#because it's on me for being weird and unapproachable probably and for not attempting to make more friends

[animeomegas]

I'm kind of surprised people are ranking Gaara so high. Sure he's Kazakage, making him unfortunately unapproachable, but he's traditionally attractive, has superb manners with a dash of chaos, carries an incredibly powerful blood line... maybe it's because he's probably more awkward about romance than Sai would be (unfortunate). It's why I think Gaara's siblings probably have to interfere with any attempt at courtship. Like, tell him he's being courted intervention.

I'm actually going to have the disagree that Gaara is traditionally attractive, at least not as much as the others on the list. Don't get me wrong, I think he's cute, but... the whole no eyebrows, face kanji, and heavy black eyeliner isn't really traditional beauty, if that makes sense. Or maybe we just have different tastes!

I do love awkward with romance Gaara though 😂 His poor siblings suffer so much with his weird questions and complete obliviousness haha!

[leastdatablebracket]

ROUND 1.5, MATCH 8

Propaganda under the cut!

Lon'qu

ngl its possible he's already been submitted and i missed it, but i wanted to submit him just in case because i Dislike him. lon'qu's defining personality trait (apart from being unapproachable and edgy in a very boring and bland way) is "being afraid of women", which manifests sometimes as discomfort around women in general and frequently with casual misogyny, as well as even in the conversation where you get ENGAGED he calls you a "mere woman". bad man

Harvey

listen.. man’s the town doctor but still charges you when you die in the mines even after you get married. A rip off. He’s also just boring oops

Defend him all you want, he's boring af, he bills you and takes your stuff when you die in skull caverns even when you're married. His cutscenes are boring, all of his personality is "he's a nice and shy boy" and that's It. It's even weird bcs he's considered one of the "older bachelors" and he still acts like a shy akward boy from highschool! He's supposed to be in his 30's! Also, find me one intresting thing to say about him and don't say "he likes planes but can't be a pilot due to bad eye sight" that's literally the only fun fact you can say about him. He takes you on a date in the sky, away from everyone with doubtable safety (you seen that baloon? That looks like a mu*der attempt) and then kisses you without your consent, you can't even scream for help, you're in the dam sky. He works as a doctor yet I don't see him contributing to the house funds either! >:( He probably hoards all this damn money, one can only speculate what he spends It on, and don't get me started on his ugly moustache (I got a bit off track) Tldr: He's boring, and a bad husband and boyfriend.

[likelylarks]

xx

[self-loving-vampire]

Separate from the whole atomization discourse I am just wondering what it is that I do that makes it so easy for me to form the bonds that I do considering all of the things that are working against me.

I am:

Visibly autistic. I have strange interests that a lot of people don’t care about and am weird in lots of ways.

Largely lacking empathy. I’m not cruel at all but I do find it difficult to understand emotional reactions that are different from what I would experience and other people’s emotions don’t transfer to me.

Kind of antisocial, but at least direct when I do want to interact with people and not shy at all. I’m not super interested in meeting normal people.

Physically disabled to such an extent that I practically never leave the house unless I have an appointment somewhere.

Narcissistic in a really shameless and transparent way. This probably pisses some people off.

Passively using a “Stay away from me” aura at A-rank. I can come off as very unapproachable and intimidating on here even though I’m pretty calm and polite.

Just not very charismatic. In fact, I don’t think truly general charisma even exists and the stereotypical examples of such tend to include people I would be averse to on some level.

Now, I do have some virtues as well. I have no cost or difficulty with regards to comforting my friends, I can be very pleasant for a specific type of person to be around, and I try to provide for and support those I consider my allies.

I try to be a river to my people, and in hindsight I do have a lot of things in me that make it less surprising that I end up at the center of social groups and indirectly guiding the actions of everyone around me. 

I’m often the one making a sincere attempt to cheer people up, invite them to talk/participate, and generally rope them into my own interests. Other people’s emotions may not reach me, but I do value their well-being enough to put in the work to help them out. 

With my closest relationships in particular I am fully united with my loved ones in terms of goals and values. If they want X then X will become my purpose as well. We may have different personalities and backgrounds, but are essentially a single unit with a shared health pool. Even without empathy, our hearts are one in such a meaningful sense that it would not be an exaggeration to say that master gave me my life and it is intrinsically tied to him.

For over half a decade now a lot of people I have met shared the fact that they are understandably envious of how intense and deep this bond is and wish they had something like it pushing them forward.

But to be honest I don’t think it’s really entirely tied to anything involving my current personality. 

My past self is so different from me that I straight-up treat her as an entirely separate person, and she did not really struggle with forming close bonds online either despite initially being kind of averse to the idea. In fact, she was the one who first met the friends who saved me, including master.

So, several possibilities come to mind:

1- This is all significantly easier than most people think it is, unless they have some other type of disorder even more troublesome than the stuff I deal with.

2- I somehow selected for a very specific type of social circle with much more favorable traits than what people assume to be the whole of online nerd communities.

3- It’s all just because I’m extremely attractive and make people horny. I did in fact notice that people are significantly more friendly to me in contexts where they see me as sexually or romantically available.

4- I am once again an ultimate being chosen by fate and just got impossibly lucky to such a degree that it might as well be called reality-warping.

[sundaysundaes]

Remember Me

Mark Lee X Reader X Lee Donghyuck (Haechan) | Smut, Fluff, Angst | 14k | Soulmate AU, Friends-to-Lovers AU

CHAPTER 2 OF 2. Part 1 is here.

Summary: “The mysterious cuts and bruises that suddenly appear are actually injuries that your soulmate has obtained, and you share the same marks on your skin.” For Donghyuck and Mark, it's not just an old saying, it's not merely a concept, it's the truth. But as they grow older in a world where everyone puts their faith in the marks that attach their hearts to their soulmates, they have to stop believing.

Notes: This used to be an EXO Fanfic of mine called Remember Me but I want to share this story with my NCT family as well, so I rewrote several things and added more scenes to fit Mark and Haechan’s personalities better.

10

It takes Lee Donghyuck approximately ten times to ask Mark Lee to join their soccer game before he realizes that maybe Mark just really hates playing soccer. Or just doing sports in general, for that matter.

“I’ve told you, I don’t want to!” Mark shouts, cheeks reddening in anger. Donghyuck holds up both hands in the air, backing away. Mark is twenty-one years-old while Donghyuck is a year younger. Since Mark needed to be treated at the facility for his injuries back when he was in high school, he had to repeat another year and so he registered late in his new university in Seoul. Seeing how he’s a freshman like him with no friend other than Zhong Chenle in college, Donghyuck thinks they should get along better. Donghyuck has always been friendly and nice to anyone around him—Yukhei would agree on this straight away—but sadly, not everyone replies to him in the same way.

“Okay, okay,” Donghyuck says, laughing softly at Mark’s little burst of anger. “Chill, man. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought that maybe you wanted to play because, you know, you kept looking at us—”

“I wasn’t looking,” Mark harshly responds, tearing his gaze away from the other boy to glance at the girl who owns his heart since forever. “Well, I wasn’t actually looking at you anyway.”

Donghyuck furrows his brows at Mark’s last line that’s almost too quiet to hear. He’s pretty sure that Mark kept stealing glances at the field a moment earlier, so if it weren’t because of Donghyuck and Yukhei playing soccer with their upperclassmen, who was he staring at?

“I’m sorry,” Donghyuck says anyway, and he means it even when his tone sounds too playful. “Well, if you ever change your mind, you can just come over, okay?”

“I don’t do soccer,” Mark bitterly responds as he picks up his book back and places it on his lap. “Now can you leave me alone, please? I want to read in silence.”

Donghyuck scrunches up his nose at his attitude but decides to be the better man. “Alright,” he says, giving him the space he needs. “My name’s Lee Donghyuck, by the way. Nice to meet you, Grumpy Pants!” he exclaims with a cheeky grin before he runs back to the field. Mark Lee is unapproachable, but that only makes him more interesting to Lee Donghyuck.

***

11

It takes eleven minutes after the whistle has been blown for Donghyuck to score his third goal that day and she cheers loudly with her hands in the air before she realizes that she’s supposed to stare at her crush secretly. She clears her throat and tries to calm her racing heart as she sits back on the bleachers. Her eyes are still following the boy with the number 66 on the back of his jersey and her heart warms when she sees how his fluffy brown hair flutters under the wind.

That boy’s name is Lee Donghyuck. He’s one year younger than she is and he’s probably the brightest, and the funniest person she has ever met. He’s a bit weird, though, because every time he talks to her, he always speaks like he has known her for his whole life. And he does look familiar somehow, but she can’t remember why. 

Last spring was the first time she met him. She was looking around the campus’ ground, getting to know the environment better before she enrolled in the university by the next semester. And then a ball hit her on the head, making her tumble to the ground.

“Oh, shit! Sorry! Are you okay?” A boy ran to her with a familiar smile and beautiful sun-kissed skin that glistened slightly with sweat. He helped her stand on her own feet and kept apologizing for two times more until he saw her face and began to shout her name over and over again, voice getting louder each time. 

“Holy shit, it’s really you! I can’t believe this!” Without permission, he suddenly leaned in and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet as he laughed wholeheartedly. “Jesus Christ, Noona, it’s been years!” He was crushing her with his hug and she felt strange, afraid even. “I can’t believe I’m seeing you again! I’ve been looking for you every—”

Out of fear and discomfort, she hastily pushed him away. “D-don’t touch me!” she said, backing away and a wounded look fell upon his face. 

“N-noona, it’s me,” he said, attempting to calm her down by reaching out a hand. “It’s me, Donghyuck. We used to play together, remember? At the beach? In Jeju?”

Frowning was her response and nothing more, not remembering his identity at all and that made her sad because that boy seemed like he was really hoping for her to remember him. “I’m—I’m sorry but I don’t know you,” she said and the boy seemed heartbroken for a few seconds before he shook his head and smiled brightly once more.

“Oh wow, then this must’ve been super awkward.” He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head before he offered her his hand. She could tell he was shaken up by it but he didn’t make it seem obvious. “I’m Lee Donghyuck. I’m sorry for being so weird. You just remind me so much of my old friend. But I got your name right, didn’t I?”

She nodded her head once, shaking his hand. “How do you know my name?”

“Let’s just say I’m a bit psychic,” Donghyuck replied, grinning boyishly and something stirred in her heart. She felt like she knew him but at the same time, she didn’t. It was weird but Donghyuck never worried about such a matter. He kept on talking to her, sporting his cheery grins and beautiful eye-smile as he did and his presence somehow filled the pang that had been so hollow in her heart. 

“Yo, Sleepyhead!” Wong Yukhei calls as he scurries over to her side. He’s breathing hard, beads of sweat forming and rolling down his temple. The man is 183cm tall with silky dark brown hair and a voice deeper than any man she’s ever known. “What’cha doin’, girl? Been here long?”

“Hey, Yukhei,” she greets with a smile, offering him her canned orange juice and Yukhei drinks it in one gulp without hesitation. “Just hanging out. Did you guys win?” she asks, trying to pretend like she wasn’t paying attention to the game (which is somewhat true because she only paid attention to Donghyuck).

“Oh, come on, we all know you were watching the game,” Yukhei says as he flops down next to her seat. “Or were you watching me?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Wong Yukhei is always blatant with his flirting but nobody ever takes him seriously. It’s common knowledge that Yukhei never wants to have a relationship with anyone other than his Soulmate. People tend to date anyone they want while they wait for their Soulmates to appear but Yukhei is a different case. Yukhei only wants the girl who owns the same scar as he has on his wrist.

“Hey, just a friendly advice here,” Yukhei says, “I know you really really really like Hyuck but fucking hell, woman, do you really need to stare at him all day long with that dopey, lovesick look on your face?”

“Hey!” She hisses, slapping his back. “Shut up, okay? And I wasn’t staring at him. I was watching the game.”

“Sureeee,” Yukhei slurs the last syllable. “Then what’s the score? No peeking at the scoreboard.”

She can’t answer. Seeing how Yukhei keeps on mocking her, she eventually sighs and buries her face in her hands. “Is it that obvious?”

“So obvious. Too obvious, even.”

“Do you think he knows?”

“Honey, I think even my grandma knows you have a crush on him.”

“Oh my God,” she sobs to her hands and when she lifts her face, her cheeks are in flame. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I can’t date him anyway, Not until I’m sure that he’s my Soulmate.”

Yukhei furrows his brows. “I didn’t know you were like me.”

“I just think it’s a safer option, you know?” She utters, huffing to the air. “Why would you waste your time dating someone who’s not your Soulmate when you know it’s not gonna work out in the end? Better choose the one so you won’t hurt anyone.”

Yukhei nods proudly and pats her head. “I feel you, Sister. I feel you.”

