#I spent literally three days trying to write the same sentence. do u want to guess which one

[the-broken-pen]

Hey hey

Could you perhaps write a snippet where the building hero is in, gets bombed? Its bombed as an assassination attempt to get them, however the people in that building die and hero, succumbed to their injuries couldn't save everyone of them. At last they watched the last ambulance left without them, even as they called for help

Villians villa is just few kilometres away

Thankfu hero's legs aren't broken

They begin walking

The problem? Vil is way to composed and prim and perfect to let all of hero's blood get on their expensive carpets and fabrics. They could even be mad at the hero for reddening their porch if they hero stood their asking for bandages. What now? And the fight the two had yesterday that ended with "never see me again" and "don't ever talk to me"s.....vil was stopping hero from attending the event the building....

Will vil help them? They can just ask for bandages and leave.

What hero doesn't know: vil would literally destroy the world for hero, and there's no way in hell are they leaving hero on their doorstep.

(Anon you were cooking with this ask, thank you!)

The hero realized the building was going to explode a split second before it did, which wasn’t enough time to do anything other than brace.

They tensed, and there was a horrible screeching of metal and brick, followed by a deafening silence that covered them more completely than the rubble did.

The hero coughed once, weakly, pain rocketing through their chest, and shoved a piece of concrete off themself.

From somewhere else in the building, a soft, terrified wail began, broken around desperate sobs.

The hero coughed again, hand rising to their ribs. They didn’t have the energy to be surprised when their fingers came back coated in blood and dust. They grimaced at it, struggling to their feet–

And oh, god. That hurt.

The hero had a surgery once, the kind that resulted in bandages and a care regime and a set of stitches, and when they had woken up in the recovery unit, it had felt sort of like this. A moment of loopy half-awareness, and then a pain that had knocked the breath out of them, hands clenching into the sheets as a nurse tried to figure out if they needed more medication. 

This was worse. Their vision swam, and they blinked it back with a hiss.

Because someone, somewhere in the wreckage, was crying. And if one person was crying, it meant there was someone who survived. Which meant it was likely there were other survivors–ones too hurt to make any noise, ones knocked unconscious, ones still too shocked to do anything other than lay there–and it was the hero’s job to find them.

It took them far too long to locate the source of the crying. Longer to dig them out, vision going white as the person slammed into the hero’s chest in some facsimile of a terrified hug.

“You’re okay,” they managed, voice like gravel. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out, and you’re going to be just fine. Were you with anyone?”

And then again, and again, and again.

The hero panted, hands on their knees as their body fought them in an attempt to just collapse onto the concrete below. They just–they just needed a minute. Just one, maybe, and then they could–

This time, the hero wasn’t even aware of it before it happened.

The remains of the building shook, then disintegrated into itself in a plume of dust and rock. The hero shielded their eyes with one hand, blinking against the onslaught.

What little air they had managed to get stuttered out of their lungs in something close to a sob. They had done this enough times to know there wasn’t anyone in that building left alive. 

They sagged down against the nearest thing–more rubble, maybe? They didn’t know–and this time when they rested a hand on their side, there was a considerably larger amount of blood.

“That’s…not great,” they said, and their fingers blurred in front of them slightly. There was an ambulance right there. Just a couple feet away. They had already helped most of the survivors, so maybe it would be okay for the hero to–

A paramedic rounded the back of the ambulance, and the hero lifted a hand, reaching–

“Please, wait, I think–I think,” it hurt coming out of their mouth, “help. Please I need–” they trailed off as the paramedic took the step up into the ambulance.

And closed the door behind them.

The hero wasn’t even that surprised when the ambulance began to drive away.

“Help,” they finished weakly, then sucked a breath in through their nose.

They were supposed to be good at this kind of thing. Surviving, no, thriving in catastrophe. A pillar of light. The one with the plan. 

The kind of being that didn’t beg for help on the ground.

The hero wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to get themselves back to standing. It was as easy as that–one moment they were on the ground, gravel embedded in their knees, and the next they were up and shaking but they were up.

“If I stay here, I’ll die,” they murmured. They had hoped maybe the threat would keep their legs from buckling again. It didn’t.

They weren’t near any place that could be trusted. There wasn’t a safe clinic for heroes on this side of the city, and even if there was, the hero wouldn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to.

But as for near…the hero swallowed the nausea as it rose in their throat. There was one place they could go. One person they could go to.

Four miles. They could do four. There was no other option.

Where the hero had had some blurry recollection, or at least, a good guess of how they got to standing, they had absolutely no clue how they made it onto the villain’s porch. They managed a blink, retching slightly as they stared at the villain’s wavering door, then had to freeze just to bite down the pain that had come from the gagging.

They tried to knock and ended up collapsing against the villain’s door, knees giving out entirely as their fingers scrabbled for purchase and left behind smeared bloody marks on the wood.

They weren’t entirely sure how that happened either, or how long it took the villain to answer the door. Just that it hurt—so, so much, it hurt so–and that they managed to shove themself back into some semblance of standing right before the villain pulled the door open.

The villain’s face did a sort of spasming thing as soon as they saw the hero, jaw dropping slightly in what the hero could only really read as shock.

There was a very considerable amount of blood on the door. They were cold.

“I–” the hero tried, but they weren’t really sure where they had been going with that sentence, and after yesterday and the screaming and the fight the villain probably didn’t want to see them at all, didn’t want to ever see their face again, so–their mind blanked. “I got blood on your door.”

They tried to gesture towards it, but that hurt, so their hand simply twitched slightly from where it hung by their side.

They glanced down at their feet, because they didn’t want to see what the villain’s face was doing, especially if what it was doing was anything resembling anger.

“Oh.” There was blood at the hero’s feet. “And on your porch, too, I guess.”

They looked up at the villain, but they were still staring at them, brow furrowed, hand clenching on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a very faint quiver of tears when they said it, and the hero knew better than to hope the villain didn’t catch it. 

Were they saying sorry for the porch or the door or yesterday–

“Holy shit,” the villain finally breathed, and it sounded like it had been punched out of them. The hero froze, panic rising in their chest.

“I’m sorry,” the hero blurted out, stammering. “I’m–I’m so sorry, I’ll go, just–could I maybe have some bandages? Just–just one, maybe, please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they said uselessly, head swimming. They couldn’t even remember what they were doing here. The villain was perfect in every sense of the word, stoic and proper and collected in a way the hero would never be; a marble statue brought to life. The idea of them letting the hero–the personification of a train wreck in motion–in to bleed all over the villain’s soft carpet and nice shoes and cause irreparable damage to their very expensive house was almost laughable. 

If they had had the breath to laugh.

More of the hero’s blood dripped onto the slats of the porch, and they stepped back. “I’m sorry–”

The villain reached for them, and the hero flinched, taking it for the dismissal it was–

The hero blinked, and it stuck for a moment too long as the world tilted, and when they pried their eyes open again the villain was staring at them with something the hero was too out of it with pain and possibly delirium to identify. Their gaze drifted back to the blood smeared on the door, and the villain’s grip tightened on the hero’s bicep–when had they grabbed the hero’s bicep?–until the hero’s gaze returned to theirs.

The villain said something, but there was a roaring that had started up in the hero’s ears. They seemed to take the uncomprehending blink the hero gave them in return for an answer anyways, and guided them down until they were both sitting on the cool wood. A tug, and the hero was resting against their own propped up knees, villain’s hand still firm on their arm.

“How much blood did you lose?”

It was like screaming underwater, the hero reasoned. Or through a mirror. But they heard it nonetheless, and that was their villain, and even in hatred and war they would always answer them.

“Was ‘supposed to be counting?” If they had any more energy–or maybe slightly more blood–in their body, the slur to their own words would have been concerning.

The villain’s lips pursed into a thin line, and the hero felt them begin to run an assessing hand over their injuries, cataloguing them, brow furrowing further with every second.

“M’sorry,” they managed, tongue thick. The villain didn’t pause.

“For what?”

“Bleeding on your door,” they managed. The villain stopped them from raising their head from their knees. “And your–porch.”

“I don’t give a shit about either of those things,” the villain said, simply, easily. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t feel the weight of it as they threw it into the air.

The villain sat back on their heels, clearly having learned what they wanted from the hero’s injuries.

When the hero didn’t immediately look at them, the villain grabbed their chin, gently turning it until the hero faced them.

“How far did you walk,” they said slowly, and the hero had never been more grateful for anything in their life.

“Four miles,” the hero said, and they couldn’t hear their own voice above the roaring, but the villain obviously could from the way their eyes darkened.

The hero wanted no part in making the villain angry again–I never want to see you again, do you hear me? If you ever try to talk to me again I will kill the both of us, I promise you that–, but when they attempted to push themselves up to leave, the only thing they managed was a piteous whine and a stab of pain so intense they forgot to breathe.

“Idiot,” the villain hissed. But oddly, the hero didn’t sense any anger coming from the villain.

They blinked–too long, again–and found themselves in the villain’s arms as they walked through the house. Their head lolled back onto the villain’s shoulder, and the villain glanced down as if–to make sure the hero was okay. That they were conscious, and breathing.

Oh.

Oh.

The villain wasn’t angry.

They were afraid. For the hero.

Which didn’t make any sense, because–

I never want to see you again–

“You’re mad at me,” the hero reasoned, and it came out half strangled and petulant. The villain looked down at them, and the hero caught the tiniest flinch in their jaw.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” the hero whispered, and the villain flinched.

“I wanted to stop this from happening.” The villain settled them onto a bathroom counter, lights flickering on as the hero leaned back against the mirror. Blood began to dry, sticky, between their fingers.

The hero’s mouth went dry, and it caught in their throat when they tried to swallow it.

“You could have just left me there.” Their voice only shook a little bit, but the villain’s head still snapped up from where they had been digging through a drawer.

“What?”

“On the porch,” the hero clarified, clearing their throat. The lump didn’t go away, and they had begun shaking at some point, and they couldn’t stop. “If you didn’t want to deal with me you could have just left me there–”

The villain’s face had darkened into something the hero almost didn’t recognize. 

“I would burn the world for you, and you think I would leave you to die on my porch?”

“You said you didn’t want this to happen.”

“No, that’s not–” the villain rubbed a hand over their brow, and the hero winced at the blood it left behind. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to keep you from going to that stupid event and getting hurt. I knew it was going to blow.”

“I would have gone anyway.”

The villain stilled. “I thought maybe if you never wanted to see me again, and you knew I was there…”

“I would,” the hero repeated. “Have gone anyway.”

The hero watched as the villain’s face rippled through a dozen emotions, settling onto something unidentifiable.

“Why?”

“Because you were there,” the hero said easily, shrugging one shoulder. Because when it came to the villain, it really was that easy. They could scream, and shout, and hold a knife to the hero’s throat, and the hero would still follow them into hell. That was their villain.

The villain looked like the hero had stabbed them, face draining of color. Their fingers went white around the edge of the counter, as if it was the only thing keeping them upright.

“What,” the villain’s voice was hoarse.

“I went because I was hoping you would be there,” the hero said honestly

“Stop,” the villain raised a hand between them, a shield, voice breaking. They sucked in a breath, then another, like they were trying to keep themself from breaking down onto the tile.

“You would have gone to the event no matter what, just to see me,” the villain said slowly, and the hero nodded

“Yes.”

“Even though I screamed at you?”

“Yes.”

“And told you I hated you.”

“Villain, please–”

“Now you know,” the villain interrupted, voice incredibly soft. “Why I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero forgot to breathe for a moment, tongue going numb in their mouth. The villain couldn’t mean–

They blinked for a moment too long, and then the villain was standing between the hero’s knees, hand on their chest.

“You love me,” the hero said a moment later.

“Ruinously,” the villain agreed.

“So you–”

“I was trying to save your life,” the villain’s hands were gentle as they began to patch up the hero’s side. “And now I’m saving your life in a new and unanticipated way. But there is nothing you could ever do to stop me from saving your life.”

The hero’s heart clenched. 

“Really?”

The villain caught their chin, eyes boring into the hero’s. They brushed a piece of hair off the side of the hero’s face.

“Really.”

The hero sighed, and the villain caught them as they slumped.

“I thought you hated me,” the hero said, and they hated how raw they sounded. The villain made a choked little noise.

“I’m so sorry.”

The hero sniffed.

“Don’t do it again.”

The villain simply hummed, and smoothed the ends of a bandage down against the hero’s abdomen. The hero could feel their hands shaking.

You scared me.

A second later, their hands settled on either side of the hero’s head, and the villain rested their face into the hero’s hair. They pressed a kiss to the hero’s temple, tension easing from their shoulders.

I’m sorry.

The hero clutched the front of the villain’s shirt between their hands, drawing them closer. The villain went willingly, loose limbed with affection and the rapid draining of terror from their system.

“I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero had never believed anyone more.

[faby-montana]

me & u

“i’ve been waiting. think i’m gonna make that move, now.”

paring: haechan x reader

summary: a collection of memories that happened between us.

warnings: 18+ for smut— (they only go to 3rd base tbh) handjobs, cumming, awkward kids (that are of legal age!)

a/n: this was supposed to be part of a series, not sure yet if I’ll make it one. let me know how you guys enjoy! (i also don’t really write smut so uh let’s see how this goes—)

recommended song: me & u

You bit your lip, your phone clasped in your hand beside you. You haven’t spoken to Donghyuck in almost a week. It was only about noon, maybe it’s too early to text him. Rolling to your side, you turn on your phone and go on snapchat, seeing if he had even been active recently. Not much to your surprise he was.

Your computer sat at the foot of your bed, a classroom tab open as you sat on your phone to pass the time. Your mother walks in, telling you that your principal was on the phone.

Shifting to sit up, you could only wonder what he wanted. After all, you haven’t been in school since the 15th and your athletic season is long over.

“Happy birthday!”

Wow. Even he remembered. You have yet to receive a happy birthday from him just yet. Once another hour passed, you wondered if now was the perfect time to send a text.

hey, are we still on for today?

Shutting off your phone instantly, you place it down as you pick up your laptop. You were scared to know the response, if he would even respond. You weren’t in the mood to get rejected on your birthday. You glance over your assignments, slowly starting to work on one to distract your hyperactive mind. Has he seen it yet? Did he ignore it? Maybe he’s busy.

The buzz of your phone makes your heart smile, focusing on your assignment you try to finish the sentence before going to see his response.

where are we going again

this ice cream place, it’s only like 10 minutes away i can meet you at your house if it’s easier

Smiling extra hard you hop out of your bed and walk over to your closet, trying to figure out the perfect outfit to wear. The two of you had confirmed plans to go after his mom goes to work around six, so you two had settled for seven. You showered, spent hours on your hair, deciding against makeup so your mom wouldn’t be too suspicious.

After eating dinner with her, you told her you’d be visiting two of your friends. You left out the part of going to see him too, but he lived down the street so if she tracked you she wouldn’t know the difference.

You hopped in your car, nervous about what might happen. You knew something might happen tonight, how far would the two of you go? You hadn’t necessarily shaved off your entire bush, god you flushed hard wondering if he’d mind. Your thoughts had you so distracted, you hadn’t even noticed you’ve been sitting outside his house for three minutes. Taking a deep breath you grabbed your purse, spraying yourself in the perfume he had bought you months ago and took a step out the car. You locked the door and took notice to the sun starting the set. You knocked on the front door, stunned to see his mom standing in front of you. She was very fond of you, so she greeted you kindly as she always did and told you she was on her way out. She wishes you a happy birthday and apologized for not getting you anything.

He jogs down the steps in a sweatshirt and his grey joggers, slipping on his black sneakers. You stood quietly by the door as he asked his mom for the keys, her telling him to be careful as he only nods in compliance. You knew he wasn’t really listening, probably already hearing that from her more than once. She says goodbye to the two of you as you walk out the door, him unlocking the door to take a seat.

You’ve never actually been inside of it before, it was a bit surreal considering you’ve stood outside of it for a very long time. You run your hand over the passenger seat that you sit on, putting on your seatbelt and laying back. It smelled good, just like him.

He tells you his mom had actually been off that day, him not knowing about it to which you only shrug. You reach for his phone, asking him if you could play a song. He unlocks his phone for you, and you clown him for using Spotify. It’s a routine almost, the two of have to tease each other.

Me & U by Cassie begins to play, him asking what was playing as you loudly sing along. The rest of the songs are ones you both enjoyed, but the first one was just to indulge you.

Once you get there, you both go inside to order and the biggest smile graces your face. You’ve been meaning to come here since October when it opened, and you finally got the chance. You already knew what you were ordering, and funny enough he orders the same. The two of you go back inside the car once the order is prepared, both of you sitting while soft music is playing. There’s not much talking, just the two of you being in each other’s presence as you watch the end of the sunset. He’s playing a game on his phone, and from time to time you glance over to annoy him.

“Hey so,” placing down the spoon in the jar, you look at him. It was now or never you figured, if you didn’t make this move now it just might never happen. “You actually like me?”

His head immediately looks up at you, raising an eyebrow. “what kind of question is that?”

You giggle, “a valid one.” You tear your gaze away, “I’m really sorry about not sending you anything..” You slightly shift towards him, “but I thought yours were cute.”

“uh huh.” He was embarrassed, you could tell that much. He also didn’t take you seriously, so you placed a hand on his knee to grab his attention. His gaze focused on it for a split second before looking at you once you started talking.

“I’ll let you take pictures of me if you want.”

He scoffs, “your lying.” Why is he acting so awkward? Was he just as scared as you were?

You leaned in a bit closer, telling him you were wearing that black bralette he liked. You could see him swallow, and before he could open his mouth again you opened the car door and went into the back seat. Taking off your top you told him to come join you.

Still flustered, he does as told and gets into the backseat. Sitting beside you, your knees touching he seems a bit clueless. You slid back a bit, “do you really want this?” You were giving him a chance to back out now. If he really wanted this he would have to make the first move.

“Yeah.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Part of the insecurity you had of him not wanting to be with you left instantly. “Do you?”

You let out a huff, “I literally have my shirt off.” His eyes cascaded downwards briefly, not wanting to stare too hard. You sat back, wanting for him to make the first move, it was silent between the two of you before he slid closer, gaining the courage to finally kiss you.

It was short, as if he was testing the waters with you. His lips were soft and sweet, damn near addictive. You were glad he was at least a good kisser, knowing his experiences probably haven’t gotten him farther than that.

Climbing onto his lap you wanted nothing more than to continue, you even wrapped your arms around the back of his neck to bring him closer. Noticing his hands hadn’t really moved, you reached down and placed one on your waist. His other hand followed suit as you put your hands back on his neck.

This. This is everything you dreamed of. You’ve never felt closer to him, happier to be with him. You hoped you conveyed that when you grinded down against his lap.

You heard him moan lowly, which only made you smile. Gliding your hand down his front, you felt him shiver under your touch and shift a bit under you. Did he expect for you to grind down again?

Giving into him immediately, he whined against your mouth. Did he have any idea of what he was doing to you?

His hands gripped your waist a little tighter, pulling his lips from yours. “S-stop.” You immediately halted your actions, leaning away from him as you watched him catch his breath.

Was he about to bust in his joggers? You couldn’t help but feel a little proud as you saw just how hard he was.

You were going to get up to sit back next to him, in case you were heavy on his legs but his arms wrapped around you. He stared into your eyes a bit, causing you to mutter a small “what..” to cover up how nervous you felt. He kissed down your neck, making you blush darkly as a moan escaped your lips. Your straps, which had been previously falling, had been tugged on. You pull them down, his warm hand cupping your breast. It was different to feel someone else’s hand groupe you, you glanced down to see how it filled his huge hand. He massaged it slowly between his fingers, you leaning back to give him more access. Another moan left you as you felt his warm mouth on your left. You couldn’t help but rub against him again, wondering what he was thinking of.

Pushing him back a bit you run your hand down his front, a soft groan leaving him. You untie the top of his joggers, sticking your hand down his pants as he gasped. He shifts a bit again, tugging down part of his pants to make it easier. You go back to kissing him, wanting to feel him moan against your mouth as you brought him closer to his edge.

“Baby..” He moaned, a small whine towards the end of his words. He was close and you had no intent on stopping. You only hummed, kissing down his neck as he got even louder after cummming. You didn’t stop, right away wanting to see his face. Taking your hand away you felt proud, and you knew you’d remember this for a long time. He looked at you while you glanced at your cum covered hand, deciding that you wanted to try it. You sucked on your fingers and glanced up to still see him staring. You blushed, turning away as he only chuckled. He asked you how it tasted, to which you could only shrug.

You got off his lap so you could turn, sticking your ass in the air as you reached for the napkins. You wiped off your hand first, grabbing a few more before turning back around. He took them from you cleaning himself off and pulling up his pants as you pulled back on your straps. He grabbed your waist, pulling you towards him as you leaned on his chest. The two of you stayed like that for a while, sitting in each other’s presence. You heard the sound of his heart beat, closing your eyes to the rhythmic sound. “We should get going soon.” As much as you wanted to fall asleep in his arms, you knew you shouldn’t. You couldn’t spend all night out here, and you shouldn’t give yourself the chance to get attached.

He sighs, saying okay as you separate to move into the front seats. He turns the car back on as you grabbed his phone, going back to being dj. You smiled to yourself, singing along as he drove through the night.

When he parks back in front of his house, you lean over and kiss his cheek, thanking him for such a great night. You would leave right after, going back into your own car and about the rest of your day.

You wondered, if you had sent that text- would that have happened?

i’ve always wanted to play this song on what would’ve been our first date. or hang out. or whatever it was gonna be. i had so many hopes for us back then. so many hypotheticals about what we could’ve been.

[zhuhongs]

Since rewatching the guardian drama after reading the novel has made me mad about how bad and good both of them are I am Obligated to write out a list of what I think the perfect merger btw both versions of canon are. This will be in list format otherwise I’ll end up writing like 6k words again. 

TLDR: the genre stays as supernatural from the novel and not Sci fi, bc that was rlly not fleshed out well. Shen Wei is a ghost king, and all the dixingren are ghosts or demons like originally intended. The ghost race naturally exists and wasn't born from kunluns shoulder fire or anything. They just exist separate from humans. Not all ghosts are former humans, some people are just born as ghosts, like Shen Wei. Zhao Yunlan has the guardian whip and all the cool stuff that comes with the Guardian order.  Overall, i’d keep the novel’s plot and relationship progression and ending without the backstory. Instead the backstory is a merger of both canons. From the drama I’d keep the characterization and themes as well as like half the extra cases and omit the other half. 

I’ll be elaborating much further on my ideal backstory and other stuff under the cut bc the rest is 1.5k and I don’t wanna clog the dash 

Okay SO In my ideal backstory there are two timelines just like the drama but the mythology of the book. The god Kunlun is actually zyl that went back in time and became a god. But the one that went back isn’t the current Zhao Yunlan. There has to be an original timeline where the god Kunlun never existed. Thus the great seal nor the separation of the three realms don’t exist either. Zhao Yunlan must go back in time to become a god, meet Shen Wei in the past, and create the current timeline where the separation exists but isn’t perfect. The current timeline is the one that the majority of the series takes place in.

In the original timeline, Zhao Yunlan is just some dude living in a world where ghosts, fairies, and all other beings just live in a giant free for all and it's kinda just a mess. 

