens for voting who they did - it’s a difficult decision to put on people who are understandably bitter that it isn’t them or just wanted to be a contestant not to decide the fates of others and they don’t deserve hate for doing what they were told to do. It’s a bad formula which should have been tanked after it was badly recieved in the last All Stars not taken to an even more polarising extreme.

The decision I’m arguably more annoyed about than the finale was Aja. When she was announced as a contestant, I raised my eyebrows because she had, to my mind, not been away enough time to blossom into what she needed to be. I had her pegged as either a first or second week elimination. Holy fuck, was I wrong, because Aja blew me away, mostly with what felt like a great attitude and really funny confessional pieces (even if she was dressed like a toddler sorry not sorry). When she was first eliminated I kind of understood (although personally I hated Bebe’s outfit and thought she should have been in the bottom but whatever) but it was her not being brought back after slaying the girl band challenge which really annoyed me because she did better than that weeks top two and she would have been a great addition to the final weeks. Surely allowing the girls to bring someone back is even more ridiculous than allowing them to eliminate each other because they’ll either do what DeLa did and bring someone back simply because they feel guilty or they’d bring back someone who they saw as weak competition so they can beat them quickly.

Honestly, even without the elimination drama, this season felt really lacklustre. From when they announced the queens I wasn’t excited by the lineup and without naming names there were a couple I really disliked in the bunch (but they were eliminated second and third so who cares). Also importantly, we just had an All Stars. Time needs to be longer between them so you can ensure the best people get on it and this really felt like the people they would have called if the ones from last year hadn’t been able to make it and that showed in the quality (the politics of why they needed to do another one because of the network has been explained to me but I still think it’s stupid). I think a good way to judge a season can be by the Snatch Game and I can’t remember who anyone played (apart from Trixie, eesh). I also can’t remember any runways, or lip sync songs, or being blown away by anyone in a challenge. Drag Race tends to have the good moments stick out but this season looking back I can only see the bad which really speaks to the overall mediocre quality.

I was also really confused by Bebe’s presence on the show. In theory, having the winner of the ‘lost season’ should have been great and made the other queens kind of step up to meet her level but Bebe to my mind kind of coasted through on being glamorous and not as bad in challenges as other people and somehow achieved a really good track record despite seeming kind of like a filler. I think the fact that she hadn’t watched Drag Race since leaving was a huge disadvantage to her because she was clearly unfamiliar with what the show had grown into and what the fans might want to see from her and I really don’t think she’s succeeded with endearing herself to a whole new generation of fans. I love that people thought she was a mole the whole way through (as if they have the foresight to spearhead a conspiracy like that) and then were just like ‘oh no she was just a bit shit’.

Lastly I feel the need to address DeLa. Her self-elimination was probably the moment of the season I was the most shocked by - and disappointed. She didn’t actually leave a huge impression on me in season 6 mostly because that was such a high quality group that individual merits were sometimes lost (I regularly forget that she won the first challenge that season) but I do remember Maggie Smith (best All Stars performance ever, fight me) and also that Darienne should have gone home before her. However I really liked her this season although I will say occasionally she was in the top to my mind without deserving to be there - the week she self-eliminated I thought she was good but not great and her place really should have been Trixie’s. Would she have won if she stayed? With the judging panel and the fact that track record seemed to matter a lot less than it usually does, who knows, maybe the next season of Buzzfeed Unsolved can investigate for us. Does it negate the winner because she could have - no because it seems on the stupid side of saintly. Does it kind of taint the season that the frontrunner bowed out without finishing? Definitely yes.

All Stars badly needs a break now and attention should be focused back onto the original show to ensure that is of high quality and produces some new stars who could theoretically be on an All Stars in the future. I’ve really enjoyed the past two seasons of the show because a) compared to season seven anything is good and b) because both shocked me with their fourth place queens. Chi Chi and Trinity were amazing and the areas which both of them excelled in shocked me and that sort of outsider snatching the competition is something that All Stars will never be able to deliver because we know the queens so I’m hoping to see that again in season 10 starting next week. I also find it a lot more exciting to get the know fresh queens and see what they can give because they are the ones trying to build a solid fanbase and a really great, worldwide career for themselves whereas All Stars for the most part have that already and it’s about just getting more.

I swear if I’m here next year talking about this again it may actually kill me...

#RuPaul's Drag Race #all stars 3 #rupaul's drag race all stars 3 #drag race #rupaul #trixie mattel #shangela #kennedy davenport #bebe zahara benet #morgan mcmichaels #ben delacreme #aja #milk #thorgy #chi chi devayne #same shit different year

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shihlun · 7 years

Text

Chris Marker - Sans Soleil / Sunless

The first image he told me about was of three children on a road in Iceland, in 1965. He said that for him it was the image of happiness and also that he had tried several times to link it to other images, but it never worked. He wrote me: one day I'll have to put it all alone at the beginning of a film with a long piece of black leader; if they don't see happiness in the picture, at least they'll see the black.

He wrote: I'm just back from Hokkaido, the Northern Island. Rich and hurried Japanese take the plane, others take the ferry: waiting, immobility, snatches of sleep. Curiously all of that makes me think of a past or future war: night trains, air raids, fallout shelters, small fragments of war enshrined in everyday life. He liked the fragility of those moments suspended in time. Those memories whose only function had been to leave behind nothing but memories. He wrote: I've been round the world several times and now only banality still interests me. On this trip I've tracked it with the relentlessness of a bounty hunter. At dawn we'll be in Tokyo.

He used to write me from Africa. He contrasted African time to European time, and also to Asian time. He said that in the 19th century mankind had come to terms with space, and that the great question of the 20th was the coexistence of different concepts of time. By the way, did you know that there are emus in the Île de France?

He wrote me that in the Bijagós Islands it's the young girls who choose their fiancées.