“Shut up, you’re gross,” she says, punching Yukhei playfully by his shoulder but the said man groans loudly and dramatically acts like she just struck his arm with a javelin. Yukhei stands up and barks, “Sure, when it’s Wong Yukhei, you go around and punch him like a sag of potatoes but when it’s Lee Donghyuck, you worship him like a freaking Greek God! Real fair, Sweetheart, real fair!” Then he throws a flying kiss toward her direction before she has the chance to actually kill Wong Yukhei. She just hopes that Donghyuck didn’t hear him.

She sits back on the bleachers, her heart thumping loudly but Donghyuck never stares back. He’s always like that when he’s too focused on his game. It’s part of his charm, really. 

It’s only Mark Lee who does, staring at her from across the field. He’s a fellow freshman she once met at the library, helping her with finding her books. She always thinks he looks kind of familiar as well but she doesn’t know why. Perhaps some kind of a déjà vu?

She didn’t see him sitting there before (her eyes were too focused on Donghyuck, like always) and Mark never really goes out of his class at break times anyway. He used to always spend his days in the library, working there and reading suspense or science-fiction novels even when he’s read them a thousand times already. This is the first time she’s ever seen him out on the field. Perhaps he’s watching the game too?

She smiles and waves her hand at him. “Hey, library guy!” she mouths, grinning but Mark never mirrors her smile in the same way. He always seems sad, she notices, like he’s trying to achieve something but something forbids him from doing so. She wonders what he craves so badly that he has to force himself away from enjoying his life like he’s supposed to. 

***

12

It’s twelve past twelve on a Sunday afternoon when Zhong Chenle passes a watermelon to Mark’s lap and speaks, “Bro, I know it’s not my business but your ex-girlfriend has a huge crush on that kid Lee Donghyuck.”

With a knife in his hand, ready to slice the watermelon into small pieces, Mark freezes and looks at Chenle with heavy pressure in his eyes.

“Whoa, dude!” Chenle immediately backs away, gulping when he realizes he just made Mark upset when the man is holding a knife in his hand. “Be careful with that shit, okay? You look like you’re about to kill someone!”

“Not someone, just you,” Mark replies, looking away and begins to slice the fruit. 

Chenle takes his seat back with more caution in his steps, just in case. “Look, Mark, I don’t want to make you mad.”

“A bit too late for that,” Mark replies, jabbing the knife into the fruit, and Chenle almost shrieks, fidgeting on his seat. The Chinese boy winces a little as he prepares to receive a strike from his friend but it never came. Instead, his friend throws him a small smile and Chenle knows Mark’s been kidding around. Chenle can never understand his sense of humor.

“You have a terrible sense of humor, has anyone ever told you that?” He calms his heart down. “You’re still not over her, huh?” Chenle asks, receiving a freshly cut watermelon from the slightly shorter guy. Mark doesn’t answer him and instead, he grabs his own piece of watermelon and strolls over to lounge on the couch. The sun is blazing outside, sitting on its throne, and burns everything considering it’s the middle of summer and even with this thin layer of clothes he’s wearing, Mark just can’t stop sweating. 

“Dude?” Chenle calls, following him to the couch, and steals a glance at him. Mark is just there, sitting and staring at the fruit without doing anything much other than breathing. “Hello? Earth to Mark, you alright there, buddy?”

Mark slowly moves his gaze back at him and for the first time in forever, he pulls on a gentle, but heartbreaking smile. “I would’ve gotten over her if I could but it’s hard.”

Chenle hums quietly. “You guys loved each other that much, huh?”

“Loved?” Mark chuckles, proffering his piece of watermelon to his friend’s hand in case Chenle wants more. He does. “It wasn’t just love. She was my everything.” The Chinese boy snorts at that but he can actually sense the truth behind Mark’s words, which is why Chenle chooses to stay mute. “I was about to propose to her, you know?” Mark confesses, crestfallen. “We were nothing but stupid brats going on about love and crappy things like that and I had this stupid ring with me that I wanted to give her. I was about to make a promise to be with her forever. I didn’t care whether she was my Soulmate or not. I didn’t care if we were too young to be engaged. I just loved her so much—I still do but…”

But she forgot about you, Chenle wants to say but he decides to keep himself in silence. While Mark was hurting physically during that period after the accident, she was losing her mind. She had recurring nightmares and she lost almost every part of her memories. She lost her childhood, she lost her friends, and most of all, she lost him. She couldn’t see Mark. He never existed in her world. Her loss of memories had helped her to recover quicker than him and her parents also made her go to many therapy sessions in her last few months at the hospital. She’s now healthy and happy and Mark is grateful for that but, of course, a huge part of him died with her that night before the first snow fell upon their smiles.

Chenle forms a question after a while. “Why don’t you try and approach her again, then? You know, start over. Maybe she could fall in love with you again.”

Mark absentmindedly touches the skin around his nape. “It’s better this way,” he says, smiling weakly to the ground. “She’s happier without me in her life.”

“But you’re hurting,” Chenle counters. “And I’m not sure you’re gonna get better tomorrow if you keep being like this.”

“You’re right, I’m never gonna get better.” Mark laughs softly. “I’m gonna remember this forever and I’m gonna live through this every day. When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I remember is how I agreed to go with her to town that night. If I hadn’t gone to her grandmother’s place, if I hadn’t gone with her outside—”

Chenle shakes his head. “You didn’t know what would happen—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Mark shouts breathlessly, his hand going over his heart. “It happened and I lost her. That’s it, Chenle. Nothing’s going to change that.”

Chenle looks conflicted and hesitant for a few seconds before he reaches out and pats Mark on the shoulder. “Everything will get better,” he says, trying to spread joy to his friend. “You’ll forget her when you meet your Soulmate. Try to live your life like me, buddy. No good will come from worrying over things that have been done.”

Mark returns his smile but his eyes stay cold.

His dreams always consist of her smile and how her eyes once turned crescents when she whispered, “I love you too, Mark Lee.” His dreams always reel in the way she held him close that night, how she wanted to make him feel happy, how she wanted to be with him, how much she missed and loved him.

It never happens in real life anymore. Mark Lee never existed in her life that way. And that is why Mark stops waking up with a smile on his face.

“Chenle,” Mark starts, “Are you friends with that guy?”

“Who, Donghyuck? Yeah, he’s cool. Gets pretty whiny and annoying most of the times, but—”

“There’s something I want you to tell him.”

“O… kay…” Chenle is startled by the sudden gravitas in his tone. “What is it?”

“She believes in Soulmates,” Mark says, smiling to himself and somehow Chenle can see the disappointment and frustration in his eyes. “She has a scar on the back of her neck. So if he doesn’t have the same scar, it’s better for him to just stay away since he’ll end up hurting them both in the future.”

Chenle analyzes his friend’s expression but he’s still left clueless. “And you’re okay if he turns out to be the one for her?”

Mark glances at him, smiling while his eyes show nothing but a pang of guilt and pain. “At this point, Chenle,” he murmurs, “I actually wish for it to happen.”

***

13

“So she believes in Soulmates too, huh?” Donghyuck asks, his shoulders are slumped forward in disappointment. It’s Friday the 13th and while everyone is feeling spooked out over the infamous urban legend, Donghyuck is feeling upset over an entirely different reason. “Damn it!”

Yukhei snorts. “Dude, everyone believes in Soulmates; it’s only you who don’t. It’s basically, like, written in the law or something.” When Donghyuck shoots him a look, Yukhei just huffs. “All I’m saying is it’s not just a myth, dude. This shit happens.”

Donghyuck knows that but he’s really interested in her—well, he’s always been interested in her, since back then when they were young even. Donghyuck didn’t think he’d be able to meet her again but well, luck is apparently on his side. Not that much, though, because she forgot about what they used to have. Donghyuck learned along the way that she’d gotten into an accident in high school and that was how she lost her memories. He understands the situation and he’s willing to restart everything again because even after all this time, Donghyuck still likes her. And for these past few months, Donghyuck has become so close to her once again and it’s like they’re back to that time where they used to play together on the beach with sands under their feet. She still smiles and gazes at him in the way she did back then and Donghyuck thinks her beauty lasts for eternity.

She even said one time, as he was trying to catch his breath after his soccer practice, that he reminded her of the sun, the way he shone so brightly when he played on the field, how his every movement and smile drew attention from the crowd.

“You should be called Haechan,” she said sheepishly, bumping her shoulder against his in a playful manner. “I think it fits you more. What do you think?”

His heart was racing for an entirely different reason. He couldn’t believe that even when she had lost her memories, she still repeated the same thing in the exact same way. So Donghyuck swallowed hard, trying his best to appear nonchalant, and said, “I think that’s the stupidest pet name someone has ever given to me, but it’s okay. You can call me that.”

It would be great if they could be something more. But well, if she believes in Soulmate and if Donghyuck turns out to not be the one she’s waiting for then they probably shouldn’t start anything to begin with.

“This whole Soulmate thing sucks balls!” Donghyuck whines, kicking a pebble stone to the side of the street as he walks next to his tall friend on the sidewalk. “I really want to try and be with her, you know? I didn’t try anything back then because we were too young to understand our feelings but now we’re older and I really, really like her but God-fucking-dammit, Yukhei, what if I’m not her Soulmate? What if she won’t accept me?”

Yukhei pats his friend on the back. “Well, you still have your chance, Hyuck. Maybe someday, she’ll fall and bruise her knees or something and you’ll get the same scar—her scar. Who knows, right? Maybe you are her Soulmate.”

Donghyuck doesn’t put a lot of wish on that. He’s never much of a believer anyway. “She doesn’t seem to have scars now, though,” he says, “So how can we tell who her Soulmate is?”

“But you don’t have scars too, do you?”

“Actually, I—”

“Donghyuck-Hyung!” A skinny boy with fluffy blond hair, calls from somewhere behind him. Donghyuck turns around and grins when he sees the boy approaching him. “Hey, asswipe! What’s up?”

“I told you not to call me that.” But Chenle reciprocated by giving him his personal high five. After a quick chatter, Chenle drops his smile and displays a solemn look on his face. “Hyung, there’s something I need to tell you.” 

***

14

It’s on the next day, June 14th, when Donghyuck literally steals Yukhei’s key (he thinks Yukhei wouldn’t mind anyway) and drives his motorcycle for less than a mile, heading south. Donghyuck doesn’t waste any more time. Since he heard what Chenle told him yesterday, Donghyuck has been so anxious. He needs to see her now and he needs to see her fast.

That afternoon isn’t actually chilly, but Donghyuck brings his black leather jacket with him—just for luck. He wears a thin white shirt underneath it and a black full covered helmet on his head. He’s brought another helmet with him, not caring about the possibility of her rejecting his proposal of an impromptu date. Donghyuck has always been that confident.

Getting the address of her house isn’t actually easy, but it’s not the hardest question in the world either. When he stops in front of her house, his wristwatch says it’s 02.14 p.m. He still has enough time to go watch a movie with her and have dinner together—if she agrees to go on a date with him in the first place. 

Jumping out from his—or rather, Yukhei’s—motorcycle, Donghyuck takes off his helmet and ruffles his short hair, pushing back his fringe with his lean fingers. He doesn’t say it often but he thinks he looks a bit hotter when his forehead shows and if he’s going to charm this girl off her feet, he needs all the luck he can get. And that is why he’s putting his RayBan sunglasses on too.

He picks up his phone and dials her numbers. She answers on the second ring and it’s cute that her “Hello?” sounds more like a panic shout rather than a friendly greeting. “Hey, baby,” Donghyuck jokes with a grin, but it makes her gasp. He hears her stutter out his name in return. “Can you go out to your balcony for me?”

“W-why?” she asks, a bit breathlessly for some reason. Donghyuck secretly hopes his voice is the reason behind it. He likes to think he has that effect on her, because sometimes, when she wears her floral blue shirt combined with her white skirt, she has that same effect on him as well. That feeling of needing to breathe when you’re already breathing. It’s weird but he likes it.

“Just do it, please?” he begs, even displaying his puppy eyes though he knows she won’t be able to see them.

“Umm... O-okay then…” 

A moment later, she appears on her veranda, wearing a short, casual navy blue summer dress with a white collar that looks like a sailor’s. Her hair is untied, flowing over her shoulders and Donghyuck can already tell that she’s about to tuck some strands of her hair behind her ears. He always loves it when she does that. He’ll love it even more if one day she gives him the chance to do it for her.

“Umm, I’m already out,” she nervously mumbles out, pushing her locks to the back of her ear. Her phone is strapped to her ear and she examines her surrounding until her eyes land on the man who’s leaning on a (stolen) bike.