Like there’s government in modern context and all and all races live with each other but there's constant tension. ZYL works at some equivalent of the SID (same staff and side characters, but novel vers. Lin Jing is a monk, CSZ a zombie, etc) to protect people and all that and their job is rather hard. One day encounters the thousands year old ghost king Wei (who isnt shen wei yet bc zyl gave him that name in the future) who works alone as like a rouge cultivator of sorts. He lives on the surface undercover as a professor still bc he’s trying to not catch Yezun’s attention but does all the stuff he normally does as Heipaoshi. The two ally together for a case and bc they both have the same goals of getting all races to live in peace. At current, there are forces working together to decimate the human race, all lead by Yezun

As they work together they become closer and all that. Shen Wei tells him about how he was unable to prevent the great war 5 thousand years ago and neither could the gods so  he’s spent the past 5 thousand years trying to make up for it. As they search for ways to stop Yezun, they gather the 4 hallows and learn how to use them to manipulate time so ZYL can go into the past and stop the great war and separate the three realms (living, dead, ghost).  Shen Wei wants to go back with him but he can’t because he was alive all those years ago so if he goes back it will create a paradox. ZYL promises he’ll find Shen Wei in the past and create a timeline where they could be together in peace (that is the current timeline)

When goes back he becomes the god kunlun because there needed to be a new god born at the time to prevent the war.  Also this time traveller looked promising to Nuwa, Fuxi, and Shennong. And I know in the guardian universe gods are usually born and ppl don’t become gods. EXCEPT this can happen when a god passes on smth from their body onto them bc that did happen in the novel with Kunlun making shen wei a demigod. And since fu you and ma gui are supposed to be gods Nu Wa and Fuxi I think that when they die, they should make ZYL a god and that's how this stuff happens.

So like ZYL explains to the gods the time he came from and how he wants to save everything and they make him a god and he works to save everything just like he did in the drama but this time with the novel plotline. During this time he meets young Shen Wei (he’s still like a hundred or so years old) and they get close and all the stuff from the backstory happens. He gives him his name, all that good stuff. The entire time doesn’t let him know that he’s from the future or that his real name is ZYL. He just poses as kunlun. 

The two of them alongside the other gods (who still die at the times they do in the novel) work together to end the war and establish the great seal and set up the cycle of reincarnation, per the current timeline. Although the seal and cycle of reincarnation aren’t perfect. Gods can’t reincarnate, and ghosts still don’t have souls. And just like the novel, doing all of this kills ZYL bc it takes a lot of energy to create the seal even though it isn’t perfect.

Shen Wei of course doesn’t want ZYL to die and zyl says it's alright because he fixed the timeline so there must One day they will meet again and ZYL reveals the truth about the timeline to shen wei before he dies. This becomes the promise that Shen Wei mentions to meet again. Before he dies, ZYL gives him the shoulder fire as a memento ( i still like the candy wrapper necklace deal but i’ll take this too. Maybe both.. The pendant is still just rlly cool.. Gay ppl)

Shen Wei knows gods can’t enter the cycle of reincarnation and still makes the deal with Shennong to strip Kunlun of his godhood and let him reincarnate. This sets us into the novel timeline where isn’t allowed to meet any of zyl’s reincarnations before he becomes zyl otherwise he will die and also fuck up the timeline. The same 5 thousand years of pining still ensue bc Gay Ppl and i love making Shen Wei suffer but he doesn’t have the shrine room thing bc i think thats weird and yea.. Bad. 

In the meantime Shen Wei does a lot of things mostly just protecting the great seal and working for Hell to keep the peace but still does other stuff. He still watches out for ZYL’s reincarnations but doesn’t do much besides make sure they don’t die a premature death. They meet again finally at the beginning of the series and the timeline resumes like canon. And that's my master plan that merges both drama logic and novel logic while making a much better timeline. (I hope that makes some sense)

Da Qing is still Kunlun’s pet cat and important. Novel backstory applies to him. And I already mentioned him kinda but as for Yezun (Gui Mian in the novel) his deal is similar as in the drama but just a ghost. And he is a big player in the great war, he thought Shen Wei abandoned him as a kid but they were just separated. Shen Wei doesn’t know it's him till the end of the war and couldn’t stop him in the OG timeline and vows to bring him to justice and make amends. Shen Wei continuously tries to explain things to him but he just won’t listen and is imprisoned in hell bc yk… war criminal stuff and yeah he’s the main antagonist trying to break the great seal bc he’s still made about the past. Idk. Yezun wasn’t well written in the novel OR the drama so like… honestly he just needs to be completely rewritten and I don’t care enough about that. He can just be a weak villain idk

the drama characterization stays the same for everyone else bc found family go brr. However for Lao Chu i… hmm… i think he should still be a zombie but the reason he killed someone should be related to his brother. I like that addition and then shen wei realized his sentence was unjust and exempted him. i like that storyline merger. bc the brother thing and him admiring Heipaoshi was drama only. in the novel lao chu just murdered some kid for a rlly whatever reason.

uhhh in terms of the cases… id make adjustments to most of them. i think the li qian case should be like the drama bc the novel just had her as a murderer and it was boring. 

For the mountain river awl one was fine… novel version was funnier and more interesting action wise tbh… rip zyl and his exorbitant flirting. uhhh the whole reveal that shen wei was the soul reaper thing was kinda… ehh in the novel but i did love the comedy of afterwards Shen Wei pretending he went into cardiac arrest when he actually just… has no pulse bc he's a ghost. 

ID KEEP THE WORTH IT SCENE AND RAIN SCENE… THOSE FUCK SO HARD… I love the drama for adding those every damn day. the novel version of zyl losing his sight sucked and was sooo boring.  Keep the drama version on that.

also id keep dr. cheng. i'm very pro dr. cheng and her friendship with shen wei it adds so much to his character imo. keep the fruit seller man and his wife for the merit brush..omg it adds SO MUCH the way the drama did it.. like the drams build up with the novels pace of that arc.. mwah. it felt like it dragged a bit in the drama but if it went faster and without the hospital ep and with sha ya (sorry sha ya) that would've been so good. tho keep novel version of da qings memory loss and lao li. that was rlly impactful.

id say keep some of the cases like the mirror one, the eyes doctor one, etc. just to like.. yk have more to fill in general.. novel pacing but drama characterization without the bs that wasn't fully realized. and novel ending ofc. And that’s it!!

I hope most of this makes some amount of sense  but it probably doesn’t. In my head it all tracks but like ik most of u don’t know anything about the novel so this sounds like gibberish. Also I know this would literally never happen but this is MY ideal merger of the two canons that I feel compelled to expand on for some reason. Anyways, as io said,, we need to rebuild guardian. Like literally let me and the mutuals write Guardian and it will be 500 times better.

[jiminrings]

uu abt homebound au, what goes on with racer! hobi and jk?? i guess this is kinda a request? thanks ilysm :")

homebound: koo’s pov

a lil homebound special that’s in jungkook’s pov and u get to see what’s going on in his noggin :D

glimpse: kook’s a protective best friend, hobi is a hyung that he never knew he needed, aND he just needs y/n as his forever emotional support shoulder :D

wordcount: 3k

notes: aHHHHH first of all i love you too!!!! write that down pls

this is a spin-off because earlier, i made a drabble from a request about jimin and y/n’s tough love relationship as crew chief x crew member!!! i loved making that piece they r so dynamic :D

read homebound the fic!!!

it’s not easy being jungkook

ugh yeah he kNOWS he’s handsome and talented and charismatic but gOd this is getting out of hand now

he has to save your ass

AGAIN

well not literally your ass,.,. it’s your thumb this time

he’s met you like what?? two months ago and you’re already a handful!!! LOOK AT YOU

“g-googie pLEASE just h-help me i can’t do it mYSELF!!!”

if only two months ago, jungkook was pulled from basketball practice and shoved into the empty-looking gymnasium AND sat in the front instead of the back right next to you

if only he hasn’t opened his mouth and told that he liked your softball uniform aND coincidentially found a fellow athlete that lit rally only joined sports for the uniforms.,.,..

if only he didn’t reciprocate by saying that he joined basketball for the fluffy warmers.,.,..

HE WOULDN’T BE HERE RIGHT NOW

he wouldn’t deal with you calling him urgently and sAying it’s of a great emergency and that he had to sprint from the other side of campus grounds to where you were

you wouldn’t be right here sat on the ground, hand outstretched for him to mend as he’s only giving you a sCOWL of disbelief

ok fine

jungkook doesn’t regret you being his best friend but he dOES regret having a weak spot for you

“didn’t i specifically tell you NOT to play softball and take it easy for awhile???”

“b-but-...”

“and now someone was being a big dummy and then dISLOCATED her thumb and she’s made ME run all the way to the field because she’s tOO scared to pop back her dislocated thumb and wants ME to do it for her!!!!!”

you are Insufferable

u really are

he can’t help but feel agitated ok

he’s just so stressed and he almost got a near-flunking store at the calc test awhile ago and he studied!!! he studied for THREE hours and he was about three wrong answers away from being failed!!!!

meanwhile you sleep at that class and you bARely even studied because last night you were just calling him up to ask if you were down drinking some shots with you and then yOU pass????

also also!! his basketball coach has been extra tough on him lately and he isn’t even doing anything wrong!! he passes the ball and how come it’s HIS fault that the one he’s passed it to doesn’t make a score???

how is it hIS fault that this guy was an utter dUMBASS

on top of that, the pit crew training is taking a massive toll on his body and this particular time,, it’s jungkook’s only few breaks

and you just hAD to dislocate your thumb and be scared shitless of popping it back

hold on

are you uh.,...

are you crying

jungkook’s flustered a tON because uhHHh he’s not exactly the best person when it comes to these things

there was one time when jungkook added so much wasabi underneath your california maki to the point that you were CRYING

and sue him he didn’t know what to do

everyone in the restaurant thought the two of you were a couple and now there’s a LOT of angry stares aimed towards jungkook and that makes him sweat a little

that one buff guy who’s chopping the squid even sTopped what he was doing and that makes kook audibly gulp

jungkook was a tiny bit intimidated and so he did the next big thing

panickedly threw the packet of tissues to your face :D

lmao he’s gotten a lot better since then

“okay, okay, i’m sorry for yelling at you :((“

god he should know better

i mean you are in physical pain already and you don’t need him yelling at you now, do you??

after all jungkook did have this one big splinter on his thumb when he was doing something stupid aND although you were angry and amused, you didn’t yell at him

ok fair

he’s setting his things down and he had to coax you to give him back your hand because u retracted it when he yelled

“on the count of three, okay?? one, two....”

you’re already wincing and jungkook has to be swift with this when he doesn’t want to prolong your pain

aLTHOUGH this reminds him of how you have to distract him from the pain when he has you pluck out some of his eyebrow hair so they don’t form a unibrow

“two.... you’re still not — two.,..., you’re the one who’s supposed to adjust not me...,.,. t- yO IS THAT MIN YOONGI???”

“wHAT WHERE-“

pOp!!!!!

that shit hUrts

min yoongi is an especially good trigger point for you because jungkook, cannot, and especially cannot stress to how you have a crush on that guy sO bad

he’s a racer ok sure

ehhhh his skills are so-so

honestly he doesn’t even know if this yoongi guy is actually great at racing,,, maybe it’s just his family name that gets him where he’s at ya know....

“don’t joke with me like that! i’m telling you, jungkook — one day i’ll work with min yoongi.”

he snorts at that as he’s holding your hand up, checking to see if there’s any bruising or the sort

he wants to make sure nOw that you’re okay and not have anything else pop up later because he doesn’t want you ruining his alone time again

“yeah. mhmmm. sure you will.”

uGh where would you be now without jungkook

what was LIFE before jungkook

you’re that grateful for him

jungkook’s been avoiding you a liTTLE and you’ve been noticing it but you just didn’t prod into it

the dish was that he thinks he likes you

it’s just this roulette going on in his head

do i like y/n OR have i just been so starved from affection and companionship that i immediately the nearest person to me as someone i love?????

aha it’s the second option :D

you and jungkook fight a lot tho that’s no surprise

it could be over on the most stupid things ever for discourse and well as sensitive as you were, jungkook was even mORE sensitive

one time he cried when not only you gave him the silent treatment, but also literally pretended that he was iNVISIBLE and even got some people in on it

yeth it was a petty fight over stubornness and a sorta petty solution bUt it did give you some peace

what made it even worse was because you befriended these new guys!!!

the kim line!!! jin and namjoon and taehyung were quite the eye-catching trio over on their department and you kNow that jungkook was annoyed by them

actually they were very likeable and jungkook’s just annoyed at them for no apparent reason

and when you ignore jungkook for the whole day AND have the kim line over on your lunch table,,,

when kook offers you a tray of the best batches for your cafeteria food and even a fresh cold carton of chocolate milk,,,,

then pretend you didn’t even hEAR him nor SEE him when he was holding up the tray for you,,,

he absolutely cries because w-why are you :(((( i-i-ignoring me :(((( please d-don’t :((((

fighting and crying has been at an all-time low ever since that particular one

he was so frustrated that he didn’t even notice jin patting his back and he bARELY even knows jungkook

namjoon’s acting as a shield so no one could see that this guy was absolutely Losing it

taehyung’s trying his best to shove some tissues underneath jungkook so he could wipe them down

but this time

tHIS time

it’s jungkook who doesn’t know what to do

it’s you who’s crying so painfully that he’s sure not even the kim line could help try and fix

“he’s just sO — yoongi is uNBEARABLE!!”

oh it’s him again huh

jungkook wasn’t sure at first on how he’d process the news that yeah sure the two of you were the ones chosen to be the victors of the program

but it meant that the two of you were gonna work for different teams and now that just doesn’t make any sense.,...

sure he’s happy because he gets to work for jung hoseok!!!! the racer he’s in awe with and thank god because he didn’t want to work with-

ew he’s shuddering

min yoongi

yOU’RE the one who’s working for him and well!! you should be happy!!! why are you CRYING

jungkook was so nervous meeting hoseok for the first time

he wanted to please everyone so bad it wasn’t even funny :’)

he’s bought four boxes of donuts for his fellow pit crew members alone

hoseok was special special

he gets his OWN dozen and on top of that, kook even made him a crepe cake

from s c r a t c h

that was the most time-consuming jungkook’s ever spent in making food and he is pOsitive that he doesn’t ever want to subject himself to that again in his life

( with the exception for jung hoseok of course hehe )

jungkook’s kinda burnt himself on the pan atleast three times and he was a sweaty mess by the end of cooking it because again

wHO has the time to make crepe cakes????

deadass even bought a lil cooler with him just because he wants to impress his boss even more :)))

:))) tiny lil ice cream cups :)))

“hi!! nice to meet you, i’m hoseok!! why are you holding tHAT big of a bag??”

jungkook was starstruck for sure because wow jung hoseok was kIND???

normally being famous and being kind don’t exactly belong in the same sentence

but uHHhh his idol is right here in front of him being polite and cool and not coming off as snobbish??? wow

“for you, sir — uH sir jung?? uHm-...”

“oH! no, no-...”

“ho — sir???”

hoseok was just meant to tell him that it’s cool to drop the sir thing because he’s working with him not for him

poor kook was so nervous that he called his idol a hoe :(((

“aH, calm down!! it’s okay!! lol you seem cool anyway!!! you can just call me hobi-...”

that sounds SO precious omg

jungkook was about to bow again for the nth time but then hobi over here added something to his sentence

“... -hyung”

bROTHER??

now listen

hobi doesn’t have a brother in his family and gOd something about this younger guy in front of him,,,

he’s read jungkook’s forms and he’s younger than him and he’s iNTIMIDATINGLY large but he just looks so innocent y’know

it reminds him of nemo in a big vast ocean but maybe that’s just because he watched finding nemo last night and was emotional

but look!!! jungkook!!!! he wants to protecc this guy from the world and he looks so eager too!!!!

if you squint hard enough u could see jungkook’s fists in his sides clenching from being so happy

anyway

“hey, hey. c’mon, don’t cry now you’re gonna get uGly!!!!”

okay that did not help

jungkook’s rubbing circles on your back as you try to recollect what happened awhile ago at work and how yoongi was an absolute asshole

he’s tough on you and you don’t know why!!!

on top of that, your crew chief jimin is aLSO tough on you and you don’t know why either and it’s just!!!! why does everyone hate me!!!!! when i am just!!!!! bREATHING!!!!!

“want me to put in a good word for you for hobi-hyung? he could pull some strings then work for him instead... with me..... the people are a LOT nicer too...”

hobi knows about jungkook’s friendshio with you and he wasn’t really bothered to how his pit crew member is best friends with a pit crew member for his main rival :D not really :D

in fact he was even endeared!!! asked a lot of questions too because jungkook hOW do you contain yourself?? you’re so competitive and you’re not even the oNE who’s racing between us two???

“oh that’s easy hyung!!! y/n and i just kinda trashtalk each other for every game, then on free days we’re all cool!! :D”

“is that.... is that healthy..,.,.”

hobi wants to take you under his wing if that was possible

your contract and perhaps min yoongi are the only variables stopping you

he’s never said this to anyone but he dID make a semi-empty joke to yoongi once that y/n will also be working for him next season before he could even blink

and yoongi normally looks stoic but hobi swears that he must’ve flipped a switch aha :D

he looked sO infuriated and angry at the mention of your name and “working for me” that he actually thought yoongi would lunge at him

“it’s okay i guess :(( don’t wanna give up just yet :((“

“mHmmm okay whatever you say, sport :))”

jungkook praises you a lot for your dedication because if that was him?? he would’ve bitch-slapped yoongi in a second and quit right then and there!!

he cares for you!!! a lot!!! no one could ever take up your spot as his emotional support shoulder

he’s perfectly content with his job that he’s in!!!

hobi teaches him about things he’s never known before

practical life lessons too!!!

jungkook’s now equipped with the knowledge of how to make bread taste like french toast wITHOUT even making it like french toast

he now knows how to drift!!! like aCTUALLY drift!!! :D

hobi even taught him some tips about making the best use out of your car’s gas and how to nOT cower when it’s blinking that you’re about to run out

aHA jungkook’s still a little bit panicked whenever he sees the light blinking but then he’d remember hobi in his mind looking at him dead-straight

“you’re one of the buffest guys i’ve ever known, and you’re rattled at a tiny light blinking at you?”

you could still go for 50 km tOps with a blinking gas notice on!!! you’re nOT gonna believe jung hoseok the racer??

sigh

jungkook may be content with his job rn

but of course he’s still looking out for you :D

you’re much happier and giggly these days,,, yoongi and his character development being the causes for it

but every now and then aha :D

jungkook likes to relish over the fact that yeah yoongi may be over him in terms of seniority :) but that’s hIS best friend that he’s dating :)

he may just want to spook the guy sometimes

yoongi’s minding his business as he brings over lunch to kim kradle again, chopping up your cheesy tonkatsu for u when he makes the mistake of lifting his eyes

jungkook’s casually munching on his own meal that yoongi’s aLSO bought for him :D giving the older guy a thumbs-up and it makes yoongi smile

right before when jungkook’s eyes flicker from him and to you and his thumb is nOW resting daintily on his neck as he wiggles his eyebrows

g-gulp

yoongi will take care of you for sURE

[nxtritething]

TASK001 : MUN QUESTIONNAIRE 

name  /  alias : caro / care / carebear gender  /  pronouns : female / she&her where  ya  from  ? : u s of a .  orig n y c. the  current  time :  9 pm ( when i started? ) , 1 pm ( when i finished ) job  or  major :  i majored in mechanical engineering and math. no, i canno favorite  thing  (  s  )  about  yourself :  i have some good one-liners.

why  you  joined  hqclouds :  ... i helped make it. also its felt like a long while since i got to play some of my favorite babes, and i just missed them, so i obviously had to jump at an opportunity to bring them back !!!

meaning  behind  url :  it’s uh...... next right thing ,  as in anna’s big song in frozen 2. and i just felt it like, FIT. 

last  thing  you  googled :  zac efron high school musical gif icons, bc i wanted to use for this, but then that account was flagged as adult content and i guess those beloved gifs are lost to the void now...

zodiac :  pisces in  your  opinion  ,  does  your  sign  suit  you  ? : yes. i am a crying fish. also i’m a pisces venus. it makes a LOT of sense. myers  -  briggs :  istj ??? i think?? moral  alignment :  i can be chaotic good, but mostly neutral neutral i think hogwarts  house : i used to be a slytherin, now i’m a hufflepuff. idk what happened to me.

three  fictional  character  (  s  )  you  see  yourself  in  +  why :  uhhhh... 1) bubbles from powerpuff girls. because i am baby. 2) juliet o’hara from psych. i’ve just been rewatching a lot of psych and i love how she’s such a serious yet funny / soft and idk why i just relate to that. 3) john mulaney in mulaney. because this is a cop-out to say i relate to anything / everything john edmund mulaney every does.

i  started  roleplaying : i first started on some fourms ??? on an app on my itouch ??? but my first tumblr rp group was percy jackson and everyone though i was this all knowing pjo fan... when really i was just fast to look shit up on the wikia. i had never read a single page of the series. types  of  rps  i  enjoy :  fandoms, typically ! i used to be exclusively love animated roleplays? like cartoons? but then i transitioned to musicals? like, exclusively playing musical characters??? at this point, tara is like the one exception nowadays... favorite  fcs  to  use :  um... olivia holt is a recent fave? joshua basset, also. my old faves are mary kate wiles and hunter parrish tho. real old. otherwise, i don’t know if i’d say i get attached to fc’s? fandom  (  s  )  you’d  like  to  write  in : i kinda wanna go back to some of my cartoon roots, maybe? i really haven’t deviated from the same 8 - 9 mostly musical characters in literally years...  fandom  (  s  )  you  aren’t  in  but  are  curious  about :  um... the raven cycle ,  miraculous ladybug  , uh..... everything else. i’m so randomly interested in everything.

share  a  funny  roleplay  horror  story :  my favorite is when i was in a youtuber rpf / oc rp, and this girl... made an oc... and made the fc... herself. she made a literal self-insert oc. with herself as the face. like low-res gifs of herself. why, you ask? i think she was trying to ship herself with dan howell. that didn’t age well, did it?

favorite  canon  muse  (  s  )  to  play : do i just list all the characters i’ve been playing for literal years? my recent faves are katherine plumber from newsies and princess anna. favorite  original  muse  (  s  )  to  play : i had a hunter parrish oc. he was in both the pjo and youtube rp. he was obsessed with hanging out with trees and pranks. don’t ask me why. canon  ships  you  can’t  help  but  love :  kristoff / anna , jack kelly / katherine plumber , jake peralta / amy santiago , orpheus / eurydice , && donny novitski / julia trojan. yes, most of these are musicals. who doesn’t love a good love ballad? trope  (  s  )  you  tend  to  be  guilty  of : uhh... adorkable, one of the boys, badass adorable

i  prefer  .  .  . angst  ,  smut  ,  or  fluff :  i am a massive sucker for fluff, but i’m so guilty of angst... i love pain. i don’t really do smut tho. sorry. long  or  short  replies :  i generally prefer short replies, unless we’ve somehow developed a thread into something long. or i’m feeling particularly inspired. pre  plotting  or  chemistry : i love chemistry with all my heart, but sometimes it’s fun to plot past connections that can reignite? idk. mostly chemistry sentence  starters  or  headcanon  memes : headcanon memes, because im never creative to turn a sentence starter into something that makes sense, esp between two characters who don’t know each other. single  muse  or  multimuse  blogs :  multimuse, because i spent too many years reblogging replies to the wrong sideblog and those days are over !!! gif  icons  ,  medium  gifs  ,  or  static  icons : i prefer gif icons for shorter replies and medium gifs for longer ones... or whatever my partner is using. i like some sort of consistency.

grab  the  book  nearest  to  you  and  pull  a  quote  from  it : ‘ what’s the rush? ’ repeat this phase when you’re feeling overwhelmed or stressed out. ask yourself whether somethings really needs doing immediately. are you ignoring your needs in order to do it?  - the little book of sloth philosophy. 

what’s  a  quote  or  song  lyric  that  speaks  to  your  soul  ? : “ did you fall? or did you let go? ”  -  connor murphy to evan hansen, dear evan hansen. ( idk why this immediately jump to mind but... )

top  current  celebrity  crushes :  jeremy jordan, corey cott, jordan fisher, claire saffitz, brian david gilbert. last  movie  you  watched :  bridal boot camp did  you  like  it  ? :  yes. i loved it. it’s absolute garbage and i loved it. favorite  movie  (  s  )    of  all  time : idk but i can always rewatch prince of egypt. godspell favorite  tv  show  (  s  )  of  all  time : uhh.... i keep rewatching psych.   favorite  tv  show  (  s  ) that  hasn’t  ended : brooklyn nine-nine, zoey’s extraordinary playlist. sports  team  (  s  )  you  rep : uh... grew up in a yankee / mets household. favorite  video  game  (  s  ) : pokemon, animal crossing  favorite  youtube  channels : drew gooden, danny gonzalez, jenna marbles.

put  your  music  on  shuffle.  what  six  songs  pop  up  ? :

greased lightin’ from grease live ; oh mother by hunter parrish ; nerds by bo burnham ; a miracle would happen / when you come home to me from the last five years ; just another day from next to normal ; who tells your story from hamilton mixtape. 

i haven’t listened to any of these in forever, but i am still, indeed, musical theater trash.

personal  aesthetic : demin overalls, scrunchies, the color teal, big stuffed animals. dream  vacation  ? : somewhere beautiful with people i love. dream  job  ? : perhaps like designing custom 3D prosthetics dream  car  ? :  i hate driving, but a big ol’ truck. like suv. big one. favorite  musical : gospell, dear evan hansen, bandstand, newsies, shrek the musical, mamma mia, i could go on... unwatched  stuff  in  your  netflix  /  hulu  /  etc :  sailor moon crystal, crash landing on you, locke & key, all the bright places, the half of it, younger, meteor, hello my twenties ...

what’s  a  subject  you  know  too  much  about  +  never  get  tired  of  talking  about  ? : musicals. so many musicals. i know both know too much and not enough.