He wrote me that in the suburbs of Tokyo there is a temple consecrated to cats. I wish I could convey to you the simplicity—the lack of affectation—of this couple who had come to place an inscribed wooden slat in the cat cemetery so their cat Tora would be protected. No she wasn't dead, only run away. But on the day of her death no one would know how to pray for her, how to intercede with death so that he would call her by her right name. So they had to come there, both of them, under the rain, to perform the rite that would repair the web of time where it had been broken.

He wrote me: I will have spent my life trying to understand the function of remembering, which is not the opposite of forgetting, but rather its lining. We do not remember, we rewrite memory much as history is rewritten. How can one remember thirst?

He didn't like to dwell on poverty, but in everything he wanted to show there were also the 4-Fs of the Japanese model. A world full of bums, of lumpens, of outcasts, of Koreans. Too broke to afford drugs, they'd get drunk on beer, on fermented milk. This morning in Namidabashi, twenty minutes from the glories of the center city, a character took his revenge on society by directing traffic at the crossroads. Luxury for them would be one of those large bottles of sake that are poured over tombs on the day of the dead.

I paid for a round in a bar in Namidabashi. It's the kind of place that allows people to stare at each other with equality; the threshold below which every man is as good as any other—and knows it.

He told me about the Jetty on Fogo, in theCape Verde islands. How long have they been there waiting for the boat, patient as pebbles but ready to jump? They are a people of wanderers, of navigators, of world travelers. They fashioned themselves through cross-breeding here on these rocks that the Portuguese used as a marshaling yard for their colonies. A people of nothing, a people of emptiness, a vertical people. Frankly, have you ever heard of anything stupider than to say to people as they teach in film schools, not to look at the camera?

He used to write to me: the Sahel is not only what is shown of it when it is too late; it's a land that drought seeps into like water into a leaking boat. The animals resurrected for the time of a carnival in Bissau will be petrified again, as soon as a new attack has changed the savannah into a desert. This is a state of survival that the rich countries have forgotten, with one exception—you win—Japan. My constant comings and goings are not a search for contrasts; they are a journey to the two extreme poles of survival.

He spoke to me of Sei Shonagon, a lady in waiting to Princess Sadako at the beginning of the 11th century, in the Heian period. Do we ever know where history is really made? Rulers ruled and used complicated strategies to fight one another. Real power was in the hands of a family of hereditary regents; the emperor's court had become nothing more than a place of intrigues and intellectual games. But by learning to draw a sort of melancholy comfort from the contemplation of the tiniest things this small group of idlers left a mark on Japanese sensibility much deeper than the mediocre thundering of the politicians. Shonagon had a passion for lists: the list of 'elegant things,' 'distressing things,' or even of 'things not worth doing.' One day she got the idea of drawing up a list of 'things that quicken the heart.' Not a bad criterion I realize when I'm filming; I bow to the economic miracle, but what I want to show you are the neighborhood celebrations.

He wrote me: coming back through the Chiba coast I thought of Shonagon's list, of all those signs one has only to name to quicken the heart, just name. To us, a sun is not quite a sun unless it's radiant, and a spring not quite a spring unless it is limpid. Here to place adjectives would be so rude as leaving price tags on purchases. Japanese poetry never modifies. There is a way of saying boat, rock, mist, frog, crow, hail, heron, chrysanthemum, that includes them all. Newspapers have been filled recently with the story of a man from Nagoya. The woman he loved died last year and he drowned himself in work—Japanese style—like a madman. It seems he even made an important discovery in electronics. And then in the month of May he killed himself. They say he could not stand hearing the word 'Spring.'

He described me his reunion with Tokyo: like a cat who has come home from vacation in his basket immediately starts to inspect familiar places. He ran off to see if everything was where it should be: the Ginza owl, the Shimbashi locomotive, the temple of the fox at the top of the Mitsukoshi department store, which he found invaded by little girls and rock singers. He was told that it was now little girls who made and unmade stars; the producers shuddered before them. He was told that a disfigured woman took off her mask in front of passers-by and scratched them if they did not find her beautiful. Everything interested him. He who didn't give a damn if the Dodgers won the pennant or about the results of the Daily Double asked feverishly how Chiyonofuji had done in the last sumo tournament. He asked for news of the imperial family, of the crown prince, of the oldest mobster in Tokyo who appears regularly on television to teach goodness to children. These simple joys he had never felt: of returning to a country, a house, a family home. But twelve million anonymous inhabitants could supply him with them.

He wrote: Tokyo is a city crisscrossed by trains, tied together with electric wire she shows her veins. They say that television makes her people illiterate; as for me, I've never seen so many people reading in the streets. Perhaps they read only in the street, or perhaps they just pretend to read—these yellow men. I make my appointments at Kinokuniya, the big bookshop in Shinjuku. The graphic genius that allowed the Japanese to invent CinemaScope ten centuries before the movies compensates a little for the sad fate of the comic strip heroines, victims of heartless story writers and of castrating censorship. Sometimes they escape, and you find them again on the walls. The entire city is a comic strip; it's Planet Manga. How can one fail to recognize the statuary that goes from plasticized baroque to Stalin central? And the giant faces with eyes that weigh down on the comic book readers, pictures bigger than people, voyeurizing the voyeurs.

At nightfall the megalopolis breaks down into villages, with its country cemeteries in the shadow of banks, with its stations and temples. Each district of Tokyo once again becomes a tidy ingenuous little town, nestling amongst the skyscrapers.

The small bar in Shinjuku reminded him of that Indian flute whose sound can only be heard by whomever is playing it. He might have cried out if it was in aGodard film or a Shakespeare play, “Where should this music be?”