“Hey,” Donghyuck smiles that one smile he knows could drive women crazy. He adds this thing with his eyebrows just in case she’s not affected by his smirk. “So, I woke up this morning and I thought of you. Wanna go out on a date with me?”

She gapes, her cellphone almost slides down from her hand. “I-I’m—” Even Donghyuck can see her blush from under there. “Donghyuck-ah, I—”

“How many times should I tell you?” Donghyuck sighs, playfully sending her a glare. “Just call me by that name you gave me.”

“D-didn’t you say it was stupid?”

“It’s stupid because it makes me feel special.” And he doesn’t lie, not in the slightest. “You make me feel special.”

Her face burns even more. “Look, I don’t think I can go—” She takes a look behind her, worriedly glancing to her room. “I’m supposed to stay in my room and—”

“Have you ever broken any rules before?” Donghyuck asks and if she hadn’t lost her memories, she’d say yes and tell him that that’s the exact reason why she got into that accident. But this new version of her only gnawed at her lip worriedly. “Come on, Noona. You don’t need to tell your parents.” He’s extremely persuasive, especially with that signature eyebrow-raise of his with his eyes twinkling mischievously after he took off his sunglasses. “Just come with me. I’ll take you back home before they even know you’re gone.”

It’s tempting. Donghyuck’s offers are always tempting and he looks really good in that leather jacket while sporting his messy pushed-back hair. She once thought Donghyuck looked the best wearing his soccer jersey on the field because he appeared so young and boyish that way. But this. This exact style. He reeks of masculinity and pure sex—

“Are you coming?” Donghyuck snaps her away from her reverie. She continues nibbling on her lip in anxiety, looking back again before she glances at the boy once more. “Okay, yes,” she finally says and Donghyuck tries not to jump and stab the air in victory. “I can’t go down from the stairs, though. My father’s in the living room.”

“Well then, jump,” he simply says, walking closer until he stands just below her balcony and tries to be as quiet as possible as he strolls through the bushes. “Come on, Noona. Jump. I’ll catch you.”

“T-there’s no way I can do that!” Her cheeks spark bright red. “I’m wearing a dress!”

“Well then, I’ll close my eyes.” He spreads his arms wide to catch her and simply closes his eyes like he said. “See?”

“How are you planning to catch me when you can’t even see me?!” She protests and Donghyuck wants to laugh because her shrieking voice is so pleasantly cute.

“Hey,” Donghyuck says, opening his eyes again just to gaze straight into her eyes. “I won’t let you fall. I promise. Don’t you trust me?”

Something in the tone he uses lights a spark in her chest. “O-of course.”

“Then trust me.” Donghyuck smiles again and shuts his eyes closed. “Now jump.”

She still hesitates, thinking this over and over again with her hand pressed nervously against her chest. Finally, she decides to just get this over with. “I’m—I’m a bit heavy, though.”

“You’re not heavy, you’re pretty,” Donghyuck smoothly says and on any other occasion, she would have laughed because that’s probably the worst line to say at the moment. “Now come on. Jump.”

“But Haechannie—”

“Jump!”

And she does. With a rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins, she jumps in her sailor dress with only her phone being held in her hand. She’s about to yelp but the fall is too fast that it ends before she can scream. True enough, Donghyuck manages to catch her with his arms and she falls with a small ‘oof’ to his chest. 

“Hello Kitty panties?” Donghyuck teases, his spine being pressed against the ground and although it does hurt a little, everything is worth it since she is now lying on top of him. “Really, darling?”

She gapes, blushing madly, and lands a small slap on his chest to cover her embarrassment. “You said you wouldn’t look!” She makes too much rustling noises over the fuss, while Donghyuck tries to contain his laughter. He would’ve let her hit him again if he didn’t hear someone’s footsteps closing on them.

Her father is now walking through the front door. 

Donghyuck does the most brilliant thing to do at the moment—according to him anyway—which is to roll to his side and hide both of their bodies behind the bushes. She ends up lying on the ground with Donghyuck’s body covering her. He holds her head close to his chest so she won’t knock herself on the ground. Her ear is pressed against his heart and she cannot focus when Donghyuck pulls her closer and warns her with a whisper, “Be quiet...” 

Her father doesn’t take a detailed look around the place, probably wondering whether it was just the neighbor’s cat doing noisy things as always. He ends up leaving after picking up the newspaper that he forgets to retrieve in the morning.

When the sound of the front door being closed reaches their ears, they both let out a relieved sigh. “Holy shit, I thought I was about to die,” Donghyuck says, laughing when he sees her holding back her smile. “Your hair’s a mess.” He reaches out a hand and fixes her fringe and that’s when she realizes that she’s in such proximity to his face and she’s literally lying underneath him.

She immediately pulls away and stands up properly before she slightly bows with her face blazing hot. “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you like that—”

“Hey, relax,” Donghyuck says, cleaning the dirt off his ripped jeans as he stands up as well. “It was my fault. And I was enjoying every second of it anyway so...” He grins that familiar boyish smile of his and although she pouts and pushes him playfully by the shoulder, inside her thumping heart, she feels alive.

“I can’t believe you saw my panties,” she mutters, fixing her hair as her cheeks continue to burn. “So embarrassing.”

“I think it’s cute.”

Her face is about to explode. “You promised you’d close your eyes!”

“I didn’t.” Donghyuck wiggles his eyebrow once in a teasing manner. “I only promised you I’d catch you. And I did, right? I didn’t let you fall.”

She looks away, trying her best to calm her racing heart. “Y-yes. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. Now, come on,” Donghyuck says, taking her hand without permission (not that she’d mind) and guides her to his—Yukhei’s—ride. “I’m thinking of relishing our childhood memories and—” he stops when he sees her frowning and he looks flustered because, “God, I’m so stupid. Of course you wouldn’t remember.” His voice is quiet before he gets a grip of himself and clears his throat. “What I want to say is, there are two choices you can choose: First, it’s a safe option where we go out to the movies, choose whatever it is that’s lame enough so you’ll get bored and start talking to me during the play—hey, stop laughing!” Donghyuck pokes her on the cheek when she giggles at his words. “And then we’ll get dinner afterward before I take you home. Or second, and this is the more daring one, we go to the nearest beach and see whatever the hell that’s going to happen there and just let God decides where we go next.” He gives her another spare of his helmet. “So what do you wanna do?”

She thinks about it for a few seconds, just to build the hype, before she says, “I’ll go with the second option.”

“Well, I am hurt,” Donghyuck mutters. “You just thought talking to me during the movie would be boring, didn’t you? You’ve underestimated my interpersonal skills, woman.”

“It’s not that,” she replies, grinning as she sits behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. “I’m just worried that you’re gonna order pizza for dinner and I don’t think that’s gonna be romantic.”

“Ah, so you want our situation to be romantic, do you?” Donghyuck teases, her plan backfires. “I knew you’ve always had the hots for me.”

Her jaw hangs low on her blushing face. “That’s not what I—” And her words end up with a scream when Donghyuck suddenly drives off. She winds her arms tighter around his waist and Donghyuck laughs because she’s adorable in the way he finds to be the cutest form possible.

To her, this is the first date she’s ever experienced. She has never been with anyone before him and she likes Donghyuck so much because he seems so carefree and fun, while on the other side, dangerous and unpredictable. He’s a bit four-dimensional and she wants to know what’s hidden more under those multilayer personalities of his. But what attracts her the most is how she feels familiar and safe in his presence. She feels like she can trust him as if she’s known him for her whole life.

Had the accident never happened, she would’ve noticed how different Donghyuck is if being compared with her past boyfriend, Mark Lee. While Donghyuck is impulsive and daring, Mark has always been the cautious one. Mark is the guy who pays attention to every little thing that happens to her—even when she doesn’t realize it herself. While Donghyuck, on the other hand, is that person who desires simplicity. The boy who says, “I want you” instead of “I need you”. And that’s entirely different than how Mark, the boy who offers commitment and loyalty, had promised her once.

But memory is just a memory. Donghyuck used to live in the shadows of her mind, but now he’s alive and there’s no way he’s going to let her go for the second time.

It’s time for Mark to stay in the darkness and just let go of what he used to have.

This time, the table has turned.

***

15

Mark Lee sighs for the fifteenth time that day because his mother keeps on pestering him to go back to his daily therapy session but he’s not having any of it. Not today. He’s already tired of having to go to the doctor every day only to hear the line, “There hasn’t been many changes but don’t worry, we’ll get you better soon, Mark,” or maybe in some better days like yesterday, he got a “Good news, Mark! We can start the surgery by the end of the week! That is, of course, if you’re willing to follow the procedures and healthy enough to undergo the surgery.” 

Mark is scared to his bones but he doesn’t tell anyone that. Being consumed with fear isn’t something he wants to be proud of and he knows that it won’t do anything other than making people worry about him more. He’s had enough of that. So he just smiles and tries to get better for his mother.

Not today, though. Today, he needs to let go.

This is why tonight, he puts on his sweater and strolls out of his house without telling anyone. He rarely breaks any rules but today, he just wants to get out and breathe the outside air as much as he wants to. He takes a deep breath and with trembles in his fingers, he reaches out for his brother’s bicycle. The memory of the accident is still clear in his head but he’s already promised himself he’d move on. And this is him, moving on.

He rides the bicycle slowly, still remembering to take care of his condition. He keeps pedaling until he reaches her new address. They used to live next to each other, but after the accident that happened with Mark, her family thought that it’d be better if they stay as far as possible from each other. But here he is now, standing in front of her gate with an anxious heart and shaky fingers, just like how it was when he picked her up for their first date.

Mark weakly smiles to himself. “Just say your goodbye and leave, Mark. Just do that and move on.”

He presses the doorbell and waits.

A moment later, she comes out wearing a knitted sweater Mark once gave her for their second anniversary and that sight of her made him feel like the earth is sinking below him. Why is she wearing that? He screams in his mind, as his eyes grow wide. As far as Mark knew, her parents tried to keep every little bit of Mark away from her, to keep her safe just in case it’d bring something painful to her shattered memories. Her mother probably mistook it for her own sweater and that was why she didn’t throw it away.

“I’ll call you later, okay, Haechannie?” she says, giggling to her cellphone as she walks toward the fence that separates her from him. “I know. Of course, I’ll brush my teeth. I’m not you.” She laughs quietly, muttering ‘one sec’ to Mark as she tries to drag open the gate. “Okay, hey, I really need to go. Someone’s here.” 

Mark tries to stop the wounded look from appearing on his face. Someone, Mark thinks, smiling bitterly. She doesn’t even know my name.

“I’ll call you—” Then she laughs again, her cheeks getting red and Mark secretly hopes that it’s because of the cold, and not over Donghyuck’s words from the other side of the line. “Yes, okay, good night. I’ll see you later, Haechannie. Bye.” Then she shuts her phone and looks at Mark apologetically. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. My boyfriend just kept on babbling,” she explains, chuckling in embarrassment. “Hi, is there anything I can help you with?”

Her laughter still sounds as airy and adorable in his ears and Mark tries to erase the sickening feeling in his gut after knowing that he’s no longer the reason behind her laughter.

“Hi, uhh…” Mark rubs his nape, clearing his throat. “You probably don’t remember me, but umm—we’ve met at the library? I helped you with your books.”

She frowns for a few seconds before her eyes light up. “Ah!” She exclaims, smiling widely at him. “You’re the library guy! Hi, yes, of course, I remember you.”

Library guy. He can’t take it anymore. “It’s Mark,” he murmurs.

She blinks. “What?”

“My name,” he says, louder this time. His fingers are curling into fists on the sides of his jeans. “My name is Mark Lee.”

“Oh,” she says, throwing another heartwarming smile as she offers him her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mark Lee.” The way she says his name still feels natural to his ears, which only makes him suffer harder. She tells him her name, wanting to give him a firm handshake.

“I already know your name,” Mark says, and somehow his tone seems cold. She drops her hand with a surprised look on her face. Mark wonders whether she sees the dejected look he displays on his face because her smile vanishes completely and she seems utterly heartbroken. To her, Mark looks exactly like Donghyuck used to stare at her sometimes—that look when someone wishes to be remembered. She doesn’t know what happened in the past but she knows she’s hurting him somehow.

“I’m sorry,” she says, almost in a whisper. “I have… I have a bad memory so… If we’ve met before and I can’t remember you, I’m… I’m really sorry.”

Mark wants to slap himself on the face for being so selfish. He just hurt her again. She doesn’t even know him and he just hurt her again. “No, it’s not that,” Mark hurriedly explains with a reassuring smile. “I know you because I once saw you writing down your name when you borrowed the book. I work at the library, remember?”

She blinks twice before she lets out a relieved sigh. “Oh... Right…” she utters, smiling to herself. “Well, I… Thanks for helping me out back then.”

