#Yeah why not that's my thesis tag now

[salvadorbonaparte]

And so it begins...

[iamthepulta]

*stares at 30 reblogs of "deep down you want to bite someone with 100% power just once"*

*writes: "m00t is reincarnated crocodile (beloved)" on notepad*

[indigovigilance]

Bullet Theory

Thesis: Crowley passed Aziraphale a bullet during the Final Fifteen kiss. This bullet contains his memories. He tucked it under his tongue, then began to access the memories during the ride up the elevator.

Edit: debunked by God himself, in response to this post. As a reminder, please don’t send fan theories to NG.

Proof:

Glint in the mouth

Inspo credit to this post by @somehow-a-human

Yeah so we were already paying way too much attention to that very special four-letter word we thought Aziraphale was going to say, but it so happens that during that cut-off phoneme is the only time you can see this shiny object in his mouth. (catching this on the right frame was emotionally painful and I’m sending Gavin Finney my therapy bills (actually no I’m not I love you very much sir)).

So that’s the basis of this theory. Crowley passed Aziraphale a bullet that he then tucks under his tongue.

Add’l Evidence Post-Kiss

Aziraphale works his jaw after raising his fingers to his lips: [gif]

Then when the Metatron comes in, he turns his back on the Metatron and raises his hand. I originally thought he was wiping his eyes. Now I think he’s raising his hand to his mouth, maybe to spit out the bullet, maybe to make sure it’s secured under his tongue.

Credits Scene

Aziraphale has the craziest fucking look on his face through the credits, we can all agree. But towards the end, his eyes flicker back and forth, as if he is watching or reading something. Then he smiles. I hypothesize that he is still accessing his memories during this time, and getting the information he needs to [redacted].

Thematic Justification: The Bullet Catch

Aziraphale having a bullet in his mouth as part of a two-man act of deception is not a fresh concept by the time we get to The Final Fifteen.

Additionally, the use of surreptitious modes of communication, where messages are passed from person to person inaudabily, is introduced in this same magic trick. 

NB1: I wish I could credit the person who I first saw point this out (relatively recently). It wasn’t even tagged as meta, I don’t think. But the gist was there’s some parallelism between “aim for my mouth but shoot past my ear” and the “pin the lips on the lips” move that Crowley pulls in the Final Fifteen. If I find it I will properly cite.

NB2: One hypothesis that has circulated around, I think creditable to @sendarya, is that Aziraphale mouths “trust me” to Crowley just before he gets on the elevator. This isn’t necessary to the Bullet Theory but it would be thematically consistent.

Small objects carry memories

Why a bullet? Well, it’s a small object that has meaningful significance between the pair of people involved, much like:

Beelzebub introduces us to the idea that a small object like a fly can be used as a storage container for memories. We also see that the object entering the body of the person is a viable way for the memories to be delivered.

(btw Jon Hamm if you’re reading this, you have very pretty eyes)

“I keep a derringer in a hollowed out book”

K, so it’s not like Crowley is just carrying a bullet loaded with Aziraphale’s memories around with him at all times, is it? (I mean, it could be, but probably not. I’ll just point you to this meta for my theories on why, if Crowley had anything that needed to be kept safe, he would keep it in the bookshop.)

We learn in S2E4 that Aziraphale keeps a gun in a hollowed out book somewhere in the shop. A gun wouldn’t be any good without bullets, right? This may not be the reason the derringer was left as a Chekhov’s Gun for S3, but it’s a possibility. If Crowley wasn’t already in possession of a bullet, he knew that he could find one in the shop. Even more likely, the exact bullet used in the 1941 magic trick is a precious keepsake being kept somewhere in the bookshop, and Crowley chose to use that exact bullet because of the memories already directly attached to the object.

Why Aziraphale even has memories to be returned to him

We know that Aziraphale could have had his mind wiped because Heaven has done it before. Certainly once. Probably twice. We know this because when Metatron is announcing that Gabriel, alongside having his memories erased, is being demoted to 38th class, Muriel pipes up and reminds us that they are 37th class:

So this wasn’t a “just Gabriel” thing. Mind-wiping is a routine form of personnel management in Heaven. There is NO reason for us to believe that it didn’t happen to Aziraphale. But in case you need a reason to believe it, here goes:

We know from our interactions with Jim that the person whose memories are missing (1) doesn’t necessarily know and (2) isn’t necessarily distressed by that fact, even if they do. Muriel also fits this “cheerful empty shell” archetype. You know who else does? Ding ding ding. The one and only A. Z. “wiggles with delight” Fell.

I can already hear your very valid counter-argument. This guy is actually terrified out of his mind on any given day that his romance with a demon will be discovered. Yes. Because he’s involved in a romance with a demon. The other two angels we’ve met don’t have this issue. Beyond that, though, these three characters share more in common with each other disposition-wise than any of them do with the other angels we’ve met (Uriel, Michael, Sandolphon, etc.).

We also know that Aziraphale has been [demoted] at some point from Cherub to Principality. This is book canon: 

"Technically Aziraphale was a Principality, but people made jokes about that these days."

This has also been confirmed (insofar as Neil Gaiman ever confirms anything) by Word of God:

(marketing video screengrab clipped for brevity)

We don’t know for sure it was a demotion, but I think we have enough evidence to infer that with a high degree of confidence.

Anyways.

Summary: Aziraphale is a cheerful angel who was demoted and has a name that is not biblical canon. This evidence indicates that was probably mind-wiped. This is not the first time I’m proposing this. It won’t be the last.

How Crowley Did It

My meta on Continuity Errors gives the complete proof for why I believe that Crowley is able to stop time without Aziraphale knowing, and I propose in that meta that the kiss was a cover-up for the exertion of effort necessary to pull that off. I further proposed that during the pause, he retrieved something from the bookshop. At the time of writing, I didn’t know what. Now, I have an inkling that it was a bullet.

If you need a refresher on Clock Theory, here’s one. The idea is that the clock behind Aziraphale shifts by fifteen minutes from before the kiss to after the kiss. This is consistent with a theory that Crowley paused time (but the clock kept running) in order to retrieve the bullet, dump Aziraphale’s memories into it if he hadn’t already, and then return to transfer the bullet to Aziraphale.

Why Crowley Kept the Secret So Long

As with Continuity Errors, I am ending this meta with a very unsatisfactory “I don’t know.” The motivation for Crowley to keep Aziraphale’s memories from him until the very moment he’s about to leave must have been a strong one. I think it has something to do with why Crowley was so insistent on trying to get Aziraphale to run away with him, instead of dealing with whatever’s coming. But as with Continuity Errors, I suspect that the good omens meta hivemind (and the vast collection of people who are posting clues, you have no idea how important you are) will assemble yet more breadcrumbs that we can follow to some sort of hypothesis.

Until then,

iv

(here's my meta index if you would like to read more stuff like this)

[mayasaura]

sorry if this has been answered before or if there's a post about this, but I've been seeing a lot of posts labeling harrow as schizophrenic and/or having trouble recognizing reality, including the one you just made about crux as harrow's caretaker and reality-indicator.

I realize that these interpretations come from htn, but I'm curious as why people feel that it's always been a trait of harrow's instead of a side effect of the lobotomy?

I was under the impression that she created the reality problems as an excuse to cover the blocks in her memory, especially since we know that wake/the sleeper didn't possess her until after gtn and most of her confusion happens in the river bubble.

even the "hallucinations" of the body don't really impact her perception of reality, and it's actually alecto's soul not a real hallucination. the only questionable moment I can remember is when she sees cytheria under the bed and ianthe says there's nothing there, but we know ianthe is a duplicitous legend so I read it as ianthe lying to harrow lol

long story short, I was wondering if there was scenes in gtn, ntn, or post-realization htn that indicate harrow has had these reality problems pre-lobotomy? or if you know of a post analyzing it further? sorry to throw this at you, I just haven't seen any analysis of it but I saw your post so I was hoping you would have more info :) I really adore all of your tlt analysis posts!

Hi! Yeah, if you go into my '#harrow's schizophrenia' tag, I've made several posts about it, and other people have added on to a few of them with further elaboration.

But I don't think I've ever laid it out fully like a thesis. And I have several stressful things I should be doing right now, so I can't think of a better time to get into it.

When Harrow's brain is editing Gideon out, there's an effect a little like a record skip. Her memory snags on something, very briefly, and then quickly moves on. Or she'll make an assumption or say something that doesn't actually make sense without Gideon in the picture, but she won't notice. The most prominent example is the details in chapter 3 surrounding her opening of the Tomb:

Just ellipsis "found out" ellipsis to skim over the very large part Gideon had to play in those events. If she were to interrogate the memory, it would be strange that she doesn't remember how her parents found out, but doing so would make her brain bleed. She would black out, and most likely forget what she was trying to remember.

And an example from the same chapter of a statement that doesn't make sense, unless you know about Gideon:

Two things are important about these examples, the first being that they don't upset Harrow. She doesn't think they're strange, because she barely thinks about them, which was sort of the point of the lobotomy in the first place. The second is that they can be immediately explained by plugging Gideon into the Gideon-shaped hole in Harrow's memory. If you know about Gideon, and what Harrow's done, there's no mystery remaining.

In contrast, there are other details in chapter 3 about Harrow's childhood that Harrow did, and does, find strange and upsetting.

Gideon didn't attend services, and she most definitely didn't participate in chants. Putting Gideon back in the picture does nothing to explain the "weird, thuddering beat" Harrow finds disruptive. But it does sound an awful lot like an auditory hallucination, as does hearing doors open and close where no doors were opening and closing.

Maybe we could try to explain the doors by supposing she was hearing Gideon coming and going without remembering the source, but that doesn't really track with how we know her mind processes the missing pieces. If Harrow were papering Gideon over in her memory, it wouldn't be important who was or wasn't opening doors and where. The focus of her memory would quickly shift, just like it did when trying to remember how her parents found out about the Tomb, in order to avoid looking at what she's hidden from herself.

Then there's the next paragraph:

Again, plugging Gideon into this memory does nothing to explain it. Even if Gideon had been in the habit of sneaking up behind Harrow and attempting to choke her out—which, yikes—Harrow has already seamlessly blocked out the memory of one attempted strangulation. Then there are the phantom ropes she sees, her parents' method of suicide haunting her.

The forgetting where she was, losing time, and false memories do seem at first glance like they could be explained by the lobotomy, seeing as that is sort of the whole purpose and effect. But I'm pretty sure even these are real memories. Again, because of the focus of her attention. She's remembering having forgotten, while the lobotomy make her forget to remember.

Then there's Harrow's overall behavior. Her reactions to her hallucinations, especially in the River bubble, which imply that not all of this is new to her. She isn't shocked, or caught off-guard. She has coping mechanisms. She's figured out what evidence she can probably rely on to rule out hallucinations, and what's more likely to be suspect. A lobotomy, even a necromantic lobotomy, doesn't come with built-in tools for coping with its effects. Her memory of her past without Gideon in it is fractured and incomplete, not an entirely new life story with new life lessons.

Finally, from Nona the Ninth, some evidence that Harrow's problems with reality definitely predate the lobotomy:

Crux remembers them.

[gomapda]

sidewalks we crossed [side B: him.] (pt. 2)

this is broken into parts because tumblr has a limit of 1000 blocks.

side A found here! | side B (part 1) found here!

author's note:

part two of side b!

the final installment.

it's been a long journey to get here, and any messages or words i read in the tags of the reblogs were a source of comfort for me during these times. i'm glad that my words resonated with even just one of you.

and of course, thank you for being here.

✧⋆°｡☾☼꙳ ੭ * ‧ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ‧ ⨯ ς(>‿<.). ⁺ ✦ * . ˚ ⨯ ੭ * ‧☼☽⋆｡°✧

pairing: lee jihoon/woozi (seventeen) x f!reader

genre: romance, fluff

summary: an accidental like, an off-chance comment, a purposeful message. you were in an unrequited love with your childhood best friend and decided to run away from him and your feelings and years later you find yourself in the same city with the same feelings when he stalks your instagram.

rating: 13+

length: 30k (bro WHAT LOL)

tags: idol!jihoon, childhood friend!reader, unrequited love (but not really), reconnection through instagram, this is just different scenes pieced together (including a ton of flashbacks), reader’s nicknames are all bug-themed, reader has depression and it manifests as suicidal ideation sometimes, this is basically real life (aka seventeen exists and debuted 150526), but the years are a little bit off for the trainee period, jihoon left busan later and trained for shorter for the sake of my story hehe, cursing, pining, mamamoo + ateez are the besties of reader, member x member pairings, jihoon and reader are both dumbasses, reader is extremely book smart but has one brain cell when it comes to romantic feelings, jihoon writes music like he’s been divorced 12x, word genius lee jihoon, idk how doctoral degrees work, i only got my masters and it was a non-thesis track lol, also idk how trainee auditions work either, miss communication is a lady we all know too well, super cute soft shit too tho tbh, no beta we die like men, i spent 5 hours trying to format this for tumblr and i’m still unsure

inspired by “drivers license” by olivia rodrigo and “what kind of future?” by woozi

inspo spotify playlist found here!

──────────────────

“Noona, I need help.”

Immediately, the older girl closed the book she was reading, a young adult romance novel and turned her attention to him. “You never ask for my help. What’s going on?”

“I… I like Y/N.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

Jihoon balked. “What? Does everyone know this already?”

“Y/N doesn’t.”

He groaned loudly.

“Are you finally wanting to tell her?”

“I mean, yeah. I—I just don’t know what to do.”

“Well, I got just the thing for you, Jihoonie.”

Jihoon spent his time trying to come up with some elaborate and dramatic confession (per the advice of his noona). They sat in cafes, picking out different foods that the two of them knew you’d enjoy, scoping out different restaurants, going to the library and her handing him too many romance novels.

After a few weeks, “Noona, you sure this is going to work?”

“Nope.”

“What?! Then why am I doing this?”

“I was just curious to see how much you were willing to do for her. She deserves nothing less than the best, you know,” the girl grinned, now revealing her mischievous side, one that he has never seen before. “Jihoon, you really think that she’s going to want anything that’s a grand gesture?”

“Well. No, but I thought you would know her—”

“Jihoonie, there’s no one that knows her better than you, I think. You probably know her and see her for how she really is. More than she can see herself. All you have to do is just tell her the truth. That’s it.”