Later he told me he had eaten at the restaurant in Nishi-nippori where Mr. Yamada practices the difficult art of 'action cooking.' He said that by watching carefully Mr. Yamada's gestures and his way of mixing the ingredients one could meditate usefully on certain fundamental concepts common to painting, philosophy, and karate. He claimed that Mr. Yamada possessed in his humble way the essence of style, and consequently that it was up to him to use his invisible brush to write upon this first day in Tokyo the words 'the end.'

I've spent the day in front of my TV set—that memory box. I was inNara with the sacred deers. I was taking a picture without knowing that in the 15th century Basho had written: “The willow sees the heron's image... upside down.”

The commercial becomes a kind of haiku to the eye, used to Western atrocities in this field; not understanding obviously adds to the pleasure. For one slightly hallucinatory moment I had the impression that I spoke Japanese, but it was a cultural program onNHK about Gérard de Nerval.

8:40, Cambodia. From Jean Jacques Rousseau to the Khmer Rouge: coincidence, or the sense of history?

In Apocalypse Now, Brando said a few definitive and incommunicable sentences: “Horror has a face and a name... you must make a friend of horror.” To cast out the horror that has a name and a face you must give it another name and another face. Japanese horror movies have the cunning beauty of certain corpses. Sometimes one is stunned by so much cruelty. One seeks its sources in the Asian peoples long familiarity with suffering, that requires that even pain be ornate. And then comes the reward: the monsters are laid out, Natsume Masako arises; absolute beauty also has a name and a face.

But the more you watch Japanese television... the more you feel it's watching you. Even television newscast bears witness to the fact that the magical function of the eye is at the center of all things. It's election time: the winning candidates black out the empty eye of Daruma—the spirit of luck—while losing candidates—sad but dignified—carry off their one-eyed Daruma.

The images most difficult to figure out are those of Europe. I watched the pictures of a film whose soundtrack will be added later. It took me six months for Poland.

Meanwhile, I have no difficulty with local earthquakes. But I must say that last night's quake helped me greatly to grasp a problem.

Poetry is born of insecurity: wandering Jews, quaking Japanese; by living on a rug that jesting nature is ever ready to pull out from under them they've got into the habit of moving about in a world of appearances: fragile, fleeting, revocable, of trains that fly from planet to planet, of samurai fighting in an immutable past. That's called 'the impermanence of things.'

I did it all. All the way to the evening shows for adults—so called. The same hypocrisy as in the comic strips, but it's a coded hypocrisy. Censorship is not the mutilation of the show, it is the show. The code is the message. It points to the absolute by hiding it. That's what religions have always done.

That year, a new face appeared among the great ones that blazon the streets of Tokyo: the Pope's. Treasures that had never left the Vatican were shown on the seventh floor of the Sogo department store.

He wrote me: curiosity of course, and the glimmer of industrial espionage in the eye—I imagine them bringing out within two years time a more efficient and less expensive version of Catholicism—but there's also the fascination associated with the sacred, even when it's someone else's.

So when will the third floor of Macy's harbor an exhibition of Japanese sacred signs such as can be seen at Josen-kai on the island of Hokkaido? At first one smiles at this place which combines a museum, a chapel, and a sex shop. As always in Japan, one admires the fact that the walls between the realms are so thin that one can in the same breath contemplate a statue, buy an inflatable doll, and give the goddess of fertility the small offering that always accompanies her displays. Displays whose frankness would make the stratagems of the television incomprehensible, if it did not at the same time say that a sex is visible only on condition of being severed from a body.

One would like to believe in a world before the fall: inaccessible to the complications of a Puritanism whose phony shadow has been imposed on it by American occupation. Where people who gather laughing around the votive fountain, the woman who touches it with a friendly gesture, share in the same cosmic innocence.

The second part of the museum—with its couples of stuffed animals—would then be the earthly paradise as we have always dreamed it. Not so sure... animal innocence may be a trick for getting around censorship, but perhaps also the mirror of an impossible reconciliation. And even without original sin this earthly paradise may be a paradise lost. In the glossy splendour of the gentle animals of Josen-kai I read the fundamental rift of Japanese society, the rift that separates men from women. In life it seems to show itself in two ways only: violent slaughter, or a discreet melancholy—resembling Sei Shonagon's—which the Japanese express in a single untranslatable word. So this bringing down of man to the level of the beasts—against which the fathers of the church invade—becomes here the challenge of the beasts to the poignancy of things, to a melancholy whose color I can give you by copying a few lines from Samura Koichi: “Who said that time heals all wounds? It would be better to say that time heals everything except wounds. With time, the hurt of separation loses its real limits. With time, the desired body will soon disappear, and if the desiring body has already ceased to exist for the other, then what remains is a wound... disembodied.”

He wrote me that the Japanese secret—what Lévi-Strauss had called the poignancy of things—implied the faculty of communion with things, of entering into them, of being them for a moment. It was normal that in their turn they should be like us: perishable and immortal.

He wrote me: animism is a familiar notion in Africa, it is less often applied in Japan. What then shall we call this diffuse belief, according to which every fragment of creation has its invisible counterpart? When they build a factory or a skyscraper, they begin with a ceremony to appease the god who owns the land. There is a ceremony for brushes, for abacuses, and even for rusty needles. There's one on the 25th of September for the repose of the soul of broken dolls. The dolls are piled up in the temple of Kiyomitsu consecrated to Kannon—the goddess of compassion—and are burned in public.

I look to the participants. I think the people who saw off the kamikaze pilots had the same look on their faces.

He wrote me that the pictures of Guinea-Bissau ought to be accompanied by music from the Cape Verde islands. That would be our contribution to the unity dreamed of by Amilcar Cabral.

Why should so small a country—and one so poor—interest the world? They did what they could, they freed themselves, they chased out the Portuguese. They traumatized the Portuguese army to such an extent that it gave rise to a movement that overthrew the dictatorship, and led one for a moment to believe in a new revolution in Europe.

Who remembers all that? History throws its empty bottles out the window.