She looks just as beautiful as she used to when she snuggled up against him on the couch. Mark brings his hands into the pocket of his jeans so he won’t accidentally stroke her cheek or lace their fingers together. “No problem.”

“So, what’s up?” she chirps and Mark realizes he needs to find a better excuse than this is probably the last time I can see you and that’s why I want to say goodbye properly.

“It’s umm…” It’s painful for him having to lie straight to her face like this. He never once lied in front of her when they were together but now that they’re living separate lives with no connections to each other, it feels like that’s what he’s been doing all the time. Just lying, forcing himself to smile,  distancing himself from everyone, and pushing himself to say her name effortlessly even when the pain in his chest is overwhelming. “Nothing important, really,” Mark says, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “I just came here to remind you that you need to return the book by tomorrow.”

“What? Oh!” She gasps, placing a hand over her mouth. “You’re right! Oh God, I almost forgot. Thanks for reminding me.”

Mark only smiles back and his eyes are soft and gentle. “No problem. It’s my job anyway.”

She laughs a bit. “Such a hardworking young man. Next time you could just call me, you know? You don’t have to come over to my house. It’s freezing.” The way she talks is always fascinating to see and hear. Her smile never leaves her face and her hands are constantly moving animatedly every time she opens her mouth. Mark can actually feel his heart racing at the sight of her. “Oh, look at that.” She announces, glancing at Mark’s hands that are starting to go red from the cold. “You’re not wearing any gloves. Wait for a sec, will you? I’ll get you some!” And she hurries back into her house before he can stop her.

When she comes out a moment later, she carries a pair of her gloves (Mark remembers well the salmon pink color and the white stripes at the end of it) and her cheeks glow in a darker shade of red when she says, “These are mine but they’re a couple of sizes bigger on me so I hope they’ll fit.” She tucks his hands inside the gloves exactly like that time before Mark pushed her against the fence and poured his feelings against her lips. When she’s finished, she also asks, “There. Better?”

Mark can’t stop himself from feeling hurt. It’s like his heart is being ripped apart and he can’t do anything to prevent it. Before he knows it, his eyes grow hot and his vision starts to blur. He doesn’t let his tears fall though. He quickly covers it with a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he says and she smiles back, squeezing Mark’s hand in a friendly way before she lets go.

“You’re welcome,” she cheerfully says. “By the way, Happy Christmas Eve.”

Mark smiles while his heart is breaking. If he closes his eyes right now, will the earth swallow him whole?

“So, Mark Lee,” she begins, leaning her back to the fence. “Is there anything else you want to remind me of? Did I forget to pay for the book or something?”

There’s a lot of things he wants to remind her about. The warmth of his hand, the sound of his voice when he confessed to her, the taste of their first kiss, everything. But every little joyful memory he has of her will only inflict pain on her behalf so he holds himself back. Mark laughs, shaking his head. “No, you’re okay,” he says, staring at her with a gentle smile constantly displayed on his lips. 

After a while, she playfully raises an eyebrow in question. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

Mark doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, but at that moment, he reaches out his hand and pushes her bangs out of her eyes, just like how he used to do back then. She freezes on her feet, her eyes growing wide, her breathing stalls.

“I’m—” Mark splutters. “I’m sorry, I just—” He panics, his hand going over his chest, feeling his heart thumping fast and it begins to hurt—more than anything he can ever bear. “I’m so sorry.” And he turns around, carrying his bicycle with him before he pedals away through the night. His heart is screaming with more pain for the distance he puts between them.

She stands there on the ground with parted lips. Her eyes are fixed on Mark’s back as he drives away and then suddenly, a tear slips out from the corner of her eye.

“Oh…” She falls to her knees, hugging herself with her arms as she cries and cries and cries harder over something she doesn’t even know what. She just feels so hurt, as if something is tearing every bit of her heart apart. She covers her mouth as she sobs louder. Breathing becomes hard, just as hard as she tries to explain why is she feeling like this. Why does she feel like someone is leaving her? Someone very important, just like a piece of her soul. What is happening?

“Honey!” Her mother comes out with shock written on her face and cradles her into her arms. “Darling, what happened?”

But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what to say. She just feels like dying. She just feels like she can’t breathe.

It’s as if a promise had just been broken and there’s nothing left of it to reminisce.

Mark stops and jumps off his bike the second he makes a turn a few meters away from her house. His hand is curling against the front of his shirt while the other one is holding him up from not lying flatly on the ground. He’s on his knees and he coughs to the cold night, gasping as if he was on the edge of losing his life. Her name is on the tip of his tongue and everything feels like knives, piercing through his skin.

He was so close. For a moment there, Mark saw her looking at him like she remembered him. She’s not supposed to remember him.

It hurts and Mark can’t fight his tears back anymore. He cries.

***

16

Donghyuck is staring at the latest episode of his favorite drama on channel 16 with drowsy, half-lidded eyes as he places his head on top of his girlfriend’s lap. They were in Donghyuck’s dorm room, specifically on his single-sized bed and she’s there, stroking his hair softly because Yukhei is out playing basketball with the new Chinese student and that means they can have quality time together.

Dating Donghyuck has been easy and she is enjoying every second of it. Donghyuck, that peculiar human being, likes to impersonate people as his daily jokes and it has become quite of a habit. From his usual Michael Jackson impersonation to something way more extreme such as creating new personas for himself. 

It started a week ago when Donghyuck picked her up to campus wearing ripped, washed-out jeans, black boots, and a wifebeater underneath his black leather jacket. The weirdest thing was, he had a cigarette sticking on the side of his mouth but it wasn’t lit—Donghyuck never smoked anything in his entire life.

“’ Sup,” he said, lowering his voice to make it sound deeper after he spat to the ground in a manly way (based on his own opinion, of course).

“What on earth is happening to you?” She asked, staring at him bewilderedly from head-to-toe.

Donghyuck pretended to blow some smokes from his cigarette. “The hell are you talkin’ ‘bout, girl? I’m a gangster. This is what gangsters do. Now hop on my bike, you little shit.”

She just stared flatly at him. “I’m not gonna go anywhere with you talking to me like that.”

“But I’m a gangsta! Gangsters swear, sucker.” 

“And you think swearing is attractive?”

Donghyuck snickered, breaking out of his character. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry. I’m just trying on something new,” he explained, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles once. “You look very pretty today. Now, will you please go with me? We’re going to be late.”

“And you look ridiculous.”

“I know,” he chuckled and then he began to get into character again. “But I’m serious. Get on my fucking bike, bitch.”

She sighed but rode away with him anyway.

On the next day, he dressed up in a pair of baggy pants, a shirt with the words “Nerds for life” written upon it, eyeglasses that were too big for his little face, and sneakers that were way too white and way too clean.

“Good afternoon, my fellow specimen!” He saluted, holding a Star Wars graphic novel in his hands as he sat beside his girlfriend on the bleachers. He was supposed to get ready for another soccer game that was going to start in another half an hour, but here he was, dressing like a dork and bugging her like always.

“Let me guess,” she sighed, rubbing her temple. “You’re a nerd.”

“A nerd, I am not,” he said, imitating Yoda from the Star Wars franchise. “But a beauty, yes you are.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, I am not.”

“Will you stop it already?”

“Stop, I can not.”

“Shut up!” She was beginning to laugh when Donghyuck kept talking like that as he tried to kiss her. “No! Don’t kiss me! You’re gross!”

“I am Donghyuck Skywalker and you are my mate, Princess Leia!” He announced, suddenly standing on one of the seats and opened his arms widely above his head. “We shall roam the entire universe! Just us two, you and me, with your beauty shining brighter than the stars!” Then he jumped back down, placed his hands on his hips, and smirked as he spoke, “Now open up your hangar ‘cause my starfighter needs refueling—”

“HYUCK, OH MY GOD, JUST SHUT UP!”

That happened almost every day for at least an hour-long, but him dressing up like an idiot was enough to attract the entire campus and to make his girlfriend dying from either laughing too hard or drowning in secondhand embarrassment—the latter tends to happen more often. From being Hyuckcutio—the desperate lover from the medieval age (he wore a cape and had a rose between his teeth), Donghyucko Mucho—the Spanish guy who fell hard for his Rosalinda (he had a fake mustache on his face), to Donghyuck Dawson—the American dude whose heart still sailed for his Rose DeWitt Bukater even when the ship fucking sank. 

She found him to be amusing and it was really entertaining watching him work hard to impress her. But if she had to choose, the moment she loved the most would be when Donghyuck dressed up in a plain white tee, washed-out jeans, and a smile that was bright enough to make other people look at him in a daze. His brown hair wasn’t styled in any way, and it looked so fluffy with bangs falling over his eyes. 

He sat on the bleachers next to her and playfully bumped his shoulder against hers. “Hey, baby.”

His girlfriend smiled back, cheeks glowing in pink. “Who are you trying to be now?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “Myself.”

“Hmm…” She hummed before she kissed his cheek. “I think…” I like this one the most. “You look ridiculous.”

Donghyuck laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he ruffled her hair. “I know.”

“Something weird happened to me yesterday,” she confesses, playing idly with Donghyuck’s dark strands as she hangs around on his bed. Donghyuck’s head on her lap is a comforting weight she tends to miss when she’s alone in her room. “There’s this guy who came to my house late in the evening and he looked familiar but I can’t place who he was in my mind.”

Donghyuck turns around and looks up at her. “Maybe he’s an old friend?”

“Maybe,” she sighs. “He kept on staring at me and when I asked him why, he kind of brushed my hair and I just cried.”

Donghyuck raises his right eyebrow. “You cried?”

She nods, looking worried and dispirited so Donghyuck lifts his head off her lap and pats her head. “Hey, hey, hey,” he says, giving her a playful smile. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“I don’t know what happened, it’s just—” She exhales heavily, lacing Donghyuck’s fingers with hers. “I suddenly felt so sad and there’s this pain aching in my chest. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Hey,” Donghyuck kisses her knuckles to soothe her down. “You’re okay. Nothing’s wrong with you. That guy was probably some sort of a voodoo believer or something and he tried to hypnotize you. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

She smiles, giving her boyfriend a flick on the nose. “Stupid. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sure, it does!” Donghyuck swiftly pulls her by the leg and she falls to the bed with a giggle on her lips. Donghyuck climbs up her body, kissing her cheek before he grins at her.

“What?” she asks, her eyes have that teasing twinkle in them. “You look like you’re about to kiss me.”

“No, I don’t.” Donghyuck snorts. “What, just because I’m lying on top of my girlfriend with my face being this close, you think I want to kiss you? Such confidence you have.”

She retaliates with a playful shove against his shoulders and Donghyuck laughs before he pins both of her hands to the bed. He leans close and kisses her lips, gentle like usual but also has that fiery spark behind it. 

She tenderly smiles and lets him kiss her one more time before he sighs and trails his fingertips along the side of her face. “What now?” she asks, grinning teasingly.

Donghyuck’s playful smirk has vanished away from his face. “You know I love you, right?” he asks, his face serious as he traces her bottom lip with his thumb. This is actually the first time she hears him say those three words and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t surprised. 

She parts her lips to speak. “Why are you suddenly—”

“I just thought you should know,” Donghyuck says, his eyes are deep with sincerity and adoration. “I’ve actually been in love with you for a while. I guess I’ve even loved you from back when we were kids.” He chuckles quietly to himself when he sees her frowning. “You don’t remember anything, do you?” He twirls a strand of her hair around his finger. “Back then when I hit you with my ball and you just stared at me with that cute look on your face? You don’t remember that?”

“So that spring wasn’t the first time you hit my head with a ball?” she gives him a look and Donghyuck laughs before he kisses the corner of her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I guess I have the knack in running to damsels in distress and hitting them on the head with my ball.”

“Yeah, with you being the cause of their distress.”

Donghyuck pinches her cheek until she bursts out laughing. He rolls to his back and brings her forward to lie on top of him. She balances herself by putting her hands on his chest and Donghyuck tucks her hair behind her ear. “Do you love me?” he asks, quietly and she can see the insecurities in his eyes. “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t but—”

“I do,” she hastily answers before he starts rambling nonsense. “Donghyuck you’re my Soulmate. Of course, I love you.” She bends her head down to kiss him deeply, tugging his lower lip with her teeth. “I do. I love you.”

Donghyuck groans lowly before he flips her back to her previous position, him hovering above her. He parts her lips with his and begins tasting every corner of her mouth, making her moan delicately against his warm lips. She cards her fingers through his hair before she rests her hand on his nape, touching the scar that has the exact same shape as hers.

A mark that indicates they’re both connected as Soulmates.

***

17

The clock indicates that it’s 05:17 p.m when his mother hugs him close to her chest. “You’ll be alright, Mark,” she whispers in his ear, her voice breaking. “I will just be right here and we’ll meet again in a few hours, okay?”