“…this was a waste of time.”

She hummed. “Hm, nothing came up for you?”

“What do you mean?”

He could see that she was fidgeting with her fingers. She let out a nervous laugh as she said, “I actually wanted to see whether you still liked me. Whether spending time with me was going to change your mind. Not that I wanted it to! But I didn’t want you to be wishy-washy. She needs stability. She’s already chaotic on her own.”

“You knew I liked you?”

“Just a tiny bit.”

He let out a dry laugh. “Would you have given me a chance?”

“Would you have tried?”

The two of them sat there for a moment, mulling over the weight of the words said between them. But they both knew that there was someone else in their lives who mattered more, who they truly yearned for. If Jihoon and his noona ever pursued something, it would’ve just been them trying to find comfort in each other because they couldn’t have who they wished for. They would’ve tried to shape each other to fit the missing puzzle piece, losing the essence of themselves.

Jihoon and his noona were only mere reflections of who they actually wanted, the illusion created because of how much time was spent together. And that image would’ve faded fast.

“No, I don’t think I would have.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Good luck with him.”

“Yeah… good luck with her. It’ll work out.”

──────────────────

Plenty of people could say that his noona was childish, that she should have picked another route to go down. That it all could’ve been left unsaid. But Jihoon was grateful for her choice to do what she did. Because you didn’t deserve that “what if?”. Neither did he. You both needed to be sure.

And he felt it, walking into the restaurant.

He immediately recognized you, even with your head down. He was so used to seeing you from afar that this was a sight that was unfortunately so familiar to him. He walked forward in hopes of closing the distance between the two of you.

“Jihoon! Hey!” Your cousin said, frantically.

Jihoon held back his laughter, the sight of his hyung flustered a rare occurrence. “Hey, hyung.”

“Oh my goodness, it’s our Jihoonie! Hi!”

He could see that her eyes were screaming: save us. Jihoon wondered if he’d be able to. “Hi, noona.”

Ah, there you went.

Your eyes finally met his.

God, so beautiful.

“Hey, firefly.”

“Holy fuck.”

Jihoon was startled. Since when did you curse? And the fuck word too? But it must be a new development considering the other two were making a huge commotion over it. But even in the midst of chastising, you didn’t break eye contact.

“It’s been a while.”

You blinked. “Um. Yes.”

He couldn’t help but smile. This was happening.

His brilliant and warm and fiery sun.

The reason behind why his own light exists.

His guide, his inspiration, his hope.

His firefly.

Close enough to reach out and catch.

But not quite yet.

“So, are you all done eating?”

“No, not even close! Only ordered one pajeon, but feel free to order anything that you want! Oppa will be covering,” his noona responded as she motioned for him to take the seat next to you. He did and immediately felt you tense up beside him. Jihoon mentally cursed at himself. He should’ve asked.

He decided to lean back in his chair to try to mimic the body language he hoped from you: relaxed. “Hyung’s the best.”

“One day, I’ll make you spend that idol money of yours.”

“Alright, it’s a deal.”

You must have recovered from your shock, since you piped up with a, “Wait. Shouldn’t you be careful about eating out? What if someone sees you here? Couldn’t something happen?”

Aw, you were worried for him. “This is a restaurant that’s frequented by SEVENTEEN. This specific table is so far removed in the corner that it’d be hard to get a good look at my face, especially since my back’s to them.”

You looked around and scanned the area, probably noticing the boisterous environment of hweshiks overpowering the casual dining you were partaking in. “Hm. Okay…”

“You worried about me?”

“No, I’m worried I’m going to end up in Dispatch with message requests from sasaeng fans.”

Jihoon felt the color drain from his face. “If you’re uncomfortable with me being here—”

You immediately shook your head. “That was a joke, I guess it was too serious of a reality for it to seem like one. Jihoon, thanks, really. But I’m scary good at ignoring people. Uh… I’m… I’m glad that you’re here. Seriously.” You paused for a moment, probably noticing the tension that he was too aware of. “Because we’re with two weakass eaters so it’s up to us to finish the job. Will you join me on our noble mission?”

He snorted out a ‘yes’ and the table laughed. Your cousin brought up a time where you were crying because you hated wasting food but the dish was too spicy but you were too stubborn to stop eating. You quickly reminded him that he was the one who tapped out first and left a 9-year-old to solve the issue (“Wouldn’t have been a problem for me if you didn’t create one, oppa!”). The four of you spent more time catching up than thinking about what to order until you were all brought back into the reality that you were at a restaurant and ordered nothing but a pajeon and drinks.

The older two let you and Jihoon decide, as you were both pickier eaters than they were. Once the food arrived, you fell into a rhythm of years’ practice. You pushed your portion of fish and beef onto his plate and he pushed his portion of bean sprouts and japchae onto yours. You both split the pork belly serving evenly between the two of you.

His arm would (accidentally) brush against yours but none of the tension remained from earlier. You didn’t retract, you didn’t run away. In fact, you poked his arm for his attention midway in the conversation and he never thought such a small thing could evoke such happiness.

──────────────────

Physical touch was never something that Jihoon craved. In fact, in most cases, he felt negatively towards it. So, the experience of being touch-starved was not something he knew anything about.

That is, until you were gone for two weeks at an academic competition.

Why the hell was an academic competition half a month? And during summer break? What did they expect middle schoolers to do? Solve world hunger with pi? (The number, not the food.)

You were spending your school vacation for the sake of more school.

What a stupid concept.

And you were on the same team as Baek Yunho, the star player of the baseball team and chemistry league. Jihoon saw the way that Yunho would try to come up to you after a game, but you only ever made a beeline towards Jihoon.

He didn’t realize just how much the two of you gravitated towards each other. Between class periods, he’d pinch your nose or flick your forehead or you would attempt to bring him to his knees by pushing your own into the back of his and fail miserably and he would roundhouse kick you in response. If the two of you had the time, you would go over to his house and dig your toes into his ribcage when he totally owned you during a game of Super Smash Bros. And during the summer, usually, you would be sprawled over him, back to back, as he would watch anime or play games on his phone and you would read your summer reading list.

But normal people wouldn’t consider that physical touch.

And yet here he was, genuinely touch-starved, because you were in Daegu with a whole seven days left.

He grumbled under his breath. Another day has gone by without seeing Baek Yunho during practice which meant another day that you were gone. Something that occupied his mind, as he opened the door to his bedroom, swinging his baseball bag onto his bed.

And he heard a loud, “ow!”

He saw you rubbing your knee on his bed, with a pout on your face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

That’s one way to say he missed you.

“I came back from my competition today to apparently get assaulted by my best friend.”

“I thought it was two weeks long.”

“The whole thing is, but I opted out of the award ceremony. Plus, I only competed in the writing and foreign language portion because that’s all they needed me for, which all happened in the first week.”

Jihoon’s mind didn’t catch up with his body as he reached for you. You yelped and threw a pillow at him, “Ew. No, you just got back from practice and you’re sweaty!”

“Firefly, you’re missing out on a rare opportunity.”

You paused for a moment, possibly recalling all the times he’s rejected a hug from you and realizing this indeed was very rare. “Can you at least wipe off your sweat?”

“Nope, not at all,” Jihoon snickered.

It was now a competition to see who would be the faster one, you rushing for the door or his arms. And of course, the athlete that he is, Jihoon won.

“You smell like the sun! Stop!”

He decidedly rubbed his neck into the shoulder of your shirt and you did your best to wiggle away, but failed. Your look of disdain was met with Jihoon’s satisfied one. “Lee Jihoon, you’re the worst.”

“I’m glad my punching bag is back.”

You pushed his hair back only to immediately retract. “Ugh! How does so much sweat just come out of you?”

“Does it matter when I have a towel right here?”

You pinched his ear as he pushed his sweaty forehead against the other shoulder of your shirt. You burst into a fit of giggles when he found your ticklish spot in the middle of your thigh, but soon enough, your ankle found purchase around his and pushed him onto the ground as you clambered away and into his closet, probably to find a shirt to change into.

He was left there on his bedroom floor, listening to your ramblings about his sweat, almost deliriously happy.

He was satisfied, no longer a starving man.

──────────────────

After the food was finished (thanks to the two of you), the four of you walked out of the restaurant, the couple saying they were so full they wanted to walk it off on the way to their hotel. They offered for the two of you to join them but you declined, saying the hotel was in the opposite direction of your home.

Your cousin felt uneasy leaving you to walk home on your own. But you pointed at Jihoon with your thumb and said, “Jihoonie can walk me home, if you’re so worried. But even if he can’t, I’ve lived here long enough. This isn’t anything new.”

As if your cousin completely ignored the latter half of what you said, he glanced at Jihoon who gave a quick nod. “I’ll walk her home. Don’t worry. Then I’ll take a taxi back myself.”

After much long-winded convincing, the two headed off to the hotel while you and him were left walking down the street, his own face masked up and covered with a baseball hat in case of anything.

“You know, you don’t have to walk me home.”

“I’d like to, if that’s alright with you.”

He noticed you adjusting the hem of your shirt. “Okay. It’s a little bit of a walk from here. Maybe 30 to 40 minutes or so.”

“That’s 30 to 40 minutes I’d like to spend with you.”

“…yeah. I’d like that too.”

This felt almost surreal. You by his side.

But also so natural, almost inevitable.

As if this was all just waiting to happen.

After a moment’s pause, you asked him what he was doing for the coming months, if there were any plans.

“There’s a concert that Bumzu’s holding in Busan, and he’s asking some SEVENTEEN members to perform, so I’ll be doing a solo piece for that one.”

“Oh, SIMPLE?”

You immediately made a face as if you got caught admitting something embarrassing and Jihoon grinned. “Ah, you know my solo song?”

“Hm. Maybe…” You trailed off, looking everywhere but at him.

Cute.

“It might’ve possibly made it as my top song of the year in 2016.”

Agh, even cuter. “I’ll tell Yoon Jeonghan that he’s not actually your bias and you’re actually a Woozidan.”

“You can call me a Woozidan, you’d just be exceedingly and astronomically incorrect, like always. Unlike me, who is right, quite literally 100% of the time.”

Jihoon laughed. “Hey, I’ll have you know I’m one of the brains in SEVENTEEN, alright?”

“That’s because you were forged in the fire that was your friendship with me. Of having to deal with my illogical thinking.”

“Ain’t that the damn truth.”

The mood between the two of you was solid and Jihoon felt his resolve flare up within him, gathering the courage to ask, “If I invited you to Bumzu’s concert, would you go?”

“Oh. The one in Busan?”

“Yes.”

“Uh. When is it? I’m supposed to start work in three weeks.”

He wondered how big of a Carat you were because he knew that most would jump at the opportunity, but he felt oddly reassured that you weren’t a fan who would shirk on your responsibilities. “It’s in two weeks. You can… uh, bring Hyejin?”

You blinked up at him. “You know her?”

“She, uh, is always on your Instagram.”

“That’s very sweet of you and she’s gonna freak out that you know her, but she’s actually going to be in Jeonju that entire week with Wheein-unnie because they’re visiting their family. And then none of my other friends know about me knowing you. But. You know what? What kind of Carat would I be if I turned down this offer?”

Great minds think alike. “So… I’ll see you there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you will. I’ll sing the chorus of SIMPLE so loud I’ll overpower even your vocals.”

“You know, I never said I was singing SIMPLE.”

“Oh, what? What are you singing then?”

Jihoon grinned. “Guess you’ll have to come and find out.”

You let out a low whistle. “Wow, what an idol. Using your charm to convince me to use up my time and money.”

“You think I’m charming?”

“Enough that my wallet is in constant danger.”

“You know, I can always give you free things.”

“It’s okay. Buying your albums and merchandise and concert tickets have been the only way I can support you. And, well, I did promise I would be your number one fan.”

“‘S alright. That’s all in the past.”

Jihoon noticed you flinching at those words. Your voice was barely above a whisper, “…Is it really all in the past? It’s not that simple, is it, Jihoonie?”

He remained silent.

So did you.

You both walked, the evening stroll accompanied only by the artificial lights of the city, the sun having long since gone to rest and the light of the moon nowhere to be found.

You reached the doorstep of your apartment and you turned back to face him. “I think… We probably have a lot to talk about. But maybe the timing is off right now. I know I need to sort myself out, if that’s okay? I’m trying to do this thing where I think before I talk instead of just diving in and regretting something, you know?”

Jihoon nodded. He was all too familiar with that.

“But I just want to let you know that I still want to be a part of your life. And we can navigate how that will look like when we’re both not caught up in living our lives. Is… is that okay?”

He wanted to cry. “More than that.”

You smiled. “I’ll see you at the concert, Jihoonie.”

“I’ll see you, firefly.”

──────────────────

After that night, he was thrown back into his and SEVENTEEN’s work. Outside of Bumzu’s concert, they were working on their next album, aiming to release it in just two months, the theme centered around a youthful infatuation blossoming into a mature love.

He wondered what you would think of it.

One night, he was in his studio with Soonyoung again who looked over Jihoon’s latest solo for Bumzu’s concert.

“Jihoon, this is the saddest shit I’ve ever read.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Are you sure that this is what you’re wanting to perform? That this is what you want her to hear? In front of hundreds of people?”

“It’s… the most honest I can be. Yeah, it could scare her off. But I don’t think we can keep moving forward without addressing what happened between us. But I didn’t make this song to make her feel bad. I made it so I could let go of the pain I associate with the old her to be able to make space for the new her, you know what I mean?”

Soonyoung spared no expression. “Whatever you think is best, Hoon.”

“I’m just going to take a leap of faith,” Jihoon sighed. There really was no predicting exactly how things would turn out. You were different, he was different. There were too many unknown variables with the situation. “Hopefully she’ll be there to catch me.”

“Mm.”

“What’s up?”

“I’m thinking about how you’re going to be singing a ballad, pouring your true and genuine feelings, and I’ll be performing Hurricane in a tiger print shirt.”

Jihoon paused for a moment. “Duality of SEVENTEEN.”

──────────────────

You must have also been busy, as the only notification he got from you was on the day of the concert. It was a selfie of you at a gas station in the wee hours of the morning, no doubt filling your tank before your 4 and a half hour car ride, with a message saying, “i’m on my way to you! fueled by overpriced gas and cheap snacks!”

You were on your way. To him.