This morning I was on the dock at Pidjiguity, where everything began in 1959, when the first victims of the struggle were killed. It may be as difficult to recognize Africa in this leaden fog as it is to recognize struggle in the rather dull activity of tropical longshoremen.

Rumor has it that every third world leader coined the same phrase the morning after independence: “Now the real problems start.”

Cabral never got a chance to say it: he was assassinated first. But the problems started, and went on, and are still going on. Rather unexciting problems for revolutionary romanticism: to work, to produce, to distribute, to overcome postwar exhaustion, temptations of power and privilege.

Ah well... after all, history only tastes bitter to those who expected it to be sugar coated.

My personal problem is more specific: how to film the ladies of Bissau? Apparently, the magical function of the eye was working against me there. It was in the marketplaces of Bissau and Cape Verde that I could stare at them again with equality: I see her, she saw me, she knows that I see her, she drops me her glance, but just at an angle where it is still possible to act as though it was not addressed to me, and at the end the real glance, straightforward, that lasted a twenty-fourth of a second, the length of a film frame.

All women have a built-in grain of indestructibility. And men's task has always been to make them realize it as late as possible. African men are just as good at this task as others. But after a close look at African women I wouldn't necessarily bet on the men.

He told me the story of the dog Hachiko. A dog waited every day for his master at the station. The master died, and the dog didn't know it, and he continued to wait all his life. People were moved and brought him food. After his death a statue was erected in his honor, in front of which sushi and rice cakes are still placed so that the faithful soul of Hachiko will never go hungry.

Tokyo is full of these tiny legends, and of mediating animals. The Mitsukoshi lion stands guard on the frontiers of what was once the empire of Mr. Okada—a great collector of French paintings, the man who hired the Château of Versailles to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of his department stores.

In the computer section I've seen young Japanese exercising their brain muscles like the young Athenians at the Palaistra. They have a war to win. The history books of the future will perhaps place the battle of integrated circuits at the same level as Salamis and Agincourt, but willing to honor the unfortunate adversary by leaving other fields to him: men's fashions this season are placed under the sign of John Kennedy.

Like an old votive turtle stationed in the corner of a field, every day he saw Mr. Akao—the president of the Japanese Patriotic Party—trumpeting from the heights of his rolling balcony against the international communist plot. He wrote me: the automobiles of the extreme right with their flags and megaphones are part of Tokyo's landscape—Mr. Akao is their focal point. I think he'll have his statue like the dog Hachiko, at this crossroads from which he departs only to go and prophesy on the battlefields. He was at Narita in the sixties. Peasants fighting against the building of an airport on their land, and Mr. Akao denouncing the hand of Moscow behind everything that moved.

Yurakucho is the political space of Tokyo. Once upon a time I saw bonzes pray for peace in Vietnam there. Today young right-wing activists protest against the annexation of the Northern Islands by the Russians. Sometimes they are answered that the commercial relations of Japan with the abominable occupier of the North are a thousand times better than with the American ally who is always whining about economic aggression. Ah, nothing is simple.

On the other sidewalk the Left has the floor. The Korean Catholic opposition leader Kim Dae Jung—kidnapped in Tokyo in '73 by the South Korean gestapo—is threatened with the death sentence. A group has begun a hunger strike. Some very young militants are trying to gather signatures in his support.

I went back to Narita for the birthday of one of the victims of the struggle. The demo was unreal. I had the impression of acting in Brigadoon, of waking up ten years later in the midst of the same players, with the same blue lobsters of police, the same helmeted adolescents, the same banners and the same slogan: “Down with the airport.” Only one thing has been added: the airport precisely. But with its single runway and the barbed wire that chokes it, it looks more besieged than victorious.

My pal Hayao Yamaneko has found a solution: if the images of the present don't change, then change the images of the past.

He showed me the clashes of the sixties treated by his synthesizer: pictures that are less deceptive he says—with the conviction of a fanatic—than those you see on television. At least they proclaim themselves to be what they are: images, not the portable and compact form of an already inaccessible reality. Hayao calls his machine's world the 'zone,' an homage to Tarkovsky.

What Narita brought back to me, like a shattered hologram, was an intact fragment of the generation of the sixties. If to love without illusions is still to love, I can say that I loved it. It was a generation that often exasperated me, for I didn't share its utopia of uniting in a common struggle those who revolt against poverty and those who revolt against wealth. But it screamed out that gut reaction that better adjusted voices no longer knew how, or no longer dared to utter.

I met peasants there who had come to know themselves through the struggle. Concretely it had failed. At the same time, all they had won in their understanding of the world could have been won only through the struggle.

As for the students, some massacred each other in the mountains in the name of revolutionary purity, while others had studied capitalism so thoroughly to fight it that they now provide it with its best executives. Like everywhere else the movement had its postures and its careerists, including, and there are some, those who made a career of martyrdom. But it carried with it all those who said, like Ché Guevara, that they “trembled with indignation every time an injustice is committed in the world.” They wanted to give a political meaning to their generosity, and their generosity has outlasted their politics. That's why I will never allow it to be said that youth is wasted on the young.

The youth who get together every weekend at Shinjuku obviously know that they are not on a launching pad toward real life; but they are life, to be eaten on the spot like fresh doughnuts.

It's a very simple secret. The old try to hide it, and not all the young know it. The ten-year-old girl who threw her friend from the thirteenth floor of a building after having tied her hands, because she'd spoken badly of their class team, hadn't discovered it yet. Parents who demand an increase in the number of special telephone lines devoted to the prevention of children's suicides find out a little late that they have kept it all too well. Rock is an international language for spreading the secret. Another is peculiar to Tokyo.

For the takenoko, twenty is the age of retirement. They are baby Martians. I go to see them dance every Sunday in the park at Yoyogi. They want people to look at them, but they don't seem to notice that people do. They live in a parallel time sphere: a kind of invisible aquarium wall separates them from the crowd they attract, and I can spend a whole afternoon contemplating the little takenoko girl who is learning—no doubt for the first time—the customs of her planet.