Mark Lee smiles brokenly to his family as he leans back on his wheelchair. His father pats him on his shoulder, “I’ll see you later, Son.” 

His older brother gives him a familiar punch to his shoulder, teasing him although his concerned eyes betray him. “You’ll be okay, buddy. Think about it, we can play soccer again after this and I don’t have to hold back for your weak ass.” And Mark only chuckles softly before the doctor drags him away to the surgery room.

“Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad,” Mark says, waving his hand and he can hear his own voice ready to shatter into pieces in the next seconds. “Bye, Hyung.”

And he dedicates his final farewell with a thought of her name.

“Everything will be fine, Mark,” the doctor says, eyes sparked with reassurance though his words mean nothing to Mark’s ears. The patient lies on his bed, taking a deep breath before the nurse injects a needle into his skin. “We’ll get you a new heart so you can ride your bike all day long again like you used to, okay?”

“Okay, Doc,” Mark simply responds, mirroring his smile that soon drops to the ground the second the older man glances away.

“Can you count to ten for me?”

The boy nods, beginning to count as the liquid runs through his veins, making him feel numb and sleepy.

“One.”

He remembers that one morning when he first realized he was in love. It was when she appeared in front of his room, breathless with a frantic look on her eyes, and screamed at him for not telling her that he was having a fever. She skipped school that day, no matter how many times her mother tried to drag her back there, saying that she wanted to stay at home and take care of her best friend.

“Two.”

Mark remembers the second month after they started dating. Of melted ice cream cones and chocolates they shared after school was over. And those secret kisses they stole from each other when their parents weren’t looking. Mark remembers how she used to compare him with summer, and when Mark pouted because he thought she was talking about how his pale skin easily got burned under the sunlight, she only laughed, kissed his cheek, and said, “You’ll always be my summer, Mark.”

“Three.”

He remembers how they used to speak those three words every night and every morning of every day. He remembers how they used to be so shy and he also remembers the day those three words became a promise. A promise, in Mark’s case, that lasts forever. But one that she’d forget in the near future.

“Four.”

Mark had only sung to her with his nervous fingers playing his acoustic guitar four times, but the adoration and the love she had in her eyes lasted for four years.

“Five…”

“There are five reasons why you should fall in love and stay in love with me, Mark Lee,” she once said with a smug smile on her face. “First, I’m a natural beauty.” Mark yawned and she threw her pillow at him. “Second, I’m a loving and caring person.” Mark rolled his eyes and he got a glare in return. “Third, I’m smart—like hella smart.” Mark began to bury his face in his pillow and she flicked him on the ear. “Fourth, I’m sexy.” Mark stared at her with boredom in his eyes as he clapped his hands nonchalantly. “What, it’s true! You said so once, don’t you dare lie to me! And last but not least, I’m your best friend and I’ve understood you as well as I know the back of my hand.” Mark secretly smiled at that.

“Well,” he said, “you know how many reasons are there for you to love me?”

Her eyes twinkled in a teasing manner. “How many?”

“Just one,” Mark said, lacing his fingers with hers.

“And that is?” she asked, looking up to him through her long, beautiful eyelashes.

“It’s because I love you,” Mark said. “Unconditionally and everlastingly. That should be enough reason for you, right?”

And he muffled her happy giggle with a kiss to her lips.

Mark’s eyes start to grow heavy. “S… Six…”

He remembers the way she blushed when he swatted her bangs away from her eyes. Remembers the way she warmed his hands, puffing her cheeks when he was risking his health for her sake. He remembers the way she gasped against his mouth, her spine pressed against the fence, her fingers fisting at the fabric of his sweater. 

“Se…ven…”

“What are you doing, Mark?”

“I’m writing a song.”

“What’s it called?”

“Seven days.”

“Why?”

Mark went flustered and he nearly fainted when she stole his notepad and kept herself moving, dodging his every attempt in retrieving it, before she read on the lyrics he wrote.

“Surprisingly, a week feels really short. Any time spent with you, to end it, it’s a pity. I’m still curious about everything about you. I fall for you more as I get to know you.” 

She sent him a look and Mark immediately babbled, “It’s not specifically about you, it’s about people in general—“ But she muffled the rest of his excuse with her lips, hands tugging around his collar, pressing him closer than ever.

“Eight…”

They just turned eighteen but Mark had her lying underneath him, fingers trembling and lips bruised from his feverish kisses. “I want to be with you. I want to make you feel good. Let me be yours.”

“Am I making you happy?”

“MARK, WATCH OUT!”

A tear slips away from his eye as he begins to close his lids. And the boy never gets to finish counting because his dreams stop there. And now, nightmares welcome him with open arms, just as darkness begins to envelop him once again.

Like an old friend.

***

18

“Don’t you think Yukhei will get mad?” she asks, giggling as she buries her face in her boyfriend’s chest, still peppering small kisses now and then. The clock’s ticking, showing the number 18.18 on the screen of her cellphone. They’re still mostly naked underneath the sheets—with her dressed only in her lingerie and Donghyuck only wearing his boxer—not caring that his roommate, Wong Yukhei, can come back there any second.

“What, because we just had sex on his bed and cuddled afterward?” Donghyuck says, and he chuckles when she punches his shoulder. “Hey, I did say I love you but easy on the hands there, Mike Tyson.”

She beams at him and giggles again when Donghyuck begins to hover above her and trails butterfly kisses from her neck to her collarbones. “Shouldn’t we shower? I feel so dirty,” she says, chuckling when Donghyuck licks a long stripe on the sensitive skin.

“Well, I’m about to do something dirtier to you so why bother?” He slides his hand down her stomach, making her fidget a little with his silky smooth touch, and hover his fingers above the line of her lingerie. Noticing how she nibbles on her lip, anticipating something to occur, Donghyuck smirks. “If I ask you to beg, would you do it?”

Her cheeks turn scarlet but she quickly retorts with, “No way in hell.”

He pouts, jutting out his lower lip. “I could make you feel really good, though.”

She can’t stand being the opposite of him when he’s being sinfully seductive like this. “I’m leaving,” she announces, attempts to wiggle herself free from his hold but he catches her with a snicker tumbling off his lips. Settling her down on his lap, he lays a hand on her spine while his other one sneaks around her waist, bringing her close until his lips graze the supple skin between her breasts.

“You’re leaving?” Donghyuck murmurs, landing another trail of kisses between the valley of her breasts, tongue darting out to taste her skin. “But I still need to worship my Goddess.”

She wants to send him a snarky remark but she’s too deep in pleasure to care at the moment. She sighs and runs her fingers through his hair. Donghyuck flips her around, laying her back to the bed, and spreads her legs apart so he can fit between them. She becomes nervous from the intensity of his gaze as if he’s being consumed by desire and he wants to drag her with him.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” he says, bending down until she can feel his breath fanning the inside part of her thigh. “I’ve been wanting you for so long, you don’t even know.” His eyes never leave hers as he sucks bruises on the sensitive skin of her thigh. “And now that I have you where I want you, I still couldn’t get enough. What should I do?”

She swallows hard, instantly closing her eyes when he pushes her lingerie to the side, fingers dipping inside her warmth. His eyes glimmer with lust, wetting his lower lip once as he’s captivated with her sultry expression. “Fuck, you’re so sexy like this.”

Her fingers are twisting against the sheet when she hears his praise followed quickly by the heat of his tongue rubbing against her clit. She’s drowning, intoxicated by his every move, her orgasm nearing close.

But then Donghyuck suddenly stops and breaks away. His eyes are stern and wide, filled with horror.

She frowns as she follows his gaze, landing her eyes on the middle of her bare chest. There’s a long cut, fresh and red, that starts to appear inch by inch on her skin. It begins from a few centimeters below her collarbones to the skin between her breasts, until it stops just a few inches away from her navel.

“W-what is this?” She sits up straight, touching the cut with trembling fingers. She doesn’t feel any pain, which means—

She takes a look at Donghyuck’s chest—at the man who claims that he’s her Soulmate—and finds nothing. There’s no scar on his chest. The mark comes from someone else.

Donghyuck’s not her Soulmate.

Donghyuck’s gawks at the sight before he stares back at her without blinking. When realization appears vividly on her face, he gulps and stutters, “I-I can explain…”

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” She screams, her eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. And when Donghyuck just gazes at her in shock, she pushes him away by his shoulders with so much force, he almost topples off the bed. “GET OUT!”

“W-wait—” Donghyuck tries to explain, standing on his feet with his eyes filled with fear of being thrown away. He looks like death is approaching him. “Noona, please, listen to me—”

“No!” She throws everything she can reach by her hands—his pillow, the sheets, his clothes—while her eyes begin to grow hot and the pain of being betrayed and blatantly lied growing more vividly behind her chest. “How dare you do this to me, you—”

“Noona!” Donghyuck holds her wrists and tries to keep up with her struggle. “Please, calm down and listen—”

“I HATE YOU!” She bites back, crying with her teeth gritting behind her lips when Donghyuck has her pinned back down to the bed. “I hate you…” her voice reduces into a softer tone but somehow it adds more fresh wounds to Donghyuck’s feelings. He knows she doesn’t hate him just like how he will never be able to hate her, no matter what she does. Soulmates or not, she truly does love him. But this... This new scar on her chest... This still changes everything.  

Donghyuck’s eyes turn sorrowful—there’s no more light in them. No joy, no mischievous gleam, nothing but a disappointment he has brought upon himself. “Noona…”

“I believed you,” she sobs, staring at him with broken eyes and quivering lips. “I believed you, Haechannie—how could you do this to me?”

Donghyuck loses his grip, feeling all of his strength leaving his body. “I’m…” He swallows and reaches out a hand when she throws her wrist above her eyes. “Noona, there’s a reason why I’m doing this—”

“Your scar!” She suddenly yells, eyes filled with nothing but rage. “That scar on the back of your neck—is that fake?”

“Noona—”

“Answer me!”

Donghyuck freezes, his throat feels dry when he speaks. “Yes,” He finally admits and he can almost hear her heart shattering apart. “Yes, it’s fake.”

She lets out a breath, one hand going to the side of her head. “I can’t believe it…” Her breathing goes a bit ragged. “I can’t believe you’ve been lying to me—”

“Yes, but—”

“After all this time,” she says, staring at him with new tears in her eyes. “After all this time, Haechannie… You’ve been lying to me.”

Donghyuck endures the pain that comes every time she says those words. “Noona, please, you need to listen to me.” And when he tries to take her wrist again, she pulls back immediately.

“Can you please leave?” she asks between her quiet sobs but her tone is definite. “I’m… I’ll be away before you come back so just—” 

“Noona, can we at least talk—”

“Hyuck, please,” she cries, fisting the sheets underneath her. “Just leave me alone.”

And Donghyuck does as she says because he feels that if he stays just a second longer, she’ll break apart even more and he never wants to see her like that. He’s supposed to bring smiles to her face—to make her laugh just like the old days, but look what he has done now? 

Goddammit, Hyuck.

He hurriedly puts his pants on and he’s already standing at the door before he can even place his shirt back on. “Noona…” He whispers, taking a last look at the girl who’s now hugging her knees to her chest and crying miserably to her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

But she doesn’t hear him. She doesn’t want to hear him.

Just let me be alone.

Donghyuck brings his gaze down to the floor. “I’ll give you some time to get ready. I’ll make sure you’ve left before I come back,” he says, closing the door behind him. “Goodbye, Noona.”

This situation seems familiar but it feels way, way much worse.

 ***

19

Mark Lee 

18: 01: 19 

“Doctor, how is he?” Mark’s mother quickly asks the man when he steps into the waiting room. Her husband stands behind her with a stiff hand on her shoulder, praying for his child’s health. Mark’s older brother bites his lower lip, waiting anxiously for the moment he can breathe in relief because he knows his little brother will be fine.

But that turns out to be wrong when the doctor shakes his head and says, “I’m sorry.”

The surgery has failed. Mark’s body rejects his new heart and he can no longer be saved.

Life ends but their sorrow stays.

***

20

After passing twenty minutes of trying to calm herself down, burying herself under the sheets during those dreading minutes, she finally gets up from the bed. Her hands are still shaky when she collects her clothing and dresses properly. She stares at herself in the mirror, taking a glimpse of the new long scar in the middle of her chest before she buttons her shirt up. Something must have happened to her other half—she needs to find out what it is. She needs to know who it is.

She closes her eyes. Everything hurts and she doesn’t know why but that man’s face—the guy who stood by her gate last night—keeps appearing on her mind. But every time she remembers him, another wound breaks inside her chest, and tears begin to roll down once more.

Exhaling a deep breath, she searches for her phone. She quickly scrolls through her contact list and dials the numbers she’s been searching.