[strawberryybird]

Me sees the character songs post, immediately wants to know what character songs you have for the characters and why.

ok so. welcome to the rabbit hole that is my music taste and what is my no.1 most frequently done activity.. plastering emotions i have for fictional characters all over my music taste. I restricted myself to ¾ songs for each character & then to Edie, Hubert, Dorothea, Lysithea & Byleth because otherwise we’d be here all day (and those are the Primary Daydream Candidates rn)

under a rm because as im sure we’ve all seen.. i just don’t fucking stop.. also i got weirdly deep about some of these topics. i don’t know how to tag it. tread careful?

Here are some songs.. welcome to my (notoriously bad) music taste. alsoi go in Very heavy handed about it all. i make only a few apologies:

Edelgard:Everybody wants to rule the word - tears for fears. (ucan go with Lorde’s cover but i prefer the original bc im like that.) i meanit’s pretty heavy handed but it’s such an Edelgard song it !!!! fuels my ficwriting. if it’s not so very Edelgard’s relationship with twsitd then idk whatto tell you. plus it’s an iconic song

Medicine - daughter. (daughter is My Favourite Band. Ever. I cannot articulate how much ilove their (and ex:re’s) music!!) anway. this is a hegegard song & i don’ttake constructive criticism. I’ll reiterate this better in other descriptions,but please don’t take my inclusion of a song about such a topic as adevaluation of it in any way, that’s not my intention. The reason I go so feralfor Hegegard is because im no stranger to watching someone you care about hurt themselvesin a way you can’t stop, and that’s what the AM ending evokes in me. Hence: asong I love that one can read the same story in. And then the lyrics ‘You couldstill be / What you want to / What you said you were / When I met you” just !! parallelsEdge of Dawn’s lyrics about regret & overall I’m very feral about this.

(Don’t Fear) The Reaper - blue oystercult. this is PRIME Edelgard telling freshly-awokenbyleth she’s been waging war for 5 years. also !!!! “Seasonsdon’t fear the reaper / Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain, we can be likethey are” >>> “The Edge of Dawn (Seasons ofWarfare) (フレスベルグの少女～風花雪月～,lit. Girl of Hresvelg ~Wind, Flower, Snow, Moon~)” .. the link is tenuous but coincidence?? is it, fuck.

Seneca - Novo Amor. this is another one of those songs that could mean something different to everyone. very easy to project onto, is novo amor. I like the story of being prepared to run and break ties at any given moment, but ending up - emotionally or physically - in the same place one always was. apart from the glaring tie of how Edelgard returned to garreg mach, this song is a lot of me trying to repatriate Edelgard’s lack of emotional arc in the game by saying . well. this song. 

You can call me Al -  paul simon. am i projecting edeleth thoughts onto my favourite song? it’s morelikely than you think!!! but also i like the chorus and all the exasperating ‘call me el’jokes i can make.. i may be half writing a fic based on this song.

Dorothea:Agnes - glass animals. so i have significant emotions about edelthea at the best of times !! and this song !!! really bloody hits it home !! yes I knowit’s got a really heavy and real subject matter and I’m not trying to devalueit or minimise it.. but the story - about watching someone close to you hurtthemselves/get hurt, and doing so in ways you can’t stop them from - is adamn real one. And a Lot of why I love Dorothea’s character in the gamebecause she’s the one who can’t stop her friends from getting hurt – through exposureto warfare .. or  stopping Edelgard becomingthe monster at the end of the story. Even though she’s one of the healers onthe beagle’s team. And I feel that.

Ex’s and Oh’s – Elle King. So you know that one spn fanvid featuringthis song about all of dean winchester’s relationships? That, but for my flirting Queen Dorothea Arnault. (and I have the dumbest most fun little headcanon thatonce Dorothea and Sylvain derailed a lgbt+ society meeting whilst Edie wastrying to go over the budget by blasting this song and dancing on the table.The idea makes me laugh)

Hold My Girl – George Ezra. The whole thing about wanting just that onemoment to cherish the people you love for one moment more before you have goout face the world? If that’s not the timeskip’d Dorothea Arnault Aesthetic, Idon’t know what is.

(Call Me Out – sea girls. On a much lighter note, this song is fueling the later half of mydrafts of road trip au. And it’s literally because of that one verse. im gayshut up.)

Hubert:Red Right Hand – nick cave and the bad seeds. Is it on the nose? Is itheavy handed? Oh u fuckin bet but that won’t stop me!!! A) it’s a good song. ItIs. B) I like narrative songs. C) Any ‘red right hand’ symbolism in Anycharacter has me love them immediately and also plonk this song in the middleof any playlist about them. sure, the artic monkeys version might be a bit more on hubert’s brand.. but my mileage varies about it lmao

I had fortress by bear’s den earmarked for Hubie, as I think it’s easilyread about boundaries and a one sided intense relationship & that’s! Hubiebaybee! But I can’t possibly cover unhealthy relationships without shoving thealbum Hospice by The Antlers into every which way of it. It’s by no meansdirectly translatable to Edelgard and hubert’s relationship and it’s arguable ifI should even mention it in the same sentence as a bloody fictional character… that beingsaid, I’ve been having emotions about:Shiva – the antlers. This song specifically reads to me to be a really goodarticulation of my own thoughts about Hubert’s perspective of Edie getting experimentedon. heavy but damn. I like that. I just see a lot of what their teen years togethermust have been like in Shiva.

Time – Pink Floyd. Ok so.. it’s like Hubert in parallel bc I think thissong is a lot about searching for a purpose/reason or a quote unquote bloodyred path in life. And I may have been listening to it when I watched Hubert/DorotheaA support & now it’s just permanently associated with it bc it complementedit so well. And I like it. So . it stays. It’s very much a beagles song to meas well.

Lysithea:The Beautiful Dream – George Ezra. Ok so I read this Edelysithea ficwith this on repeat bc the title reminded me of it, and then I stuck it onrepeat because it worked too well and now.. im crying.. and i like the inflection of Lysithea’s bitterness over the titular lyric. (but also, it remains one of my steadfast edeleth songs.. sorry lys)

Secrets (Cellar Door) – Radical Face. Another Edelgard&/Lysitheasong!! I really like their relationship ok. And given the song itself can beread straight or an allegory for whatever you particularly want, but the storyis just too on the nose for me not to mention it here.(also general advocation of listening to the whole of radical face’s musicbecause I’ve loved it for years now & the work is beautiful.) (also it’swonderful for fe awakening projection. Or ur own.)

Oh Children – nick cave and the bad seeds. there’s a million different interpretations of this song, but to try nail a few onto Lysithea.. there’s the harry potter use of making/finding a light in the depths of tragedy & i love that for Lys. there’s the whole ‘the kids aren’t alright’ theme and it’s various depths. and i like narrative lyrics to plaster my large fictional-character-caused-emotions onto, so make of this one what you will.

Marianne (and Lysithea too if you like)Bad Blood – Radical Face. Ok so. This is one of my favourite songs in bloodyexistence, and it’s so loaded with meaning & it has a metric tonne of it. Icould wax lyrical about how much I love Radical Face’s work. I don’t want myinclusion of this song (specifically this one) to in any way devalue it. Butmusic is ofc incredibly subjective, and so is my reading of a lot of threehouses – in case it’s not bloody obvious by now. There’s a Lot of stories onecould take from Marianne’s character (and none of them are More Valid^tm thanany other), and I do see a very personal story in her – as I do in this song. Hgghhghive just spent 10 minutes trying to find an impersonal way to talk about twovery personal and relative stories, which naturally doesn’t work. That, and theway I read her story is Real Fucking Dicey for tumblr.com. so if this song is about accepting rejection because of parts of yourself so deep they’re in your blood, i think.. y’all can see.. where my neurodivergent gay self is going with this..

Byleth:Something to Believe In – Tom Walker. Yeah. You’re bloody welcome. If this isn’ta completely on the nose Byleth song, I’ll eat Dorothea’s hat.

Don’t Let the Man – Fatboy Slim. ~ And the sign said green-hairedpartially possessed emotionally void mercenaries need not apply for aprofessorship at the country’s most prestigious academic centre… ~

Emigrate - Novo Amor. this just fucking Got Me in the ‘actively choosing crimson flower’ feelings. im an emotional wreak but its aight. the lyrics just matched up too well for me to let it go !!!

Alps - Novo Amor. this hit me in the ‘i miss the gremlin child sothis’ feelings one day and now it’s permanently stuck that way.

Make Them Gold – chvrches. (this is very much associated with awakening’sfuture past kids and also the Carmilla series in my mind But!!) I love a story about‘if we’re all falling, we’re going down together’ and the magical power of teamwork, and how it brings out the best in people.. & that’s what this song& Byleth kinda bloody stand for ya know??

woooh.. oh my god . i need another cup of tea.

[phanlight]

The Boy on the Blue Moon Dreams of Sun

prompt: dan is a theatre kid who hasn't had his first kiss but has to kiss someone for a show. he doesn't want his first kiss to be wasted so he tries to get it done properly beforehand & he meets phil and w/e you can take it from there!!!

““Tell you what,” Phil leans into him, and Dan can smell his cologne. “We’re gonna come back up here again, okay? And you’re gonna tell me about yourself. Properly, this time.

Dan frowns. “Isn’t that what we’ve spent the past ten minutes doing?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “The only difference being next time we do this, I’m going to ban you from saying the word ‘acting’. So I can hear about you, the real you, and not whoever you pretend to be for a living.”

-

GUESS WHICH BITCH IS BACK AND WRITING AGAIN (spoiler: IT ME)

I thought it was about time I branched out a bit and tried my hand at a theatre au. This was so much fun to write (albeit kinda hard as despite being a literature student my Romeo and Juliet knowledge is a little subpar lmao lets hope I at least sort of did it justice tho) and deffo has more than ur daily dosage of angsty teenage actor!dan so look forward to that. thank u to the lovely anon who prompted me with this! (also yes i’m still relying on ptv lyrics for my song titles after 3 years sh)

Also I’m sorry if the writing in this is a lil inconsistent. I started this fic literally over a year ago and abandoned it for ages before finding and continuing it again. The first half was written in literally like mid 2016 (from which point my writing has obv improved a lot) and since then I’ve been working on it sporadically so if it feels like halfway through my writing style suddenly changes then that’s why OOPS soz

This was not supposed to be this long im so sorry wtf 13k ??? fuks sake

It’s the first time Dan’s ever been pissed off with being cast a lead role in a play.

He usually loves it – he loves the attention, loves having a ripped up script full of highlighted lines and more soliloquies to memorise than he can even keep count of. He shines under the warmth of the spotlight, lapping up the attention like a hungry cat, and when the applause ripples throughout the audience at the end, he can’t get enough of the sound.

It’s just- well, there’s one problem with his part.

It’s nothing he has against Romeo, not necessarily, and the piece itself is okay – Dan’s copy of the popular play in question is already crumpled with annotations; small post-it notes spilling fluorescent colours out of every crease (studying English literature alongside Drama always comes in handy as far as Shakespeare is concerned) and Romeo has a decent amount to say.

The problem is, he’s going to have to kiss someone.

Dan Howell, the one who snaps up almost every single role he auditions for, the one with a clay personality that can be moulded perfectly into whatever role he’s going for next, the one who lives the stage and breathes the lights, who was once described as ‘the heart and soul’ of the local theatre, is going to have to kiss someone.

And believe it or not, Dan Howell, the same seventeen-year-old who breezes through auditions leaving a flutter of girls at his feet, the same guy who was once rumoured to have made out with three people at the Les Miserables afterparty and the same guy who once had to reject two people in one night, has never actually kissed anyone before. Not properly, anyway.

Granted, he’s been extremely close to it a fair few times – having been in and out of auditions and callbacks since the age of about five, he’s come into contact with a considerable number of roles that involve love interests; only last month was his character Eddie supposed to kiss the love of his life, Alexandra, in the back of a car at a drive-in cinema. It was a play that one of the drama students had written; set in the fifties, all red-and-white ice cream parlours and hand jives and high school dances and Marilyn Monroe posters. Dan had enjoyed playing his part, and not just because it was the only opportunity he’d get to sport a black leather jacket (though he did decide leather looked really quite hot on him after that play. It’s almost a shame he’s vegetarian), but because the minor obstacle could, like every single other time, be solved with a stage kiss. Just a few seconds of his back to the audience, being agonisingly close to someone else’s lips, before pulling away and raking though his mind to try and remember the next line. It’s always worked for him, every time.

Except for this. Because the director, a Lucy Howcroft with a loud voice and a bossy personality, has only gone and booked them the Round at the Old Vic theatre. Which would be fine, of course it would; it’s one of the most popular theatres in the city and the theatre group is going to get a huge reputation for this afterwards, but it’s not so handy as far as stage-kissing is concerned. When you’re being stared at from every angle three-hundred-and-sixty degrees around, there’s no way you can get away with only partially leaning in to kiss.

“Are you sure there’s no way around this?” Dan had insisted when he’d stolen a moment after rehearsal to talk to Lucy. She’d been clearing her desk – a papery mountain range, and had looked a bit too busy to talk, but Dan would rather discuss this with her one-on-one instead of having to voice his feelings with twenty other pairs of eyes staring at him.

“For someone who just bagged yet another lead role, I would’ve thought you’d be a little more gracious than this,” Lucy had muttered, snapping a file shut. “I didn’t have to cast you, y’know.”

“It’s not- I am grateful, you know I am, it’s just-“

“Is there a problem with the casting of Juliet?” she’d offered, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Dan had insisted. “She’s fine.”

“The costume, then?” she’d tried. “I’m not a bloody mind reader, Dan. Help me out a bit here.”

Dan had shut his eyes and taken a deep breath, trying to comb the tangle of words in his head into some kind of coherent sentence.

“I mean- I just- the venue,” he gulped. “It’s- there’s a bit of a problem.”

“What about it?” Lucy sighed, irritation tracing the edges of her tone. “I fail to see what’s so problematic about getting a slot at the Old Vic of all places, but if you have any objections, then do enlighten me.”

“It’s not that, it’s just-“ Dan gulped, not really too sure how far he’s going to get with this. The bitterness already in her tone didn’t sound at all promising. “I don’t know. Do we have to perform in the round?”

“Christ, is performing in one of the most popular theatres in London that much of a chore?”

“No, no, I just-“ he gulped, trying to work out how the hell he’d word this without sounding like a twat. “I’ve never really… you know. Performed in an environment like that before.”

“You’ve been acting for twelve years,” she said bluntly. “I’m sure you have enough experience to be able to deal with a round stage instead of a rectangular one.”

“But- like, isn’t the round meant for- like… you know, Greek plays and shit?”

“It used to be,” she’d said, taking care to apply extra emphasis on the past tense. “Since when were you so hung up on the traditions of theatre, anyway?” she’d added after a pause. “Only last week were you totally in favour of the idea of having a rap battle in the middle of Othello.”

Dan had frowned, because that wasn’t really fair – sure, a rap battle isn’t exactly a common feature of Shakespeare’s plays, but no one could deny that Louis, playing Iago, was pretty good at freestyling whenever a mic was thrown in his direction. Despite not adhering to the conventions of traditional English theatre, it certainly made the play more entertaining.

“It’s just gonna be- you know. It’s gonna take some getting used to,” he’d mumbled instead.

“You have three months to get used to it,” she’d pointed out. “I’m sure you and the rest of the cast will have familiarised yourself with it by the time the production comes around.”

“But- the round is traditionally meant for-“

“Look, if you’re going to get so archaic about it, I can always build a time machine, book the open-air Globe for, like, sometime four-hundred years ago, and you can spend the next three days picking rotten tomatoes out of your hair,” she said. “Does that sound better?”

“They only did that to bad actors,” Dan had pointed out. Lucy rolled her eyes.

“And you know what makes a good actor, Dan?” she retorted. “Flexibility. The willingness to branch out of your comfort zone.”

Dan had sighed. He’s not going to get anywhere with this, is he?

“You know what?” he’d finally shaken his head, defeated. “Forget it.”

She watched him turn on his heel with a raised eyebrow. “See you Tuesday, then? First read-through of the script is at eleven in the morning.”

“See you then,” Dan muttered, not even bothering to turn around.

He let the door slam behind him.

It’s not that Dan doesn’t want to kiss anyone – (quite the contrary, really. He loves the idea of it, loves the thought of someone’s lips pressed up against his, the world slowing down around them and his heart feeling like fire. He’s always tried to incorporate that feeling into his acting, letting his passion leak into every character he’s cast, but when the stage lights are off and the curtain is down, his attraction to his colleagues ends there) – it’s just- well, he doesn’t really think he’s found the right person to share the real experience with, yet. His fellow actors and actresses aren’t unattractive by any means, but he doesn’t look at any of them and find himself struck by the desire to taste their lips and whisper incoherence into their ears like Eddie was supposed to do in the back of that car.

Seventeen, and still hasn’t had his first kiss. Still doesn’t want to waste it, at that.

Pathetic.

-

Technicians don’t get paid enough, Phil thinks.

He’s spent the day holed up in the trap room, devouring what was left in the back of the fridge (including a half-opened pack of Doritos that tasted like they expired about five years ago) and puzzling over this fucking broken light board that everyone had very kindly left him to take care of. It had already taken him over half an hour to get one of the chunky old Mac laptops up and running again (seriously, who in this day and age is still using an iBook?) and even then it only really half-functions – a handful of keys are missing, the trackpad only ever seems to work when it feels like it, and there’s a huge hairline crack right across the screen. Phil���s spent so long cursing through gritted teeth and smacking the table in frustration every time the damn thing freezes that it wouldn’t come as a surprise if he ended up contributing to those cracks by the end of the day. Maybe that’s how they ended up there in the first place.

“You alright?” the door suddenly opens and a voice – Nick, Phil presumes, breaks the aching silence that the room has been blanketed in for the past four hours. Finally, Phil sighs, feeling a pinch of anger melt away. Human company.

“Been better,” Phil mumbles, popping a couple of grapes into his mouth. Been better, he scoffs to himself. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t been worse.

“Chuck me a coke, will you?” he pulls up a chair and puts his feet on it, perching on the edge of the table. Phil heaves out a sigh – that involves getting up – but musters up enough energy to lean over and yank the fridge open. He tosses him a can, and Nick catches it expertly.

“Nice of you to show up,” Phil rolls his eyes. “Only four hours late this time. That’s an hour and a half off your personal best.”

“They said they didn’t need me here ‘till three,” he protests, popping the can open and taking a few gulps. “They said you had it all under control.”

His sentence is punctuated by a burp. Phil grimaces.

“Under control,” Phil snorts. That’ll be the fucking day.

“What did they leave you here to do?” he frowns.

“Only fix this entire fucking thing,” Phil nods over to the stupid light board. God, he’s sick of the sight of it. “Beats me what’s wrong with it. I’ve only just managed to get this dinosaur up and running,” he gestures to the corpse of a laptop in front of him, “let alone look at that.”

“Fuck me, man,” Nick sighs out a heavy breath. “If I knew, I could have come in earlier to help you out a bit. You should have texted me.”

“It’s fine,” Phil sighs even though- well, it’s not, really. There’s only so many hours of broken technology and out-of-date food one can take. “It’s not your fault,” he adds truthfully.

“They’re twats sometimes, aren’t they?” Nick lowers his voice, despite the fact they’re literally underground here, beneath the earshot of everyone.

“I’ll say,” Phil widens his eyes, trying to click something and- nope, it’s fucking frozen again. “For fuck’s sake. They’re all bloody loaded, too. You would have thought with the money they have, they could fork out a little for equipment that at least half-functions, right?”

“Yup,” Nick sighs. “Guess bookings for overpriced fancy-ass theatres are higher up on their agenda, though.”

Phil can’t argue with that. Apparently they’re going to have to wire up something in the Old Vic, of all places, next week. Phil dreads to think how much hiring that place out for even a few hours is going to cost, let alone booking it for three nights.

Probably more than enough to buy a better fucking laptop.

-

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.

Be not her maid since she is envious.

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,

And none but-“

“No- no,” Lucy holds up her hand. “Come on, Dan. More emotion than that. You’re telling the love of your life that even the moon is envious of her beauty. At least pretend to put some passion into it.”

Dan rolls his eyes – only the fourth time he’s had to repeat this fucking soliloquy in the past fifteen minutes. He’s pretty sure he’s only one “no, no, it’s too (insert adjective here)” away from giving up with this whole thing altogether. He’d rather have played Benvolio anyway.

“Come on,” Lucy continues. “We’ll take it from Be not her maid…”

Dan shuts his eyes, scrapes up the remaining traces of his sanity, and takes another breath.

“Be not her maid since she is envious.

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,

And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off!

It is my lady. Oh, it is my love.

Oh, that she knew she were!

She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?