Beyond that, they wear dog tags, they obey a whistle, the Mafia rackets them, and with the exception of a single group made up of girls, it's always a boy who commands.

One day he writes to me: description of a dream. More and more my dreams find their settings in the department stores of Tokyo, the subterranean tunnels that extend them and run parallel to the city. A face appears, disappears... a trace is found, is lost. All the folklore of dreams is so much in its place that the next day when I am awake I realize that I continue to seek in the basement labyrinth the presence concealed the night before. I begin to wonder if those dreams are really mine, or if they are part of a totality, of a gigantic collective dream of which the entire city may be the projection. It might suffice to pick up any one of the telephones that are lying around to hear a familiar voice, or the beating of a heart, Sei Shonagon's for example.

All the galleries lead to stations; the same companies own the stores and the railroads that bear their name. Keio, Odakyu—all those names of ports. The train inhabited by sleeping people puts together all the fragments of dreams, makes a single film of them—the ultimate film. The tickets from the automatic dispenser grant admission to the show.

He told me about the January light on the station stairways. He told me that this city ought to be deciphered like a musical score; one could get lost in the great orchestral masses and the accumulation of details. And that created the cheapest image of Tokyo: overcrowded, megalomaniac, inhuman. He thought he saw more subtle cycles there: rhythms, clusters of faces caught sight of in passing—as different and precise as groups of instruments. Sometimes the musical comparison coincided with plain reality; the Sony stairway in the Ginza was itself an instrument, each step a note. All of it fit together like the voices of a somewhat complicated fugue, but it was enough to take hold of one of them and hang on to it.

The television screens for example; all by themselves they created an itinerary that sometimes wound up in unexpected curves. It was sumo season, and the fans who came to watch the fights in the very chic showrooms on the Ginza were the poorest of the Tokyo poors. So poor that they didn't even have a TV set. He saw them come, the dead souls of Namida-bashi he had drunk saké with one sunny dawn—how many seasons ago was that now?

He wrote me: even in the stalls where they sell electronic spare parts—that some hipsters use for jewelry—there is in the score that is Tokyo a particular staff, whose rarity in Europe condemns me to a real acoustic exile. I mean the music of video games. They are fitted into tables. You can drink, you can lunch, and go on playing. They open onto the street. By listening to them you can play from memory.

I saw these games born in Japan. I later met up with them again all over the world, but one detail was different. At the beginning the game was familiar: a kind of anti-ecological beating where the idea was to kill off—as soon as they showed the white of their eyes—creatures that were either prairie dogs or baby seals, I can't be sure which. Now here's the Japanese variation. Instead of the critters, there's some vaguely human heads identified by a label: at the top the chairman of the board, in front of him the vice president and the directors, in the front row the section heads and the personnel manager. The guy I filmed—who was smashing up the hierarchy with an enviable energy—confided in me that for him the game was not at all allegorical, that he was thinking very precisely of his superiors. No doubt that's why the puppet representing the personnel manager has been clubbed so often and so hard that it's out of commission, and why it had to be replaced again by a baby seal.

Hayao Yamaneko invents video games with his machine. To please me he puts in my best beloved animals: the cat and the owl. He claims that electronic texture is the only one that can deal with sentiment, memory, and imagination. Mizoguchi's Arsène Lupin for example, or the no less imaginary burakumin. How one claim to show a category of Japanese who do not exist? Yes they're there; I saw them in Osaka hiring themselves out by the day, sleeping on the ground. Ever since the middle ages they've been doomed to grubby and back-breaking jobs. But since the Meiji era, officially nothing sets them apart, and their real name—eta—is a taboo word, not to be pronounced. They are non-persons. How can they be shown, except as non-images?

Video games are the first stage in a plan for machines to help the human race, the only plan that offers a future for intelligence. For the moment, the inseparable philosophy of our time is contained in the Pac-Man. I didn't know when I was sacrificing all my hundred yen coins to him that he was going to conquer the world. Perhaps because he is the most perfect graphic metaphor of man's fate. He puts into true perspective the balance of power between the individual and the environment. And he tells us soberly that though there may be honor in carrying out the greatest number of victorious attacks, it always comes a cropper.

He was pleased that the same chrysanthemums appeared in funerals for men and for animals. He described to me the ceremony held at the zoo in Ueno in memory of animals that had died during the year. For two years in a row this day of mourning has had a pall cast over it by the death of a panda, more irreparable—according to the newspapers—than the death of the prime minister that took place at the same time. Last year people really cried. Now they seem to be getting used to it, accepting that each year death takes a panda as dragons do young girls in fairy tales.

I've heard this sentence: “The partition that separates life from death does not appear so thick to us as it does to a Westerner.” What I have read most often in the eyes of people about to die is surprise. What I read right now in the eyes of Japanese children is curiosity, as if they were trying—in order to understand the death of an animal—to stare through the partition.

I have returned from a country where death is not a partition to cross through but a road to follow. The great ancestor of the Bijagós archipelago has described for us the itinerary of the dead and how they move from island to island according to a rigorous protocol until they come to the last beach where they wait for the ship that will take them to the other world. If by accident one should meet them, it is above all imperative not to recognize them.

The Bijagós is a part of Guinea Bissau. In an old film clip Amilcar Cabral waves a gesture of good-bye to the shore; he's right, he'll never see it again. Luis Cabral made the same gesture fifteen years later on the canoe that was bringing us back.

Guinea has by that time become a nation and Luis is its president. All those who remember the war remember him. He's the half-brother of Amilcar, born as he was of mixed Guinean and Cape Verdean blood, and like him a founding member of an unusual party, the PAIGC, which by uniting the two colonized countries in a single movement of struggle wishes to be the forerunner of a federation of the two states.