Pick up, pick up, PICK UP!

A woman’s voice comes through the line. “Hello, Yongsan Municipal Library, how may I help—”

“Yes, hi,” she hastily greets, voice still filled with quivers but with more strength behind it when she introduced herself. “I’m looking for this guy named Mark Lee—he w-works at your place a-and—” her voice breaks at the end, trembling with tears that’s about to flood her eyes. “Can… Can you please, let me speak to him?”

There’s a silence on the other side of the phone and she wonders whether that lady doesn’t understand the words she just said or for some entirely different reason. 

Please let him be okay.

“You’re looking for Mark Lee?” she asks and she nods until she realizes she can’t see her. “Y-yes,” she croaks out.

“Well, he hasn’t come here since two days ago,” the lady explains while her heart sinks below her stomach. “He said he was about to go through surgery—”

“Surgery?”

“Yes, for his heart,” she answers and her hand unconsciously goes to her chest. It’s starting to make sense now. “I heard he got into the operation room a few hours ago. I’m still waiting for the news, actually. It’s—oh wait, I got a mail. Maybe this is it.” There’s a rustling sound going on in the background and she waits with her heart thumping loudly. A few seconds later, she hears a soft gasp, “Oh my goodness.”

“Ma’am?” she starts. “Ma’am, what’s wrong? Is he alright?”

Say yes. Please say yes.

Another silence before the lady comes to answer her with a voice so quiet she almost mistakes it as a whisper. “Mark Lee has passed away, just a few minutes ago. He was—”

She drops her phone to the floor in panic and quickly unbuttons her shirt again. She runs to the mirror, focusing her gaze at her reflection and she finds nothing.

The scar on her chest has vanished, not even leaving a trace of it behind. Just like the memories she had with him.

Donghyuck doesn’t really leave the room even when she has screamed at him to do so. He’s closed the door behind him but he doesn’t walk away. Instead, he slides down to the floor, pressing his back against the wooden surface, and waits. The hallway is empty and Donghyuck shivers from the cold.

God, you’re so fucking stupid, he thinks to himself. You shouldn’t have agreed with Chenle. You should’ve known this wouldn’t have worked.

Donghyuck traces the scar on his nape—the fake scar that he made to make her believe. To make her think that he was her Soulmate.

He feels like he’s about to vomit. He’s so sick of himself. Disgusting, he thinks, you’re a piece of crap, Lee Donghyuck. He closes his eyes, biting on his lower lip as his mind flashes back to his conversation with his younger friend, Zhong Chenle.

“Hyung, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“You said you wanted to get close to her, right?” Chenle had once said to him. “She has a scar on the back of her neck. That’s the clue.”

Yukhei reached out to see what was hidden behind Donghyuck’s collar. “Shit, dude,” he said, hissing, “You don’t have it. The scar—you’re not her Soulmate.”

Donghyuck’s heart flopped and it took a moment for him to recover. “W-well…” He barked a laugh, masking his disappointment though he wasn’t fooling anyone. “Well then, there goes my chance.”

“No, you still have a chance,” Chenle corrected. “I know who her Soulmate is. And he’s dying.”

“W-what?”

“Mark Lee,” Chenle said with sorrowful eyes and a broken heart. Donghyuck knew perfectly who he was—that guy, the owner of prominent cheekbones, thin lips, and pale skin who constantly refused his offer to play soccer together. “Mark Lee is her Soulmate, Hyung. But he’s... He’s dying. His heart is weak and that’s why he doesn’t want to get close to her. He knows he’s not gonna last long.”

“B-but—” Donghyuck splutters, frowning. “Does she know about this?”

“No,” Chenle shook his head once. “They used to date and she didn’t even know it back then. They didn’t know it back then. Then they got into an accident and she lost her memories. Mark thinks it’s a chance for him to stay away from her.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Donghyuck shouted angrily. “He’s her Soulmate! She deserves to know! They deserve to be together even just for a while—”

“He doesn’t want to. He’s given up, Hyung. He wants me to tell you that.” And his next words were the last thing Chenle said before he left with an apologetic look on his face. “I know you want to push Mark to be with her but I think you should stop. He thinks it’s better this way.”

Donghyuck hissed under his breath, pushing his hair back in frustration. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Yukhei gaped before his friend confronted him and asked, “Yukhei, what happened when your Soulmate dies before you know them?”

The tall boy realized where Donghyuck was going with this. He remembered how Donghyuck hadn’t gotten any scars on his body yet.

“You’ll find yourself another Soulmate.”

With that in mind, Donghyuck ran through the corridors, stepping into the faculty he knew Mark Lee was in. The paler boy was in the middle of his literature class and Donghyuck just went in, blurting out, “Sorry Prof, it’s an emergency!” to the lecturer before he yanked Mark out of his seat. The older one was quiet, following him without asking questions until Donghyuck shoved him against a wall in an empty hallway.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Donghyuck asked through gritted teeth. His hands were grasping tightly against the fabric of Mark’s collar.

Mark stared at him back with cold, almost challenging eyes. “I should be the one who asked you that. You’re the one who suddenly dragged me over here.”

“She’s your Soulmate!” Donghyuck nearly screamed at him. “Do you know how rare it is to find your Soulmate at such a young age?”

Mark only kept his face straight when he replied, “So you’ve heard.” 

“Yes, I’ve heard, you asshole,” Donghyuck spat back. “And from your friend too because apparently, you’re too busy being such a fucking coward to tell me yourself!”

Mark’s eyes darkened at his degrading words but he didn’t say anything.

Donghyuck exhaled in exasperation. “Look, Mark. do you know how much she wants to find her Soulmate? How much she wants to be with you? You’ve known all along and I know you guys had a history together so why the hell aren’t you two together now?”

Mark’s jaw clenched before he broke their eye contact. “It’s better this way.”

“Why, because you’re dying?”

Mark’s eyes grew hard before he closed them. “Among many reasons.”

Donghyuck was on the verge of punching him so hard across his jaw but when he saw the wounded look that flitted through Mark’s eyes for just a few seconds, he restrained himself. Instead, he just asked,” How could you be so selfish?”

Mark immediately turned to look at the other man with a hard glare, his heart beating fast from his rage. “Selfish?” Mark asked, his tone sounded almost as sharp as a knife. “I’m selfish? Donghyuck-ah, I’m letting the person I care about the most in the world fall into another man’s arm because I don’t want to hurt her! If I die, she’ll—”

“She’ll what? She’ll be sad? Devastated? Well, hey, news flash, Mark. Everybody dies!” Donghyuck exclaimed. “You say you’re dying but you can never know when you’re actually going to die. My condition is as good as a person can be but who can guarantee I’m gonna live long? What if I get into an accident? What if I suddenly get sick and die the next day? You can never know so don’t use that as an excuse, you coward!”

Donghyuck had a point; Mark knew that. But it wasn’t easy.

Mark just shook his head. “I can’t do this.”

“Of course.” Donghyuck scoffed. “And that’s why I said you’re being selfish.”

“You want to talk about being selfish?!” Mark was losing his patience. “Try to look at yourself! You’re here, pretending like you care and want us to be together when it’s obvious that you’re happy with all of this because you get to have her for yourself—”

Donghyuck punched the boy with his right fist. He couldn’t help it. He snapped.

The punch wasn’t hard enough to knock the teeth out of his mouth but it was hard enough to make Mark feel lightheaded and fall to the floor. He hissed, rubbing the pain off his jaw, and leaned his back against the wall. 

“Fine,” Donghyuck said, staring at the boy who looked up at him with a new bruise forming along his right jaw. Donghyuck could see how much Mark wanted to be with her and how much he tried to convince himself to do so. But he could tell how Mark was afraid. That boy almost lost everything once—he knew how awful it was to be left alone. He didn’t want that to happen to her and though Donghyuck understood that, he just couldn’t accept it yet. “If you want to give up on her,” he said, “Then go. Do it. I’m not you so I don’t know how you feel but I can see that deep down inside, you still don’t want to let her go. But the thing is, Mark, I’m gonna fight for her. I’m gonna make her happy. Soulmates or not, I’m gonna try to make her feel loved because I am—I’m in love with her. But I am not happy taking her away from her Soulmate—from you. That’s your fault. You had two options and you chose to leave. That’s your own decision, so don’t try to make yourself feel better by telling me how I feel. You don’t know me.”

Mark brought his head down, nibbling on his lip. His eyes felt hot and he felt downright awful about himself. He didn’t mean to insult Donghyuck—he was just angry for a second there. His emotions had gone over control.

“Then go make her happy,” Mark said, picking himself up from the floor and walked away. Donghyuck stared at his back and nodded with a sincere promise even when the boy could no longer see him.

“Stupid,” Donghyuck murmurs to himself as his flashback ends. “Mark’s right. You’re selfish. You’re such an idiot.” He punches the ground beneath him a few times out of frustration before he slides his fingers through his hair and pulls on the roots. He doesn’t notice how he just cut himself along his knuckles, his skin breaking and bleeding slowly through a thin layer. “You can’t even be sure you’re her next Soulmate, Hyuck. You’re just an idiot. An idiot and an asshole and you just lost her for the second time in your pathetic little life.” He closed his eyes and leaned back to the door. 

Noona, please forgive me.

She slides down to the floor and hugs her knees to her chest. Pressing her temple to her knees, she sobs until her entire shoulders begin to shake.

Mark Lee was her Soulmate. And he knew—that’s why he came to her house that night. Why didn’t he just tell the truth? And why did he look so familiar? So familiar and yet she doesn’t remember anything. Why can’t she remember him?

God, I beg you, please. Let me remember him, she prays under her muffled sobs, if he ever meant something to me, please, let me remember him. I don’t care if it’ll hurt me, I don’t care. I just want to remember him. That’s all I ask.

Mark…

But as Mark dies, the permanent scar he gets on his chest before his final moment dies with him as well. The memory of him never suffices and Mark is just a shadow, following her everywhere but one that she cannot see.

She braces herself to glance one more time at the scar on her chest but there’s none. The cut has disappeared. She’s just as good as new.

Except for the faint cut that recently appears on her knuckles.

***

[radramblog]

everywhere all over the internet

I’m little more than an amateur music appreciator, so I’m sure there’s a lot out there that I’m missing. Obscure pieces and groups that only a few have heard of, things that are technically incredible but utterly unapproachable, or music that’s actually good but I’ve dismissed because it’s popular and I have to maintain my hipster cred.

I do, of course, have my own little niche tracks and bands I’m a fan of that fit into those groups. There’s a song in my Youtube Liked Videos playlist that I genuinely have no idea how I found, seeing as it appears to be from a 2003 German band that only exists on this one guy’s Youtube channel (and a Soundcloud that could be the same guy), but it goes really fucking hard so fair play. You come across some weird shit when you trawl through the web, letting the algorithms that attempt to figure your tastes out play you as they may.

Which is why I was simultaneously both extremely and not at all surprised to find Everywhere at the End of Time becoming somewhat of a meme.

I feel like talking about this album (/series of albums) on the internet is almost trite at this point. There are a lot of articles and videos out there explaining the whole thing, what it is, who the creator is, and why it sounds the way that it does. Of course, if you’d rather read me explain it than someone who’s probably better equipped to do so, then here you go.

Everywhere at the End of Time is an art project by Leyland James Kirby under the alias of “The Caretaker” released in 6 stages between 2016 and 2019, as a way of retiring the pseudonym and presenting a huge range of emotions through the course of over 6 hours of music. The series of albums is designed to sonically replicate the experience of dementia, with its early tracks largely comprising of ballroom music samples to echo a sense of nostalgia which slowly deteriorate and crumble into horrifying, droning ambient noise as the character of the Caretaker slowly succumbs to the affliction. The final few moments, however, are utterly beautiful- an angelic and clear choral that likely represents the Caretaker’s final moments of life.

It’s a hard listen, and I’m not just saying that because it is so long. I’ve only listened to it once, personally- a combination of my inability to sit still and just kind of not wanting to go back to it because of how raw it is have kept me from returning. But there is no denying that the project is an incredible piece of art- everything from the cover art to the sampling to the track titles is utterly exquisite, and I do think it well deserves the praise it’s received from critics and the wider internet alike.

It’s the kind of project that could very easily have faded into obscurity as so many other works have. As talented a musician as Kirby is, his music isn’t exactly the kind that gets popular in the mainstream, and while the 2011 Caretaker album An Empty Bliss Beyond This World saw much critical success, the music is still going to be utterly unapproachable to the layman. Ambient, droning plunderphonics doesn’t get radio play- let alone the way concept albums in general are harder to sell a lot of the time. That’s not to say they can’t- technically speaking, like half of Kanye’s albums are concept albums, not to mention things like Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust and Daft Punk’s Discovery. But the odds were pretty stacked against this project coming into the mainstream in the first place.