Her eye discourses. I will answer it.—

I am too bold. 'Tis not to me she speaks.

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

Having some business, do entreat her eyes

To twinkle in their spheres till they retur-“

“No, no-“ she interrupts him again and for fuck’s sake, at this rate, Dan won’t even need to spend any time in his bedroom going over his lines. He’s pretty sure he’s memorised half of the monologues already just from recapping in rehearsals alone.

“Come on, really feel it,” she pleads. “You can’t say something as romantic as that with a face like yours – you’re literally saying that two stars in the sky have gone away and they’re asking Juliet’s eyes to shine in their place until they return.”

Dan balls his fists, ready to snap back that yes, he’s fully fucking aware of what’s going on in the play thank you very much, in case she hadn’t forgotten he did actually study it for three separate exams and subsequent exposure to the text in question has made him rather familiar with the occurrences currently taking place, but they’re all interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Lucy huffs, mildly irritated.

The door knob jitters, then twists.

“Hiya,” a black-haired boy nods tiredly, pushing through the crack in the door. Dan immediately recognises him – one of the tech guys, he thinks, but he isn’t entirely certain. He’s never really spoken to any of the crew before; they tend to keep well out of the limelight (they’d rather control it instead).

“Everything okay?” Lucy asks, before turning to Dan and Alexandra (his Juliet). “You two, take five. Be ready to take it from the top.”

They both relax and take a seat on one of the upturned wooden boxes. It isn’t until Dan takes the weight off of his legs he realises how much they’ve been aching – fuck, he really needs to get back to that gym.

“Any luck?” she says to Mr. Black-Hair. He’s holding a laptop that looks as if it’s seen better years, never mind days, and a long cord of wire that snakes around his fist.

“Nothing at all,” he sighs, flicking a strand of his fringe out of his eyes. His hair looks as if it hasn’t seen a hairbrush for days, but there’s something about the way it sits shaggily on his head that kind-of suits him (Dan wishes he could pull off messy hair – he only attempted ditching the straighteners once and spent the rest of the day wondering if any birds had mistaken his head for a nest).

He doesn’t realise he’s been staring until he catches the tail end of Alexandra’s sentence and realises he hasn’t actually been listening for the past minute or so.

“What was that, sorry?”

“I asked you how you were finding Romeo so far,” she repeats.

“Hm? Oh yeah, yeah- he’s fine,” Dan says, not taking his eyes off of Mr. Black-Hair. He’s lost the thread of their conversation (he’s no lip reader) but by the looks of it, it seems as if there’s a problem with one of the laptops.

“Are you sure?” Alexandra frowns. Dan looks at her, but his glance is soon pulled back to the technician.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shrugs. “You don’t really- I don’t know, you just don’t seem to be… you know. That into it, y’know?”

“Wait-“ Dan shakes his head, trying to focus on their conversation instead of the one a few metres away from. “Hang on- what? What makes you say that?”

She raises her eyebrows, as if to say ‘really?’. Dan’s expression remains carefully blank.

“Come on, Dan. We wouldn’t have had to repeat this stupid scene like, five times if you were actually into it. I’ve seen you do way better than this.”

“Oh, not you as well,” Dan groans, deflating. He’s pretty sure that exact sentence had fallen from Lucy’s lips not so long ago. He’s sick of hearing it, sick of having to sit and listen to people tell him that he ‘can do way better’ and ask ‘is everything all right, Dan? Nothing bothering you, is there?’ because he’s just ‘not himself’ at the moment.

That’s the most ridiculous one, he thinks, because for Christ’s sake, he’s an actor. He’s never himself.

“No, I don’t mean it like that,” Alexandra says, backtracking. “You know I don’t. I just- I think I overheard Lucy say you had a problem with something or other last week?”

“Did you,” Dan mumbles, unable to keep the bitter sarcasm out of his town. Alexandra remains unfazed.

“What was that about, though?” she remains unfazed. “Nothing to do with the casting, is it?”

“You really think it’s to do with the casting?” Dan stares at her in disbelief, before scoffing. “Yeah, like, I’m gutted to have bagged the lead role alongside you at one of the best theatres in the country. How am I going to cope?”

Not entirely truthful, but not a complete lie either.

“Just making sure,” a grin tugs at her lips, and she flicks a curl of red hair behind her shoulders. “I don’t have much of a problem with it myself, to be honest.”

“That’s reassuring,” Dan smirks sarcastically, but his tone is fairly benign. There’s certainly no denying she’s fucking gorgeous and it’s really no wonder she’s Juliet – she has hair the colour of a sunset falling down her back in ruby curls, emerald eyes framed by a curl of long eyelashes and cherry red lips that stretch into a wide smile whenever Dan cracks a joke, giving way to a small dimple on the side of her cheek. Her skin is pale, the colour of moonlight, almost, and he idly thinks, just for a fleeting second, that the moon probably would be jealous of her. She’s beautiful.

“Certainly don’t have a problem with getting to snog you in front of a thousand people, I must be honest,” she adds, and Dan’s stomach drops and his grin vanishes. Shit.

He wrings out a laugh, internally wincing at how false it sounds. “Yeah, I- um-“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” someone mutters a few footsteps away from them. He snaps his head up, and Lucy plus Mr. Black-Hair are hunched over the desk, clearly getting nowhere with the absolute disaster they call an iBook.

“Wait- what’s the problem?” Dan suddenly gets up. He feels a little bad for leaving Alexandra so abruptly so he throws her a little apologetic ‘be right back’ glance, but he can’t help it – he might actually be able to help, here.

He shoves down the other voice in the back of his mind, the ‘or rather you’re just grabbing at any opportunity to avoid any potential conversation about the kiss you fucking wimp’

“It’s okay, Dan, sit back down. I’ll be with you both in a second,” Lucy calls over her shoulder.

“No, really,” Dan insists. “I know a thing or two about Macs. I have one myself, and-“ he catches Lucy drawing in a breath, ready to protest, and he regrets the spill of words almost as soon as they come out – fuck, why can’t he just keep his mouth shut? – but Mr. Black-Hair turns around, an eyebrow quirked upwards.

“Really?” his stare is the colour of ice, the sky on a December morning, but it’s weirdly warm at the same time.

“I- uh, yeah,” Dan stutters when he remembers how to talk again. “I’ve always had Macs. They’re great when they decide to work, but they can be a bitch when they begin to act up, and-“ he cuts himself off with an awkward shrug, “yeah.”

“Tell me about it,” the technician smirks. “This bastard-” he nods to the chunky white rectangle in his arms, “took me like, half an hour to boot up alone. And now it’s been frozen for like- twice as long as that. I’ve only had chance to type in my password so far.”

Lucy’s still standing in the middle of them and it’s getting a bit difficult to ignore the stony glare burning into Dan’s peripheral vision right now and even harder to avoid eye contact with her, but it doesn’t stop him from offering some help, albeit rather inappropriately timed.

“I- um, have my MacBook with me if that helps?” Dan offers, trying not to feel the heat of his blush when Mr. Black-Hair looks straight at him. “I mean- if you don’t need it that’s fine, but like- it’ll function a bit better than that thing,” he shrugs. “I dunno. It would probably save you a lot of time.”

“Really?” he raises an eyebrow. “Like, with you right now?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “I mean – I haven’t got my charger on me, but it’s on, like, eighty percent. Should be fine.”

“I mean-“ he throws a permission-seeking glance, towards Lucy, who Dan is pretty sure would be having steam coming out of her ears would it be humanly possible. She fixes Dan with a hard stare, a real ‘go on; be my guest’ look that’s always comes across as more of a dare than permission, a challenge for his conscience, but he can’t help an apologetic smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s cool with you, right?” his lips say before his mind catches up.

Lucy rolls her eyes in defeat. “If you absolutely must. But only- only because I could do with the extra time to independently go over one of Alexandra’s soliloquy.”

His face breaks out into a grin, and he’s not that sure why. “Thanks, Luce. I owe you one.”

“Don’t you make a habit of this, though. Remember; this is your own rehearsal time you’re sacrificing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dan calls over his shoulder, trailing off. Mr. Black-Hair holds the door open behind him, and suddenly they’re out of the rehearsal studio and walking in a weird mutual silence sitting in a strange middle ground between comfortable and uncomfortable, across the car park and over to the actual theatre.

“Are you alright to do this, yeah?” Mr. Black-Hair (Dan seriously needs to come up with more imaginative mental nicknames for people) breaks the silence on their walk down to the trap room.

“It’s no problem at all,” he smirks as another wooden step groans under his foot. “Anything to get out of rehearsal.”

Dan’s never really been here before, never touched the underground territory where the technicians lurked, but there’s something about the atmosphere of this place that grips him.

-

Half an hour passes, and Dan couldn’t really tell you why he’s still sitting down here, still sitting on a revolving chair with a rip in the upholstery, under half-broken beams, tables that look like they’re seconds away from collapsing, and a lot of weird technology that he’d never even attempt to get his head around (seriously – do they even need this many buttons?). He’d given his laptop to Black Hair to receive a very emphatic ‘thank you, like seriously you’re a fucking lifesaver if I spent a second longer with that piece of shit I really don’t know what I would have done’ and the job had been done in seconds. Since then, a casual conversation had been struck up and Dan finds he doesn’t actually want to go back upstairs just yet.

“You two sounded really good in there,” Black Hair comments. They’d been talking about the play. “From what I heard, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Dan says, trying to ignore the quiet blush that warms his cheeks. There’s nothing quite like someone complimenting his acting. “Clearly not good enough for Lucy, though.”

“Few things are, Dan,” he sighs, and Dan only finds it half-weird that this guy knows his name, but Dan doesn’t actually know his. It’s unnerving, sure, but nothing he’s a stranger to. “She’s been on at you all morning.”

“Yeah,” Dan pauses, before adding an apologetic “sorry, I- um, I don’t think I caught your name?”

“It’s fine. I’m Phil,” he grins, and Dan thanks his lucky stars there’s finally a name to put to the face.

Dan studies him briefly, and frowns. “You do look familiar, actually.”

“Yeah – I do all the donkey work downstairs,” he grins. “You may have seen me emerge from the cave every now and then.”

Dan chuckles, deciding there and then that he likes Phil.

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” Dan asks, studying the square lights looming above them, one of which he notices is stuttering slightly, flickering on and off every now and then.

Phil shrugs, not taking his eyes off of the screen. “Kinda. But I mean – I have my little crew down here, y’know? There’s five of us. We just like- keep each other company. Help each other whenever we need to,” he glances at Dan. “Oh, and sneak up to the theatre and watch you guys every now and then.”

Dan giggles. “Brilliant. Must be a nice little community, though.”

“Yeah, it is,” Phil hesitates. “Or perhaps ‘support group’ might be a more appropriate term. For the poor sods who have to put up with shitty laptops and gross food.”

Dan laughs, and helps himself to another Dorito.

-

“Okay, right- Dan, sorry if this sounds a bit weird because- like, we’ve pretty much only just met, but like- um- I was wondering if you wanted to-“

“Phil,” Dan cuts him off. As an actor, there’s something about hearing people stutter and ramble without really saying anything that tends to grate on him. “I’d love to.”

“Really? Well, I-“ Phil stops and frowns. “Hang on a second. How did you know I was gonna ask you to hang out?”

Dan shrugs like he hasn’t spent the last thirteen years mastering the sciences of body language and speech and how they can be applied to the acting world. “Lucky guess, I suppose.”

Phil smiles. “I mean- would you? Like, really?”

“Of course,” Dan says.

“Well yeah, like- I don’t have to be home for a while yet, and I have a car so we could just like- drive around for a bit? Go to town if you want?”

Dan smiles, and repeats what he said before he even knew what Phil was going to say.

“Yeah. I’d love to.”

-                                          

It’s a bit of a weird result to come out of lending his laptop to a stranger for a while, but it’s how Dan finds himself spending the evening sat in the passenger seat on the top of a car park roof, blasting some weird indie song from the depth of Phil’s Spotify and watching the sun sink further behind the buildings, painting the sky warmer with every slow minute that passes on the dashboard clock.

They’d had a drive around the city together, sometimes talking, sometimes letting lulls in the conversation give way to thoughtful silences, both of them tapping away to Phil’s music taste, but Dan thinks it’s been about fifteen minutes since either of them last said anything.

“So,” Phil is the first to break the silence. He flicks the last of his cigarette out of the window (Dan had insisted on rolling down the windows before he did that – there’s no way he’s going home stinking of an ashtray). “Tell me about yourself.”

Dan looks up from his phone at that, his heart thudding.

“You what?”

“You know,” Phil’s gaze doesn’t move, his eyes fixed on the view in front of the windscreen. They’d picked a spot at the very top of a multi-storey car park overlooking everything, leaving the city a pool of lights and colours and life far beneath them. “I don’t really know you. So tell me about yourself.”

“I- um-“ Dan gulps. This wasn’t really a question he came prepared for. He shrugs. “I don’t really know what there is to tell, if I’m honest.”

“Oh, now come on,” Phil presses. “Just- anything. Your hobbies. Your life. Your dreams. What you want to be when you’re older.”

“I feel like I’m in a bloody job interview,” Dan chuckles. Phil’s lips quirk upwards in response.

“You are. I’m interviewing you to see if you’re fit for the job of being mates with me.”

“The ‘job’?” Dan frowns. “Like it’s a chore?”

“That’s for you to decide,” Phil grins. “Now, come on. I wanna hear about you.”

Dan gulps, silence falling for the first time in a while.

“I- um, well I think my hobby is probably pretty obvious, for a start,” Dan begins. Phil rolls his eyes. “And what I wanna be when I’m older, too. I’m gonna do a degree in Drama, I reckon.”

“What else are you into, then?”

Dan stops for a second. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Phil presses, flicking his lighter and sparking up another cigarette. “You must have other interests besides acting. You got a girlfriend?”

Dan clams up. “Um- no.”

“Oh. Boyfriend, then?” he quirks his eyebrows, and Dan shakes his head miserably.

“Afraid not.”

“Glad we established that,” Phil smirks, but Dan doesn’t really smile back.

He chews on the inside of his lip, having a staring contest with a pair of headlights sliding across one of the roads beneath them.

“What music are you into, then?”

Dan swallows, trying to think. It’s like someone’s scraped over his mind with an eraser, rubbing out his interests and his life and his personality, all pencilled in with weak lines.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs. “This and that. I like whatever this is,” he nods to the Spotify track on Phil’s phone. “Bit of Indie, it’s good. Oh, and I love- what are they called? Pink Floyd?”

“Floyd’s good,” Phil agrees. “And Nirvana.”

“Yeah,” Dan gulps, feeling another silence probe the conversation.

“You into the Smashing Pumpkins?”

Dan shakes his head.

“Oh, okay. Slaves?”

Dan shakes his head again.

“Genesis?”

“Never even heard of them.”

“Cobalt Night?”

Dan shakes his head again

Phil cackles. “Oh Christ. You do realise I made that last band up?”

“Oh god,” Dan can feel his cheeks burn peony. “I’m not doing myself any favours here, am I?”

“Don’t worry, I’m only messing with you,” Phil says. “I think it would be more embarrassing if you said yes, to be honest.”

“True,” Dan shrugs, feeling Phil’s stare burn into his side profile. He sits back further in his seat, keeping his stare.

“You’re not really into much, are you?

Dan shrugs.

“I’m more into Musical Theatre, really. Ever since we did a production of Hamilton I haven’t really been able to get that rap out of my head,” he chuckles.

“Right,” Phil sits up a little bit and clears his throat. “Well we’ve established your music taste and your hobby. Who are your favourite actors, then?”

It’s like someone’s flicked a switch inside Dan. His eyes light up.

“-and Leonardo DiCaprio, oh my God, don’t even get me started on him. I mean- who wouldn’t fuck young Leo? Have you even seen him in Titanic? And Romeo and Juliet too, Jesus Christ he’s gorgeous. He’s so fucking gorgeous. I’m not gonna do Romeo’s role any justice when he’s my competition, am I?”

Phil just nods and says the odd ‘hm’, listening to Dan’s stream of consciousness.

“-and Helena Bonham-Carter, what a fucking legend, man. She’s just- her character is just so versatile, you know? I mean- there’s a good reason she’s in literally everything, and that’s because she’s fucking amazing- have you seen Fight Club? You must have seen it, it’s incredible. She’s incredible. It’s a bit of a mind fuck if I’m honest, what with the split personality thing and everything, but- oh God, Brad Pitt is so good in it too. And he’s pretty hot, I’m not gonna lie. Well, until he grew out his hair and looked a bit like a farmer. But- where was I? Oh yeah, Helena Bonham Carter-”

“She was good in Sweeney Todd, too,” Phil comments, and he’s off again.

“-like, that was the first time I ever saw Johnny Depp act, and by Christ that film creeped me out. I mean- I was only like, seven when I watched it so of course it was gross, like, what seven year old watches people do- you know, that, to paying customers? I feel sorry for the poor sods who just went in there wanting to give their beards a trim. But- yeah, they were both really good in Sweeney Todd. I had a bit of a crush on Helena- and Johnny too, for that matter, I mean come on, who didn’t? But then I found out Johnny Depp is a bit of a dick in real life so I went off him after that. But Helena’s still cool, obviously.”

“She’s good, yeah,” Phil nibbles at a protruding hangnail on his thumb.

“And- oh god, who’s another good actor? Oh, don’t even get me started on Morgan Freeman. Absolute fucking legend. Like, oh my god. Him and that other one- god, what’s his name? The guy from Donnie Darko?”

Dan’s brain is moving far too quickly for Phil to keep up and he has no idea what the correlation between Morgan Freeman and Donnie Darko is, but he gives it a shot anyway.

“Jake Gyllenhaal?”

“Yes. Yes, oh my god, that’s the one,” Dan’s face breaks out into a grin. “Fuck, Donnie Darko. What a film, man. My friend has a tattoo of it, and-“

It continues like this, Dan chatting nineteen-to-the-dozen and Phil counting the glitters of passion in his eyes, before they’re both interrupted by a buzzing on Dan’s lap.

“Oh shit,” he grabs his phone. “It’s my mum.”

Phil doesn’t know what she’s saying on the other end of the line, but judging by Dan’s apologies it sounds like he’s stayed out here for a little too long.

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles, tugging on his seatbelt. “Lost track of time a bit, there.”

“Clearly,” Phil grins.

“This was good, though,” Dan says. “Like, really good. Thanks for, you know. Suggesting this.”

“Tell you what,” Phil leans into him, and Dan can smell his cologne. “We’re gonna come back up here again soon, okay? And you’re gonna tell me about yourself. Properly, this time.

Dan frowns. “Isn’t that what I’ve spent the past like- hour doing?” he glances at the clock and shit, has it really been that long? It’s pitch black outside, the only light coming from the glitter of the city beneath them (shit, it really is beautiful from up here) and he was supposed to be home forty-five minutes ago.

“Yeah,” Phil says, starting up the engine. “The only difference being next time we do this, I’m going to ban you from saying the word ‘acting’. So I can hear about you, the real you, and not whoever you pretend to be for a living.”

-

The next few days pass in a blur of line-learning, enduring Lucy’s lectures about how he just ‘isn’t putting enough ‘oomph’ into it, come on now, we’ll take it from the top one more time’ and Dan has to act like he actually gives more of a shit about what Romeo’s saying right now than what Phil had said in that car a few days ago. He has to act like it isn’t what he’d been reciting over and over in his mind, the words digging grooves into the back of his mind and making themselves at home.

He has to act like there’s more to his fucking life than acting.

-

The next time Dan sees Phil, they’re both cooped up in a control room eating lunch in a companionable silence; Dan going over his lines and Phil puzzling over these two wires that are, according to him, sly bastards that won’t fucking go in these holes Jesus Christ, to which Dan had shut his eyes and prayed to god no-one outside the room had caught that out of context. There’s a huge control panel, rows and rows of buttons and sound mixers and, as Dan had very accurately christened them, “slidey-things” in front of them. He has no idea what any of this stuff is, no idea what a “cross-fader” is or what the hell a “submaster” is supposed to do, but every now and then Phil will casually lean over and flick a switch or press a button and a stage light beneath them will change.

“What’s up?”

Dan looks up from his script. He’s been poring over his lines for so long he’s pretty sure stripes of yellow highlighter are now permanently inked into the back of his mind, now.

“What? Nothing.”

Phil swings his legs off of the bar they’d been resting against. They’re halfway through sharing a KitKat (Dan had taken a trip down to the Co-op at the beginning of the lunch break and returned with a bag so heavy with food it had left a dent in his hand, insisting Phil can’t be living on stale crisps his entire life) and watching a rehearsal, one Dan doesn’t have to be in for once, through a pane of glass.

“You’re going to have to do better if you want to convince me, Mr. Theatre Kid,” Phil reaches over to the bowl in front of them and plucks a grape from the stem. “I thought you were good at acting.”

“What do you want me to do; leap up and perform a jig?” Dan turns a page, the paper rustling a bit too loudly. “I’m fine, Phil. Stop reading into things too much.”

Phil stares at him. “You’re sat there with a face as long as my leg, and I’m reading into things?” he quirks an eyebrow. “Be careful. If you stare at that page any longer it’ll probably burst into flames.”

“Shut up,” Dan mutters, the edge in his voice a little too sharp for it to slip by as a joke.

Phil does.

Dan sighs. “Sorry, I just-“

“Rehearsals getting to you?” he suggests softly. Dan doesn’t plan on letting the real problem slip; Christ, he can only imagine the havoc that would ensue if it got around that as well as obsessing over acting he’s also never actually kissed anyone, so he quickly takes Phil up on that.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I mean- Romeo’s a good character to play, I guess, but he does have an awful lot to say.”

“You’ll be okay,” Phil reassures him. “You still have months of time left to memorise your lines. When’s the play?”

“Seventh of February,” Dan says. Two months from now.

“There we go,” Phil says. “You have plenty of time yet.”

“I guess so,” Dan shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve done this millions of times before,” Phil says. “You’ll be fine; I know you will. You’re a natural.”

Dan wishes he knew the half, he really does, but there’s just something about Phil’s smile that makes him almost want to believe him.

-

Dan manages to tell Phil a little bit more about himself next time they’re on the roof together, and in return, he learns a bit about Phil too.

“Well, when I was acti-“

“Nuh-uh,” Phil interrupts him. “No acting talk, remember?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “It’s relevant to what I was gonna say. It’s an important part of the story.”

“Wherever the hell you can fit acting into a story about you and your friends getting drunk and stealing a supermarket trolley because you couldn’t afford a taxi, I’d be very impressed.”

“You’d be surprised,” Dan grins, and that was the only time acting came into conversation that night.

-

Dan learns Phil is eighteen, that he’d failed his driving test three times before passing because he was driving on the wrong side of the dual carriageway, and swears he’s going to give up smoking next year, he promises. He learns that his favourite colour is blue because he likes the way the colour skates across the ocean water in the summer, and that he used to be scared of dogs before his parents got him a puppy for Christmas, a bouncy Labrador called Daisy with a love for the sun and walks down to the beach.

“I fucking love dogs,” Dan beams.

“So do I, now. Took me long enough,” Phil agrees, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Daisy’s so cute, oh my god. You will love her.”

Dan doesn’t say anything, but there’s something about the definite use of ‘you will’ that he likes.