I have listened to the stories of former guerrilla fighters, who had fought in conditions so inhuman that they pitied the Portuguese soldiers for having to bear what they themselves suffered. That I heard. And many more things that make one ashamed for having used lightly—even if inadvertently—the word guerrilla to describe a certain breed of film-making. A word that at the time was linked to many theoretical debates and also to bloody defeats on the ground.

Amilcar Cabral was the only one to lead a victorious guerrilla war, and not only in terms of military conquests. He knew his people, he had studied them for a long time, and he wanted every liberated region to be also the precursor of a different kind of society.

The socialist countries send weapons to arm the fighters. The social democracies fill the People's Stores. May the extreme left forgive history but if the guerrillas are like fish in water it's a bit thanks to Sweden.

Amilcar was not afraid of ambiguities—he knew the traps. He wrote: “It's as though we were at the edge of a great river full of waves and storms, with people who are trying to cross it and drown, but they have no other way out, they must get to the other side.”

And now, the scene moves to Cassaque: the seventeenth of February, 1980. But to understand it properly one must move forward in time. In a year Luis Cabral the president will be in prison, and the weeping man he has just decorated, major Nino, will have taken power. The party will have split, Guineans and Cape Verdeans separated one from the other will be fighting over Amilcar's legacy. We will learn that behind this ceremony of promotions which in the eyes of visitors perpetuated the brotherhood of the struggle, there lay a pit of post-victory bitterness, and that Nino's tears did not express an ex-warrior's emotion, but the wounded pride of a hero who felt he had not been raised high enough above the others.

And beneath each of these faces a memory. And in place of what we were told had been forged into a collective memory, a thousand memories of men who parade their personal laceration in the great wound of history.

In Portugal—raised up in its turn by the breaking wave of Bissau—Miguel Torga, who had struggled all his life against the dictatorship wrote: “Every protagonist represents only himself; in place of a change in the social setting he seeks simply in the revolutionary act the sublimation of his own image.”

That's the way the breakers recede. And so predictably that one has to believe in a kind of amnesia of the future that history distributes through mercy or calculation to those whom it recruits: Amilcar murdered by members of his own party, the liberated areas fallen under the yoke of bloody petty tyrants liquidated in their turn by a central power to whose stability everyone paid homage until the military coup.

That's how history advances, plugging its memory as one plugs one's ears. Luis exiled to Cuba, Nino discovering in his turn plots woven against him, can be cited reciprocally to appear before the bar of history. She doesn't care, she understands nothing, she has only one friend, the one Brando spoke of in Apocalypse: horror. That has a name and a face.

I'm writing you all this from another world, a world of appearances. In a way the two worlds communicate with each other. Memory is to one what history is to the other: an impossibility.

Legends are born out of the need to decipher the indecipherable. Memories must make do with their delirium, with their drift. A moment stopped would burn like a frame of film blocked before the furnace of the projector. Madness protects, as fever does.

I envy Hayao in his 'zone,' he plays with the signs of his memory. He pins them down and decorates them like insects that would have flown beyond time, and which he could contemplate from a point outside of time: the only eternity we have left. I look at his machines. I think of a world where each memory could create its own legend.

He wrote me that only one film had been capable of portraying impossible memory—insane memory: Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo. In the spiral of the titles he saw time covering a field ever wider as it moved away, a cyclone whose present moment contains motionless the eye.

In San Francisco he had made his pilgrimage to all the film's locations: the florist Podesta Baldocchi, where James Stewart spies on Kim Novak—he the hunter, she the prey. Or was it the other way around? The tiles hadn't changed.

He had driven up and down the hills of San Francisco where Jimmy Stewart, Scotty, follows Kim Novak, Madeline. It seems to be a question of trailing, of enigma, of murder, but in truth it's a question of power and freedom, of melancholy and dazzlement, so carefully coded within the spiral that you could miss it, and not discover immediately that this vertigo of space in reality stands for the vertigo of time.

He had followed all the trails. Even to the cemetery at Mission Dolores where Madeline came to pray at the grave of a woman long since dead, whom she should not have known. He followed Madeline—as Scotty had done—to the Museum at the Legion of Honor, before the portrait of a dead woman she should not have known. And on the portrait, as in Madeline's hair, the spiral of time.

The small Victorian hotel where Madeline disappeared had disappeared itself; concrete had replaced it, at the corner of Eddy and Gough. On the other hand the sequoia cut was still in Muir Woods. On it Madeline traced the short distance between two of those concentric lines that measured the age of the tree and said, “Here I was born... and here I died.”

He remembered another film in which this passage was quoted. The sequoia was the one in the Jardin des plantes in Paris, and the hand pointed to a place outside the tree, outside of time.

The painted horse at San Juan Bautista, his eye that looked like Madeline's: Hitchcock had invented nothing, it was all there. He had run under the arches of the promenade in the mission as Madeline had run towards her death. Or was it hers?

From this fake tower—the only thing that Hitchcock had added—he imagined Scotty as time's fool of love, finding it impossible to live with memory without falsifying it. Inventing a double for Madeline in another dimension of time, a zone that would belong only to him and from which he could decipher the indecipherable story that had begun at Golden Gate when he had pulled Madeline out of San Francisco Bay, when he had saved her from death before casting her back to death. Or was it the other way around?

In San Francisco I made the pilgrimage of a film I had seen nineteen times. In Iceland I laid the first stone of an imaginary film. That summer I had met three children on a road and a volcano had come out of the sea. The American astronauts came to train before flying off to the moon, in this corner of Earth that resembles it. I saw it immediately as a setting for science fiction: the landscape of another planet. Or rather no, let it be the landscape of our own planet for someone who comes from elsewhere, from very far away. I imagine him moving slowly, heavily, about the volcanic soil that sticks to the soles. All of a sudden he stumbles, and the next step it's a year later. He's walking on a small path near the Dutch border along a sea bird sanctuary.