There was an electricity that was coursing through him that went beyond just nerves before a show. No, there was so much more riding on this, and as much as he wants to believe and trust that everything would work out in some way or another, there is the deep part of him that yearns for it to work out for the best. The most ideal cut.

He pressed his hands against his chest, as he tried to mimic compression.

But there was just too much bursting out of him to truly contain.

“Jihoon-ah, you alright?”

He must have looked like a crazed man to Jeonghan because the latter had an incredulous look on his face as soon as they made eye contact. “Do I not seem alright?”

“No.”

“Hyung.”

Jeonghan let out a low chuckle and moved behind him to squeeze the shoulders of the stressed man. “It’s okay to hope, you know.”

“It feels like hope is the reason I can’t breathe right now. If it weren’t for hope, I wouldn’t care this much. If it weren’t for hope, I wouldn’t be in this position.”

“You’re right. You wouldn’t be. Without hope, you wouldn’t be in SEVENTEEN. You wouldn't have become an idol, be our unit’s leader, become a producer, written songs, or even had the chance to reconcile with her. All of what you are would’ve been impossible without hope”

Jihoon bit his lip. “I feel like I’m going crazy, hyung. I keep going back and forth between whether it’s worth it. I haven’t felt anxiety like this in years. I know that lo–love–” Jihoon realized he never said that word so directly about her. He always found more poetic ways to dance around the word. “–can be a lot of work. But this? It makes me think that it’s not meant to be. When I see her and when I’m with her, it feels so right. But when she’s not in front of me, I feel like the best thing to do is to just run away.”

“Yeah, but you ran away last time, right?”

“And I wouldn’t be in SEVENTEEN if I hadn’t.”

“But you’ve still pined after her for all these years.”

“Maybe that’s just me being stubborn.”

“Yeah, and? What about it?”

“What happens if I’m pining after her because I regret hurting someone I cared about, my best friend. What if I don’t actually love her–”

Jihoon’s voice caught in his throat.

Jeonghan answered in a low whisper, and Jihoon is sure that if he turned around, he would see pity in his older member’s eyes. “Jihoon–”

“No, I know,” he quickly cut him off, sighing. “Ridiculous notion. Hyung, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I don’t understand myself at all. Just yesterday, I was talking a big game about how I needed to trust her and take a leap of faith and now it feels like I’m going back on it.”

“So, you don’t trust her?”

“That’s… not it.”

“Then what is it, Jihoon?”

“I… I can’t…”

“It’s just you and me here.”

Lee Jihoon and Yoon Jeonghan.

The very two people who were in that room together when that fateful encounter on social media occurred.

Yoon Jeonghan, the island of SEVENTEEN.

“What if she doesn’t love me back?”

Jeonghan felt Jihoon’s shoulders tremble underneath his grip. The older began to rub gentle circles and stood there in silence as the younger buried his face in his hands. “...She could.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“What if she does?”

“That’s not–”

“–How it works? Why are your worries more likely than your hope? Are they more logical? More based in reality? Listen, they’re all just thoughts driven by feelings. They both have an equal chance of happening, and yet you are convinced your worries are true. And maybe that’s your fault. Your fault because you keep suppressing your hope in fear of pain and rejection. So that later down the line, you can tell yourself that you knew it anyway. But guess what? This isn’t a game where you’re trying to come out of this as the least hurt.”

Jihoon felt lucky that Jeonghan couldn’t see his face.

“Just think of it as finally being able to let out the entire truth that you’ve been hiding for years, the truth that has been found in your lyrics, but is now finally going to reach the person you’ve hoped for so long that it would. She’ll be right there, listening to you. You’ve wanted it for so long. Don’t try to convince yourself all of a sudden that it’s not.”

“...Yeah.”

“Plus, they already have the line-up and backing vocals set up, so. It’s not like you can change it now. Go put your in-ear in. We’ll be in the audience. All of us.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

“...I’m not sure if it means anything, but you’re a good man, Lee Jihoon. I’m proud of you.”

Jeonghan patted the younger’s shoulder before exiting the small space, leaving Jihoon to his own thoughts. Ones that no longer swirled over the possibility of pain or even the potential of reciprocation. Instead, he thought about his members. The ones he’s told he’s loved, both in teasing ways and genuine utterances.

And then he thought of you.

He’d like you to hear the same from him.

At least once.

(And hopefully more.)

──────────────────

Busan’s driving laws were nothing like the rest of Korea. 

Luckily growing up in Busan, you were aware of the way that the drivers swerved in and out of lanes, making illegal (?) turns any chance they got. The flow of traffic in Busan is so aggressively different from Seoul, that it felt as though you had to flip a switch to reorient yourself into the version of you that learned how to first drive in Busan.

Not long after the person you were driving to see had stormed out of your home.

You sighed.

You weren’t sure what to expect at the concert.

It felt almost embarrassing how much you daydreamed over him potentially singing a song to you. The reality is dangerously close to overlapping with the delusion that you found yourself trying to literally shake away the thoughts.

But how could you not be a little hopeful?

The love of your life invited you to a concert, with him singing a solo song.

Maybe he’d confess–

The honk of the car behind you pulled you out of your thoughts. You groaned loudly, slapping your forehead. “Get it together, Y/N!”

Jihoon had told you to enter the concert hall through a certain entrance, and that you wouldn’t need to wait amongst the lines. He recommended waiting until everyone else was seated, so you would still have 20 minutes to kill before entering the venue.

You drove, mentally fighting yourself every kilometer of the way, until you finally reached the venue. You showed the badge that Jihoon had given you and was directed towards the back lot where staff parked. You cut the engine and sat there, attempting to calm yourself down.

You immediately get a request for FaceTime on your phone.

You answer it.

“Bumblebee!”

“Unnie, I can feel myself eroding away.”

Hyejin rolled her eyes. “You’ll be fine.”

You heard Wheein’s voice in the background. “Is that Y/N?”

Hyejin answered, “Yeah. Wanna say something?”

Wheein popped into frame. You gave a weak wave. “Are you gonna confess today?”

“What? No. That wasn’t in the plan.”

“Okay? Then change the plan,” Wheein said, as though it was the most obvious thing.

“I just want to be friends.”

“Forever?” Wheein asked.

“For now,” Hyejin supplied.

You rolled your eyes. “Listen. All I know is that I want to be in his life, and whatever that looks like is still to be determined, alright?”

“But what do you want in the long run?”

“You know I can’t plan for the long-term. Let’s just take things day by day, alright?”

“Okay, but what if he confesses today?” Wheein asked.

“He won’t.”

“What if he does?”

“I–”

Hyejin tapped Wheein’s thigh off-camera. “She’ll handle it if it comes up. No matter what happens, we’ll be here to pick up your call, okay? Whether it be to sort out your feelings or to just fangirl about the concert. We’ll be here to listen to whatever you’re willing to share. There’s not much to do here in Jeonju anyway, so. Just hit us up.”

“Go eat Jeonju bibimbap.”

“We did,” they answered in unison.

You let out a short laugh. “Alright. Well. Regardless of everything, time will continue to pass. I’m going to just bask in the fact that I was invited by a member of my favorite idol group to watch his performance.”

“And that’s already cool as hell,” Wheein nodded.

The three of you chatted about their plans for the week while you did your best to focus on the conversation while still paying attention to the time left until the concert. Not long after, you bid them farewell to once again sit in silence in your car, pressing your hands against your chest.

It was time.

──────────────────

Bumzu’s concert started off as nothing less than spectacular.

You always admired his musical prowess, knowing that he was the one who helped Jihoon form his own identity as a producer and songwriter. Bumzu was a titan in his own right, his lyricism and musicality rivaling plenty of others in the field.

Although his talent is impeccable, the venue itself was small. His transition from performing towards writing and producing had a hand in influencing the number of tickets sold. You also realized belatedly that the concert wasn’t advertised to include the SEVENTEEN members that you were promised.

Regardless, it felt like such an intimate space, you were thankful for it.

You were in the upper gallery, away from the rest of the concert attendees. There wasn’t anyone else nearby you, and you assumed that would stay the case.

That is, until you heard someone sit right next to you.

You glanced over, not wanting to be overt in noticing them (although, Korean culture lends itself to staring at others outside of Seoul and Busan), and you felt your breath hitch.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I–yeah.”

“I recorded a video for you for your graduation,” the most beautifully ethereal man on this side of existence said. “Do you remember?”

“I–yeah.”

He flashed a brilliant grin. “Yoon Jeonghan.”

“I–yeah.”

“Congratulations on graduating.”

“I–” This time, his voice overlapped yours. “Yeah.”

You flushed. “Sorry. I’m just– I’m kind of taken aback.”

“I heard I was your favorite member, your bias.”

“Mm. That’s true.”

“Why is that the case?”

You paused for a moment, the vocals of Bumzu drowning out the sounds of your conversation. “They say that your bias is the one who’s most similar to you. And your bias wrecker is the one that you’d most likely want to date or be romantically involved with.”

“Oh, so, we’re similar?”

“In the way that we love others, I think? From what other members have said about you, the way that you love is both wide and deep. You love others in a way where you can be a home for them during times of hardship,” you said, sheepishly. It felt almost strange to claim you were as loving as you were, but. You knew yourself. You knew your heart. Even the bad parts. “Also, we both would cheat at games.”

“It’s the only way to play.”

“Winning is too easy otherwise,” you added.

“Exactly,” he chuckled. “Well. That makes me feel better.”

“That I cheat at games?”

“No. That you love in the same way that I do. Because if you love Jihoonie as much as I love him, I think I have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“I do.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow at you. “I’m sorry?”

“I do love him,” you said, unhesitantly. Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest decision to tell one of Jihoon’s closest confidants this information. But, it wasn’t a secret. It wasn’t ever meant to be a secret. It was simply a fact. “There’s no way that I wouldn’t.”

“You… You haven’t doubted your feelings?”

This time you raised an eyebrow at him. “Why would I? He’s easy to love.”

Jeonghan laughed. “You’re so right, Y/N. So. Is he your bias wrecker?”

“You mean the one that I want to date?”

“The very same.”

You saw the mischief in his eyes, and you felt yours bubble up inside. “I wonder.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m surprised you cheat at games, you don’t seem like a great liar.”

“Who said I was trying to?” You flashed him a toothy grin.

“It’s rather strange to see just how different the two of you are. And also, how human you seem. The way that he talks about you, you’d think otherwise.”

“Unfortunately, being human is all I know,” you said, trying to shove down the feeling of butterflies in your stomach at the mention of Jihoon speaking of you to his precious brothers.

Bumzu was now giving a ment, but you were still so focused on the man next to you.

He crossed his legs and looked out at the stage. He pursed his lips. “Y/N. He’s a bit of a handful sometimes, you know.”

“I’ve got two hands.”

He smirked at that. “Right. That you do. And if you and I really are similar, then. Well. I hope you really listen to what he has to say to you, even if it can be hard to hear. I hope you try to understand him even when he doesn’t make sense. And, of course, I hope you enjoy the rest of your life loving him.”

You felt some tears well up in your eyes. “I’ll try my best.”

Jeonghan looked at you softly and patted your knee. “That’s all I ask.”

He stood up and you gave a slight bow. He smiled and said, “Enjoy the show.”

Bumzu’s voice rang out: “And now, a special guest: WOOZI from SEVENTEEN.”

Your eyes snapped back towards the stage, barely noticing the figure of your bias move back out into the shadows of the concert hall. You were transfixed by the man walking out on stage, his pale skin glowing underneath the stage lights, his black collared shirt hanging loosely on his frame. The cheers could not distract you from the way he gripped and ungripped the microphone in his hand as he sat down on the stool.

He lifted the microphone to his lips and began speaking.

“Hello, everyone. I am SEVENTEEN’s WOOZI.”

His eyes were darting around, but only looking downwards, barely looking at the crowd. “Today, I’m going to sing a song that I’ve only ever sang once. Um. And that was by myself, in my studio. Not even the other members have heard it.”

The crowd were wowed at the prospect of hearing an entirely new song from a genius producer. Seeing the spotlight shine on him, you realize how bare he looked without his other members surrounding him. His vulnerability was amplified by the closer proximity of the space.

You knew he was the kind of person that would lessen the amount of lines he had solely to allow others to shine more. He wasn’t like the sun, the blazing fire that consumed the day. No, he was so much more like the moon, the one that would reflect others’ light, but in such a way that was never accosting.

Even on the stage in front of you, he glowed so ethereally, you wondered if he was always the fae that you believed lived near the winding tree at Old Man Park’s home. He was the guiding light in the midst of night, always present, but in a less overt way than its celestial partner.

The sun was stunning in its own right, life-giving, even, but the moon provided comfort to those who tread in the darkness.

And you’ve seen the way he has done just that.

Not just for you, but for millions around the world.

“This is, uh. A very personal song,” you couldn’t help but notice the way that his grip around his microphone tightened. “I’m not sure if many of you out there have been unsure about what the future holds. But, this song… captures that, I think. This is ‘What Kind of Future’.”

Your reaction to grab your phone to record was immediately cut off by the piano playing.

This… melody?

Your throat tightened. It sounded so similar to the lullaby he would sing–

As if nothing happened I told myself that it was all a dream. When I closed my eyes and opened them again, I wanted to wake up with a relief.

The melody was so familiar, but because of that, you could focus solely on the lyrics he sang. 

Was this song… about you?

No, your mind supplied. Don’t be delusional.

But what if it was?

Your heart began to pound loudly in your ears, and you had to take deep breaths so as to not miss anything that he had to say.

Our past that didn't line up If I could go back in time Rather than roughly, but warmly Would I be able to let you go?

Your eyes widened.

You thought back to that moment in your house.

Could it be–?

When we weren't over As I held onto whatever was left You let go of me as I refused Although I don't wanna see you, I miss you Although I hate you, I miss you I don't understand myself so well

You immediately recall the desperation on his face and the hurt in his voice that you couldn’t see until it was too late. It was shrouded by his anger and your desire to look away. To run away. Because, to a teen on the cusp of adulthood, that was easier than being honest.

This waiting It's not easy to endure If I forget that someday As if nothing is wrong Our future will be empty and It's not that I want to forget you

You never wanted to forget him. 

You couldn’t.

He surrounded you at every turn.

The best parts of you were things that you learned from him.

He softened your rough edges, quieted the inner criticisms, pacified the burning flames.