He, in turn, finds that he does have some thoughts and feelings and dreams hidden away in there, beneath the façade of scripts and stage lights and acting. He finds he does have stuff to say, stuff that isn’t always attached to a web stringing back to the theatre. He tells Phil all about his cat, Ozzy (a little shit who takes great pleasure in knocking all his belongings off of his desk and sleeping on his laptop, but he loves him anyway) his annoying next-door neighbours who don’t seem to see any problem with blasting ABBA at three in the morning, and they manage to find common bands they both like. Oasis is playing when the sun sinks, the sky darkens, and the city lights up beneath them.

“God, I love this one,” Phil mumbles, his speech obscured by the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “Don’t Look Back In Anger. It’s one of their best.”

“Oh god, yeah,” Dan agrees, tapping along to the chorus. “That and Stand By Me. Oh god, and Champagne Supernova, too.”

Phil grins at that, and leans forward, picking his phone up from the dashboard. Before Dan has a chance to question him, the chorus stops dead in its tracks, and an acoustic softness follows the sudden silence, a series of guitar chords that are just that bit too familiar. He grins.

“I always think the intro sounds a bit like Wonderwall,” Phil comments, putting his phone down and leaning back in the seat.

“Yeah,” Dan sighs, leaning back in his own seat and turning his gaze to the city beneath them, staring at lights and roads and buildings until they pool into a hazy amber blur in his vision.

How many special people change,

How many lives are living strange,

Where were you while we were getting high?

Slowly walking down the hall,

Faster than a cannonball

Where were you while we were getting high?

 Someday you will find me,

Caught beneath the landslide,

In a champagne supernova in the sky.

Someday you will find me,

Caught beneath the landslide,

In a champagne supernova;

A champagne supernova in the sky.

They don’t say anything, instead letting Liam Gallagher do the talking, but sly glances are exchanged from under brown fringes and black eyelashes.

-

“Nice up here, isn’t it?”

It’s only until Phil breaks the silence they’ve lapsed into that Dan realises the song has drawn to a close. He slides his gaze from the city and over to Phil, over to his thoughtful stare skating along the skyline, the ruffled sweep of black hair coating his fringe, and the orange glow of a cigarette tip poking out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes flicker over to Dan’s.

Dan looks back over to the city.

“Yeah.”

“I always come up here.”

“I can see why.”

“Yeah, well. Sometimes a little look over the city is just what you need to clear your head. It just puts everything in perspective, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dan swallows. “It really does.”

There’s a litter of thoughts and worries in his mind, buried deep and multiplying with every day that drags past, every day that pulls him closer and closer to the production, to the hundreds of burning stares in the audience seats, to his colleague’s lips. He’s been longing for a break from it. Just a few hours of silence, a few quiet moments that don’t have to be spent combing over every single thought in his head, thinking and thinking until it inflates into anxiety, spilling into the pit of his stomach and clawing at the edges as it goes.

And the more he counts the city lights, the more he feels the cold night air stroke his cheeks and the engines reverberating around the car park levels beneath them, the more he reckons a more few nights up here. It’s the remedy he needs; just him, Phil and the lights.

Their eyes meet seconds after, and Dan can feel the question he’s vowed to ask Phil before the end of the night already beginning to rest on his lips, on the cusp of speech.

“When can we do this again?”

-

The late nights begin to pass more frequently in a spinning blur of city nights, passenger seats and conversations, all whispers and cold air and stolen glances. Dan can feel himself unravelling like a threadbare blanket, his carefully constructed personas and characters fraying at the edges with every hour spent up on the top of the city with a boy whose lips spill truths like water, and it isn’t long until Dan finds cracks in his paper personalities and begins to feel more and more honesty begin to seep through. He finds that no, he doesn’t have to spin false anecdotes like cotton and lie about his interests and find a way of linking everything back to acting, hooking every little quirk and element to his personality back to the stage. He doesn’t have to impress Phil with his knowledge of Hollywood throughout the years and he doesn’t have to act like he loves things he’s never actually heard of and he doesn’t have to lock his feelings away and throw away the key.

He doesn’t have to pretend.

-

It’s all okay until they fall onto the topic of previous relationships.

It’s been a good night. They’d visited the car park again, but this time without the car (it was warm enough to leave it in the driveway and make their own way up the concrete staircases, glass bottles in plastic bags clinking around their legs). They’d situated themselves in the very same parking space, the one second to the right and next to a beacon, but they’d traded car seats for a picnic blanket, headlights for phone torches and gear sticks for bottle openers.

“Yeah, like- fuck, she wasn’t a good kisser at all, was Mary. I mean- we were in year nine and she tried, bless her, and God knows so did I. But you know, with that as my first impression of kissing, when it was over I was like ‘what the fuck is all the fuss about?’” Phil chuckles, and Dan pretends to grin.

“Yeah, I mean-“ he shrugs, staring down at his lap. “I’ve had my fair share of bad kisses in my time.”

The ease with which the lie rolls off of his tongue almost takes him by surprise. It’s been a while since he’s lied about himself to Phil, and it feels strange.

“I can imagine,” Phil says, before frowning. “But you’re an actor. So you must be an excellent kisser, right? What with all the practice you guys have.”

Dan frowns, looking up from his bottle. “You what?”

“Oh come on. I saw what went on in the back of that car last term. Eddie and Alexandra. That play involved more lip-on-lip action than the fucking Notebook.”

Dan smiles at that, remembering the play adaptation they actually did of that when he was in year ten. He doesn’t quite know whether to laugh or cry over the sheer amount of starring roles he’s had that are heavily eloped in some kind of romantic storyline.

“Us actors have our techniques,” he says carefully.

Phil’s eyes widen at that. “You do? Like what?”

Dan shrugs, taking another sip of beer. “Oh, you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Phil shuffles closer, a flicker of eagerness in his cerulean stare and shit, Dan’s beginning to regret opening his mouth now. “Come on. What techniques do you have? I could use a few tips myself.”

Dan raises an eyebrow, his eyes firmly locked onto the spread of amber lights in front of them.

“I doubt you’d ever want to use these kinds of techniques on anyone,” he says, a hint of humour drying his speech. “I imagine stage-kissing on a real date would be quite a deal-breaker.”

“Stage kissing, huh?” Phil widens his eyes. “How does that differentiate from a real kiss, then?”

“Well,” Dan takes another sip of his drink, his vision beginning to slow down. “First of all, it’s not really a kiss at all.”

“Huh?” Phil frowns.

“I mean- not usually. There are different kinds of stage-kisses, but most of them don’t involve, you know,” he smirks, reusing Phil’s rather vulgar term of “lip-on-lip action”.

“So you guys don’t actually kiss?” Phil asks.

Dan shakes his head. “Nope.”

“But-… how does that work?”

Alcoholic courage swims through Dan’s veins at that. He glances at Phil.

The words are a whisper, a dare almost, and it isn’t until Phil nods that Dan realises he’s actually said it out loud.

“Want me to show you?”

“Yeah, go on,” Phil’s tone is casual, soft almost, but his eyes are glittering.

“Okay, well- come over here,” he beckons.

Phil does as he’s told, shuffling up on his knees until he’s facing Dan.

“One of the actors needs to have their back to the audience,” Dan says. “So, let’s say the wall over there is the audience,” he nods over Phil’s shoulder to the stretch of concrete watching them.

“Alright. The wall’s the audience. Now what?”

“Now,” Dan gulps, feeling his heart begin to pick up the pace because shit, this is really happening now. “So, what you do is, like, just lean in normally for a kiss, but stop just as your lips are about to touch.”

Phil scoffs. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Look, do you want me to show you or not?”

“Nah, nah, I’m kidding,” Phil says. “C’mon, then. Show me how it’s done in Hollywood.”

“You dick,” Dan mumbles, but he’s leaning in.

Phil gets closer, his face begins to crawl up to Dan’s until their noses are brushing and his fringe is a tickle on Dan’s cheek and his breath mixes with Dan’s own, warm and languid through parted lips and fuck, Dan’s heart is really thudding now. His legs feel like jelly and his lungs feel like fire and there’s something warm and fiery swirling in the pit of his stomach, something alien, something that he’s certainly never felt before with any other colleague he’s come this agonisingly close to kissing.

They stay there for what feels like minutes, lips hovering, warmth tingling and the city still thundering beneath them, and it’s Phil who pulls away first.

“Impressive,” he smiles, eyes glittering with nonchalance. “Frustrating, but impressive. Is that your go-to one, then?”

It takes three swigs of beer to calm Dan down before he can speak again.

“I mean- um, yeah. Though sometimes if you’re, like, sitting really far over to the side in the audience you might be able to tell that they’re not actually kissing, so,” he shrugs. “It just depends on the stage, I guess.”

“Right,” Phil nods, swigging from his own bottle. “You, er- you mentioned a few other types, right?”

The thought of coming that close to Phil’s lips again sends the strange flame of warmth flooding back into Dan’s stomach. He all but chokes on his mouthful of drink.

“Er- yeah,” he stutters. “There are a few others,” he gulps again and shit, what’s up with him?

Dan doesn’t really know what’s happening, doesn’t know why being within a metre radius of this guy is already making him feel far more than he’d ever felt with any colleague, kissing or not, but it doesn’t stop him from beckoning the older boy over and showing him kiss number two, their lips locked together with nothing except Dan’s thumb in between them. He can feel the warmth of Phil’s mouth against his skin, the hot movement of Phil’s breath through his nose and the tickle of his hair against his cheek again. When he parts his mouth, Dan feels the tiniest touch of lip against his. It’s only the very corner and can’t have lasted for longer than a millisecond, but the feeling comes back like a spark to a flame and he’s beginning to find it difficult to balance and oh, shit.

They break apart, eyes searching each other’s, and it’s the first time Dan’s feeling like this post-‘kiss’ without having to throw on a character like an old shirt. He doesn’t have to follow anything up with someone else’s speech, with a fake accent and a stupid costume and a mannerism that doesn’t quite fit.

For once, he doesn’t feel like he has to act.

Phil narrows his eyes after a few silent seconds, fighting back a smirk.

Dan frowns, the post-stage kiss high beginning to melt away.

“What?”

“Is that seriously it?” Phil says.

“Yeah,” Dan moves away, trying to ignore the surge of electricity he had felt upon edging within a few millimetres of the other boy’s lips, the city a roar beneath them.

“I don’t know why I feel so disappointed,” Phil smirks. “From where I sit, looking at you lot doing all your stuff down on the stage, it looks a whole sight more realistic than that.”

Dan looks back out to the city.

“Yeah, well,” he says, feeling his heart slow down. “Acting isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

-

“So. You and Alexandra, eh?”

Dan glares at him. Dawn is beginning to throw pastel colours into the blackness of the sky. It’s still dark enough to see the stars, fainter twinkles against the sweep of indigo above them, but it’s light enough for them to see each other, to make out feint outlines of faces in the low pre-sunrise light, eyes half-lidded and shadowed from the sleepless hours. It must be pushing four in the morning, and they’ve been here since eleven o’clock, leaving their parents with promises that they’re spending the night round each other’s houses to make a few preparations for the play.

(If reciting Romeo’s Balcony Scene soliloquy through giggles and slightly drunken slurs counts as preparation, then at least half of that promise is true).

“We’re not an item,” Dan mumbles, taking a drag from his cigarette. It tastes strange, kind-of like dirt and ash and tar and he’s not a smoker and probably never will be, but Phil had offered him one and- well, fuck it.

“I know,” Phil says. “But you guys are performing in the round, aren’t you?” Phil narrows his eyes, and Dan swears he leans an inch or two closer before whispering, “your stage kisses won’t work from that angle, I’m telling you.”

“Don’t remind me,” Dan shuts his eyes. So far he’d been doing quite a grand job of pushing that worry to the back of his mind, burying it deep into his consciousness. The whole reason he’s up here altogether is to escape it.

Phil hesitates.

“What?” he asks. “Don’t you want to kiss Alexandra?”

Dan gulps, the taste of alcohol souring on his tongue a little.

“It’s not that,” he says. “I mean- a kiss is a kiss, right? It’s all part of the job, and-“

“But you don’t fancy her,” Phil says.

Dan frowns. “Well- no, of course not. She’s a colleague.”

“I know,” Phil says. “It makes a difference though, doesn’t it?”

“What does?”

“Kissing someone you don’t fancy. It’s weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Dan mumbles. It’s getting harder and harder to maintain this lie. “I- er, yeah. I usually stick to stage-kissing on the job, to be honest,” he shrugs. “It’s just easier than kissing someone you don’t really have feelings for.”

“Have you never, you know, properly kissed anyone before, then?”

Dan takes a deep breath. Lies can flow like water when he wants them to; he’s a master at concealing the truth behind a blanket of fabrication and deception, but there’s something about talking to Phil that makes falsehood sour on his tongue.

He lets it out in a deep sigh, feeling his chest deflate and his heart thud. Fuck it.

“You know what?,” he begins. “No. I haven’t. I don’t know if you can tell, but- yeah. I dunno, I guess that’s why I’m so stressed about this shit with Alexandra. And like- I know that probably makes me a fucking loser for never having kissed anyone at the age I am now, and probably even more of a loser that I want my first one to be with someone special, but- fuck, I don’t know,” he swallows, feeling the knot of anxiety in his chest loosen a little. “No. I haven’t. Okay?”

Phil doesn’t say anything. He bites his lip and averts his eyes down to the neck of his bottle. He fiddles with the loose cap, letting it fall through the spaces between his fingers with a sharp clink.

Dan doesn’t like that, doesn’t like the silence. The knot returns.

“What?”

“I- er- that wasn’t really what I meant,” Phil finally says.

The knot tightens.

“What do you mean it’s not what you meant?”

“I meant have you properly kissed anyone on stage before,” Phil glances up. “Not in general.”

Dan’s stomach drops. Oh fuck.

He open his mouth, but no speech follows. No amount of words can haul himself out of his hole now. Shit.

“I mean-“ he finally speaks again after a silence, and there’s a tremor in his voice that he desperately tries to smooth over. “Oh, shit,” he deflates, feeling the pit of his stomach begin to churn due to the abundance of the night’s alcohol. There’s no point trying to clamber out of the hole he’s just dug himself. He’ll only deepen it.

“Have you really never kissed anyone?” Phil asks in a quieter voice, but he doesn’t sound surprised. Or humoured. Or any other emotion Dan had feared. Just… curious. “Like, at all?”

Dan gulps, the beer a sour swirl in the pit of his stomach. Maybe the sixth bottle was a mistake.

“Well there’s no point denying it now, is there?” Dan finally mumbles, his eyes fixed on a dent in the concrete not far from where they’re sitting. “No. I haven’t.”

The gentle thrum of city engines fills the silence between them, and the three seconds Phil doesn’t say anything for might as well have been days.

“Yep,” Dan breaks the quietness once it borders on unbearable. “There you go. You think I’m a fucking weirdo now, don’t you?”

“Not at all,” Phil replies, and his voice is unusually calm. Dan looks up, his eyes meeting a soft expression, and for some reason he really didn’t expect Phil to react like this.

“So-“ Dan shakes his head. “What? You’re not gonna take the piss? Laugh at me? Say I’m a fucking weirdo that only lied to you to try and look cool?”

The truth scratches his heart, but it needs to be said.

“Why the fuck would I laugh at you?” Phil frowns, and there’s something about the sincerity in his voice that, beneath the turmoil, Dan finds weirdly comforting.

“I mean,” Phil begins. “I’m surprised, don’t get me wrong. Only because you’re an actor and- well, let’s face it, you’re fucking gorgeous too, but-“ he shakes his head. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m the first to say I’d much rather make sure my first kiss means something. If anything, I agree with you on that.”

“You’re not pissed off that I lied to you?” Dan gulps down another mouthful of lukewarm alcohol.

“Of course not, you twat,” Phil says. “I mean, I get why you did, but there was no need to. Really.”

“I know,” Dan sighs, picking at the label on his glass bottle until the paper frays at the edges.

“Wanna know something?” Phil says, his eyes not moving from the soft sweep of stars above them, dimmed by the early morning light.

Dan takes his eyes away from the sky. “What?”

“If you’re a liar, then so am I,” Phil tells the stars.

Dan frowns. “You what?”

Phil’s eyes flick back down to earth, meeting Dan’s gaze. “I lied too.”

Dan gulps, his heart thudding. “About what?”

Phil forces a chuckle, but it’s drained of humour. “Do I have to spell it out to you? I haven’t kissed anyone either.”

The words ring in Dan’s ears moments after, Phil’s voice an echo above the roar of the city below.

“Wait-…” is the only word that passes Dan’s lips in the next passing minute or so. “But-…”

“Yeah,” Phil shrugs. “Turns out you’re not the only one, are you?”

“But-…” Dan shakes his head. “Why did you lie about it too?”

Phil just shrugs and says, “same reasons you did.”

Dan tries, he really tries, to comb through the tangle of confusion in his mind right now, but the best response he can come up with after a moment or two of silence isn’t the most articulate.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees, and they descend into quietness again.

“Shame, isn’t it?” Phil is the first to break the silence. “That we feel the need to lie about that.”

“It’s society’s fault for making us feel as if being over the age of about fifteen without having shoved a tongue down anyone’s throat is a failure.”

Phil grimaces. “I’ve never understood the attraction of that, you know. Like, I get making out and stuff, but why would you want to literally devour the person next to you? When I saw kissing scenes as a kid I thought they were actually trying to eat each other.”

“I know,” Dan takes a sip of beer, the alcohol slipping down with a little more ease now. “It sounds grim. I don’t know how people do it. At least with acting on stage you don’t have that problem.”

“True,” Phil mirrors his actions, pulling his drink away from his lips and tracing the rim of the bottle with the tip of his thumb, staring down the tube-shaped glass into the remains of the flat beer, swimming lukewarm and flat at the bottom of the bottle. Only when he glances up a few seconds later does Dan realise he’s been staring.

Dan smirks.

“What are you grinning at?”

“Just-…” he shakes his head and shit, he’s definitely had enough to drink tonight. He can feel the alcohol-induced honesty begin leaking through his parted lips and he knows he’ll probably end up saying something he’ll regret tomorrow morning but- oh, fuck it. “The thought of you having never kissed anyone. It just- doesn’t make sense to me like- look at you. How?”

He’s not really sure where the line between a compliment and a very sorry attempt at flirting is drawn but he’s pretty sure he’s fallen somewhere in the middle.

Phil’s gaze lingers a few seconds too long. “I could ask you the same thing. I mean- come on, look at you. A guy like you must have been drowned in opportunities.”

They’re both a bit too drunk, a bit too cold and there’s something about the atmosphere of an empty car park at fuck-knows-o’clock that warps reality just a little. Dan blinks and the city lights don’t unblur and he feels a bit like he’s in a dream.

“Yeah, I-…” he shrugs. “I’ve had my fair share of offers, I won’t lie.”

“I’ll bet,” Phil interjects, and Dan rolls his eyes.

“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t either,” Dan rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking. “I just-… yeah, I dunno. I didn’t really wanna waste it, but I never really found someone I liked enough.”

“That’s nice, that is,” Phil says, and though Dan scours his tone of voice for a trace of sarcasm or mockery, but Phil’s eyes glitter earnestly. “No, like, really. Most teenagers just, you know, dive straight into it. Slam their face against anything with a pulse that crosses their path. But the fact you care enough to wait,” he glances up, eyeing the boy beside him carefully. “That’s rare. Kinda admirable in a way.”

“Were you the same, then?”

Phil nods without any hesitation. “A hundred percent.”

Dan nods understandingly, taking another sip of beer, and the two of them watch the town sleep for a quiet moment before Phil speaks up again.

“Oh, come here,” he stretches out his arms. “You look like you’re seconds away from hypothermia, for Christ’s sake.”

Dan leans into his chest, closing his eyes and snuggling into the Topman denim of Phil’s jacket. “I don’t really think a car park roof is the most suitable drinking spot,” he mumbles, his speech slightly obscured by his rattling jaw.

“Not at five a.m. in December at least,” Phil says. “It’s a lot nicer in summer, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Dan says, and the indirect promise that they’ll come out here and do this again makes Phil smile.

It’s quiet, serene and blue, and Dan loses count of the minutes that drip by until he hears Phil’s voice again, shattering his trance dancing on the fragile edge of drunken consciousness.

“Dan?” it’s only a half-whisper, but it still makes him jump.

The younger boy turns his head, his brown hair tousling against Phil’s denim chest until they’re eye-to-eye.

Phil lowers his gaze, but this time his eyes don’t flicker back up to Dan’s. Dan parts his mouth in response, but before he can say anything, there’s a surge forward and a soft pair of lips on his.

A jolt of adrenaline, shock, and a general ‘holy-fucking-shit-this-can’t-be-happening’ feeling shimmers through his body as he kisses back, and despite his embarrassing inexperience when it comes to anything remotely romantic, his lips move perfectly in time with Phil’s, their mouths melting together in flawless harmony.

Phil’s the one to break away, and Dan misses his lips the second the cold morning air touches his mouth. He frowns, studying Phil’s expression half-hidden by his mop of black hair, but the older boy refuses eye contact.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came ov-“

“Don’t apologise,” Dan cuts him off immediately, his hand hovering over Phil’s arm in quiet protest. “Just-…” he gulps. “Do it again,”

Phil’s head snaps up, his eyes boring into the brown stare in mild confusion.

“Please,” Dan mouths, and Phil doesn’t need to be told twice.

They kiss for longer, deeper, slightly parted lips and slow breathing and the teal glow of 5am light and shit, this was certainly worth a seventeen year wait. Phil’s lips feel like warmth and taste like tobacco and he feels a gentle comb of shy fingertips through his hair and yep, he can definitely see what all the fuss is about now.

When they break apart for the second time, all blushes and broken breaths, they’re both grinning. Phil drops his gaze with a bashful chuckle.

“Well,” Dan breathes. He’s still sitting close, their upper arms touching but neither of them really wanting to move away.

“Well,” Phil says, almost in agreement. They’re bathed in silence once again, but this time it’s comfortable.

“I’m not gonna lie,” Dan begins, looking out over the city. “That was definitely worth the wait.”

Phil tilts his head down, their noses almost touching. “Yeah?”

“For sure,” Dan cranes his neck up a little and pecks Phil’s lips again. The other boy grins, pulling his jacket further over Dan’s shoulders.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime then, won’t we?” Phil’s eyes glitter.

Dan grins, glancing at the view spread in front of them. The sun is beginning to awaken and there are fewer streetlights illuminating the land below and it’s cold and wow, they should really think about heading home soon. Dan hasn’t checked his phone in hours and he’s sure it can’t be running on anything much more than a measly four percent.

“Definitely,” he says, then hesitates. “Although, well.”

“Well what?”

Dan flicks his eyes up at the boy above him, tired brown against weary blue.

“Perhaps next time we should choose somewhere a little warmer than a car park,” he says in a soft voice, before adding, “I can barely feel my arse right now.”

Phil bursts out laughing, and then a pair of lips are on his for the third time.

-

The next couple of weeks rush by in a flurry of rehearsals, meetings, crumpled scripts and weird costumes that itch around the collar. Dan and Phil spend most of their time three storeys apart, meaning secret rendezvous up in the control room or down in the trap room are often necessary. The closer the big day creeps, the hotter the atmosphere becomes with stress, so it’s nice to leave the tension with the stage and the equally tense co-workers and escape for a bit.

“For fear of that, I still will stay with thee, and never from this palace of dim night depart aga- oh for fuck’s sake, you’re not even listening.”