That's for a start. Now why this cut in time, this connection of memories? That's just it, he can't understand. He hasn't come from another planet he comes from our future, four thousand and one: the time when the human brain has reached the era of full employment. Everything works to perfection, all that we allow to slumber, including memory. Logical consequence: total recall is memory anesthetized. After so many stories of men who had lost their memory, here is the story of one who has lost forgetting, and who—through some peculiarity of his nature—instead of drawing pride from the fact and scorning mankind of the past and its shadows, turned to it first with curiosity and then with compassion. In the world he comes from, to call forth a vision, to be moved by a portrait, to tremble at the sound of music, can only be signs of a long and painful pre-history. He wants to understand. He feels these infirmities of time like an injustice, and he reacts to that injustice like Ché Guevara, like the youth of the sixties, with indignation. He is a Third Worlder of time. The idea that unhappiness had existed in his planet's past is as unbearable to him as to them the existence of poverty in their present.

Naturally he'll fail. The unhappiness he discovers is as inaccessible to him as the poverty of a poor country is unimaginable to the children of a rich one. He has chosen to give up his privileges, but he can do nothing about the privilege that has allowed him to choose. His only recourse is precisely that which threw him into this absurd quest: a song cycle by Mussorgsky. They are still sung in the fortieth century. Their meaning has been lost. But it was then that for the first time he perceived the presence of that thing he didn't understand which had something to do with unhappiness and memory, and towards which slowly, heavily, he began to walk.

Of course I'll never make that film. Nonetheless I'm collecting the sets, inventing the twists, putting in my favorite creatures. I've even given it a title, indeed the title of those Mussorgsky songs: Sunless.

On May 15, 1945, at seven o'clock in the morning, the three hundred and eighty second US infantry regiment attacked a hill in Okinawa they had renamed 'Dick Hill.' I suppose the Americans themselves believed that they were conquering Japanese soil, and that they knew nothing about the Ryukyu civilization. Neither did I, apart from the fact that the faces of the market ladies at Itoman spoke to me more of Gauguin than of Utamaro. For centuries of dreamy vassalage time had not moved in the archipelago. Then came the break. Is it a property of islands to make their women into the guardians of their memory?

I learned that—as in the Bijagós—it is through the women that magic knowledge is transmitted. Each community has its priestess—the noro—who presides over all ceremonies with the exception of funerals.

The Japanese defended their position inch by inch. At the end of the day the two half platoons formed from the remnants of L Company had got only halfway up the hill, a hill like the one where I followed a group of villagers on their way to the purification ceremony.

The noro communicates with the gods of the sea, of rain, of the earth, of fire. Everyone bows down before the sister deity who is the reflection, in the absolute, of a privileged relationship between brother and sister. Even after her death, the sister retains her spiritual predominance.

At dawn the Americans withdrew. Fighting went on for over a month before the island surrendered, and toppled into the modern world. Twenty-seven years of American occupation, the re-establishment of a controversial Japanese sovereignty: two miles from the bowling alleys and the gas stations the noro continues her dialogue with the gods. When she is gone the dialogue will end. Brothers will no longer know that their dead sister is watching over them. When filming this ceremony I knew I was present at the end of something. Magical cultures that disappear leave traces to those who succeed them. This one will leave none; the break in history has been too violent.

I touched that break at the summit of the hill, as I had touched it at the edge of the ditch where two hundred girls had used grenades to commit suicide in 1945 rather than fall alive into the hands of the Americans. People have their pictures taken in front of the ditch. Across from it souvenir lighters are sold shaped like grenades.

On Hayao's machine war resembles letters being burned, shredded in a frame of fire. The code name for Pearl Harbor was Tora, Tora, Tora, the name of the cat the couple in Gotokuji was praying for. So all of this will have begun with the name of a cat pronounced three times.

Off Okinawa kamikaze dived on the American fleet; they would become a legend. They were likelier material for it obviously than the special units who exposed their prisoners to the bitter frost of Manchuria and then to hot water so as to see how fast flesh separates from the bone.

One would have to read their last letters to learn that the kamikaze weren't all volunteers, nor were they all swashbuckling samurai. Before drinking his last cup of saké Ryoji Uebara had written: “I have always thought that Japan must live free in order to live eternally. It may seem idiotic to say that today, under a totalitarian regime. We kamikaze pilots are machines, we have nothing to say, except to beg our compatriots to make Japan the great country of our dreams. In the plane I am a machine, a bit of magnetized metal that will plaster itself against an aircraft carrier. But once on the ground I am a human being with feelings and passions. Please excuse these disorganized thoughts. I'm leaving you a rather melancholy picture, but in the depths of my heart I am happy. I have spoken frankly, forgive me.”

Every time he came from Africa he stopped at the island of Sal, which is in fact a salt rock in the middle of the Atlantic. At the end of the island, beyond the village of Santa Maria and its cemetery with the painted tombs, it suffices to walk straight ahead to meet the desert.

He wrote me: I've understood the visions. Suddenly you're in the desert the way you are in the night; whatever is not desert no longer exists. You don't want to believe the images that crop up.

Did I write you that there are emus in the Ile de France? This name—Island of France—sounds strangely on the island of Sal. My memory superimposes two towers: the one at the ruined castle of Montpilloy that served as an encampment for Joan of Arc, and the lighthouse tower at the southern tip of Sal, probably one of the last lighthouses to use oil.

A lighthouse in the Sahel looks like a collage until you see the ocean at the edge of the sand and salt. Crews of transcontinental planes are rotated on Sal. Their club brings to this frontier of nothingness a small touch of the seaside resort which makes the rest still more unreal. They feed the stray dogs that live on the beach.

I found my dogs pretty nervous tonight; they were playing with the sea as I had never seen them before. Listening to Radio Hong Kong later on I understood: today was the first day of the lunar new year, and for the first time in sixty years the sign of the dog met the sign of water.