The idea of him never being a part of your life again was one that you could not fathom, even with all of your imagination. Because there was no way for the current you to exist without him. Not in a way that deemed him necessary, but in a way that his friendship, his love, for you shaped you into becoming someone you, yourself, learned to love as well.

Your future might have been filled with joy and happiness.

His, just as likely to.

But yours and his, as he said, our future, would be empty.

We were happy about us You, who isn't me anymore Although I don't wanna see you, I miss you Although I hate you, I miss you I don't understand myself so well

You tried to quell your tears as much as you could, in fear of missing even another moment with him. Because you realize now that the feelings you had were not one-sided. Of course, they couldn’t have been. The way that the two of you stuck by each other through thick and thin.

Why were you so adamant that it couldn’t be true?

What kind of future is coming before us? Even if the Heavens don't give us an answer I'm too stupid until the end So I don't know the answer

The love you had for each other was so simple.

It was so direct, so straight-forward.

But the two of you made it complicated.

Why?

You also didn’t have an answer.

The both of you, burdened by the decisions of the past, anxious about the potential of the future.

As his vocals rang out, as he cried out, the tears finally streamed down your warm cheeks. You buried your face into your hands, listening to his voice, but unable to withstand the sight of him holding his microphone with such gentle, yet firm, hands. The same ones that trembled at his side that fateful day. Your breath staggered as you wept for the past versions of you.

The ones who struggled and constantly questioned whether you were loved by the person you longed for. The ones who somehow convinced themselves that you weren’t, rather than trusting in the obvious truth that you always had been.

And still are.

As the song concluded with his smooth vocals, the crowd erupted into cheers. You raised your head and found him looking longingly up in your direction, and if you weren’t mistaken, at you. 

But how could he? 

The stage lights were so bright, you were sure it was impossible to see beyond the stage.

But with the way his gaze softened as your bottom lip trembled.

Maybe, just maybe.

As soon as the crowd settled down to a reasonable level, he began speaking again. “Thank you all for attending tonight. Bumzu-hyung is an artist that I admire a lot, so I feel really honored that I was able to share my music here. This song is… both personal and special. And I hope that, maybe, someone out there can understand what I was trying to convey.

“Carats, thank you always for your support. Remember to stay healthy; I’m always wishing for your happiness. We hope that you continue to love and support SEVENTEEN. I’m always humbled by Carat’s love for us, and I really wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

He began to fiddle with the microphone in his hands. 

“Did you know that…” He trailed off for a moment before he glanced up in your direction. Your breath hitched. “...If you dream of fireflies, they’re supposed to represent guidance and inspiration? Because they’re kind of like a beacon of light in the dark. And according to some, they’re also meant to represent taking a chance at an opportunity that’s right in front of you. And I, uh. I’ve been dreaming of fireflies for a long time. So, I think… that means that it’s time to try and take that chance. I’m not sure what it’ll look like, but…”

He shut his eyes for a moment, tilting his head backwards, looking as though he was allowing the weight of his words to really sink into him. He brought the microphone back up to his lips.

“Thank you again. I hope our future together is one of happiness.”

He gave a slight bow to the audience who cheered loudly for him. He, once again, looked up in your direction. You weren’t sure whether he could see your expression, so instead you lifted your phone screen at its highest brightness, open to the phone dial screen.

If he gave any semblance of acknowledgement, it was imperceptible.

Bumzu was welcomed back to the stage and squeezed Jihoon’s shoulder before the latter excused himself off of the stage.

Almost possessed, you followed suit, leaving the upper gallery to rush towards the restroom, out of earshot and view of anyone else.

Not even a minute later, your phone starts vibrating.

You answer immediately. “That was fast.”

“We’ve wasted enough time, don’t you think?”

“Are you… running? You sound like you’re out of breath.”

“Meet me outside. Staff parking lot.”

“I–”

“Security cleared it out.”

“Jihoon, I’m not fit like you! I’m not a runner.”

“I’m not asking you to be. I’ll wait for you as long as you need.”

Your heart swelled. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I’ll see you soon, firefly.”

The sound of his smile filled your senses as the call ended.

Despite your complaints earlier, your feet were carrying you at a pace you haven’t attempted since your required physical education class. Your eyes were darting around, searching, searching, searching. The adrenaline rushing through your body was enough to keep up your strides. You were rushing forward, and then–

You saw him.

He pushed his hair back, his chest rising up and down, attempting to catch his breath. He was definitely winded from the running. But there was no rest for the weary as your eyes locked. You found yourself barreling forward, not even really thinking of anything other than: him.

And his arms caught you with ease as you slammed yourself into his chest. He spun you around to lessen the impact, but tightened his grip on you. “Firefly–”

“Jihoonie.”

You held each other for a while.

Long enough for both of your breathing to even, for your heart rates to synchronize.

As though making up for lost time.

He adjusted his face just slightly away from the crook of your neck to speak. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere you want.”

“Yeah, well. I’m the driver, so no shit.”

Jihoon laughed and squeezed you closer to him. You let out a grunt. “You call the shots, firefly.”

You disentangled yourself from him and pulled out your car keys from your person. “Alright, get in, my passenger prince. Let’s take a trip down memory lane, hm?”

──────────────────

“Hi! My name is Y/N. Here’s a seashell!”

The young boy’s expression contorted into one of confusion. You were completely unaffected. He looked around at the empty playground, save for a few pigeons here and there, before pointing to himself. “Are you talking to me?”

You knew for a fact that he was someone that the CU convenience store auntie would call a ‘cutie’. You’d agree! “I’d like to!”

“I’m… I’m Lee Jihoon.”

“Okay, Jihoon! Can we be friends?”

“S-Sure.”

“Awesome!” You clapped your hands together. “I don’t really know what friends do together, but let’s go on the swings! You can sit first and I’ll push you. I’m very strong.”

“No, it’s okay! I can push you—”

“You don’t think I’m strong enough?”

“No, no. That’s not what I said—”

“Get on the swing, Lee Jihoon!”

“O-Okay.”

──────────────────

“Do you remember when I pushed you on the swing so hard that you lurched forward and got a nosebleed from falling onto your face?”

“That was the first day we met, firefly.”

“Well, I wanted to know if you remembered.”

“To the point that it haunts me.”

“You were so small and cute back then. So shy.”

You half expected that the two of you were going to drive in silence, just basking in each other’s presence. But, remaining true to the dynamic you two always had, there was still so much to talk about. You told him about the drive down from Seoul and how Busan really needed to up its driving laws to match the rest of the country. He told you about how Soonyoung just finished performing “Hurricane” on stage and Jeonghan sent him the video.

You told him about how Jeonghan actually approached you.

“Aha.”

You couldn’t turn to see his expression, so you asked, “Why? Is that a bad thing?”

“He, uh. Might’ve witnessed me have a bit of a mental breakdown backstage, so.”

You took his nervous laughter as a sign to not push further. “Honestly, me on any given Tuesday.”

“What, your grad program?”

“Oh, man, I gotta tell you.”

And so the two of you exchanged both stories and banter until you finally saw the shoreline coming into view. Just a couple of moments later, you parked your car along the sidewalk at the edge of the beach. This was a more local area, far away from tourist spots.

“Ah, this place.”

“Lotta memories here,” you said. You shot him a big smile as you turned off the engine. “Let’s go make a new one.”

The two of you exited your car and threw your socks and shoes into the trunk of your car, just like you did with his parents’ car, when you were children.

As you both walked towards the edge of the water, you were very aware of the silence that had fallen onto the two of you.

There was an instinct in you that told you to remain quiet.

“You know,” Jihoon broke the silence. You smiled to yourself. “I’ve always admired how you were able to be so honest about your feelings, without worrying about what other people think.”

“That’s the nice way of saying that I don’t think before I speak.”

He laughed and you relished in it. “Maybe.”

You skipped forward a bit more, letting your toes dig into the now cooled sand, the sun long set. You had your back turned to him as you waited for him to continue speaking.

“I was always someone who kept to himself. Who never really shared my heart with anyone.”

You hummed as you turned to face him directly. “You did in your own way, I think. You just needed people who knew how to read between the lines.”

“I was never honest about the hard stuff though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I constantly asked myself if I was worthy enough to love you.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he continued.

“You loved me in such loud ways. You honestly left no room for doubt, and yet my brain managed to squeeze in some anyway. But… you know what I eventually realized?”

“What?”

“I realized that if I were to give myself to anyone, to be safe with anyone in the world, it would be okay if it was you. You’ve always been honest. Your sadness. Your joy. I know I can trust it. Maybe that’s naive considering how long we’ve spent apart. But you’ve never been anything but honest. So this is me trying to do the same. Y/N, my light, my firefly, I love you.”

In his eyes you saw him searching for something, anything. He might’ve not been able to interpret the expression on your face, but there was no need to. You pulled the collar of your shirt down to reveal the ink forever etched into your skin, placed over your heart.

Art that was drawn on a paper towel a decade ago.

You knew even in the dim light of the street lamps high above you, he could see it.

His jaw dropped. “Wait. That’s—”

“I broke one promise in my life. Just one. And I told myself I would never do it again. No matter how stupid the promises were, no matter how mundane, no matter how old they were. I would never break another promise. Because breaking that one promise ended up breaking me. The promise that I’d always be by your side.”

“What are you—?”

“Because it’s you, it’s always been you. Ever since I gave you that stupid seashell from this very beach,” you gestured at your surroundings. “And it was stupid because you could easily get your own, but you kept it. Like it was a precious treasure.”

The rampant beating in your chest matched the rhythm of your words.

“I don’t know what the future holds, Jihoon. I have no idea and I’m terrified. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know anything. Years at Yale, years at Seoul National, years spent in higher academia only taught me that I know so little. But you, oh, you were the worst reminder. I don’t get how you can make me feel so empty and filled at the same time. I don’t understand how you can make me feel at home with just a smile. I don’t know how you have such a hold on me. You’re just this strange enigma that I can’t seem to place, a riddle with no way to solve. But God, I so badly want to try. You’re a question I want to spend the rest of my life trying to answer. Because it’s you.”

He bit his lip and you wondered if you overwhelmed him.

“I’ve spent years, you know,” his voice barely above a whisper.

“Doing what?”

“Hoping that you would hear me. That my words would reach you,” he breathed out. His eyes softened as he recalled, “‘If a second life that’s different from now is to come to me, will I be by your side? Will you be by my side? I imagine things like this. Even if they’re words I mentioned as a joke. Will you believe me? Even if it’s a funny imagination. On a sudden day when I’m left alone, I’ll take my steps towards you again.’”

He stepped forward, hands reaching for yours, and you immediately took them, as soon as he was an arm’s length away. Physically, this wasn’t the closest he’s ever been, but it was the closest you’ve ever felt.

“‘You did this once before. Only by looking in your eyes I can tell. Whatever may happen, I want to know this emotion. When walking by my side, I don’t even want to let go of your hands. That flattering feeling is because of you, everything is so good.’”

He took another step forward, his voice dropped to barely above a whisper, hoping you could hear his words above his heart hammering in his chest.

“‘What can I do? Without you, my heart stops and it’s always cold. What can we do? Without me, you’ll struggle just as much, so what can we do?’” He paused, before recalling later lyrics. “‘I don’t wanna let you go like this. I don’t want to be scared with a broken heart. I’m the place you can come to. You’re the place I can go to.”

Tears formed in your eyes, but he brushed them away easily, now cupping your face within his hands, the tips of your noses brushing against each other, and you could have sworn he felt the fluttering of your eyelashes against him, dampened slightly by your watery eyes.

“‘I couldn’t express my feelings because I was too young. I wanted to be your tomorrow, so I lived today. Ever since the first day I saw you. In my heart, it’s always been you. These typical words, I’m only saying them now, but I hope these typical words will reach you.’”

You looked at him, your entire being filled and your senses flooded.

With him.

It was only him, him, him.

How could you not have realized?

His words, his feelings were so clear.

He had the kind of love for you that brings forth a melody.

His gentle voice drew you away from your own thoughts, “Thank you, firefly. For choosing me.”

“Always, Jihoonie. Always.”

He leaned in to close the distance.

You met him halfway.

──────────────────

Your hands were intertwined with his as you swung them lightly, back and forth, ebbing and flowing, like the waves almost reaching your feet on the coastline of the local beach where you would laze away during your adolescence and find adventure during your childhood.

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, the sounds of the ocean and lull of the town around you, just basking in what felt like the stars finally aligning.

Jihoon squeezed your hand for a moment. “You know, I thought you left because you realized that I had feelings for you and didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I’m sorry, what?” You stopped in your tracks and turned to face him, still not letting go of his hand, the sea breeze weaving itself between his and your hair.

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was pretty obvious. Hyung and noona thought the same. They figured it out pretty early on.”

“Um.”

He blinked. “You had no idea?”

“I—I thought you were in love with noona—”

“Hey, I might’ve thought she was pretty, but you were the one that turned that into something it wasn’t.”

“What! What about the times we went to try and find out whether the mini golf place was fun enough for a date idea? Or whether the food stand near the beach was romantic enough?”

“Please tell me you’re hearing yourself.”

“I’m—”

“Jesus, firefly. Are you serious? Did I end up ever taking her there? Did I even try? All of those places, all of those times, those were meant for you. You were the one who kept bringing up noona and what she would like while I was trying to figure out whether it would’ve been weird to reach out and hold your hand.” His grip tightened on yours.

You flushed at that. “Okay, but like—you spent so much time with noona before I left.”

“Because she was trying to help me plan something to get it through your thick skull just how in love I was because obviously none of the other things I did was enough.”

“I—you—she’s better than me.”

“I just confessed that I was in love with you, and you’re focusing on her right now?”

You blabbered out incoherent sounds and he merely laughed in your face at your reaction.

(Or maybe at himself.)

“Dozens of songs of writing my feelings for you into the lyrics, and you still didn’t get it. So. I’ll try and say it as clearly as possible. I love you, Y/N. What can I do to get you to notice me? Because I’ll do it, firefly. I swear I will.”

You bit your lip.

“I got my driver’s license.”

He wasn’t expecting that. “Uh… recently?”

“No. A month after you left, a month before I did. I got my driver’s license and I so badly wanted to call you to tell you. Because we talked about late night diner specials and how uncrowded the park was at six in the morning and you said I’d be your chauffeur forever.”