Phil looks up from his phone, a giggling smirk still lingering on his face. “Huh?”

“Come on, Phil. You said you’d go through this with me and you’re sat there playing around with bloody Snapchat filters.”

“Sorry, sorry – I am listening, it’s just-“ his eyes flicker back down to the screen in front of him. “That’s hideous. Who even makes these filters? I look like a toe.”

“Can unflattering photos of you not wait five minutes until I’ve finished this? We’re literally nearly done anyway. We only have, like, one more paragraph to g-” Phil interrupts him by flipping the phone around to face the other boy. A bald, rather unsightly version of Phil with weird eyes stares back. Dan’s eyes widen in horror. “Fuck, that really is hideous.”

“I know,” Phil shudders. “I didn’t even know my face could do that,” he glances back at the screen and pulls a couple of experimental faces. “Would you still be with me if I looked like that?”

“Nope,” Dan replies semi-seriously, rolling his eyes when Phil pouts.

“What about if I looked like this?” Phil turns the phone around. He looks a lot better this time, but a little bit too much like an animal. Dan’s never really understood the national attraction towards ‘dog filters’.

“Probably. The ears might get in the way a bit, though,” he chuckles, before urging, “now come on. We haven’t got long left now.”

Phil agrees, albeit reluctantly. He swings his legs off the table, grabs Dan’s battered highlighted mess of a script sitting in front of him and they pick up from where they left off, something about ‘worms that are thy chamber maids’, ‘everlasting rest’ and ‘inauspicious stars’ (whatever the fuck that adjective means). They last a grand total of fifteen seconds before Dan’s voice is interrupted by a shriek of laughter.

“Oh, fucking hell that’s bad!” Phil cackles. Dan groans, wondering for a fleeting second where the best place to launch Phil’s phone might be.

“That’s it,” he loses it, suddenly leaping across the table and swiping the irritating rectangle of interest straight from Phil’s hand. His smile vanishes in seconds.

“Aw, what?!”

“You have five seconds to put this stupid fucking thing away, or else it’s going out there,” he points to the window behind them. Phil follows his gaze, his eyes widening. They can see the majority of the town from up here. That’s a long drop.

He turns his head back around. They’re nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye.

“Fine,” Phil smiles, the tips of their noses brushing together. “But just so you know, seeing you angry just makes me want to kiss you more.”

Dan rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide his smirk. “Are you still gonna want to kiss me when your phone ends up on the ground?”

“What do you mean ‘when’? I’ve put it away now,” he points to the bulge in his back pocket.

Dan fixes him with a glare.

“Come on,” Phil leans forward as Dan leans back. “Just one?” he pleads, his eyes big and blue.

He shakes his head and pulls away, a grin curling at his lips. His eyes flicker back to Phil, a brown gaze that lingers too long.

“Afterwards,” he says in a voice like velvet.

Phil rolls his eyes, flopping back onto the chair. “Fine. Bloody hell, it’s like being back at school.”

Dan pretends not to hear that last comment. “Come on, we’ll take it from “world-wearied flesh…”

Phil’s phone doesn’t move once from his pocket after that. The promise of Dan’s lips after rehearsal is more tempting than any filter some dumb app has to offer.

-

“How do I look?”

Phil eyes him up and down, a smirk playing at his lips. “Hot.”

The comment receives a soft punch to his upper arm.

“Behave,” Dan turns back to the mirror, twining a lock of perfectly sprayed hair that he was specifically instructed not to touch around his fingers. “Are you sure? I feel like I look like a-“

He’s interrupted by a pair of soft lips for a few seconds.

“That’s really not helping the nerves,” Dan breathes once they break away.

Phil grins. “You look fine. You know you do. Now quit playing with your hair before Alexa sees.”

Dan doesn’t think Alexa, the make-up artist, is capable of seeing anything that isn’t within a thirty-centimetre radius of her own face right now. She’s been hurrying around backstage all evening; powdering this, curling that, flitting from actor-to-actor so quickly it makes Dan out of breath to even watch her. She certainly hasn’t done a bad job though, he thinks, as he inspects his reflection. A slightly dishevelled, 15th-century version of himself stares back, all weird leather and burgundy velvet and wow, perhaps he should sport an Elizabethan tunic more often.

“Suits you,” Phil smiles as if he’d read his mind. Dan adjusts the collar accordingly.

“D’you reckon?”  

“Yeah,” Phil eyes him up and down again. “Most people here kinda look like twats in their costume, but you really actually pull that off.”

“Um- thanks? I think?” Dan smirks, frowning at his reflection. He doesn’t mention it has anything to do with his long-standing ability to morph into literally anyone he likes (he’d often been described by many make-up artists as having a “chameleon face” which he hopes is a reference to his adaptability to blend into multiple characters as opposed to resembling a lizard), and instead accepts the ever-so-slightly backhanded compliment.

“What are you doing down here?” someone with an updo the size of Jupiter asks Phil, sauntering past in something that really rather resembles a cupcake. Phil was right, Dan thinks. They do look a bit ridiculous. “They need you upstairs in five minutes.”

“Oh shit,” Phil glances at his watch. “Okay. Gotta go before Nick kills me.”

“Alright,” Dan smiles, pulling him in for a quick hug.

“Good luck,” he whispers into his shoulder. “You’ll fucking kill it.”

Dan tightens his grip around his arms. “Thank you.”

The word has multiple other meanings, and judging by the glitter in Phil’s eye when he pulls away, he thinks he understands every single one.

-

That night, Dan lavishes in warm spotlights and painted wooden sets resembling palaces and balconies, and he feels alive.

That night, the finest Elizabethan literature spills from his lips, flowing as easily as water, his voice shaping every monologue, soliloquy and duologue perfectly.

That night, there are another pair of lips on his; only this time painted red and totally professional. It feels strange, alien, and not a single trace of the spark in his heart that Phil’s lips ignite can be found, but it’s work. It’s courage.

And that night, someone up in the control booth watches through the pane of glass over all the light boards and buttons and wires, and smiles.

As if it’s been almost a year since my last oneshot??? Wtf this must CHANGE I’m getting back into writing (properly this time I swear) so there’s a lot more where this came from. Feedback is always appreciated whether it be good or bad so pls let me know how you found this! Feels so good to be doing this again u have nooo idea holy shit <3

[maltedmilkchocolate]

How to learn a new language? I sure wish I knew. I got lucky with Japanese. But I’ve never had that luck with anything else.

Does Duolingo actually work as a learning tool for you? What about other apps? I try and use them but... I just??? I don’t feel like I learn anything beyond how to order the words correctly to not get the obnoxious sound telling u u suck. I don’t feel like i’m taking in any information, and the word selections seem so random, and often skips a word out entirely from the group. 

Why am I learning miscellanious vocab straight away, instead of things that actually matter?? “The boy buys the bread”? Why not start with “I buy the bread/I bought the bread”, or “My mother buys the bread.” The weird cluster style of random nouns and random verbs with no real contextual use is how language classes were always structured during highschool. And I never learnt a damned thing. Even at a language school my family saved for me to go to because they didn’t want me to only know English... a school *designed* to teach european languages.... couldn’t teach me Spanish.

It seems to also be how every single language app I’ve found structures themselves too. I’ve been learning Japanese for like five years now, and the way in which we’re taught is entirely different. You get a themed group of nouns and verbs. The easy start is the alphabet and writing system, then next stage is introductions, and then it follows into everyday useable questions.  “I’m a student.” “[Name] works for company.” “Who is that person?” “Who’s bag is this?” “Where is the Place/Object/Person?” How to tell the time. Action verbs like buy, go, do, say. Important nouns like places and objects that fit the context of the particular grammar being taught for that lesson.

Every new noun, verb, adjective had relevance to a specific lesson theme centred around a specific set of grammar structures. They didn’t use the standardised testing which uses abstract sentences that no way actually reflects what’s said in real life.

Why did I just learn man, woman, girl, boy? And then immediately learn Apple, Water, Bread, Juice? With no further context.

Why does “The Girl drink the juice?” When will I say this? “Is this juice?” “No, it’s alcohol” - would be better. “What drink is this?” “It’s orange juice.” - Also good. “Who is that man?” “It’s Mr. Sanches.” - Awesome. That’d be helpful to learn from the immediate get go. Give me the ability to create a useable sentence, and gain information from the answer.

Not an abstract observation. The girl drinks juice. She sure does. Now how does that help me navigate el supermercado????

Being able to learn something that has immediate value, is so much more beneficial than an abstract introductory sentence that... only really serves to learn vocabularly. And I can do that with flash cards. I’m sure this structure servers an actual tried and true purpose... I mean millions of people have learnt via this method, so it logically has to have some value. But it doesn’t for me. I am literally incapable of learning in that unhelpful manner, but I can never find anywhere that offers something different like my Japanese course does.

I learnt spanish for.... almost 10 years as a child. You know, that age range where your brain is meant to be a language sponge, the ‘best time’ to learn??? I barely remember a sentence. I couldn’t tell you how to conjugate a verb at all. But I can tell you my birthday. Mi cumpleaños es el treinta y uno de mayo. I learnt french for three years in highschool, and I can’t even remember how to ask ‘How much is the bus to X?’, let alone say “Can I buy one ice cream, please?”

I’ve been to these countries more than I have ever been to Japan, and I needed to know these things, and I just... didn’t. And not for lack of trying. It’s really embarrassing to have your family pressure you to be the one asking all the questions when you don’t know how to ask them, just because you’re the one learning. It’s really depressing when you’re a kid, and you make a friend, and you can’t talk to her because you don’t know anything beyond como se llama? I’m will die mad about that. Her family was really kind though, bought us time on a trampoline thing, so I got her flowers to say thank you cause my tiny child brain was like ‘this is the correct way to show you’re grateful.’ It’s frustrating that so many language courses are structured to pass tests, and aren’t structured to be functional.

I learnt japanese for five+ years as an adult, and I can hold a conversation. It’s not a great conversation, but I can hold one. I can write essays, and terrible fictional stories too. I can write blog journals and cringe at my bad grammar, but there IS grammar.  The only reason I got that far is because the method of teaching valued context and immediate real life useability, over generic word acquisition. The text books had an entirely different structure and focus on how they introduced grammar, and vocabulary within the context of that grammar. And that wasn’t even the mark of five years studying. That was Lessons 1 through to 10. Not even half way through the beginners text book, and it gave me enough to talk about my hobbies, gave me enough to request to do something, gave me enough to ask where to go, what to buy, and whether or not I was able to do something. A childs level conversation. “Let’s get lunch together.” 一���に昼ご飯を食べましょう。(Lesson 6 - Elementary 1)

Nearly 10 years of Spanish and I never knew how to make that suggestion. 5 days of Japanese and I could. The way in which language courses are taught MATTERS. Structure matters. Context, and usability matters.

I love learning languages. I really do. I keep trying to find a text book that functions the same way as Minna no Nihongo does, and I haven’t found one yet, or maybe i just really suck at googling... If you actually read this rant, and know a good text book/course for learning Spanish, let me know.

But for so, so long, I vehemently hated spanish. I hated it because I spent years learning, and never learnt a damned thing despite trying so hard. To the point I quit because I couldn’t handle failing again and again, and I felt so bad about my family flushing money we didn’t actually have to waste down the drain. But I’d like to try again. If i can find somewhere or something that doesn’t use the standard methods, I want to try again. Why should a failed decade worth of education amount to nothing? I’ll learn it out of spite if I have to for the sake of my childhood self. I’d like to learn a few other languages too. But I don’t want to waste money on courses that churn out the same old shitty methods that don’t work. “Why don’t you teach yourself, and make your own method?” You might ask. Because i’m ADHD and i need the accountability of a teacher, or deadline, or expense to keep me moving forward.

I need a structure that actually works.

[hello-language-that-is-all]

hisokasasss

Sup guys, Tenka (Aka Ponzorz) here - I said I’d write a post about how I self studied Japanese, sooooo I guess this is it. I learnt Japanese from Zero to Fluent in about 2.5 years, and this is my method. It’s probably not the most interesting (I didn’t watch any anime… lol… I only started watching Anime these past 1, 2 years - back then I only read  a few Manga, and that was in English) and it’s hard, but maybe it can shed some light on to a study regime you can set up for yourself.

Before reading, keep in mind that there is never a single best way to study Japanese, and the most important thing about studying a language is not what textbook you have or what shows you watch - it’s always that you keep yourself going and push yourself to carry on.

I had a pretty set way I studied Japanese, so I’ll talk about that here, and since I gained proficiency I have found a lot of other methods to help people who are learning Japanese - and I’ll draw on those experiences too to inform people in this post.

Ikuzooooo.

[ Learning the Writing System ] This is step one. Japanese has three sets of difference characters. Most people don’t get it at first, but I’ll just try to explain each one below.

Hiragana （あいうえお - this is the Japanese vowels a-i-u-e-o in Hiragana） - This is the most basic one, you can use this to write everything you need to - but only knowing this one would be like some ponyo/sousuke level writing… aka like a five year old. As a person learning Japanese for a second/third/fourth/99th language though, Hiragana is definitely a solid start.

Katakana　（アイウエオ - this is the Japanese vowels a-i-u-e-o in Katakana） Everything that can be written in Hiragana can be written in Katakana - it’s like two different versions of the same alphabet.

However, Katakana is mostly used for ① Foreign vocabulary/Proper nouns that can’t be written in Kanji, and ② Emphasis/Nuance.  ①  is “Borrowed Words”, ie. Words in Japanese that originated from another language, will be written in Katakana.　For example, Camera (“Kyamera” キャメラ), and “Naruto” is ナルト <- This is Katakana.  The second situation of emphasis/nuance is more difficult to explain, but just think of it this way: Writing “Baka” in Katakana, can give off a different feel to if it were written in Hiragana.

Kanji - Kanji is very, very, very, important. Most people beginning their Japanese studies won’t know very much Kanji, which is totally normal - and they will probably hate it at some point. But, writing Japanese without Kanji islikereadingenglishwithoutspacesinbetweenthewords. It kills the reader and if you are serious about studying Japanese, learn yo’ Kanji. Kanji are chinese characters that make up portions of a verb in Japanese, or a lot of nouns can be written completely in Kanji. Hiragana is used to support Kanji and used to fill particles and prepositions and subject markers etc, in a sentence, as those things do not have a designated Kanji - or it is not commonly used. It probably sounds confusing as hell right now but you’ll get it really quickly once you start learning. Every Kanji has a reading, so it may be hard to learn the different readings for each Kanji but it gets easier as you go, I swear.

Originally posted by studiotrigger

I started learning the writing system slowly and piecemeal, just writing the seperate kana on paper and getting more or less used to them and memorising the readings. I talk about how I learnt this in the next section, but in the meanwhile… I thought of another method.

This may be off topic but I learnt how to read Korean Hangul in like an hour by playing an online “drill” game, so I think from that experience it may be a lot faster to learn Katakana and Hiragana that way.

I found some drillers where you see the kana and just type in the romaji (ie. english version of Japanese lol):

http://kana.icann.se/

http://kagan.mactane.org/software/kana-drill.html

Try those!

( A bit about watching Anime - I think if Anime/dramas is what you’re interested in, definitely watch it. Just gonna put it out there, doing that alone probably won’t get you fluent. But it’s important because it keeps you interested, and it’s about immersion and keeping in contact with the language. :D Don’t spend 90% of your “Japanese study” in anime, but if it’s what you enjoy, go for it and it will help.

I recommend Slice of Life anime over Shonen - why? Because you’d use SoL anime dialogue more. FYI No one seriously uses “Dattebayo/-ttebayo” in Japanese, ever, “Bankai” is zero help if you want to make conversation, and most Shonen protagonists and villains speak in such an informal/brash way I’d only recommend if you want to get in to a fight. ;9 <3 )

[Actually studying the grammar and the vocab]

Because there is not much point in knowing the writing system without actually understanding what all those squiggly characters mean, it’s best to press on and learn some vocab and grammar.

First, I’ll talk about the Japanese Language Proficiency Test (JLPT). JLPT is a benchmark exam for Japanese, it has 5 levels from 5 -1. 5 being the easiest, and 1 being the hardest. You don’t have to worry about sitting the exam or anything, but it’s just a really solid curriculum to base your Japanese studies off.

I started studying off

Tim’s Takamatsu -

this website is practically my godsend. I printed out everything, had it bound in to a book - you’ll see that most of the tutorials here are in Romaji. How I studied was I scribed in the Katakana, Hiragana, and Kanji (Where applicable) under the Romaji. This helped me memorise and write Hiragana and Katakana really fast, get used to using basic Kanji, and learn all the basic grammar and vocab up till around N3 level. This took me about 3 months. Then I’d say it’s all downhill once you hit N3 level.

Even after I was through with Tim’s Takamatsu, I bought Schaums Outlines of Japanese Grammar just to help me solidify stuff. It’s not the best book nor the most interesting book, but it helped.    

http://www.tanos.co.uk/  is a fantastic website to look at all the vocab/grammar you need for each JLPT standard, and strive to learn them and gradually progress from 5-1. I printed off the grammar lists from Tanos, and learnt all the ones I wasn’t sure of.

I also listened to a lot of podcasts, like Japanese 101. This helped me with listening skills, and I also learnt a lot of vocab and grammar. I find the stuff you learn from podcasts really memorable, compared to what you’d learn by reading off grammar books all the time. It’s a nice change.

Extra Materials for Basic Grammar etc - these are awesome, kudos to the people who made these - print it, stick it up in your room! I wish I had found  them when I was studying. (T_T) http://cheatsheets.nihonshock.com/sheets/basic-japanese/

http://cheatsheets.nihonshock.com/digital-cheat-sheets/cool-japanese/

http://www.tofugu.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/japanese-particles-cheatsheet1.pdf

There links below are more explanatory stuff rather than “cheat sheets”. It’s like Tim’s Takamatsu - so I would use them to supplement each other.

http://www.guidetojapanese.org/grammar_guide.pdf

http://thejapanesepage.com/grammar.htm

http://www.japaneseverbconjugator.com/JVerbList.asp

This is probably one of the most important parts of my Japanese studying journey. Don’t give up if you’ve made it this far! :D You can do it!

Originally posted by toctocpiopio

[Advanced Japanese]

Okedoke, so how do you get from N3 to N1? You’ve gotten yourself this far, so just keep doing what you’ve been doing the whole time and don’t give up. Keep referring back to the JLPT standards to see what you need to still learn, in terms of grammar, and go for it.

N2, N1, levels require a lot of Kanji readings and Vocab Knowledge. How I tackled this, was by flashcards. I played a game on my phone called “Japanese Flash” (on iOS) and it was the only “game” I had on my phone for almost a year. Anki, or any other flashcard system will work the same. I find flashcards the most effective way for me to pick up vocab/kanji readings the fastest - the hardest thing about it is persevering. I’d play the flashcards on the bus, at home, in bed, in the shower jks  , some days I felt like I was going to throw up from flash carding… but it’s a bump you’ve gotta get over. It gets better as you pick up more readings, and you’ll find you’re able to correctly guess heaps of Kanji combinations as you go.

I had the book “A Dictionary of Intermediate Japanese Grammar”, and the beginners version of that book, to help me through all the difficult grammar. Plus google.

http://www.imabi.net/ is a fantastic website too, with basic - advanced Japanese grammar. I wish I found this earlier as well. (T_T)

[Notes about my particular circumstances] So hitting N1 took me about 2.5 years. I do realise this is probably not what most people want to do - spend so much time manically studying Japanese, I had tunnel vision for a long time and it was literally what I spent my spare time doing, so hear me out.

Originally posted by opioide

I think at that point in my life, I was a stupid teen and I really hated my own situation, resented it, and I wanted to leave my city so bad and go somewhere - anywhere. In short, I was pretty desperate. For a lot of rebellious and otherwise personal reasons, I decided to go to Japan. (Eg. My family is Chinese, and I’ve been fed loads of nationalistic shit since toddlerhood about how Chinese people hate Japan blah blah don’t go there blah blah all Japanese are bad blah blah which I refused to believe and I wanted to see Japan with my own eyes since I was sure I would be able to make friends since I think there are nice people, as well as terrible people, eeeeverywhere in the world in any place.)

I needed a scholarship in Japanese, so that’s why I studied madly. Otherwise, I’d never be able to have the $$ leave and I felt like I’d have been trapped in a city I don’t belong in, forever. Yeah… >_> I had serious attitude issues, pls don’t judge me. I love my city now that I’m back, and I ought to have given the people around me more credit. .___.

Originally posted by galaxymoonbird

That aside though, I want to talk about Kanji. I realise in this guide, I never talked much about learning to familliarize with or write Kanji. I suppose the easiest way to explain this would be, well I’m Chinese in origin so that wasn’t much of an issue to me, but that would not only be misleading, but discouraging to a lot of people who don’t have a chinese background. There is no easy way learning how to write Kanji, you have to put in the legwork - that’s all there is to it. I never had an education in Chinese, English would be my first language as I passed my years from toddler onwards in Middle Earth and various other places, but I suppose one could say that I did my Kanji learning prior to learning the rest of my Japanese. Strict parents = learning at least X amount of Kanji/day before I could leave the house to go run around outside, and I distinctly remember one summer when I was around 11, my Kanji knowledge sky rocketed as a result of being forced to stay inside and learn it all summer.

I wrote a Kanji 20+ times till I memorised it, and that’s probably how I got my foundation. Once I’d started studying Japanese, I still had to get used to how Kanji was used in the Japanese language system - a lot of stuff is written differently, and my Kanji wasn’t perfect to begin with so I had to learn a heap of new ones, and since all the readings were completely different to what I was used to, I had to learn those too (hence flash carding). I think my Chinese probably got better as a result of studying Japanese, lol…. I’m serious. >_>

Originally posted by ghibli-forever

[fyp-psychology]

33 Unusual Tips to Being a Better Writer

via James Altucher

Back in college, Sanket and I would hang out in bars and try to talk to women but I was horrible at it.

Nobody would talk to me for more than thirty seconds and every woman would laugh at all his jokes for what seemed like hours.

Even decades later I think they are still laughing at his jokes. One time he turned to me, 

“the girls are getting bored when you talk. Your stories go on too long. From now on, you need to leave out every other sentence when you tell a story.”

We were both undergrads in Computer Science. I haven’t seen him since but that’s the most important writing (and communicating) advice I ever got.

33 other tips to be a better writer:

A) Write whatever you want. Then take out the first paragraph and last paragraph

Here’s the funny thing about this rule. It’s sort of like knowing the future. You still can’t change it. In other words, even if you know this rule and write the article, the article will still be better if you take out the first paragraph and the last paragraph.

B) Take a huge bowel movement every day

You won’t see that on any other list on how to be a better writer. If your body doesn’t flow then your brain won’t flow. Eat more fruit if you have to.

C) Bleed in the first line

We’re all human. A computer can win Jeopardy but still not write a novel. If you want people to relate to you, then you have to be human.

Penelope Trunk started a post a few weeks ago: 

“I smashed a lamp over my head. There was blood everywhere. And glass. And I took a picture.” 

That’s real bleeding. My wife recently put up a post where the first line was so painful she had to take it down. Too many people were crying.

D) Don’t ask for permission

In other words, never say “in my opinion” (or worse “IMHO”). We know it’s your opinion. You’re writing it.