It would also probably have been fine if it didn’t. One doesn’t make music like this for the sake of getting popular or for sales, it’s for the passion of the art. And I think there’s a lot out there that is perfectly fine, and maybe in some cases better off, being in their own little obscure corners of the internet. I shudder to think of what would happen if Tiktok or Twitter got a hold of The Baby is You, and to be honest, I’m kind of surprised it hasn’t happened already. I suppose it would have been fitting for Everywhere at the End of Time to fade into obscurity, forgotten music echoing into the void like the tunes themselves do in the albums.

And yet it hasn’t, and I genuinely think in might be the result of the youtube algorithm (post-writing this update: apparently this is like, not at all true, oops). As far as I can tell, a huge number of people who got eyes on this album did so because it popped up on the side of their screen- a simple but strange cover image, a deeply mysterious name, and a 6 hour runtime are going to get a few eyes. Most have no knowledge of the deep inner workings of this website’s coding (which considering it affects so many people’s livelihoods is probably bad), so I can’t explain why it popped up in so many people’s feeds, but enough people got clicks on it that it ended up something of a phenomenon.

Everywhere at the End of Time is utterly alien to the mainstream audience of 2019. It’s a 6-hour long piece in a world where the push is towards short videos that ads can slip in between. It’s something that requires commitment and understanding on a level that most people aren’t going to have to spare most of the time, and often aren’t going to want to sit down and go through even when they do. And it’s so starkly effective at unsettling the listener, with it effectively taking the listener themselves through stages of Alzheimer’s, that it’s going to turn a lot of people who do give it a chance off. Unapproachable is a word for a lot of obscure music in weird genres, but this project is a cliff face of complexity that leads me to wonder how the hell Kirby was patient enough to pull it off.

But here the album is all over the internet. It has a Know Your Meme page (sidenote, that website is fucking unreadable without adblock), and videos of people talking about it (or of Anthony Fantano crying over it) have hundreds of thousands of views. It has a hashtag on TikTok, and a “6 hour listening challenge!!!!” to go along with it. There are multiple iceberg videos on this project. I see memes with samples from this project on twitter every so often, and it’s so utterly jarring- dark comedy on the internet is usually much more mean-spirited, but it’s kind of hard to do that with this, since it requires an understanding of what it is, which you’d think would turn people off it.

And yet it doesn’t? At this point, it feels like everyone knows what this album is about, because how could you not? It’s everywhere at the current time, and the Youtube upload has almost 18 million views. Normally, a topic like dementia is something that keeps people away, that people aren’t as willing to engage with, but this project’s whole-hearted embrace of the subject has somehow made it more influential than any meme-ified album I’ve ever seen.

I have recently noticed, though, that this appreciation may be a bit more shallow than I’d assumed. The memes you see built around this album very frequently rely on the recognition of the first few notes of the first track, It’s just a burning memory, to the point where hearing it and remembering “oh it’s the dark/amnesia/dementia album” is the entire joke. Said track’s 1 hour loop is the first thing recommended on youtube next to the full project, and it itself has over a million views. And apparently, there was somewhat of a backlash on Twitter regarding the album, mostly about people not getting the point and complaining about said “listening challenges”…but it’s Twitter, so take that with a shaker of salt. The point is, despite Everywhere at the End of Time’s monstrous viewcount and widespread permeance, it might not be receiving the intended audience or delivering the intended message.

I think to some degree, the project might have inadvertently been shackled to the horror domain of internet content. It is an extremely disturbing album, of course, but it doesn’t quite mesh with a lot what else is in there. Much of that content zone is dedicated to the perversion of established concepts in the form of terrible (usually) creepypasta, or of jumpscares, or of media explicitly designed as horror. It’s gained a mythos in the same way as something like Yume Nikki (I’ll play it eventually) or some of those classic old internet ghost stories, and yet it’s not really built for that kind of interpretation. This project isn’t scary because it’s trying to be scary, because it has sudden loud noises or extreme violence. Everywhere at the End of Time simply…is. But we out here still get a kick out of toying with things we aren’t supposed to, making light of the worst in the world, and so it still gains some of the memetic power that those media are associated with.

It is still ultimately quite admirable, though, that the album has been so successful. It’s difficult to make a piece of music that resonates with so many people, and even harder to make one that instils such a powerful emotion with it’s opening notes. I have no doubt that the impact of Everywhere at the End of Time has been positive- pushing someone through an experience akin to dementia is one hell of a way to spread awareness, and I understand it’s actually been a useful tool in conveying and increasing empathy towards patients of the condition in caretakers and family members alike. And at this point, it seems there’s just as much serious discussion of its themes and projects inspired by its sounds as there are people making dumb memes about it.

If you haven’t listened to Everywhere at the End of Time, please consider doing so. It’s kind of hard to describe the experience properly, and I cannot recommend you do it if you’re in a low mood. But it’s worth experiencing, at least once, because it’s like nothing else I’ve ever heard. Maybe take breaks, though. And have something else to do while you listen because it’s kind of built for that.

[you-guys--are-losers]

Super need a fix about the scene where peter takes his shirt off in front of MJ. Maybe an alternative;) love ya

//Love ya, too!!! Ahh, I was hoping to receive a prompt about that particular scene. ;) I definitely have some thoughts about it, mostly concerning what would have happened if Ned hadn’t shown up right at that moment. So, here goes, and I hope that you guys appreciate my alternate ending! 

A Purely Anatomical Interest

Summary: MJ has imagined Peter Parker taking his shirt off in front of her many times. Now that it’s happening, though, everything is so much more confusing. Killer drones, secret identities, illusion tech, and a super-fraud: it’s enough all on its own, and MJ knows she’s capable of handling it.

Peter Parker’s abs, though? Those are another story. 

Characters: Michelle Jones x Peter Parker, Nick Fury, Quentin Beck

Word Count: 4,169 

Warnings: Partial Nudity, Teenage Awkwardness, Fluff, Angst

/ gifcredit: @alwaysthequietones /

Slam, thud.

The door to Peter’s hotel room slams shut behind them, causing both Peter and MJ to start slightly in the quiet of the suite. The noise is followed by the soft thump of their shared discovery as Peter tosses it on his bed. In the middle of the refined hotel room, the hunk of advanced metal tech is almost humorously out of place.

Or, at least, it would be humorous if everything weren’t so real all at once.

Suddenly, the soft humming of the radiator that was so calming when MJ initially settled into her own hotel room now seems ominous, like a quiet whisper that she can’t quite make out, no matter how hard she tries.

The warm glow the light casts over everything now feels ironic as Peter immediately launches to action, shooting to close the curtains. MJ is left standing in the center of the room, watching as the dweeb (whose relationship to her is far too confusing to contemplate at the moment) leaps into the action. Every little, paranoid measure he takes seems almost like second nature to him, something that strikes MJ as both amusing in a twisted way and a little sad.

How much of this, she can’t help but wonder, is a result of losing so much to the Blip?

Peter’s quiet mutterings snap MJ away from her quiet analysis of Peter Parker, and she simply watches and listens as he continues.”

“I can’t believe I gave back those glasses,” Peter breathes, peeking through the curtains one last time for good measure. Before the blue gingham has even had a chance to flutter back into place, he is already across the room and situated at his laptop. “I mean, how could I be that stupid? He’s probably spying on me right now, or sending a drone to come and kill me.”

MJ knows that the proper response is probably something like, “No, you’re not stupid, anyone would have made that mistake-” or whatever, but nothing of that sort leaves her lips as she turns to stare at him. Her eyes widen as she stares burning holes into the loser across the room, incredulous.

“You had access to killer drones?”

Okay, so not her smartest comment; after a quick examination of the statement, she supposes that his killer-spandex probably have given him access to a number of dangerous weapons. But drones… That sounds like something that she’s read about in one of her many conspiracy theories, except this?

This is real, in a way that fills her with both a pressing sense of anxiety and the strange, slightly macabre urge to laugh. After all, this is her life now, and he’s talking about things that sound like they came out of a low-budget sci-fi movie in complete seriousness.

“Yeah. I didn’t really want ‘em, especially after I almost killed Brad,” Peter mumbles. He ignores her stare for a moment, and MJ can’t help but be slightly grateful. She’s sure her eyes are bugging out of her head, and for a moment, she can’t even find words.

“You almost killed Brad?”

Peter’s eyes snap to her then, and at that moment he at least has the good sense to appear slightly sheepish and flustered as well. Now, MJ is acutely aware of the fact that she is standing in the middle of a chaotic, jumbled mess in Peter’s hotel room, and she’s pretty sure that he’s being struck by the same sort of realization.

Just when MJ thinks he might address it, Peter opens his mouth, hesitates for a fraction of a second, and moves on. “Look, I have to call Mr. Fury and tell him Beck’s a fraud, but… I think he tapped my phone.”

Right, right. Okay. There’s really no time to think about what this means; no time to think about them, about the weird walk on the bridge, about anything but the strange simulation tech that is sinking into the duvet and mattress topper.

MJ can tell that Peter’s mind is moving quickly, perhaps too fast even for him. He’s trying to think, but he’s not processing anything but his panic, and MJ knows that if he continues down this path he’s going to overanalyze himself into a meltdown.

Luckily, MJ’s expertise with conspiracy theory has brought her to the point that little can shock her, and this affinity for true crime has also taught her how to react in a crisis. Granted, most of the crises are hypothetical (except for the current political climate in the US, but that is an issue for another day), but any experience is beneficial if it makes her helpful in a situation like this.

“Okay, so what are you gonna do?” MJ’s voice is sharp, practical as she scrutinizes Peter. For a moment, his eyes flicker to hers, and MJ can see the shifting of his brain into gear as his face loses that stupidly adorable flustered expression. A quiet sort of confidence is left in its place.

“Um, I need my suit,” Peter begins, and MJ offers a small nod. There. He’s figuring out what he needs to do now, and she can tell that her logical question was enough to ground him. “And I have to go to Berlin and talk to Mr. Fury in person.”

With that, Peter jumps into action, and MJ observes him as he grabs a dark bundle of fabric (pfft, ”Night Monkey” her ass) and immediately begins to remove his shirt and pants.

It takes MJ a moment to even process what is happening. As soon as it hits, her eyes shoot open so quickly it hurts. Peter doesn’t realize their compromising situation quite as quickly as MJ, but when he does, his mouth falls open slightly.

His eyes meet her own, and for a moment, they stand in front of each other just staring.

MJ can see the beginning of a slight, awed smile that Peter is trying to hide, and so she quickly looks anywhere else. Unfortunately, the only other option presented her is, well–

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope-ity nope, nope, nope.

They’re just muscles, MJ tries to remind herself as they seem to stare her down. Just anatomical structures meant to allow movement of the skeleton. They’re useful, and that’s all. There’s nothing about them that’s supposed to be aesthetically pleasing…

Oh, but they are.

It is only then that MJ realizes that the pair of them have been staring. Heat floods her cheeks. MJ swallows, clenching her jaw, and offers him what might be an attempt at a nod before she slowly revolves, turning to face the wall. There is a moment of hesitation as her eyes find the fancy wallpaper, seizing on the pattern as the rustling and zipping of fabric resumes.

Maybe if MJ stares at the wall designs enough they will erase the image of Peter’s bare chest that has burned itself into her mind.

This proves to be just wishful thinking, however. No matter how hard MJ tries to think her way out of this one, to focus on something, anything else, all her brain can scream at her about is the fact that Peter Parker is standing behind her, half-naked and built like one of the Spider-Man action figures in the stores.

She always had thought them to be an exaggeration, but nope.

Maybe this doesn’t have to be a weird thing. The thought comes out of nowhere, and MJ’s eyes drift upward as she tries to keep herself from considering it. Maybe if she focuses on the light fixture above her–

You had a chance on the bridge, and you blew it, the voice in her brain realizes. You lied.

A little pang of guilt worms its way through her stomach, and MJ is having trouble ignoring it. She searches for any way to ease it, but there isn’t one. MJ’s policy is honesty, even when it hurts. Now that she’s broken it, she understands why.

Because even if the truth hurts, it doesn’t hurt as much as it does to hide it.

And here is a chance to make it right. It is for this reason that MJ slowly begins to turn, eyes traveling to the side as she waits for the loser that she’s been crushing on for years to come into view. But each second that it takes to turn adds to the panic in her chest, and at the very last moment, MJ’s stomach lurches to tell her she can’t do it.

Okay. It’s fine, it’s okay. MJ snaps her head back forward so that she is facing opposite him, squeezing her eyes shut. For a few seconds, MJ takes deep breaths as she struggles to regain her composure.

Alright, this is stupid.