“Yeah, why should I have to learn?”

“Jihoon.”

“I’m doing alright without one, thanks.”

You rolled your eyes, but continued, “I drove around the neighborhood several times, passing by the mailboxes we used to Sharpie, the stop signs we tried to run up and slap, the sidewalks we crossed after hagwon, the sewer where we were convinced a clown lived.”

“That was a you thing, don’t drag me into it.”

“And I realized that none of it mattered if you weren’t in the passenger seat.”

“So, what are you saying? That I’m just good company?”

You eyed him and knew he was teasing, but there was a hint of insecurity underneath it. Because he said those words you had yet to acknowledge, let alone, respond to. The corner of your lips upturned. “Yeah, that’s it. And if it’s alright with you, I’d like to be in said company for at least one lifetime. I love you, Lee Jihoon.”

“You’re missing the ‘too,’ since I said it first.”

“You’re annoying.”

“It’s been one of the only ways to get you to look at me, firefly.”

“Mm. I’m always looking.”

“Respectfully?”

“Most times. Have you seen the ‘Good to Me’ choreo?”

He bumped your shoulder as you burst into a fit of giggles, choosing to let go of his hand to wrap your arms around his waist as he pretended to stomp off. He stuck his tongue out at you, calling you a pervert, and you said, “Hey, you’re the one that’s in love with me, alright?”

He swept you up into his arms and rather than carrying you princess-style or even in a piggy-back ride, he threw you over his shoulder and you yelped loudly. 

“Jihoon!”

“Y/N!”

“Let me go!”

“Nope. Never again.”

You made a gagging noise. Who is this shameless kid?

“I’ll put you down though, my shoulder hurts.”

You smacked it once you were on your own two feet and ran as much as you could with the weight of your feet sinking into the wet sand with each step. He quickly closed the distance between the two of you and tackled you to the ground. You fell back, with his hand behind your head, ensuring no damage to your person. You giggled up at him.

The edge of the waves were mere centimeters from you, but seeing him against the endless night sky, with glittering stars, him, your moon, you could not bring yourself to care.

You had so many questions you wanted to ask him, about his life as an idol, about his pursuits and his struggles and his hopes and his dreams. You were so excited to fall in love with him again. You hoped that he would be just as excited to love the person that you’ve become, the one that is so wholly you, but has been transformed by him.

Leaving things left unsaid was a burden the two of you beared for far too many years, believing that you deserved the painful yearning of each other, to make up for the choices made as teenagers.

You breathed in the salt of the sea, as you thought about how, years ago, you were in the same city, letting this very person walk away from you. Shame washed over you, as it has for years, like the waves that were ebbing and flowing right beside you, and tears began to form in your eyes. It was almost embarrassing, how easily you let him slip away. He deserved so much.

“I’m a lot,” you choked out.

He smiled softly as he cupped your face gently, not moving to brush away tears that were threatening to fall. He simply held you, wordlessly accepting all that you were.

“Never too much, and always enough, firefly.”

You wanted to thank whatever higher power was out there.

Whatever one compelled Jihoon to search your Instagram page and accidentally like a post from years ago, a notification that could have been swiped away accidentally in the middle of the night by a bleary-eyed and half-awake you.

Because what kind of future would’ve come otherwise?

Would you have reconnected in some other way, more purposeful and intentional?

Or would you have convinced yourselves that living apart was something that was inevitable and it was better to have simply let the past be the past?

Or would you have yearned for each other in ways that even the potential of running into each other would lead to an eruption of nerves?

You breathed in slowly as you wrapped your arms around his middle, breathing him in, letting his heartbeat drown out even the sound of the crashing ocean beside you.

It didn’t really matter.

This future will be one that you build.

Together.

[끝.]

[plasticfreckles]

🪶 short comfort rookanis so i dont lose my mind enjoy 🪶

"Rook."

"Hm?" Her drink splashes over the edge of her cup and onto her shirt.

"Are you.. what's wrong? I've called your name out three times now."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good."

"You said this is your favorite singer. Yet you're miles and miles away. Talk to me." The flier advertising her appearance that night was the only reason they lingered so long.

Rook sighs. She takes a sip of her drink and leans back to focus on him.

"You know how, when your mind is left alone with your thoughts for long enough, you just sort of.. start spiraling?"

"Not lately, but I've been there." That his mind hasn't been left alone for a while now, Lucanis doesn't need to say.

"Whe- the Ossuary."

When Rook points that out, it doesn't hurt as much as when others do. Maybe there's an implied compassion from their - not shared, but similar - past.

We like her, idiot. She likes us. That's why it doesn't hurt. Spite pulls at his hair and stomps his foot with how stubborn Lucanis is over this. His scalp starts to burn.

"Before that, too." The singer excuses herself for a drink. "If you'd like to talk about it, there's a lull now."

The weight of all Thedas rests on her, the way she sighs, and it's true.

"I'm just... so deep in it, right now. Should've just sat down and awaited orders, like Viago said. Don't tell him I said that. It'll get to his big head."

"Too late." Rook tracks his eyes tracking the Fletching behind her getting up and leaving so obviously Caterina would send them straight back to the Barracks with the raw recruits.

Rook closes her eyes and - not even sighs, she just exhales, but there's still a lifetime of exhaustion in it.

"Besides," he tries, "How could you have known killing some Antaam and breaking out an author would lead to this? Solas set these events in motion so long ago, one could no longer even see his hands in them if he weren't clinging to the reins like a drowning man to thrown rope."

It doesn't work.

"Had I just kept my head down-"

"Then Solas would've succeeded with that ritual of his, and all Thedas would burn already. This way, we can at least pretend we have a chance at turning the tide."

A pause, as she considers it.

"And we would never have met."

The smile he finally sees on her is small, tired and aching. But it's still a smile. He'll take it.

"Now you're breaking apart my doomclouds."

"I live to serve." She takes a slice of bread out of the basket between them and starts wiping the soup from her bowl.

"You'll live for so much more. Trust me."

With my life, Lucanis thinks.

🪶

thesis anxiety hella kicking so im a lil quiet rn and also im not sure if i like it but I hit barricade at a concert and had a straight up menty b over the general course of my life and three ppl down ppl got engaged mid-song so i need some comfort

@lanafofana this isn't what we talked about but have a tag anyway lmao

rook sighing with closed eyes like the meme of the smoking actor in the blue top that i have no idea who he is or what he does.

[roxannepolice]

Rant 3/phantom pains of Schrödinger's lore in ChibnallWho/"the history between" doesn't mean much to the author. that is, it does. but it doesn't. but it does. but not really. but./can someone in the group chat please read my time sensitive questions I posted 25 hours ago?

Between bracing myself to finally open the advisors reviewed thesis, waiting for anyone at work to give a newbie a hint, and reading a fairly good criticism of the political stance in ChibnallWho, I guess it's a good time to let go off some steam about this era. Now, an important clarification for tumblr: when I criticize the show, I am not in any way bashing on people who enjoy it! Good for you, and that's why I try to tag these appropriately.

But yeah, this is going to go deep into what I mean when I say the writing in this era is just bad, something even its defenders sometimes concede. This often turns into dicussions of political/social messaging in seasons 11-13, which is as fair criticism as any. Yes, it often veered into confusing to downright appalling. But for me, that's not what "bad writing" means. You can make an excellent story about a likeable rapist and murderer. You can make compelling propaganda of pretty much any economic stance (well, maybe except for "the solution to problems with Amazon is to blow up their trucks so now everything has to be delivered on foot I guess", that's something straight from Monty Python). And of course, the "too woke" "criticisms" aren't anything valid like at all.

No, for me the bad writing in ChibnallWho lies in the general sense of confusion as to who exactly is the target audience here: someone who's very well acquaintanced with the lore(s), or someone who's completely new to the show. Now, this is also inspired by some criticisms of RTD2 is that it is too expository, leading into the show-within-a-show theorizing. And of course, exposition can be done well or not-so-well, and there's good argument some parts of exposition in s14 were on the nose. But the thing about a television series, especially one as long as Doctor Who, is that any episode can be someone's first - and the writer's job is to make it so it won't be their last. What this means is that the audience needs to be provided the information necessary to grasp at least the emotional level of the story, if not every bit of earlier lore logic. In the case of Doctor Who there's also a part of establishing which part of the lore is valid to the story at hand, considering that both within the show itself, but also the huge multimedia lore, there are bound to be contradictions. And that's ok! You have a good story idea that will require a retcon for a better pay off, go for it! Like, if you really think the Doctor should get to save Gallifrey for their 50th birthday, then go ahead, just reduce the Time War to a local conflict between Time Lords and Daleks instead of underlining just how widespread across time and space it was, and logistically impossible to contain by removing one party (this is one of the many cases of "I don't like what Moffat did, but I agree the execution is functional").

Basically, Lancelot having an affair with Guinevre isn't relevant to him storming a wedding and killing mortally wounding giving a fleshwound to the bride's father.

So, essentially my issue with ChibnallWho writing is simultaneously trying to cut itself off from lore/earlier seasons, while relying on it for any emotional pay off. To give a counterexample from this very era's one of best written episodes: when the Doctor goes on about what being turned into a Cyberman means and that she won't lose anyone else to that, that's bloody powerful! And it's powerful regardless of whether you know it's specifically about Bill, or just go on the information provided within the episode - that the Doctor lost someone to this. Unfortunately, The Haunting of Villa Diodati is an honourable exception in this and many other aspects.

So, to start from the beginning. There's a frequent criticism that team TARDIS was overcrowded in seasons 11 and 12 with three companions, to which an immediate defense is that it's not the first time there were three companions at once. Fine. But combine this with the following: it's not just three companions introduced at once, it's three companions introduced at once, plus a brand new Doctor, plus a brand new sonic, plus a brand new TARDIS interior (that's absent for nearly full two first episodes). So you're basically left with four strangers and no point of reference in your getting to know them. And by no point of reference, I mean something that I haven't noticed anyone else pointing out: Thirteen is literally the first Doctor since One to have no established elements in their first season, at all (barring the TARDIS and sonic, again, completely redesigned).

It's a bit hard to discuss One to Two regeneration relying only on stills and audio, but Polly and Ben are there to act as audience proxies for this Beatle-hairstyled guy with a recorder being the old man he was a moment ago. Three's first season all revolves around UNIT, established in Two's era. Four inherits UNIT and Sarah Jane. Five inherits Adric, Nyssa, Tegan and the Master for his welcome. Six has Peri. Seven has Mel, the Master and the Rani. Eight's movie is all about the Master. Even the reboot for Nine has the Nastene consciousness as a hello and the whole season revolving around the Daleks. Ten gets Rose and Tylers, and Cybermen, and Daleks, and Sarah Jane, and K-9. Eleven gets the previously established River Song and a Classic Who villain reunion in the season finale. Twelve gets Clara. Thirteen gets.... Twelve's suit that she should have stayed in and Daleks, nearly three months from her first episode.

And the thing is, I understand how this would have appeared to be a good idea on paper! Complaints about the show getting lost up it's own self-referential ass have been around for years by this point, and even Moffat tried to go for a soft reboot in s10. Chibs literally asking him to set the TARDIS on fire is as symbolic a new beginning as they get. A bold, intriguing idea. As is trying to explore Titanic with nothing but a snorkel.

Because in practice it had two fundamental flaws, one more general and one specific to the story as it unfolded. The general one has been hinted at: this is basically why there's the sense of overcrowding on the TARDIS, while also leaving the audience feeling they don't really know anyone on board. Are we getting to know the new Doctor from the companions' perspective? The companions from the Doctor's? The new villain (and a really unfamiliar one, Toothboy isn't a familiar threat like plastic pollution metaphor or pshysically inevitable end of the world) from an alien's or humans' perspective? The new worlds from all of theirs? We sort of end up relating most to Grace, except she dies in the first episode. The thing is, it is in confrontation with the established that we learn most about the characters. Nothing characterizes Nine more than his interactions with the Daleks, going from torturing one to deciding he can't commit another planetary destruction to stop them. Basically, between a kind straight Black navy officer and a White lesbian strangling her wife in a jealous rage, you're likelier to recognize Othello in the latter. Something tells me this is why RTD had Fifteen interact with another Doctor, Donna, Mel, Kate, UNIT, the Toymaker and even toothied Master before sending him on his own merry way.

The second problem has more to do with the direction the story actually went in. Because just from the above, and indeed after s11 it was a frequent praise of the era, it would look like Chibs is going for something easily accessible to new audiences. Great. But then comes s12 and basically all of the emotional pay off comes from the audience's attitude to the the lore! Or, maybe I'll put it this way: all charitable interpretations of it are rooted in not only lore literacy, but specific readings of established lore. And not only is the lore hardly established for the newcomers, but it's also not established which parts are to be cherry picked for the returning audience. Nowhere is it better visible than in Fugitive!Doctor's TARDIS being a police box. This was clearly meant to tell the audience yes, this is indeed the Doctor's TARDIS, but if you know how much of a deal pre-Hartnell Doctors would be, you'd also know the TARDIS doesn't just look like a police box, it was stuck looking like one in 1963. And so we end up with secret third Doctor theories between classic series 6 and 7.

And this is the fundamental problem with the timeless child. It shakes the lore to the core, but without establishing what this lore is, and how the audience is supposed to feel about it. Oh, you can go for post-colonial criticisms, but that relies on you reading the Time Lords as the british empire, a reading not clear to all of the audience, as exhibited by an actual academic article (because yes, I spent my hard earned money on a collection of academic articles about ChibnallWho and no I absolutely won't share a pdf should anyone dm me) written by an author more rooted in feminist than post-colonial critical theories seeing the new origin of Time Lords as replacing a masculine creatio ex nihilo ethos by that of a feminine explorer-scientist [appreciative]. You're basically supposed to get a phantom pain of a lore that's both alive and dead until observed, the presumed intention being that you will have a positive or negative feelings about the cat, without considering most people will be either abstractly impressed by the metaphor, or equally abstractly disturbed by animal abuse. It's criticising the roman empire by debunking it being founded by Mars's children raised by a she-wolf.