E) Write a lot

I spent the entire 90s writing bad fiction. 5 bad novels. Dozens of bad stories. But I learned to handle massive rejection. And how to put two words together. In my head, I won the pulitzer prize. But in my hand, over 100 rejection letters.

F) Read a lot

You can’t write without first reading. A lot. When I was writing five bad novels in a row I would read all day long whenever I wasn’t writing (I had a job as a programmer, which I would do for about five minutes a day because my programs all worked and I just had to “maintain” them). I read everything I could get my hands on.

G) Read before you write

Before I write every day I spend 30-60 minutes reading high quality short stories poetry, or essays. Here are some authors to start:

Denis Johnson

Miranda July

David Foster Wallace

Ariel Leve

William Vollmann

Raymond Carver

All of the writers are in the top 1/1000 of 1% of writers. What you are reading  has to be at that level or else it won’t lift up your writing at all.

H) Coffee

I go through three cups at least before I even begin to write. No coffee, no creativity.

I) Break the laws of physics

There’s no time in text. Nothing has to go in order. Don’t make it nonsense. But don’t be beholden to the laws of physics. My post, Advice I Want to Tell My Daughters, is an example.

J) Be Honest

Tell people the stuff they all think but nobody ever says. Some people will be angry that you let out the secret. But most people will be grateful. If you aren’t being honest, you aren’t delivering value. Be the little boy in the Emperor Wears No Clothes. If you can’t do this, don’t write.

K) Don’t Hurt Anyone

This goes against the above rule, but I never like to hurt people. And I don’t respect people who get pageviews by breaking this rule.

Don’t be a bad guy.  Was Buddha a Bad Father? addresses this.

L) Don’t be afraid of what people think

For each single person you worry about, deduct 1% in quality from your writing.

Everyone has deductions. I have to deduct about 10% right off the top.

Maybe there’s 10 people I’m worried about. Some of them are evil people. Some of them are people I just don’t want to offend.

So my writing is only about 90% of what it could be. But I think most people write at about 20% of what it could be. Believe it or not, clients, customers, friends, family, will love you more if you are honest with them. We all have our boundaries. But try this: for the next ten things you write, tell people something that nobody knows about you.

M) Be opinionated

Most people I know have strong opinions about at least one or two things… write about those. Nobody cares about all the things you don’t have strong opinions on.

Barry Ritholz told me the other day he doesn’t start writing until he’s angry about something. That’s one approach. Barry and I have had some great writing fights because sometimes we’ve been angry at each other.

N) Have a shocking title

I blew it the other day. I wanted to title this piece: “How I torture women” but I settled for “I’m Guilty Of Torture.” I wimped out. But I have some other fun ones, like “Is It Bad I Wanted My First Kid To Be Aborted” (which the famous Howard Lindzon cautioned me against).

Don’t forget that you are competing against a trillion other pieces of content out there. So you need a title to draw people in. Else you lose.

O) Steal

I don’t quite mean it literally. But if you know a topic gets pageviews (and you aren’t hurting anyone) than steal it, no matter who’s written about it or how many times you’ve written about it before. “How I Screwed Yasser Arafat out of $2mm” was able to nicely piggyback off of how amazingly popular Yasser Arafat is.

P) Make people cry

If you’ve ever been in love, you know how to cry.

Bring readers to that moment when they were a child, and all of life was in front of them, except for that one bittersweet moment when everything began to change. If only that one moment could’ve lasted forever. Please let me go back in time right now to that moment. But now it’s gone.

Q) Relate to people

The past decade has totally sucked. For everyone. The country has been in post-traumatic stress syndrome since 9/11 and 2008 only made it worse. I’ve gone broke a few times during the decade, had a divorce, lost friendships, and have only survived (barely) by being persistent and knowing I had two kids to take care of, and loneliness to fight.

Nobody’s perfect. We’re all trying. Show people how you are trying and struggling. Nobody expects you to be a superhero.

R) Time heals all wounds

Everyone has experiences they don’t want to write about. But with enough time, its OK. My New Year’s Resolution of 1995 is pretty embarrassing. But whatever…it was 16 years ago.

The longer back you go, the less you have to worry about what people think.

S) Risk

Notice that almost all of these rules are about where the boundaries are. Most people play it too safe.

When you are really risking something and the reader senses that (and they WILL sense it), then you know you are in good territory. If you aren’t risking something, then I’m moving on. I know I’m on the right track if after I post something someone tweets, “OMFG.”

T) Be funny

You can be all of the above and be funny at the same time.

When I went to India I was brutalized by my first few yoga classes (actually every yoga class). And I was intimidated by everyone around me. They were like yoga superheroes and I felt like a fraud around them. So I cried, and hopefully people laughed.

It was also a case where I didn’t have to dig into my past but I had an experience that was happening to me right then. How do you be funny? First rule of funny: ugly people are funny. I’m naturally ugly so its easy. Make yourself as ugly as possible. Nobody wants to read that you are beautiful and doing great in life.

U) The last line needs to go BOOM!

Your article is meaningless unless the last line KILLS.

Read the book of short stories “Jesus’ Son” by Denis Johnson. It’s the only way to learn how to do a last line. The last line should take you all the way back to the first line and then “BOOM!”

V) Use a lot of periods

Forget commas and semicolons. A period makes people pause. Your sentences should be strong enough that you want people to pause and think about it. This will also make your sentences shorter. Short sentences are good.

W) Write every day

This is a must. Writing is spiritual practice. You are diving inside of yourself and cleaning out the toxins. If you don’t do it every day, you lose the ability. If you do it every day, then slowly you find out where all the toxins are. And the cleaning can begin.

X) Write with the same voice you talk in

You’ve spent your whole life learning how to communicate with that voice. Why change it when you communicate with text?

Y) Deliver value with every sentence

Even on a tweet or Facebook status update. Deliver poetry and value with every word. Else, be quiet.

Z) Take what everyone thinks and explore the opposite

Don’t disagree just to disagree. But explore. Turn the world upside down. Guess what? There are people living in China. Plenty of times you’ll find value where nobody else did.

AA) Have lots of ideas

I discuss this in “How to be the Luckiest Man Alive” in the Daily Practice section.

Your idea muscle atrophies within days if you don’t exercise it. Then what do you do? You need to exercise it every day until it hurts. Else no ideas.

BB) Sleep eight hours a day

Go to sleep before 9pm at least 4 days a week. And stretch while taking deep breaths before you write. We supposedly use only 5% of our brain. You need to use 6% at least to write better than everyone else. So make sure your brain is getting as much healthy oxygen as possible. Too many people waste valuable writing or resting time by chattering until all hours of the night.

CC) Don’t write if you’re upset at someone

Then the person you are upset at becomes your audience. You want to love and flirt with your audience so they can love you back.

DD) Use “said” instead of any other word

Don’t use “he suggested” or “he bellowed,” just “he said.” We’ll figure it out if he suggested something.

EE) Paint or draw.

Keep exercising other creative muscles.

FF) Let it sleep

Whatever you are working on, sleep on it. Then wake up, stretch, coffee, read, and look again.

Rewrite. Take out every other sentence.

GG) Then take out every other sentence again.

Or something like that.

Sanket didn’t want to go to grad school after we graduated. He had another plan. Lets go to Thailand, he said. And become monks in a Buddhist monastery for a year. We can date Thai women whenever we aren’t begging for food, he said. It will be great and we’ll get life experience.

It sounded good to me.

But then he got accepted to the University of Wisconsin and got a PhD. Now he lives in India and works for Oracle. And as for me…

I don’t know what the hell happened to me.

About the Author:

James Altucher is an American hedge fund manager, entrepreneur, bestselling author, venture capitalist and podcaster. He has founded or cofounded more than 20 companies, including Reset Inc. and StockPickr and says he failed at 17 of them.

via jamesaltucher.com

[cosmosogler]

aaaa my hands get all sweaty when i hold a game controller. also i should really probably be wearing my glasses.

today i had such a nasty, tiring dream that i slept in! i got up at 9:25. so i slept in less than yesterday... 

my dream was disorienting... i feel like it should have taken place in college, but it looked more like everyone was high school aged, and acted that way too. the topic kept changing, even though i stayed in more or less the same area for the whole dream. it was, like, a marketplace, with a farmer’s market, but also there were a lot of drab gray buildings with paper stuffed into every available space on every window. the road was dirt. everyone was playing some sort of game that i didn’t understand. also i was trying to shop, but i didn’t like anything i saw in any of the stores. and when i thought i had gotten to a store with what i was looking for (i don’t know what i was actually looking for, but i had a feeling it was in there!!!) i saw a bunch of burly, sweaty dudes with no faces. so i backed out haha. then the game changed? people were... trying to get behind each other? i think the technique was different for everyone. but they were trying to suck each others’ souls out and that was how they won for the round. i think... the participants were supposed to get better, at some point... but i wasn’t playing, just watching and trying to figure out the rules. eventually i wandered out into the playing field and started talking to some of the participants. they were friendly enough, but i kind of got the feeling they didn’t want me there. eventually the girl from the shining came out of the crowd, grabbed me by the shoulders, spun me around, and sucked out my soul!!! it hurt a lot, indescribably. like... if your soul could get sucked out, that’s definitely what it would feel like!

i tried to scream but i couldn’t move at all. eventually i tried so hard that i woke up screaming. but i was in a weird unfamiliar place and my face was being shoved into the pillow. then my alarm went off and i woke up for real all sweaty and tired. cool!!!!!!!!!!!

so after that wonderful start to my day, i pet eve for a little bit, and then i got up and got ready for the day and stuff. i tried making some tea that i found in the cabinet... it wasn’t very good. i found the rest of the video games in the pile of stuff dad brought in from the garage last night. and i watched two episodes of cry plays: soma. it’s a really good game, but i wouldn’t be very good at it. horror games aren’t really under my “favorite genres” umbrella. instead of getting scared i get frustrated that i might have to replay a large portion of the game since traditionally save/heal points are pretty few and far between. it took me FOREVER to get through metroid prime because i would hover around the checkpoint nervously before continuing haha. half life was kind of a slog that way too, even though i really liked both those series.

then i went and picked up asher. i almost got hit when i was trying to get on the freeway... it’s always crowded at that particular exit and trying to actually get on the freeway is kind of dangerous. and nobody was using their turn signals today! and getting into the lane i was trying to get into while in my blind spot and also not using turn signals!!! and then i could tell the guy i accidentally cut off was SUPER mad because he started going like 90 miles an hour while everyone else was going 50 and cut in front of me and then swept over to the far lane. ok, buddy. like... yeah, ok, i could have probably spent more time figuring out if he was changing lanes right next to me or not. but when you use your turn signal you gotta hop over pretty quick or else people around you stop making room. i think since phoenix is so big, everyone feels like they have to drive 8-15 mph over the speed limit to get where they’re going in a reasonable amount of time. and also they don’t make room for you in the next lane over unless you turn on your turn signal, wait exactly 1 second, and then butt in. that’s literally the only way to get on the freeway some exits.

i avoid the exit lanes when i’m on the freeway unless i’m getting off at the next exit. honestly i’m shocked that i haven’t been in a crash yet.

anyway, i brought asher over to my house and we hung out in the living room exclusively. i guess that was ok, since the house is a total mess with half-unpacked boxes everywhere. i ripped my room apart today looking for the super nintendo. didn’t find it. mom found it later though in a box grouped with a bunch of my sister’s boxes. it was the only box i never checked because i thought we had already looked through it when we were searching for the wii u. 

asher made me curse while i was in the car. he said something, and i repeated the sentence back to him in a “you’re not...” sort of way, and i didn’t realize i had said it until my mouth made a really unfamiliar shape haha. it wasn’t his fault, but i was kind of annoyed with myself for not paying attention to my words.

while asher and i were lounging around catching up on steven universe, my brother pointed out that doge had pooped on the floor in front of the back door. we didn’t notice... i felt stupid. my brother went and got dad, and then... he picked up diogi, shoved her nose in it, and then literally threw her outside. then he went outside and we didn’t hear anything for a really long time. my brother, asher, eve, wiley, and i kind of stared at each other awkwardly for a while. 

like... hitting a dog is never ok. but i could understand being frustrated with maybe wiley, because he’s a young adult and should know better by now, and also he would theoretically have better control over his bodily functions. and he does go in the house, and it is frustrating. but doogles is hella old, and also disabled. she cannot walk for very long. she can hustle, but sometimes she falls down. i can’t imagine she can hold it for very long. she usually goes right after dinner... i don’t know why my brother didn’t let her outside after he fed them? and then, like, got mad at me when it happened? 

i just need a break from dad for a while. i don’t understand why diogi likes him so much. he calls her a retard and hits her sometimes and doesn’t really brush her or anything. i think he exudes such a powerful “dad” aura that the dogs just defer to him. i mean, that’s how packs work, isn’t it? maybe doge thinks she owes her life to him since he took her from lonnie, who abused her more regularly.

dad interrupted our steven universe marathon but i don’t remember what he said. but, like, the show was actively on, and we were clearly watching it, and he felt the need to insert a conversation (run and participated in by him alone) over the dialogue. i’m not sure if asher really caught the ending or not.

anyway... after that asher and i headed out to michaels to get some markers. we talked about the show for a bit during the car ride. then we went to indian food, as is our habit. the usual waiter wasn’t there today, but i saw some new people. maybe it’s because we were there on the weekend instead of on thursday. then we talked about jojo for like two hours. it was great. we revisited a lot of the same topics that we have talked about before, but it’s been like three weeks since i last saw asher, so i didn’t really mind. 

however my sense of direction was super out of whack for the whole drive, i could not figure out where i was or where the stores we were trying to get to were. i think i was stressed about diogi. 

i was also really jittery. it may have been the tea from this morning... asher noticed. he said it might be anxiety. i would agree, but i’ve been like this for a really long time. as in, always. he also suggested adhd but i don’t seem to display any of the other symptoms of that. but you know what causes the restlessness and twitching? anxiety and depression. so maybe it was. i guess i’ve had depression for basically my whole life. my classmates at christian school used to make fun of me for it. the twitching, i mean. 

however i was REALLY uncomfortable today, physically. i couldn’t get my ankles to sit right and i kept moving my legs while we were trying to watch tv. the jerking really only stops when i am actively exercising. even right afterward i’m right back to twitching and squirming. 

nobody these days acknowledges it (except my group therapist; she points it out when she thinks i am more anxious than usual, but really i just do it constantly until someone notices and then i have to consciously stop). but i know they see it. it’s really hard to keep my eyes on something static for more than a few seconds... like a book or screen. 

when i was filling out paperwork for the sleep study the doctors decided it was restless legs syndrome. but it’s every single muscle in my body ha... it feels like static is building up every time i don’t move and i have to MOVE or else it gets unbearable. i usually just wrinkle my nose, or jitter my knees, or tap or bump something with my palm just above the wrist. 

anyway, it was worse than usual today, and it sucked, and was really annoying. 

when i got home i booted up undertale and got through the mettaton fight, and also burned down undyne’s house. so i just gotta befriend alphys and that should complete everything i need for the pacifist run.

so now it’s 12:30. i’ve been writing for about 50 minutes... i got distracted trying to describe my problem to google. every word i use points back to anxiety... 

but i fidget even on days when i’m not that stressed? i don’t get it. 

tomorrow i find out if i am still going to have therapy at the hospital or not. i haven’t told anyone yet... i figured i would bring it up if it became relevant. like, if i wasn’t able to go any more. if i am allowed to continue, then there isn’t really a point in reporting it. i’m still stressed about it though...

i shall do my pokemons, and check some monday stuff, and then try to sleep. sure hope i don’t die horribly again in my dreams tonight!

[casual-lip-bites]

Prologue and Chapter 1

To Everyone in the Whole World. Every small thought or action or choice every single person has ever made has warped the universe into what it is now, and for that I thank you.

Prologue I bet you thought that this was going to be an insightful book or something. Well, you were wrong. This book really sucks. No one thought it would ever get published, much less finished. Not even my mom believed in me. But as I kept writing it, I thought of all the stupid teen romance books I’ve read and thought, hey, if those could get published, why can’t I publish a book too? So I’m really sorry if you decided to buy this or something. I hope you kept the receipt, because in truth, my book probably isn’t worth the five dollars or however much it cost you. Not in this economy. Unless, of course, you borrowed it or got it from the library or illegally downloaded it online or something. I hate writing. My vocabulary is passible at best. I never thought that I would write a book, like, ever, but look at me now. Just to let you know, I did not write this whole thing. I had help from my best friend and a Mexican kid who has told me multiple times that he wishes I was dead. These are literally the only people I ever talk to. I’m warning you right now: I don’t know what they’re going to write. Personally, I’m going to try to be PG-13, but I’ve been told that have a swearing problem, so that’s not always going to be possible. You know it’s bad when you have to Google “what does it take for a book to be banned”. It’s right there in my search history. Right above “why are teenagers so smug” and “when can I legally drop-out of high school”. Nothing really matters to me anymore. I’m just here to exist for as long as possible. I don’t like putting effort into anything, really. College is out of the question. I mean, someone has to wipe down gas station toilets. I only agreed to write this novel because there’s not too many realistic YA novels out there. Not everyone can have their dream relationship. (I’m going to marry a trashcan.) Not everything ends happily, and sometimes things don’t end at all. (My story begins at the end.) I never really have any deep thoughts. (At least, not in the way that it’s shown in teen books.) And most teenagers have boring-as-hell lives. (Either that, or I just assume that everyone else does too.) Really though, the deepest thought that I’ve had in a week happened when I dropped a bowl of soup and thought “oh shit son” and then wondered if soup has the ability to understand the concept of gender identity and family relations. Truly deep thoughts come and go. It’s usually only the stupid things that I remember long enough to write down. I’m just going to go ahead and warn you, some of the insightful stuff I try to write comes out like it’s supposed to, and other times it will just look like: boop boop boop Are trees vegetables? Exact words are not my forte. I’m lucky that I came up with “forte” right then. I’m really not sure how this will turn out at all. I haven’t even read most of this. I’m not allowed to read what Lily and Ethan write, and they’re not allowed to read what I write. We’re basically publishing it without proofreading each other’s work. It’s supposed to “encourage honesty” or something. So we’ll see how that turns out. Yeah. There’s probably a reason why books like this don’t exist. Again, sorry. Anyway, I wrote this for you because I care a lot about you as a person.  I needed this book to exist because I need you to know something. I don’t care if it’s cheesy. You need to hear it. Things can and will get better. Do not kill yourself. I wrote this for you, so you’d better learn something from it. I have bled and suffered and bled some more to get this book out. If you kill yourself, I will murder you. Someone is always ready to listen. Sometimes we forget about people we can count on. There’s always that one person that you forget about. Like siblings. No matter how much you hate each other, no matter how horrible to you they are, no matter how shitty the personality, your sibling(s) will listen to you if you seriously need someone to talk to. Another thing I didn’t consider, until just recently, is talking to someone who has a crush on you. If they like you, chances are they probably don’t want you to hurt yourself. However, if he/she is one of those freaks that crawl in your window at night or design you-inspired sex dolls, you should probably think of another option. Like a guidance counselor. They’re legally obligated to care about your feelings. Don’t forget those people. Someone will listen. There’s always someone. I know this because I was forgotten. Wait, what was I writing about again? I have a really untraditional writing system. I first write out a bunch of BS that I really can’t use and then scan over it the next day. I delete little sentences that don’t make sense here and there until I’ve deleted the whole chapter. Then I re-write it and then ignore it all for a month or two if I’m getting behind on schoolwork or something. Sometimes in the middle of the night I take it out, read it, and type little scraggly messages on it to daytime me. They look like they were typed out by a toddler. I can’t even tell what most of them are supposed to mean, so I spend a lot of time trying to decode things like “bread water” instead of writing the actual story. My favorites are: “com on grill u cans rite better than that” and “higher than meth”. Oh yeah. I also hate it when authors get you attached to a character and kill them off right at the end like they’re actually trying to ruin your emotions forever, so I’m going to go ahead and warn you now so you hate me less for making you read this book. My sister dies in the first chapter. No amount of character deaths in YA books could have prepared me for what had happened. That’s another reason why I needed this book to exist. The suddenness and finality of death is unreal. It’s kind of like a text message ding going off and then the sound cutting out right in the middle of it. And then a random electrical wire snapping and burning and suddenly everything’s on fire and you’re on fire and your pets are on fire and it’s painful and even though you embrace death and dying and enjoy pain this is too much. Another thing: You’re probably wondering what gender I am. Even if it wasn’t at, like, the fore-front of your mild, you were probably subconsciously trying to figure it out. I won’t make you play “Guess That Gender” until my name appears in dialogue or something. This isn’t Walmart. My name is Kirsten Bloom. I also hate it when authors write shit like “his dark, leaf green eyes looked at me, comforting me and giving me memories of summery afternoon walks in the woods with my father” to describe how people look. Like, no. My face isn’t the type of face that could be described in poetry anyway. So here’s what I look like most of the time: I have brown hair. I would have black hair, but my mom won’t let me dye it. I have washed-out green eyes. I’m pale. I dress kind of gothic. (Eyeliner, 90’s choker, black leather boots, black lipstick, black/purple shirt, black skinny-jeans, black jacket with a skull on it.) My style is basically “economically disadvantaged girl trying to act cool and gothic but failing hard”. Just so you know, I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to write this just yet, but I’m sure that it will be really horrible for at least the first two or three chapters. I’m sorry about that, but believe me; it will be so worth it. If you’re anything like me at all, I guarantee that this book will save you from some shit. I have one hell of a story to tell you. And so it begins.