Out there, eleven thousand miles away, a single shadow remains immobile in the midst of the long moving shadows that the January light throws over the ground of Tokyo: the shadow of the Asakusa bonze.

For also in Japan the year of the dog is beginning. Temples are filled with visitors who come to toss down their coins and to pray—Japanese style—a prayer which slips into life without interrupting it.

Brooding at the end of the world on my island of Sal in the company of my prancing dogs I remember that month of January in Tokyo, or rather I remember the images I filmed of the month of January in Tokyo. They have substituted themselves for my memory. They are my memory. I wonder how people remember things who don't film, don't photograph, don't tape. How has mankind managed to remember? I know: it wrote the Bible. The new Bible will be an eternal magnetic tape of a time that will have to reread itself constantly just to know it existed.

As we await the year four thousand and one and its total recall, that's what the oracles we take out of their long hexagonal boxes at new year may offer us: a little more power over that memory that runs from camp to camp—like Joan of Arc. That a short wave announcement from Hong Kong radio picked up on a Cape Verde island projects to Tokyo, and that the memory of a precise color in the street bounces back on another country, another distance, another music, endlessly.

At the end of memory's path, the ideograms of the Island of France are no less enigmatic than the kanji of Tokyo in the miraculous light of the new year. It's Indian winter, as if the air were the first element to emerge purified from the countless ceremonies by which the Japanese wash off one year to enter the next one. A full month is just enough for them to fulfill all the duties that courtesy owes to time, the most interesting unquestionably being the acquisition at the temple of Tenjin of the uso bird, who according to one tradition eats all your lies of the year to come, and according to another turns them into truths.

But what gives the street its color in January, what makes it suddenly different is the appearance of kimono. In the street, in stores, in offices, even at the stock exchange on opening day, the girls take out their fur collared winter kimono. At that moment of the year other Japanese may well invent extra flat TV sets, commit suicide with a chain saw, or capture two thirds of the world market for semiconductors. Good for them; all you see are the girls.

The fifteenth of January is coming of age day: an obligatory celebration in the life of a young Japanese woman. The city governments distribute small bags filled with gifts, datebooks, advice: how to be a good citizen, a good mother, a good wife. On that day every twenty-year-old girl can phone her family for free, no matter where in Japan. Flag, home, and country: this is the anteroom of adulthood. The world of the takenoko and of rock singers speeds away like a rocket. Speakers explain what society expects of them. How long will it take to forget the secret?

And when all the celebrations are over it remains only to pick up all the ornaments—all the accessories of the celebration—and by burning them, make a celebration.

This is dondo-yaki, a Shinto blessing of the debris that have a right to immortality—like the dolls at Ueno. The last state—before their disappearance—of the poignancy of things. Daruma—the one eyed spirit—reigns supreme at the summit of the bonfire. Abandonment must be a feast; laceration must be a feast. And the farewell to all that one has lost, broken, used, must be ennobled by a ceremony. It's Japan that could fulfill the wish of that French writer who wanted divorce to be made a sacrament.

The only baffling part of this ritual was the circle of children striking the ground with their long poles. I only got one explanation, a singular one—although for me it might take the form of a small intimate service—it was to chase away the moles.

And that's where my three children of Iceland came and grafted themselves in. I picked up the whole shot again, adding the somewhat hazy end, the frame trembling under the force of the wind beating us down on the cliff: everything I had cut in order to tidy up, and that said better than all the rest what I saw in that moment, why I held it at arms length, at zooms length, until its last twenty-fourth of a second, the city of Heimaey spread out below us. And when five years later my friend Haroun Tazieff sent me the film he had just shot in the same place I lacked only the name to learn that nature performs its own dondo-yaki; the island's volcano had awakened. I looked at those pictures, and it was as if the entire year '65 had just been covered with ashes.

So, it sufficed to wait and the planet itself staged the working of time. I saw what had been my window again. I saw emerge familiar roofs and balconies, the landmarks of the walks I took through town every day, down to the cliff where I had met the children. The cat with white socks that Haroun had been considerate enough to film for me naturally found its place. And I thought, of all the prayers to time that had studded this trip the kindest was the one spoken by the woman of Gotokuji, who said simply to her cat Tora, “Cat, wherever you are, peace be with you.”

And then in its turn the journey entered the 'zone,' and Hayao showed me my images already affected by the moss of time, freed of the lie that had prolonged the existence of those moments swallowed by the spiral.

When spring came, when every crow announced its arrival by raising his cry half a tone, I took the green train of the Yamanote line and got off at Tokyo station, near the central post office. Even if the street was empty I waited at the red light—Japanese style—so as to leave space for the spirits of the broken cars. Even if I was expecting no letter I stopped at the general delivery window, for one must honor the spirits of torn up letters, and at the airmail counter to salute the spirits of unmailed letters.

I took the measure of the unbearable vanity of the West, that has never ceased to privilege being over non-being, what is spoken to what is left unsaid. I walked alongside the little stalls of clothing dealers. I heard in the distance Mr. Akao's voice reverberating from the loudspeakers... a half tone higher.

Then I went down into the basement where my friend—the maniac—busies himself with his electronic graffiti. Finally his language touches me, because he talks to that part of us which insists on drawing profiles on prison walls. A piece of chalk to follow the contours of what is not, or is no longer, or is not yet; the handwriting each one of us will use to compose his own list of 'things that quicken the heart,' to offer, or to erase. In that moment poetry will be made by everyone, and there will be emus in the 'zone.'

He writes me from Japan. He writes me from Africa. He writes that he can now summon up the look on the face of the market lady of Praia that had lasted only the length of a film frame.

Will there be a last letter?

Comparative Cinema > No 3 (2013)

#chris marker #sunless #sans soleil #full text #script

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