And this is also visible in the Doctor's own reaction to the revelation, which I guess you might argue is complex, but I would say it's more shifting from establishing moment to establishing moment. She goes from being shocked by it (again, no part of the text informed me I shouldn't cherry pick her characterization as including calling Time Lords the most rotten civilization in the universe, also is it even established that's the second time Gallifrey was destroyed?), to describing it as empowering, to apparently not thinking about it for 100 years, to having an identity crisis, to stating her identity is about what she does, to bemoaning the could-have-beens, to deciding she doesn't want to know, to her deepest desire being wanting to know it after all (the vision of ttc in potd). Like, come on, not finding your glasses means your room is messy, not complex. The effect is infantilizing more than anything else, I mean it's been what, three months since the last time a villain informed a heroine she has an epic origin that's also very horrible in The rise of Skywalker? Which impression is amplified by the only clue as to the Doctor's personal, not performed, attitude being that she apparently finds the cliche chosen one story of a boy abused by his adoptive family turning out to be a wizard, and a special wizard at that, comforting. Probably not the intended reading that wouldn't even be available if Rowling got cancelled earlier, but there as things are.

And of course, this has a lot of bearing on how thoschei dynamic is executed. On the one hand we have the entire emotional pay off rooted in the "history between them", on the other vague references to Classic Who and expanded universe, on the third characterization of the Master that is rooted more in fanon Freud-for-dummies woobification than anything this character's motivations have ever been established as. Like, between the charitable reading "Thirteen is hostile to the Master because of the events of s10" and the anti-charitable reading of "Missy's development was retconned in the Master's hostility", the answer is, it doesn't bloody matter to the story at hand, or else it's the writer's job to point to it as meaningful (again, as Maxine Alderton did with cybermenification in THOVD). Another case of "I don't agree with Moffat, but I agree the execution was functional", but you can juxtapose this with the way Simm!Master was presented in s10 - yeah, he got cured and kicked out of Gallifrey; that's really all you need to know, because his role in this story is being an unrepentant asshole and no amount of gifs slowing down John Simm turning his eyes down before saying "Eh, you wouldn't understand" will change that. The same goes for "see, the Master didn't destroy Gallifrey over everything that's been done to them, but over Theta being hurt uwu" interpretation - neither the reading this was the motivation, nor anything relating to the Master suffering from the Time Lords have been established in the text, neither as it unfolded nor as a pay off reveal! This basically relies on the attitude that the most charitable reading is by default the intended one, which is how you end up with "op means that Taylor Swift being gay shouldn't make you ignore all other gay women musicians".

A little bit of an aside, but people remember O was an actual person the Doctor met in unknown circumstances, not just a creation of the Master from the beginning, right? Like, this is taken into account in all "he's so desperate to be friends again uwu" readings, right?

So this is why "if the history between means anything" quote falls flat to me. The meaning is rooted in lore that's brushed aside in the same breath. The author relies on it being meaningful for the audience, while providing only the bare bones of "we were friends, but took completely different paths" background, and that by the end of the first act. Just as he relies on the audience having an emotional attachment to the lore without doing anything to create that attachment.

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Every Little Thing *He* Does is Magic, Chapter 1

Pairing: Platonic Steven Grant x Reader (for now)

Rating: T

Word count: ~1,250

Story Summary: The events of Every Little Thing She Does is Magic, retold from Reader's perspective after the fact to her best friend.

Tags/Warnings: Companion fic, canon Divergent since Steven still works for the British Museum post-canon, No Jake Lockley, developing friendship, spoilers for ELTSDiM

A/N: Reader wanted to publicly lust over Steven. I don't make the rules. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Once I get this caught up to the present timeline in ELTSDiM, I will be posting the chapters concurrently (or as concurrent as possible, anyway).

Y/F/N Y/L/N sighed as she unlocked the door to her apartment and walked inside.

She shut the door and hung her bag on the hook before setting her keys in the bowl on the side table in the hall. Thank goodness this place came furnished.

She had just walked into the kitchen when her phone rang with a FaceTime request.

Y/N grinned and swiped to answer. “Hey, Ames.”

“Tell me everything,” Amy, Y/N’s best friend since college, said in reply. “How was your first day as director of the British Museum?”

Y/N let out a light laugh. “It was interesting, to say the least. I just walked in the door, so give me a second to pour myself a glass of wine and I'll tell you all about it.”

She opened a cabinet and grabbed a wine glass before setting it on the counter. “I still can't believe I actually got the job.”

“I can,” Amy replied. “You single-handedly turned the university’s museum from a struggling, run-down relic into one of the most prestigious in the country in less than 5 years. You deserved this, girl.”

Y/N took a bottle of wine out of her refrigerator and poured herself a glass. “Thanks, Ames. That means a lot.”

She put the bottle back in the refrigerator then picked up her glass and moved to the sofa. “Okay, so… first thing I did when I got there was meet my assistant, Helen, who's this kinda older lady but seems pretty cool. Then I met the board of trustees, then I took a little break and was able to wander around the museum a bit.”

“You went straight to the Egyptian exhibit, didn't you?” Amy asked.

Y/N grinned. “How’d you guess?”

“Well let's see, you took every single Egyptology class you could in college, you were Dr. Reynolds’s only choice for T.A., and your doctoral thesis was on the excavation of King Tut’s tomb and whether or not it had been done ethically.”

Y/N laughed. “Okay, fair. Anyway, while I was in there, this guy came up to me and started talking --”

Amy gasped. “Wait, you met a guy? Why didn't you lead with that? Tell me more!”

Y/N shook her head with a grin. Amy, who had gone on to become a best-selling writer after college, was a hopeless romantic and had seemingly made it her life’s mission to ensure that Y/N was just as happy as she and her husband Blake were. “Okay, so there I was, looking at the statue of Mekhit, when this really attractive British guy comes up and tells me that the sign on it is wrong.”

“Was it?”

“Yeah, it actually was. The placard said it was Menhit, who is a completely different goddess. Anyway, so the guy starts explaining the difference between the two, but not in like, a mansplainy way or anything, and he was so adorably cute and excited about it that I just stood there and listened to him talk.”

“Did you get his number?”

Y/N shook her head. 

“What? Why not?”

Y/N took a sip of her wine before answering. “So we're vibing, right? Then I make a joke about accidentally praying to the wrong god because of a spelling error when suddenly the guy says, ‘oh yeah, I've been trying to get my bosses to fix this one for months now. Took them ages to fix the banner depicting the Ennead’.”

Amy's face fell. “Oh, you're shitting me.”

Y/N shook her head. “Nope. I shit you not.”

“He works there?”

“Yep. His name is Steven and he works in the gift shop.”

“Hold up, he's not even a tour guide?”

“Nope, he’s just really knowledgeable about Egyptian history. Trust me, I was just as shocked when I figured that out.”

“So then what happened?”

“Then he asked me if he could show me his favorite exhibit and took me to see Hathor.”

Amy groaned. “Ugh, that would have been so romantic had he not been an employee.”

“I know.” Y/N shook her head. “Anyway, he was telling me about how cool Hathor is when we were interrupted by this woman who I figured must've been another employee, because as soon as Steven tried to make a break for it she started in on him about ‘not bothering the museum visitors’ and how he ‘wasn’t a bloody tour guide’ and how his job is to ‘sell rubbish to whiny brats and their caretakers’, then said that the new museum director was ‘some poncy American’ when Steven asked her who it was -- all while still within earshot of me, mind you.”

Amy made a face. “Ugh, she sounds like a real piece of work. Who the hell even does that?”

Y/N took another sip of wine. “I know, right?”

“Oh, honey, I'm sorry.”

Y/N shrugged. “It's just as well. Steven had no idea who I was at the time either, and honestly, now that I think about it I'm not even sure he even had been flirting with me.”

“Still, though, that sucks.”

“It actually turned out okay, because when I got back to my office I had Helen pull Steven’s employee information file and girl, he was SO overqualified to be working in a museum gift shop.” Y/N grinned. “You remember how I told you that the tours were boring and that the first thing I wanted to do was to try to update them but the position for the head of programming and tours was vacant?”

Amy nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well, guess who's now the new Visitor Engagement Specialist?”

Amy shook her head with a light laugh. “Look at you, making lemonade out of lemons.”

“And not only that, but it turns out that the woman that had been rude to Steven was the gift shop manager, so after I talked to Steven again this afternoon and offered him the Visitor Engagement Specialist position I called her to my office for a little ‘chat’. Oh, Ames, you should've seen the look of sheer panic when she sauntered into my office, saw me standing there, and realized that she had both berated a subordinate and shit-talked me basically to my face.”

Amy nodded in approval. “Slay, queen, slay.”

Y/N shook her head. “Because it was my first day and I didn't want to have to fire someone right off the bat I reminded her of the museum’s policy on bullying and harassment and gave her a warning instead.”

“That's very diplomatic of you.”

“Anyway, I'm meeting with Steven on Friday to discuss his ideas for revamping the tours, and since we're getting some new artifacts in on Thursday I asked him to also sit in on my meeting with the curatorial staff while we discuss placement.”

Amy wiggled her eyebrows. “Hey, at least you'll have some eye candy.”

Y/N laughed and shook her head. “Not even gonna think about that since there's no point.”

“Ah well, at least you tried.” Amy glanced down at the corner of her screen. “I gotta run -- I have a Zoom meeting with my editor in 5 minutes.”

Y/N nodded. “Okay, I'll talk to you again soon. Give Blake my love.”

“Will do. Bye!”

Y/N tapped at her phone to end the call and smiled. Despite getting off on the wrong foot with Donna, all in all her first day as director of the British Museum had turned out pretty well. I think I'm going to like it there.

[moedull]

LIKE

A/N: This is part of my AO3 series where my favourite characters represent different times (and ways) to say I love you

this was written waaay back in 2021? This is rewritten ofc, but, quite hastily in my opinion! It may not be the best, but, hey, it's cool

also.... dont be afraid to comment... help artists survive by showing ur love through comments or sharing their fics!!!!! >_o thanks!

AKA. Posted from my ao3 once again!

words: 1273

tags: NOT BETA READ, mild hurt/comfort, gender neutral reader, established relationship!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Enjoy: TSUKISHIMA KEI!

“Oh you’re still going on about that?”

“Yes.” 

Tsukishima sighs, sitting behind you as you smash the letters on your keyboard. You hear the bed creak and suddenly, he’s sitting next to you. He gently grabs your hands and holds them tight. 

“Hey.” He starts casually.

You look him in the eye with a huge frown, and furrowed eyebrows. “What?”

“Come here.”

‘Here’ is the soft bed you wish to lay on with no worries in the world. Of course, with your boyfriend, Tsukishima Kei.

“Why?”

“Why not?” 

“I’m busy right now…” You try pushing him away. 

“You don’t look like you’re in the best condition.” He says matter of factly, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand.

“So what if I am? I have to finish my thesis.”

He looks at you, sighs, and rolls his eyes. “I know that but it doesn’t change the fact that I worry about you.”

“I can take care of myself.” You hushed. “But thank you.”

“Are you ever gonna let me help? Or just go along with everything because you have too much pride for your own good?”

“No.” You huff. You suppose it was a habit from when you first met– always reaching for the top, showing everyone who really deserves to be up there– and, you do. You try hard everyday, working and caring for so many different things.

You just seem to be out of luck as it always feels like your efforts are unnoticed. In such situations, perseverance is key– but that kind of mindset may quickly turn sour when they’re left to linger and turn into stubbornness. 

You should probably hate Tsukishima Kei– strong-willed, cool and collected, and of course, smart. You would never have expected to hit it off with him, but he's one of those people who could easily get under your skin and get you to crack.

“Well, I know you can handle yourself, but don’t forget to eat.”

You roll your eyes (no malice is intended, of course). “You don’t need to baby me all the time.”

His eyebrow twitches, and he rolls his eyes in exasperation (no malice is intended here as well). “Whatever. But you need to sleep. Okay?”

“Yeah yeah.” You wave his concerns away, already turning around to resume typing.

Tsukishima huffs, gets up and moves over to your desk. He places his hands on either side of the laptop, leaning forward slightly as he studies the screen. 

“It’s not good to stress yourself out like this.”

“I don’t stress out.” You argue.

“Right, cause you always make sure you’re not stressed out.”

“I am not stressed out.” You insist.

“Fine.”  He relents. “But just remember I care about you. I can’t help it if you act like an idiot sometimes.”

The corners of your lips twitch up. “You’re cute.”

“Shut up.” 

“And sweet.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Don’t you think I should use more than two adjectives when talking about someone I like?” You ask with a smile, tilting your head.

He grins smugly down at you, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe.”

You chuckle, but it stops right away as you turn back to your work. Tsukishima still hangs around, not entirely convinced of your claims of being fine. He is especially convinced when you simply stare at your blank page, trying to find the right words to make the right sentence to make the right point of the right argument and–

“Okay, so what’s the problem?” He asks, taking a seat next to you. He scrolls up with your mouse, trying to read the rest of your document. 

You see the reflection of his face; His eyebrows knit together, lips pursed as the cursor moves underneath a few words. He lingers on a few sentences for unknown reasons that make your hands sweat and your heart beat faster. Flustered? Hardly, it’s the ache of anxiety. Your problems, right now, are far from school-related. 

“Mm.” Tsukishima hums, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You have the idea, so that’s good.”

But,

“You’re not being straight to the point about it.” He scrolls back to whatever page you made some stupid mistake on.

When did mistakes matter? I mean, seriously, at which stage of your life, did you begin to wallow over your mistakes? You were only in 3rd grade, scraping your knee on a cement pavement from running and that was one of the worst things that happened to you. 

Now, you read back on all of your essays and tests and feel your heart drop when you see that red ‘X’, the teacher encircling a specific part, or some harsh comments at the side. You want to blame the system, the adults, the economy or whatever God is up there– but, you can’t help it– You look in the mirror, thinking: Fuck. Was this all me?

Someone flicks your forehead, and you let out a wince, rubbing the spot.

“Hey.” Tsukishima says, tilting his head to look at your face. “You were zoning out.”

You glance back at him with an almost confused, somewhat dazed look. Here’s another big question: When did Tsukishima Kei matter? It’s incredible that you looked at someone for 304 days, talked, fell in love and somehow, it’s your life and his. You can’t put it into words right now; the questions that grow inside the empty pit of your stomach, because, right, you haven’t eaten yet, and you can’t tell if it really is a question, or if it’s screaming at you. 

You feel like you’re going to vomit–Fuck, that anxiety was just building up inside of you.