Chapter 1 Katherine Bloom is dead. She killed herself. I can’t believe that she’s never coming back. She was alive just a week ago. She can’t be gone. But she is. Her death is one thing that I have accepted. Once a person is pronounced dead by medical professionals, there’s no way around it. But my heart feels like it’s been ripped to pieces. She was my other half. I never fully comprehended how awful deaths are until I saw my sister on a cold, metallic operating table, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. Seeing nurses in lab coats covering her thin frame in a sheet, gone forever. Watching my mother choke and sob in front of me. Not being completely sure if the screaming sound I heard was coming from my vocal cords or if it was just the sound of my brain collapsing in on itself. After three days of pure depression sprinkled with rage and denial, I know that my little sister is never coming back. Death is permanent. Death is unshifting. Death is cold. And I don’t love. [I warned you it would be like this. Just roll with it.] It’s as if she never existed, except she’s more here than ever. I can actually feel her absence. It’s heavy and empty at the same time, especially in her room.  All of the Christmas lights that she always kept in there have been packed away into a little box, just like all of her other things. Mom said earlier that we could donate it to charity, but she hasn’t followed through on that. I have a feeling that her things will stay here forever. My little sister will always have a place in our house. But right now her room is mine. I’ve been sleeping here since I basically smashed everything in my room into a trillion pieces. It has a depressive presence in it, though. This place is so empty without her. I spend most of my time in here drawing invisible circles on her bed that’s been stripped bare, and think. She slept on rosy red sheets, which are now packed away in a box. It was her favorite color. Now her ashes rest in a rosy red urn. It was originally for grandma. We were hoping that she would die. I really wonder about what my sister was thinking about during the afternoons that she spent locked away in here, wasting away. A lump grows in my throat, but I can’t even cry anymore. I’m just done with it all. I still haven’t figured out why she would kill herself. No matter how many things I try to decode from days I can barely remember, I’m no further along than the previous hour. She wasn’t a depressing person. She smiled a lot. She had lots of friends. The only thing that was different about her attitude was that she stayed in her room for extremely long periods of time, listening to music. I didn’t find that alarming, because that was one of her favorite pastimes. Only she usually did it for less than five hours at a time in a locked room. I thought that she was just becoming one of those teenaged girls who like to keep to themselves. Like me. I guess it was more than that. And now she’s dead. I put my head down on the flat bedspread. I am determined to find out the truth. I need to know the truth more than I need oxygen. Someone rings the doorbell. What the hell do they want? I force myself out of bed and trudge over to the front door and open it. My heart starts fluttering and I just can’t believe my eyes. It’s Katherine. She smiles at me and I hug her so tightly that I just might kill her. I’m shaking so hard right now. “I missed you so much. Please don’t hurt yourself. Ever,” I say. When I stop hugging her, I see that she too is tearing up. There’s a bright glow around her. She starts to say something, when- And then I wake up. My sister is dead. And I’m still lying on her bed. I just dreamed it all. I’m ashamed to say that that was not the first time that I had done that. There’s nothing I want more than for my sister to come back. But she’s gone. All that’s left are bittersweet memories. Ashes can’t dance. Ashes can’t sing. Ashes can’t ride bikes. Ashes can’t feed birds in the park. Ashes can’t sit under the stars and watch them twinkle all night. Ashes can’t smile or love. They can’t do any of the things that my sister loved to do. I know for a fact that she didn’t just randomly decide to kill herself. No sane kid just looks in the mirror and goes: Hey. Today was a fun day, but I think that I should just hang myself now. She is, was, a very cheerful person. I secretly envied her for that reason. She was great. We had near perfect childhoods, but for some reason she was the only decent one out of us. The only conclusion that I can come up with is that she was bullied. And once I find out who caused this, I will kill them. All of those bastards are going to die tonight. I’ll stab them over and over and over and over and over and over and over again with the pocket knife she harmed herself with, after I make absolute sure that they feel guilty for their actions. Blood will be spilt tonight. And I hope those faggots rot in hell. I found her pocket knife in her bedroom closet yesterday, when mom and I were cleaning out her room. We were deciding what of hers we should keep and what we should ‘’give away”. We were just expecting to find old toys and stuff like that. Then I found that thing. Actually, it really wasn’t that hard to find. It stabbed me in the kneecap. I gave mom the knife. I didn’t give any explanation at all. The knife said more than any words could say. Apparently, that was a bad idea, because she didn’t say anything after that. She just got in the car and left me there, holding out the bloody knife. Now, that said more than words could say. For a wild moment I thought that she had abandoned me to start a new life. Wouldn’t be the first time someone did that. Apparently, mom went to the liquor store to drown her feelings in alcoholism. But she might as well leave, with all the support she’s given me. It’s like her soul was sucked out of her eyes. I hid the blade in my jacket pocket the minute she left Katherine’s room, assuming that she would take it from me eventually. But she never intended to, for reasons that I already covered. Katherine was just a kid. What did she do to deserve this? What did I do? There’s no way that she hung herself. But she did. She left mom and me. She didn’t leave a note or anything. There was no warning. It just happened. Everything reminds me of her. I’ll have to get used to it, considering the fact that I live here. I shut my eyes. I hate everything in this house, especially the mirror, which I can’t stand to look into. My face isn’t my face anymore. It’s Katherine’s: the same Katherine who was hanging by her neck in the bathroom, staring at me blankly. My make-up probably looks really runny and shitty. I decide to brave looking in the mirror. I look for only half a second, and then shut my eyes. My chest feels heavy. I lose my breath. When I say I can’t stand how I look, I mean it literally. Anyway, my eyeliner looks how I thought it would look. I look like a raccoon going through a gothic phase. I’m never going to heal if I stay here. Sometimes I just think about getting in the truck and leaving home forever. Like in every non-supernatural YA novel ever. But then my mom would have no one, except her liquor. Sometimes I think if I got drunk maybe I could experience whatever magical delusional feeling she’s experiencing, but I come from a long line of people who ruined their lives with alcohol, so I’m not going to take that chance. I am the generation that finally gets it right. I smoke instead. I strip off my jacket (aka security blanket) for the first time all day and walk right out the back door. The night air feels warm and cool at the same time. Crickets are chirping. The wind feels amazing. I’ve always preferred night-time. Usually in the summer I change up my sleep schedule where I wake up at 3:00pm and go to sleep at 5:00am so I can mostly stay up at night, but still do stuff with friends in the afternoon. Plus, going out and doing whatever at night means that there’s zero chance of getting sunburned, and everyone’s asleep, so it’s like I live in my own little world. It’s just me and the sky. I’ve decided to not do that this year, because I need as much stability as I can get. I get out my lighter and cup my hand around it. The flickering flame illuminates the cigarette just before I light it.  Contrary to popular belief, smoking is actually a great way to cope. First of all, it’s fun. Second, I can get a nice buzz going without losing my mental facilities, and not just because I lost it all beforehand. Third, you get to light things on fire. That’s always fun. And fourth, you can slowly kill yourself by doing it. Then I’ll die slightly after my mom so she won’t have to outlive both kids. Drag. Hold it in. Hold it in. Hold it in. Hold it in. Exhale. Repeat. Drag. Hold it in. Hold it in. Hold it in. Hold it in. Exhale. Repeat. Drag. Hold it in. Hold it in. Hold it in. Hold it in. Exhale. Repeat. I got these from a place some of my friends call “the tube”. I found it by accident a couple months ago. It’s where all the drug-addicted teens at my school hide their drugs and alcohol. They’ve apparently created their own complex mini-black market. I used to be friends with some of them, but now they’ve turned into bitches. Not from drugs; just from being themselves. I would tell you where the tube is, but I promised not to tell. We made a deal. If it was stuff like meth I would report it, but why ruin my joy of having all those people owe me? When I wanted some of their cigarettes, the deal got that much more complicated. I had to make a little trade. You see, in the tube, there’s something they always need. It’s worth its weight in gold, and it’s the same color. It’s pee. They love pee. They have to like it, if they still want to keep their drugs. Each person that trades there keeps a small plastic bag of clean pee on them at all times in case of random drug testing at school. Clean pee is hard to come by for them, though, because mostly everyone who knows about the tube is high as fuck on all the drugs, and therefore do not have clean pee. I am their source of security. I agreed to trade with them. One gallon of pee buys two packs of cigarettes. I think it’s a fair trade. What would I do with all my pee anyway? A car zips down the road. The wind and dust hit my face a few seconds later. I gag and spit out the dust. Smoking by the road really isn’t safe, but at this point in the game, I really don’t care if I die. Actually, I care just enough to live just so I don’t inconvenience others. I wish I could end it all sooner. Ever since the suicide I sometimes notice my breathing and go: why? Why did she die instead of me? I’m not going to rush anything, but if I got hit by a school bus tomorrow, I don’t think that I would really care at all. My stomach jolts in a funny sort of way. Tomorrow is the last day of school. I hate school, but I always miss it when it’s gone. Sure, it’s shitty and stuff, but it does provide stability. I need to go back, even if it only is one last day. School will hopefully bring something normal back into my life. It will also give me a chance to spend time with my friends before summer break, if you can even call them friends. They’re basically just the people I hang out with at lunch so I don’t look stupid sitting alone. They seem to like me enough to tolerate me, which is nice, I guess. Those people are very, um, interesting. First of all, there’s Molly. She’s the smartest person at our school. Everyone wants to be her friend. She helps people she likes with their homework and stuff. After spending so much time around people who are brown-nosing her, I forgot the stereotype about nerds having no friends. I honestly have no idea where that came from, because at my school, we treat the smart people like royalty because we depend on them for, like, not failing. There’s this kid named Jacob who also sits at my table. His stupid hairstyle has not changed in sixteen years. He’s strange and vaguely fucked-up, but I guess we all are to some degree. He gives off a weird sexual vibe, but not really a rapist/child molester one. It’s softer and seems more obscure, like maybe he’s sexually attracted to goats. I really should stop his description here. And then there’s Lily. She has the weirdest stories. I read one of them and my eyes nearly bled. It was a Twilight fanfiction in which the characters were all gangsters. Her face is always really flushed and she laughs at everything. Except when she’s on her period, which in that case she turns into the nastiest, loudest, bitchiest person you’ve ever met. A lot of weird shit happens at that table. My favorite was when we created a match.com profile for a burrito someone dropped on the ground. It was the most amazing thing in the world. “Burrito1230345 looking for a one-night stand. Bring candles, incense, and lots of lube.” Lily tried to reposition it so it would look as sexually suggestive as a burrito could possibly be, but she failed horribly. Jacob took over and did the job right in less than a minute. How he managed, no one knows. It all started when Jacob’s crush dropped the burrito on the ground as she walked to her table. Jacob started staring at it because, of course, he’s a freak. We started to joke with him about him wanting the burrito, because Jacob just has the kind of pervy face that makes him look like he wants to screw everything. He said that he didn’t want it. We felt bad for this little burrito, because not even Jacob would make love to it. Somehow, ten minutes later, we created a full profile for our burrito. Those were good times. I’ve laughed a lot a that table. I miss those little fuckers. I haven’t seen another human being besides the local news and the pee collectors in a week. The news people did a story on my sister’s suicide. I remember watching it. Our story was the second to last thing on there. The day before the news report, they interviewed Mom. That did not go over well. When they tried to talk to me, I turned away and walked into the house. I don’t need their sensationalistic crap in my life. I thought I was through with them, but then they entered my house WITHOUT PERMISSION and asked me “WHAT MY MOOD WAS”. Take a fucking hint. What did they think? Did they consider it a possibility that I was elated that my sister committed suicide? Did I look like I was jumping over rainbows and skipping through meadows or something? You know, this is why I am no longer considering journalism as my career. I now hate the media. This whole thing has really opened my eyes. They didn’t show either of the failed interviews, thank God. I will give them that. Even so, the newscasters had blank, empty faces when they were giving the report about the suicide. Then, not a moment later, they were smiling and talking about a baby animal that was born in the local zoo. It’s clear that they don’t really give a damn about anyone’s feelings. About a second before I fall asleep (I collapsed on the rocking chair we have outside), my mom pulls up into the driveway, back from her midnight run to the liquor store. She ran into our trashcan pretty hard. That’s just wonderful. She’s driving drunk. Actually, she’s probably not even drunk, but depressed slap-happy. It’s a good thing that I have my own car so I can drive to school without chicken bones flying off the hood. I got mom’s old one about three months ago after I got my driver’s license. I always hated the school bus. I’ve seen some shit there. Mom got a new Honda a year ago. She was supposed to get a used one. To be fair, Hondas aren’t the most expensive cars, but still. She’s going to run that thing in the ground if she keeps that up. I hope that the car insurance will cover the damage. But I have a really bad feeling that the car insurance is actually my college fund. Bye, college. Mom gets out of the car, kicking out some wine bottles in the process. I don’t really want to witness this. I snuff out my last cigarette and go inside. My lungs were starting to struggle anyway. I crash on the couch and quickly fall asleep, praying that my brain won’t force me to relive my sister’s death again like it usually does. I wake up at what feels like seconds later, but it is pitch black outside, and the sound of thousands of horny cicadas chirping is louder. I’m thirsty and covered in sweat. My dead sister didn’t revisit me again, so that’s a plus. Forcing myself off the couch, I get a glass of milk and put it in the microwave. My head spins, due to either the smoke, the alcohol smell coming from mom’s bedroom, or how fast I moved in a short amount of time, or all three. It takes me a minute notice Mom, in her room, passed out. I suddenly wish that microwaves had a “silent” option. Mom would never hurt me intentionally, but you know. After the infernal beeping sound ends, I quietly get the milk out and slowly trudge over to the table. I sit down, taking quiet sips from my glass. Mom herself said that it was unhealthy to have addictions. But here she is, passed out, wine running through her veins instead of life. I wish mom was happy again. I wish that she would go to work and pay attention to the last daughter she has left. But wishes are empty. We are not happy. It’s like we all died that awful night. In some ways, I did die. My dreams are rotting away. My sanity is hanging by a single string of skin. The better half of me is gone. I’m ripping apart at the seams. Emotional pain is probably the worst abstract concept ever. I would burn off my right hand to see my sister for one more day. I would walk across hell if it would give her one year on earth. I would die a thousand painful deaths to make her happy. If only I cared enough about her before the suicide. Forget walking across hell. I couldn’t even walk to her room. A lump grows in my throat. What sort of things did my sister experience? Does she still remember it? Whatever it was, I hope that she’s stopped suffering. I really hope she didn’t go to hell. She couldn’t have, though. She’s too pure. Everything is temporary. That’s just one harsh fact of life and the workings of the universe. However, it would have been nice if the universe was kind enough to allow my sister to be a little less temporary. I look at the pictures on the table. You know what’s funny? Family photos are funny. They’re like little windows into the past. It takes me back to when I dressed normally, Katherine was little and not dead, Dad was here and still loved my mom, we lived in this big house by a river, and life was generally just, like, better and stuff. It sickens me, the fact that the happy people in those pictures have no idea about what the future holds. I chug the rest of my milk, accidentally spilling half of it on the table and my chest. I’m not cleaning that shit up. Stretching, I quietly go back to my sister’s room and fall onto her bed. I stare at the ceiling fan and watch it spin around and round. Just like my brain. I shut my eyes. Rain lightly taps on our metal roof. How long was it raining? I tilt my head to look out Katherine’s window. Water falls gently upon the water-starved ground. It runs and runs until it finds a low area to rest in. Then the soil draws it in like a slow breath. My eyelids close once more and I focus on the rain and nothing else. A boom of thunder wakes me. Unfortunately, I’m the type that stays awake all night if I wake up. Now I’m alone with my thoughts. I’m just tired enough to not be able to grab my phone. I wish I could play some music to drown out my thoughts. My brain won’t shut the hell up. I’m being reminded of everything I’ve ever said or did with her. I miss my sister so much it actually physically hurts. I wish I killed myself instead of her. I really have no idea why she killed herself at all. I can’t think of any conversation or anything that could even slightly read as “suicidal”. She’s not even that good at keeping secrets. What am I missing here? Is it just really obvious or something? I’m so frustrated. She didn’t even leave a suicide note. I really wish she had. I mean, isn’t that something that you just do when you kill yourself? I mean, I guess there’s not really a rulebook or a protocol for that sort of thing, but yeah. I have to go to school tomorrow. Maybe that would help me sort out my thoughts. Maybe I can consult with Jacob and Lily and Molly and see if they might know anyone who can help me. I need to find out what happened to my sister. It just doesn’t make any sense at all. I wish I could just find something that would answer all of my questions just like that. It’s probably going to take a while to know the whole truth, but I will do everything it takes. Mark my words.

[gray-anxiety]

No Sympathy Facts/ the chaos of my brain

I kept forgetting the damn name

Legit

Like “No… no wHAT????? Oh”

Aella is a name associated with storms and wind, so I gave her that name because I wanted someone who really did embody that

I kept wanting to spell Aella’s name allen smh

This book started when i finally got off my ass and convinced myself to do a mafia au. The entire plot was pulled out of my ass in a period of brainstorming that kept me up until 5:30 the next morning

I actually sketched out the apartment’s layout so I could see it better.

later I actually designed a messy version of what it’d somewhat be like in the sims

Karanese is actually a district in the Attack on Titan universe :)

Each chapter takes me like 2 hours to write simply because I play out each and every ending in my head and choose the best one I’d want to see in a story

Other times I legit just have a feeling like I absolutely know how a chapter plays out like Chapter 3’s murder fight scene. It just came to me and all I had to do was describe it like I had just watched a movie

Chapter one took a total of seven hours to write

The plot twists were created when I asked myself what cliche can I change?

(Except I kept a few just to make fun of it I.E. roommates and badboy x nerdy character because that shit is hilarious and can really show the dynamic of how different each character really is)

Chapter two bore me to death to be honest

An actual example of my brainstorming while writing down facts:

I have no idea what the fuck to do after chapter 3 help

I pretty much said fuck it to planning out a plot and just wung it

Where am I gonna place Hange and the others

What about Eren lol

OH SHIT I JUST HAD THE IDEA THAT HANGE AND AELLA WERE FRIENDS BEFORE AELLA WAS KICKED OUT AOUFHALIUEHFALIUEHF

THEY’D TOTALLY BE LESBIANS FOR EACH OTHER

How’d you come up with the name for No Sympathy?

hilarious answer, actually. I spent two damn hours laying on my bed googling “what’s your mafia nickname” to just messing around with broken languages on google translate until it just popped in my head. Pretty much I was like “oh shit that sounds lit and fearsome lets do it bois” and yeah

I’m actually making this list of fun facts while writing each chapter. I’m going to start working on chapter 4 tomorrow and hopefully get my shit together to make a somewhat good plot??

Lmao I lied I got really fucking lazy and wrote the chapter at 11 at night and published it at midnight

I wrote everything about no sympathy in one iCloud note and titled it “No sympathy; the complete chaos of making a book”

The true main character of No Sympathy is actually Levi since I feel like I understand him completely since I relate to him so much; making Levi the easiest character I’ve written about ever. Though, his true character (in my opinion) doesn’t necessarily shine through in the beginning chapters as Levi don’t get along with new people, but you can see him warm up to Aella by doing her homework, dragging her out of the party, etc.

I’ve realized I have a distinct writing pattern while writing No Sympathy: comma, semi-colon, double dash. (Chapters two and three really showcase it as I wrote those two back to back in the car)

Had I actually had the inspiration and the motivation to write this almost a year ago, I would’ve been writing about the mafia at 13, which is an absolute hilarious thought to think about when I look back to my previous fanfics. Then again, my dumbass 14-year-old self is just as clingy as my dumbass 13-year-old self lmaoo

I gave Aella the same birth day (not year lmao) as mine (September 10) so she’d be 17 during the first month of school and 18 for the rest of the book

Going off of that fact, Levi is exactly 1 year and 8 months older than Aella (I kept his original birthday)

My cat demanded that I gave him cuddles and attention so I had to stop writing for one entire day because he wanted cuddles

Normally my cat just lays on my chest while I write b u t n o he wanted cuddles

If Levi never came into the picture Aella would probably date Hanji (for all of those fellow LGBTQIA+ readers and readers that really love Hanji)

While writing chapter 1 I listened to Ghost by Halsey on repeat and I think if you read while playing the exact song it somewhat shows in the pace I set for readers.

The term ‘block class’ is actually derived from what my own high school (even though I’m not even fully considered a freshman yet jfc) uses when referring to a 90 minute class

The book Technically begins on a Saturday with Levi — the actual power duo meet that Monday (because unlike dumbass schools in real life, their first day of school was on a Monday instead of the Friday before.) on their first day. That Tuesday was chapter 4, Wednesday being chapter 5, Thursday being chapter 6 (we skip Friday because it doesn’t fucking matter in the story lmao), and Saturday being the day of the party.

Writing an x reader but without the reader was really fucking hard, honestly. I couldn’t just randomly say ‘Levi looked over at the H/C girl working on her homework across from him’ as it’d just be weird, so I thought of the next best thing and never described Aella — making her free for interpretation of her looks.

I was going to have Aella have a name reveal like ‘my real name is Y/N…’ but then I was like “No what? Fuck it. Levi already knew from the beginning after looking at her documents.”

No Sympathy was actually going to be an original story, but Levi’s character fit so well I decided to make it a fanfic.

I actually wanted to stop writing after chapter 3 because I didn’t know what to do with the plot, but I asked my friend for help coming up with the plot using the paragraphs of ideas I had to make an actual plot. So, I can successfully say I owe it to her for helping and the one sentence that kept me going in my head: “I want to make a story I’m proud of.” So I fucked up my (nonexistent, really lmao) sleeping and eating schedules and started working on this book everyday even when I didn’t post a chapter that day.

Though, it’s not really specified in the early chapters, Aella was bullied into being hated by the entire school — leaving her to be all alone, which actually happened to me and gave me PTSD after transferring.

Ironically, I gave Aella a ton of reactions and characteristics I would/ just generally have, but I see myself more in Levi, which is probably why I prefer writing about him over Aella.

As of writing this, chapter 5 is currently my favorite chapter as it is a mix of a filler chapter and a regular important chapter still just as important as the rest.

Depression and PTSD actually got in the way of writing so many times I actually am surprised I’ve written so much

As writing has always been my go to for letting out everything (as I have z e r o close friends lmao) I actually don’t realize when I’m done with each chapter until I realize I’m out of ideas for said chapter.

I don’t even realize I write about 2,000 words until it’s like “oh,,”

No Sympathy wasn’t just any fanfic for me, it was like I was actually Aella seeing the entire story unfold from beginning to finish

I tried to push myself to describe more, as I’ve noted while rereading my previous shitty fanfics — I struggled describing everything.

I tried to not have the basic “tch”, “brat”, and just random cursing from Levi unless it was at the exact wrong time (or I just put it in because I could totally see him saying that in said situation)

I tried characterizing Hanji as someone who wasn’t the basic overexcited dumbass most fanfics portray her as — instead I tried thinking of her as an actual person with reactions and different moods  and tried to embody that each time I wrote her

Character development is a huge thing Ive been trying to work on ever since I wrote A Valkyrie and a Mischievous God (though that character development and story sucked ass and I cringe at how popular it’s gotten), and a huge target for it was none other than Aella. At the beginning you could see she felt trapped in an endless cycle of stress and fending for herself, but when Levi came in and was like “lmao I have money you don’t have to stress” she felt like she was in an odd spot, and eventually after she reunited with Hanji she started to feel more free

Parents were completely cut out of this story because I genuinely don’t know how to write them as mine are either states away by choice or always working, so I just had Aella get kicked out and had her entire family gone.

My best ideas surface at 4 am when I’m trying to fucking sleep

Help me

But hey I now have a new passion for this book

I generally didn’t know how to end it

buT THEN I D I D

A huge thing for me, and my entire driving motion for writing this was a simple sentence: “I want to write something I’m proud of.”

Am I proud of this?

Eh. It’s not shitty, I suppose. I could always do better.

Characterization was so difficult for me. I wanted to stray from basic fanfics of an overly hyper Hange (though, I couldn’t help in some situations, but after watching an entire season and a half in one day, you notice personality changes) and write and more serious one — except I’m a damn shitty author with so many grammatical mistakes my ex-mentor would literally rip her hair out.

Writing a book has always been my goal, and I know this is the only thing that will ever come close to it.

I have another Levi x reader planned, but I always hate doing the basic ‘_____’ ‘Y/N’, etc because it literally drives my depressed self I n s a n e when writing

Most times for my outline summaries of the chapters I just put my name in place of Aella lmao

I actually struggled a lot when writing this; sometimes I even broke down thinking no one liked this book or I wasn’t a good enough author to write anymore.

My asshole self mainly spent my summer writing this rip

Currently, as it is July 2nd, I am literally hoping to Levi that I fucking get this done before August or else I’m so fucking screwed with beginning high school and shit.

Oh yeah btw, I’M NOT FUCKING READY FOR THE FINAL SEASON. I’LL BE A DAMN SOPHOMORE AND THAT IN ITSELF K I L L S ME

I don’t know if I’m actually going to continue with this book, but have these collected facts I started writing the moment the first chapter was out :,) It’s already September and my past dumbass was right

High school is kicking my ass

I have another story idea/plot written out and I really like it so idk. I think I’d stop halfway again because I’d think that no one would like it