“I..” You pause, swallowing a non-existent lump in your throat. 

 “I didn’t think..” You pause again, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t think you’d like me back.”

He sits straight up, and stares down at you, furrowing his eyebrows with narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”

You shake your head. “Look, I wasn’t expecting any response from you when I confessed.” 

You pause, feeling your eyes burn slightly from the tears that were building up, “I was just.. someone. You were one of the smartest guys in school—still are—but, out of everyone....” you start to trail off. 

“Out of everyone, why did you choose me?” You continue, forcing yourself to speak slowly, slightly tensing up at the evident sound of your voice breaking halfway.

He doesn’t respond. He slumps his shoulders, seemingly taken aback and bewildered.

“Why does someone like you pick me?” You laugh bitterly. Your heart aches even at the thought of it.

You watch him closely, as if looking for some sort of reaction or sign of how he feels. A flicker in his eyes, anything.

Tsukishima’s face remains blank for several moments before opening his mouth slowly to say, “Because I like you.”  

It takes you a minute to process what he said and you blink owlishly. You’d been prepared to hear something like ‘You’re a dumbass’ or something along the lines.

”But why?” You manage to blurt out, unable to hide a frown.

There’s a long silence as you hold his gaze. You stare at each other, neither willing to break eye contact, not until he leans in and presses his lips against yours.

“Was that answer not enough?” He whispers into your ear, his fingers gently caressing your cheek.

You feel lightheaded, your entire body buzzing and your heartbeat drumming against your ribcage.

You can’t speak, so instead you shake your head.

There's silence as he begins to cradle you in his arms, resting his chin on your head.

“I love you.” He tells you again.

[deathlygristly]

I am reading the reblogs and tags on an older post that goes around the dash occasionally. It's about reading. I'm sure you've seen it - someone talks about Divergent books and 1984 and then someone reblogs it and calls 1984 rape apologism? Which is really weird?

The spousal person ordered a print of this Kate Beaton comic many years ago and he hung it up in the hallway and he told me to go look at it whenever I said my writing was bad:

http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=44

The first two panels do a fairly decent job of explaining 1984. Which is just....a really simple book. It's like wow look fascism sucks! And that's it, pretty much. Like yeah, obviously you could write papers and essays and a thesis and probably do a whole body of academic work on the particulars of it, but really it's just that Orwell thought fascism sucked. Which it does, so I don't see the problem?

Anyway I am pretty sure a lot of the people on that post come from a very different society than I do, even though the education system they say they hate is the American one. Which, hey, our education is locally funded and controlled so maybe it's just that my working class southern Appalachian rural county schools were a lot better than their schools? Or is it maybe what I've suspected before, that I graduated before No Child Left Behind?

I can't recall my English teachers ever being authoritarian to the extent so many other people claim their English teachers were. Not that I can recall that much about English or school at all, really, but I think I would remember if they marched around all "No, your essay is WRONG and only MY opinion is right!!!" all the time.

But then it's true that I don't remember it that well because I just wrote essays the night before they were due or sometimes in the classes before English if it was a class later in the day, and then I got a good grade and nice comments on it and then I got on with my life. I don't think I ever invested nearly as much emotional energy and idea of my self-worth into English class as the people on that post did. Which maybe that's why they remember it so well? Certainly it's probably a large part of why they still have Big Emotions about it.

Anyway my point is that sometimes I read how people write about their own reading and I'm like oh. This is why I shouldn't care what people say about my work that much. I clearly did not write it for these people who experience the world and fiction and the written word in a way that I cannot imagine at all and that I would have never known existed as a possibility if I hadn't read their own words about it.

Like the version of the post that gets the most reblogs ends with an essay about how in the last few decades people have come to expect characters to be "relatable" and to be like them and to think and experience things the way they do? And there's all this self-identity and irrational and false beliefs about your own moral purity involved?

If you come to my work with that sort of thing in your heart you will bounce off of it, and I have finally come to understand that the bouncing off is for the best for both of us.

If you're new here and you haven't read my stuff yet, here's the pinned post with the directory on my Simblr: Story Index.

Anyway, gotta go to bed now. It's just....I don't think I ever realized just how differently people experience fiction and books and the written word from how I experience it before. Like in the tags someone said they expected 1984 to be more Hunger Games-esque? How is that person perceiving reality? I want to live inside their brain for a bit to learn.

[cthulhu-with-a-fez]

Hey how do u know if u wanna be a boy in a cis way or a trans way? I’m a girl btw

alright so i'm gonna preface this by saying that i'm... probably not the best authority on What Makes A Man(TM), considering that i'm not one, and that no answer i give is going to catch every relevant topical nuance? but i know i've talked a bit in the tags about my personal blend of cis+ gender-woogity, so i'm gonna go out on a limb and assume that's what you're asking about!

it got pretty long, so i put it under the cut :D

there's two ways i tend to approach my assessment of my gender, which for purposes of this ask let's call "diagnostic" and "diegetic".

the diagnostic approach is more or less what it sounds like - comparing and contrasting what i understand gender to be, denotatively and connotatively and culturally, with what my sense of my own gender is, and trying to figure out what feels closest to me and why. this has been influenced pretty heavily by two posts i've seen floating around over the years but can't for the life of me find right now.

one of them is just a quote to the effect of "consistently wishing you were a different gender is a pretty strong indicator of being that gender." and it makes sense, right? human intuition, gut feeling like that, is made of a million little deductions about the world relative to yourself that you don't consciously process all of, but which make themselves known however they can. if you're a girl but you keep finding yourself thinking "man, i wish i was a boy," that might be your brain doing behind-the-scenes pattern recognition about being a boy and trying to flag your attention towards it.

which isn't to say that it's an infallible tell, gut feelings are not always correct, let alone accurate! even when they are, you're getting, like. fortune cookie amounts of information about things that might require thesis paper amounts. but that's where you have to take a level in metacognition and think about why you think about or respond to something the way you do. or, to quote discworld,

“First Thoughts are the everyday thoughts. Everyone has those. Second Thoughts are the thoughts you think about the way you think. People who enjoy thinking have those. Third Thoughts are thoughts that watch the world and think all by themselves. They’re rare, and often troublesome. Listening to them is part of witchcraft.”

― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

figuring out the why of your own responses is good for tons of non-gender-related reasons, but it's especially helpful with those kind of vague but persistent I Feel A Way About This thoughts. if you're a girl and you keep thinking "man, i wish i were a boy", there's a lot of reasons you might think that! for legit gender reasons, yeah, but it might also be "i wish i were a boy because their clothes look better" or "i wish i were a boy because then i wouldn't get cat-called" or "because they get paid more" or "because no one assumes they can't pick up heavy things" or more. some of them are aesthetic things, some of them are cultural misogyny things, all of them are relevant and valid! but it also makes it a little harder to tell how heavily gender-weighted they are in general - you can be mad about the pay gap and and explore a more masculine silhouette while still robustly being a woman.

(though, pro tip about the clothes? regardless of your genderfeel, men's section jeans are where it's at. huge pockets. not made of tissue paper. sized with actual waist/inseam measurements instead of a random number revealed to a women's fashion exec in a vision. cannot recommend them strongly enough. have pocket. be free.)

that brings us to the second post that i regrettably can't find, and another excellent diagnostic tool!

it was a comment written by a trans man in a longer thread about gender identity, talking about something that helped him distinguish between 'cultural misogyny sucks' thoughts and 'i am not a woman' thoughts. he definitely explained it more eloquently, but his rule of thumb was "would this upset me if it happened to me, but not to a female friend?"

for example, if someone holds the door for a girl and calls her "ma'am," all courteous manners, that would probably not be an issue for most women! but if you aren't a woman, or you're starting to not feel like one, it might not feel so comfortable an interaction.

i've learned to use that as a baseline for a problem management system for "i wish i was..." thoughts like those - it really does help to distinguish between external circumstance thoughts wearing a gender envy hat vs actual gender envy thoughts hiding under an external-circumstance hat, especially when there's multiple confounding factors involved. for example, let's go back to the clothes thing for a second!

i've always had a bit of a contentious relationship with clothes shopping, which in hindsight was a combination of personal aesthetic, sensory issues, body image issues, and gender issues. trying to develop my aesthetic was hard, especially back when "department store girls' section" was my only real choice and the best i ever hoped for was a grudging least-worst option just to get it over with. this has since changed! i have experienced presentation euphoria! i have a style now that feels comfortable and makes me happy! but it was a steep climb to get there until i learned how to identify what made the least-worst option least worst and move closer to it.

sometimes it's easy, like "this fabric is soft but the color is hideous" so find a different color, or "it's too tight across the chest because it was designed for someone skinny" so try a different size, or "this is just blatantly not-my-aesthetic" so move on. but sometimes it's "i'm getting steadily more upset trying to find a dress that i don't hate on my body despite them looking and feeling just fine on the hanger," and that one's a little tougher.

because on one hand, part of it really was the body image issues. i don't need to shop plus-size, but there's still something really disheartening about basically every retail outlet's 'normal' size range heavily implying that i'm only barely thin enough to be worth catering to, you know? fatphobia in the fashion industry is a whole different other conversation that we're not having right now, but it heavily contributed to some non-gender-related body dysphoria that's played first-chair tuba in my brain for a long time.

but on the other hand, looking at myself in a mirror wearing a dress and really hating it wasn't entirely about my body in a dress - it was also about my body in a dress. it didn't really click until a good friend of mine invited me to be in their wedding party, and said "we're not doing bridesmaid's dresses, just bridal party colors, wear whatever you feel most comfortable in as long as it matches!" and i spent ten seconds mentally gearing up for another godawful harrowing misery gauntlet of dress shopping -

and then stopped. because.

if i can wear something comfortable.

and a dress isn't.

...... what if i wore a suit?

and lo, i went to men's wearhouse and got slacks and a vest and a buttondown and a tie and it was amazing. i feel so fucking good in that outfit, i feel handsome and classy and confident in a way i literally never once in my life have felt while wearing a dress.

most of the time, people want things or don't-want things for a whole blend of reasons, and if there's one reason yelling loudest (hello, body-dysphoria tuba) it's often hard to tell what the rest of the factors are. but it's really, genuinely worth it to try and figure it out, even if you have to dig through a big old lump of stress and misery to get there - understanding yourself better and accepting what you find will only ever lead to quality-of-life improvements. sometimes it's as simple as refining your aesthetic some more, realizing "i can do better than grudging least-worst options" and navigating towards a wardrobe that you actually like!

but sometimes, it's realizing that your clothes don't make you feel good in the first place because they're expecting a kind of gender performance out of you that you can't comfortably give.

and that's where the "diegetic" part of my self-analysis kicks in.

the definition of "diegetic" is (of sound in a movie, television program, etc.) occurring within the context of the story and able to be heard by the characters. the score of a movie is non-diegetic, whereas the song playing on the radio during a driving scene is. how does this relate to my gender, you might ask?

well... perception.

i can be on as many levels of Advanced Gendermancy as i want, but that's all non-diegetic. myself as i am, occurring within the context of existing in public and able to be seen by the other people out there living life? i'm gonna get perceived as a gender, and i'm gonna get perceived as "girl," with maybe an addition of "... queer?" when i feel like making a statement with flannels. and that's okay with me. it's not a hardship to have people assume i'm a girl, because yeah, i'm a girl! ish! mostly! girl-lite, girl-as-default, noncommittal-wiggly-hand-gesture rounding-down-to-the-closest-answer girl.

but the thing is, i'm a carpenter. blue-collar union carpenter. women comprise... i think 2% of the construction workforce in my area. which means that just by existing on-site, i'm making all the guys remember that the gender binary exists because there's now a "them" for them to be an "us" about. i get called "miss kelly" like that's my whole name by the guys from my company who know me, and i get called "young lady" by guys from other companies who don't, and it's all very respectful and courteous, but... i don't want it. what i want is access to the "we're literally all men here so it doesn't even matter that we're men" gender space they have without me, which i can't have, because i am diegetically female in a male-dominated field. and if gender is a fluid, i'm a water balloon deforming under pressure, because the more frequently i get Gendered on-site - even when everyone's been nothing but polite about it, and certainly not intending any insult! - the more stressed-out i get in the same direction as wearing dresses made me feel. it's too much, too constrictive of an expectation that i do not meet, and i don't like it, and you know what helps?

chasing masculine presentation a little harder to make up for it.

being seen and Gendered masculinely, even if it's a little more than i would normally want, feels good because it's balancing the pH of my gender fluid again, and getting to have that is entirely dependent on someone else perceiving you and acting on that perception.

so that's part of it as well, beyond any interior exploration you can do. it isn't just about what you feel like, which is certainly important - it's also about the way people treat you relative to what you feel like. and it's hard, it's really really hard, to figure out what's right for you in that balance, especially if you don't know what's wrong in the first place.

it's like being blindfolded on a beach and told to find wheat grains scattered in the sand by touch alone. you know there's something good out there but not where it is or how to find it, only that you don't have it, and if you find wheat at all it's mixed in with so much sand you can hardly taste it anyway. if you're lucky, you bump into someone who's gone through it already who can take the blindfold off and show you how to sift for wheat instead of just eating a handful of sand and hoping, and that makes it easier, but for every one person like that there's a hundred more who've never had to try to pick wheat out of sand and can't tell the difference anyhow who think you're just not trying hard enough to live off of the """wheat""" you've been given.

i can't really tell you what it feels like to want to be a boy, because i'm not a boy and i don't really want to be? but i can tell you how i worked out the gender that i've got right now, and i hope it helps you anyway.

[thewertsearch]

Asks Compilation 11/12

I never considered that Aradia could be feeling sincere gratitude towards Equius - that's a good point, and might partially explain her flushed feelings for him. Similarly, I never thought about how difficult and impractical a relationship would be for Equius, given he has this kind of strength paired with this kind of dexterity.

Anyway, I half-agree with your thesis. I can imagine a hypothetical kismesissitude between an older, more mature Equius and Aradia, and I think that relationship could potentially be healthy, for the reasons you describe.

But the one we're getting is doomed from the start - Equius's mind-control shenanigans have pretty much torpedoed the whole thing. I don't think he can have a healthy relationship until he figures out why that was wrong.

I'll give you a freebie right now - most of the Jojo villains would fit right in with the Felt!

Yeah, it's not like romantic rivalry is a new idea. Really, the more I think about it, the more I think Hussie's riffing on real relationship tropes with all the quadrants.

Hell, I could probably list some fictional characters that work pretty well as Moirails - and I'm not just talking about The Locked Tomb!

[ sent when you posted your troll ranking! - C ]

She's the best, she's the worst, and she's destined for great terrible things.

Sorry Eridan - someone had to nab last place!

He does have a great design. The cape and scarf work well together - I can see how he'd be easy and fun to cosplay.

We have two opposing views here, and they both make good arguments. Aristocrats do tend to be egotistical by nature - but Alternia would expect him to act that way, even if it wasn't his natural tendency.

I personally don't think Eridan ever intended to exterminate the land-dwellers, but I'm not sure he ever realized that himself.

Don't forget Insane Clown Hussie, which is when your webcomic author keeps putting more harlequins in their story.

Toby, what are you doing back in my ask box? Get outta here, you scamp!

Ayy!

It's funny, I never considered that many people are reading through the liveblog/chrono/ tag. I'm almost never on my blog's page; I see it through the dashboard!

Happy belated birthdays, Jade, Dave, and, Rose!

Odd. It really looks like John's birthday should be December 2nd. Maybe something went wrong with his meteor.

The Newtonverse is a corruption of Homestuck, but Homestuck is already a parody of a million other things. It's one layer too deep, and feels 'wrong' as a result.

Unless Cool and New Webcomic is a similar style of parody, in which case, who knows? Maybe the Newtonverse is simply real, and trying to break into our reality.

Yeah, that makes sense. She certainly looks like a classic eldritch monster.

I can't see the commentary - I assume because some of it contains spoilers. For comments that don't spoil anything, feel free to send them along.

It's always very tempting to check out other livebloggers so I can compare and contrast. I won't, though - quite aside from any worries about spoilers, I just don't want to influence my own opinions!

This has always been a blind spot with me, and it always will be. Try as I might, I will never recognize the difference between Rouge and Rouge.

I knew the comic had about 8000 pages, but it's good to know it clocks in at 8128.

It annoys me more than it should that it's not 2^13, or 8192. It would have been a nice round number to finish on!

Thank you, and welcome!

Eridan's beliefs don't really make sense - but it makes sense that they don't. It's bigotry, after all.

He knows trolls like Kanaya, and can clearly see that there's nothing inferior about her - but he can't let go of what he's been taught, so he just doesn't address it, and continues on as normal.

This comic is damn long, so it's a fun reference to make.

I'd probably pick one. No special reason - I just sort of vibe with the number, and it's the closest to something kooky like zero, or a negative number.

I would have picked the cueball, but I don't think I want Scratch as a rival...

Ok, that's fair, actually.

I love how she's trying to 'cull' them.

It's a good bit. I wonder if this means Hussie's trollsona is a green-blood, like Kanaya?

Read it!

It's not intended to! The others all link to the post where the work was recommended to me, but Con Air wasn't recommended - it's just a movie slightly relevant to Homestuck. I have it up there for completeness, and it's underlined for consistency.

[tadpal]

tagged by @georges-chambers !! hello!! i do love a tag game thank you sm!

Last Song/Album: last song was Freedom by Wham! on repeat... listen i don't want your freedom i don't want to play around i don't want nobody baby part time love just brings me down i don't want your freedom.... girl all i want right now is you...... (girl+dog (oc(? technically this is an emma jane austen adaptation that has gone too far.. yeah...)band) breakup arc... imagine george listening to this smoking a fag on a balcony like fucking ben affleck... i certainly am imagining it...

Favourite Colour: green!! all greens but greens! green IS the colour OF LOVE!!!!!!!!! ( <- could write a thesis on why this makes sense but. won't)

Last TV Show: mad men. but before that the expanse and before that chernobyl and before that the terror. hmm what do all these shows have in common (hello jared harris hi jared harris save me jared harris)(but in all seriousness he's a great actor and im having fun)

Last Film: Phantom Thread rewatch!!! yeah im doing aces. but it was for Research for a webweave i want to make.... god kiss me before i'm ill...

Last Thing I Looked Up Online: bataman actor (<-trying to type batman actor, couldn't remember ben afflecks name)

Relationship Status: uninterested and unimpressed and GO AWAY STOP THAT but also teehee yeah maybe okay like maybe you're my rotting gums but like in a casual way. fuck off (aromantic)(but that won't stop me)(<-bpd. favourite personing again 😒😔)

Current Obsession: the terror... the terror save me please the terror...

tagging: @mhaccunoval @duskodair @silvermagpies @courtjester69420 @courtjester42069 @pizza-hats-of-the-world-1882 @butchboromir @butchachilles

[fasupon]

There will be a lot of text (PROBABLY), but I needed to explain where I went and what is going on

As many may have noticed, posts from me are missing, or they appear once every millennium. The fact is that for this period of time I am heavily burdened with work and study. And work and learning at the same time is already difficult. And in the summer of 2024 I have to defend my master’s thesis. So it turns out that all the effort is spent on writing a dissertation, plus half a day stuck at work… Obviously, I do not have time for my hobbies.

Personal problems were also added to the work and study, for example, since the beginning of 2023 I had a wild procrastination. Well, very wild. This, of course, prevents me from learning things in disciplines and writing a dissertation, not to mention drawing. The struggle against this enemy also takes a lot of energy. Alas, the nerves from this have really suffered. And I will be honest with you: I have repeatedly tried to do the irreparable again – to leave all social networks, as it was once. But it won’t do any good, will it? That’s why the posts are so rare. And classical dissatisfaction with myself as an «artist», without quotation marks I can not call myself one, ha-ha (you see, I again bully myself :[ ).

This, of course, does not mean that I will directly abandon my blogs, but only confirm the rarity of my original posts. The Tumblr blog is already flooded with all sorts of stuff and tags between buddies. Speaking of tags, if I don’t respond to your tags, comments, or your own posts like I did before, then… feel free to resent me, yeah. I’m so wrapped up in problems that sometimes I can’t find the strength to comment or write something back. I only occasionally look through posts and leave comments and likes.

So… I know it’s ungrateful to whine, and I don’t like all this whining. And if you read this post – I am very grateful and admire your patience towards me and my alotofwords-post. And I give you a virtual pie for this (the stuffing make up yourself, I do not know your preferences. I like meat better)) )

I would also like to express my great gratitude to the people with whom I have developed a friendly relationship. I know that some of you have repeatedly offered your shoulder to speak out. But I can not force myself (and I don’t want to, to be honest) to burden you with my problems. Frankly, it was a pleasant surprise for me. I’m glad there are people around who care about me. Know that I love you very much, and if it wasn’t for your support, then…  I wouldn’t be here right now.

Here, I would like to wish you strength – the butting heads with your issues for a place in the sun is another task))) Take care of yourself, don’t allow negative thoughts and experience to influence you no matter how difficult and painful it may be. You clearly deserve the best in the world ♡( ◡‿◡ )

[forabeatofadrum]

What’s poppin’ LGBTs! Happy “we should totally stab Caesar day!” to all who celebrate, but most importantly happy 12 year anniversary to Kurt and Blaine 😌.

Back due to popular demand (jk?): more thesis talk! As promised, I discussed with my thesis supervisor whether or not I can share my thesis and the answer is yes! I, of course, didn’t mention to her that I am currently sharing my thesis through snippets on my fanfiction Tumblr blog, but alas, wat niet weet wat niet deert. But once I have the finished version (hopefully end June, for pride month, how appropriate!) I can send it to people if I want to. It will still be in Dutch but again ask me in 4 months what to do for my international audience (so weird to say about a thesis).

But yeah to celebrate the news 🥳, have some more of the thesis, aka my WIP for the next couple of months. On Sunday we talked about possible reasons why there are more queer men than women in media (I also added a third reason: Bury Your Gays). I described how heteroflexibility complicates what constitutes as queer representation, since women who have relations with other women aren’t always portrayed as queer, but there’s also a flip side to this:

In Russo's (2014) article on queer female fandom, a distinction is also made between subtext and maintext. The subtext consists of homoerotic elements and the discourse surrounding it. Maintext is the explicit queer representation. The boundary between subtext and main text is not always clear (Russo, 2014). Queer female fandom consists largely of queer women and these queer interpretations stem from a combination of personal and political wishes (Russo, 2014, 2017). This makes the questions surrounding the representation of queer women more complex. Heteroflexibility ensures that not all women who enter into relationships with other women are queer (Annati & Ramsey, 2022; DeCeuninck & Dhoest, 2016; Diamond, 2005; Jackson & Gilbertson, 2009), but on the other hand, queer subtext ensures that that “straight” women are perceived as queer and sometimes fans are more enthusiastic about those characters than explicit representation (Ng & Russo, 2017). Often these "straight" women are also seen as queer representation (McNicholas Smith, 2020a). This shows that queer representation is more complex than previously thought. 

(Dutch under the cut, together with the tags, for the few Dutchies who might prefer to read it in Dutch, since academics can be a bitch.)

Yes, this is technically about Faberry. Literally every paper on this phenomenon I’ve read mentions Faberry and a ship from Xena: Warrior Princess. It’s an interesting thing, because is a character like Quinn Fabray queer? (Fun fact, she also falls underneath the whole heteroflexibility mess after I Do.) I mean, I once had to write a paper on representation in Glee and it hurt me to call her straight (@blurglesmurfklaine remember the “Quinn is straight. Fans disagreed.” line?), but on the other hand it is questionable when straight characters sometimes get more love and recognition than actual on-screen canon representation. I also love pissing off straight people by claiming that Zuko is gay, but Korra is right there, amirite? I didn’t want to add too much text here in this post, but I did give a historical reasoning behind this phenomenon. This is just another interesting thing in a list of interesting things.

And now, the weather: @quizasvivamos​ @blurglesmurfklaine​ @coffeegleek​ @esperantoauthor​ @otherworldsivelivedin​ @caramelcoffeeaddict​ @sillyunicorn​ @bazzybelle​ @dragoneggos​ @raenestee​ @tectonicduck​ @nightimedreamersworld​ @urban-sith​ @thnxforknowingme​ @captain-aralias​ @you-remind-me-of-the-babe​ @takitalks​ @justgleekout​ @cerriddwenluna​ @tea-brigade​ @ivelovedhimthroughworse​ @moodandmist​ @whogaveyoupermission​ @bookish-bogwitch​ @confused-bi-queer​ @aroace-genderfluid-sheep​ @ionlydrinkhotwater​ @1908jmd​ @special-bc-ur-part-of-it​ @larkral​ @chen-chen-chen-again-chen​​ @cutestkilla​​ @nausikaaa​​/@wellbelesbian​​ @artsyunderstudy​​ @martsonmars​​ @facewithoutheart​​ @shrekgogurt​ @boyinjeans​

[murdock-and-the-sea]

Even More Trouble | Rumors

| Nothing But Trouble | Even More Trouble |

pairing: bucky barnes x ofc (agent 17)

word count: 534

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI. Mention of guns.

a/n: I miss miss miss writing for my dorky baby so here, have this short silly thing! Also, 17 is *not* pro gun. She's just a giant nerd. Dug up my old tag list and added a few peeps who might enjoy - let me know if you don't want to be tagged anymore!

Divider by @whimsicalrogers.

“I’m sorry, what?” Tony asked, biting his lips to keep from barking out another laughter. “How did that happen again?”

He was grinning from ear to ear while 17 rolled her eyes, cursing the moment she answered the initial question. “It’s not a big deal, Tony. I don’t get why you’re so hung up on this!”

“Not a big deal? Are you insane?” he asked, looking around the kitchen for approval. To his dismay, Sam didn’t even look unfazed and Clint was too busy getting lost in a plate of waffles.

“Cut the kid some slack, will ya?” Sam chided.

“See?” 17 huffed, pointing exaggeratedly towards him with a spatula. “There’s nothing ridiculous about it, Tony!”

With that, she went back to stir her scrambled eggs, hoping he would drop it.

“You wrote your thesis on a gun, munchkin! A gun!”

No such luck this morning.

“Good gods,” she groaned, head falling back in frustration. “It wasn’t my thesis, it was an assignment! And I’ll have you know, Gaston Glock created his first model without any previous experience with weapons design or manufacturing, and the Glock 17 is still one of the most reliable handguns out there! Police officers and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents use and-”

“Oh my god, are you just reciting that from memory?”

He turned away, mumbling ‘what a little geek‘ to himself and snickering along as he refilled his cup with coffee. 17 glared at him for a second before clicking her tongue.

“You know, I think I finally get those rumors the rookies are circulating about you.”

In an instant, the kitchen fell silent, broken only by the sizzling from the pan. Tony froze; eyes narrowing, he shifted all his focus from his coffee back to 17. “What rumors?”

He was staring her down as she chewed her lips in thought, then turned abruptly away.

“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, no, no, you don’t get to do that, you rascal, out with it.”

17 sighed. “Tony…”

“Well??”

“Okay, so… you remember the group of newbies I took over last week?”

“Yes, I remember the newbies, what about the newbies?” he asked, clearly worked up now.

“Look, I don’t know who started it…”

“Yeah, yeah, go on…”

“...but apparently there’s this thing circulating…”

“...uh-huh.”

“...and they’re saying that all that armor and shit is clearly you overcompensating for, you know-” she waved her spatula in his general direction. “-lacking in other areas.” 

A pause.

“Who’s group was this before you took over again?”

“I think Hill’s, but—”

“That son of a gun!” Tony exclaimed, slamming his mug on the counter. “That sore loser! I won that bet fair and square last week!” Huffing, he marched out, his voice echoing on the corridor as he demanded Friday to locate Maria Hill.

Calmly, 17 turned off the stove, piling the eggs neatly next to two slices of toast before sitting at the desk. When Clint cleared his throat, she looked up at him and Sam, giving her an unimpressed look. “What?”

“There’s no rumor, is there?”

She shrugged. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

And with that, she finally turned all her attention back to breakfast.

@chase-your-dreams-away ⋆ @anika-ann ⋆ @justreadingfics ⋆ @saintmurd0ck ⋆ @m-blasterrr ⋆ @pinknerdpanda ⋆ @a-really-bi-girl ⋆ @virgoroses ⋆ @connie326 ⋆ @440mxs-wife ⋆ @chipilerendi