It’s Peter Parker, MJ reminds herself. Her mental voice is chastising now, fed up with the amount of pure, unfiltered teen stupidity that is running rampant through her brain right now.

This is the kid who tripped on the way onto the bus, smacked into the side railing, and then apologized to it. He’s not some terrifying, unapproachable person; he’s him, and that’s why MJ likes him. Maybe even more than that.

And that’s why he deserves the truth.

MJ takes a deep breath, slowly allowing her eyes to open. After a minute, she deliberately sucks in some air, parting her lips. It’ll take two seconds, she reasons, to tell the truth. So go. And with that thought, MJ begins to speak.

“So-”

What if he doesn’t feel the same for you, and when he looks at you his stupid puppy-eyes have pity in them?

The thought crashes into MJ out of nowhere like a semi-truck into a smart car. It knocks the breath out of her lungs, and before she even has time to think, words come tumbling out of her mouth.

“There’s actually three types of muscle in your body. Or, at least, in the human body. I don’t really know what kind of muscles there are in the spider body, so I guess that you could have some weird, hybrid-type muscle going on. You know, because of the radiation.”

Each syllable follows directly on the heels of the last one, sending them all stumbling into one another as they hit the air in a rapid-fire burst. The movement of the fabric behind MJ stops suddenly, sending the room into silence for a moment.

MJ might be imagining it, but when Peter speaks, she swears that she can hear a bit of breathlessness in his confused tone. “MJ, what are you-”

The panic returns again, this time in a stronger surge, and MJ knows that she can’t let him talk. She can’t let him, because what if he says something and it hurts? So there’s only one alternative left.

“There’s smooth muscle, which some of your organs are made out of. It’s the slimy stuff, and it kind of does its own thing, so you don’t really see much of it. Then there’s cardiac muscle.”

“MJ-”

“It’s the stuff that makes up your heart, and it’s pretty weird-lookin’. Kinda got that whole bamboo aesthetic goin’ on, you know? It’s called striation. Also, each cell has more than one nucleus, so that’s pretty cool, too. I wish Flash had more than one brain; it might make up for some of the stupid.”

“Wait, I don’t-”

“Then there’s skeletal muscle, which is the type you can actually build. That’s the stuff the bodybuilders have a ton of. It weighs, like, a ton or something, and it’s basically the stuff that moves around your bones, kind of like puppet strings. So your skeleton is one big puppet, and then your muscles are the things that make it dance around like a marionette.”

“Um, okay. So that’s all pretty cool and creepy, but-”

“Right? So there’s no reason for muscles to be attractive.”

MJ stares at the wall all the more fiercely, her breath becoming even more shallow as silence stretches between them. She swears she can hear Peter’s breathing catch in his throat, but before she has time to analyze it, MJ surges ahead.

“They’re really just useful, so there’s nothing that impressive about building them up, right? Like, bodybuilding competitions are just weird. ‘Oh, huh, you have the same stuff everyone else has, you just wasted more time and energy than anyone else on pointless movements. So, here’s a trophy.’ All that having muscles means is that you did the same thing that everyone else already does to function a couple extra times. So this whole thing everyone has for muscles is really weird.”

MJ can barely hear Peter’s slightly constricted interjection. “MJ, I-”

“Some scientists think that it has to do with the whole strength thing. Apparently, our monkey brains like looking at someone who has whatever body type is the hardest to get because it means that that person is powerful. Since today, food is less difficult to obtain for a larger percentage of the population, someone who is muscular or skinny has sex appeal. That’s why when everyone was, like, starving to death and dying of dysentery and plague, being well-fed and heavier was seen as the ideal body type.”

MJ is fully aware that, to date, talking about diseases involving violent episodes of diarrhea has not been a particularly successful seduction method. But now that she has started talking, MJ can’t stop. She needs to say anything, anything and everything.

She needs to say everything because if she stops talking she knows she’s going to have to say the truth.

“So, by that logic, muscles aren’t really attractive. They’re just the hardest thing to get, so they’re the most sought-after,” MJ rambles, seizing a panicked breath between statements. “Pretty lame, really, how capitalistic attitudes ruin our standards of beauty. It’s one of the many evils of the system-”

“MJ.” Peter seems to have recovered his voice, though it is slightly lower and huskier than normal.

MJ clenches her fists, and her breath seems determined not to leave her as she attempts to burn holes in the wall with her eyes. Maybe, if she stares hard enough, she can set the building on fire, and then they never have to talk about this situation ever again. Or, hey, they don’t know the full capabilities of the advanced technology on Peter’s bed. If MJ presses the right button, it could open a hole in the ground that will swallow MJ right up.

Deep down, though, MJ knows that whatever happens next is inevitable. There’s no avoiding the discussion that’s going to follow, so she might as well let it happen to her. MJ lets out the held breath in a soft sigh, loosening her fists.

“Yeah, loser?” MJ’s voice is quiet, and though the words themselves have confidence, she can’t keep a note of hesitation out of her voice.

“I, uh– could you turn around?” Peter’s voice is just as flustered and uncertain, and something about it calms her. It is for this reason that MJ nods, and before she can stop herself, slowly turns herself around.

As soon as she does, MJ can feel all the blood in her body return to her face again. She manages to keep herself frozen, at the very least, but the hammering in her heart makes it feel like someone has shoved Usain Bolt into MJ’s chest cavity. Because, though Peter has the suit on up to his neck, she can still see every single muscle in Peter Parker’s chest, each one only further highlighted by the gleaming, black, suit.

MJ can’t help but think that if there is a God out there, She must have chiseled each and every sculpted rise and fall in Peter’s chest Herself.

In order to preserve her sanity, though, MJ locks her eyes onto Peter’s own. In them, she finds the same alarming depth that is there every time she glances his way. As her eyes fix themselves onto his own, MJ knows that it is this deep, dark warmth that keeps her looking his way, keeps her observant.

As she looks into them now, she sees a tangle of emotions: hesitation, uncertainly, awkwardness. But what she sees that causes her heart to skip a few beats is the hope that ties it all together.

“So, um…” Peter starts awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. MJ swallows thickly, pursing her lips, but she doesn’t look away. “I-I’m sorry. I should’ve thought about it before I started, uh, changing. You didn’t consent to seeing that, so…”

“Uh, no, it– it’s fine,” MJ replies, a little too quickly. For a second, there is more silence, and they both quickly look away from each other.

MJ’s gaze snaps back to his, though, when Peter clears his throat. When her eyes find the slightly awed smile forming on his lips, though, she can’t breathe again. Her eyes narrow just a bit, and the question that leaves her lips is slow and careful. “What?”

Peter quickly erases the smile, but a fraction of the expression remains in his wide eyes. “Uh, nothing,” he stammers. “I mean, we just established that, um, there’s really no reason for anyone to find my muscles attractive.”

MJ isn’t sure quite how to respond to that one, but it’s easier to give him a quick, stiff nod than it is to address the warm tingling in her stomach, so that is what she does. “So?”

Peter’s eyes lock on her own, and they hold all of the familiar things: nervousness, for one thing, and an acute awareness that whatever he is about to do it probably a bad idea. There’s also a gleam of intensity, though, and this is what prevents MJ from looking away as he speaks.

“Well, uh… I guess, even if that’s true, I wouldn’t be upset if you did.”

That statement sucks all of the breathable oxygen out of the room, and MJ’s eyes widen as she gawks at him. She has to process this– she needs to run his statement through her head once, then twice, and then maybe three or four more times for good measure…

No.

For once, a smooth, cooling silence settles itself over the chaos in MJ’s head. As she looks at him, letting his words wash over her, MJ realizes that there is no pity in those eyes, no matter how hard she looks. In fact, if she looks hard enough, she can see something else, something that scares her for a different reason.

Something that scares her in a good way.

So, when MJ speaks this time, it isn’t to drown him out or to hold herself back, and it isn’t in a jumble of words. This time, her words aren’t meant to beat away the fear, they’re meant to embrace it– and they’re meant to do it in as few words as possible.

“Good.” The one word is enough to fill the space between them, and as soon as it drops from her lips the ripples it creates expand into crashing waves that roar in her ears. Peter’s eyes widen across from MJ, but then the smile is returning.

When he looks at MJ, Peter looks like he has never seen anything like her before– he looks at her with an admiration that is pure and whole. It’s not the sort of absentminded appreciation that one has for a sparkling jewel or a static painting, something meant to be seen and not touched. This is the wonder inspired by a storm rolling in with massive, crashing waves, all of the awe that accompanies a brilliant sunrise, the kind of art that will never quite fit in a frame.

MJ lets out a shaky breath, and then she is taking a step to close the distance between them. Immediately, Peter matches it, and then they are so close that their chests are almost touching, so close that MJ has to tip her head down slightly to maintain eye contact with him.

Slowly, experimentally, MJ raises a hand and brings it to rest on Peter’s upper chest. It is warm, solid beneath her fingertips and the suit, and MJ can feel the sharp gasp that her touch causes in Peter Parker. Her eyes rise to meet his, and when they do there is a playful glimmer in them. In response, Peter slowly lets his hand wrap around the back of her neck, resting where his fingers can tangle in the baby curls at the nape.

His touch makes MJ nervous, but this is a different kind of nervous. These are the nerves that result from knowing that something is coming… Something soon, and something that is going to change everything you thought you knew for the better.

“Because even if I did like looking at your stupid arms or anything,” MJ informs Peter, composed though the inches between them seem to tingle with expectation, “it’s only because I’m an inquisitive person with… With a purely anatomical interest.”

Peter’s thumb travels lightly along the side of her neck, barely skimming the skin as he looks up at her. His smile only grows then, and MJ isn’t sure if her body is built to process the slight hint of adoration she can see in his irises.

“I-I think I can live with that,” Peter manages to say, his voice an octave higher than normal. “And, um… Maybe, when I get back from Berlin, we could have– I dunno. An anatomy lesson?”

MJ stares at him for a minute, face completely inscrutable. Peter’s eyes widen as he realizes what he’s said, and MJ watches as his eyes dart around the room, clearly searching for a means of escape.

“Wait, I– uh, I didn’t mean it like-like that, I-”

It’s Peter’s panicked stammering that causes MJ to break. The laughter that bursts from her is wild and unexpected, and it can’t possibly surprise Peter more than it surprises MJ. But there, in the middle of the hotel room, MJ can’t help but sit in the middle of it all and laugh. Peter joins in too, after a minute, and when they step away from each other it’s with a new sort of ease that MJ has only tasted around him before.

“You didn’t just say that.”

“Um,” Peter says with a grin, rubbing his neck sheepishly as he strides to the window, “yeah, maybe you can forget about that while I’m gone?”

“No chance.”

“Yeah, I knew it was a long shot.”

The window slides open, then, and as the night air enters the room, the sort of frenzied relief that MJ feels darts out into the darkness of Prague. As MJ turns to face Peter, there is something different in her eyes– something determined. “Hey, dork.”

Peter, who has by now effortlessly leaped into the open window, turns to face her. He has pulled down the mask on his suit now, and MJ can’t help but miss his dark eyes as she stares into the glassy, opaque ones. “Yeah?” he asks, and just the sound of his stupid voice is enough to make her heart twinge again, renewing the uncertain tension.

“Come back.”

For a minute, those opalescent eyes lock on her own, and MJ thinks that Peter is going to turn without saying anything. But then, his stupid voice pipes up, slightly constricted and forced in its optimism.

“Well, yeah. Who else will be able to get you that anatomy lesson?”

MJ can’t stop the shocked laugh that leaves her, and she slowly shakes her head. “Okay, yeah. Get out before I call Flash and tell him you have a thing for teacher-student stuff.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter replies, saluting her in response. His gaze lingers a little longer on her, though, and she could swear his body language softens. “Um… Bye, MJ. I’ll be back soon.” He moves to leave through the window then, but MJ finds herself lurching forward.

“Wait,” she says quickly, and Peter immediately freezes and turns back to her. As soon as he turns, his arm shoots out to catch the piece of tech that MJ has just tossed his way. “You’re gonna need this.”

“Oh.” Peter’s sheepish voice causes warmth to crawl up the back of MJ’s neck. “Thanks.”

“Let me know when you get there.” MJ isn’t sure what prompts her to say it.

Peter gives her one quick, final nod, lingering for a moment before he finally leaps into the night. MJ is left in his hotel room with the sounds of Prague drifting in through the open window. As she moves to close it, though, MJ realizes that those aren’t the only things that Peter has left with her.

MJ now has a slightly better understanding of the anatomy of who Peter is… And, though she can’t quite explains why, MJ knows that once they manage to get through this mess, there are going to be plenty of lessons for the both of them on the other side.

[mavspeed]

What are your thoughts on Indian actors (and I am talking more about Indian British and Indian Americans) having to most likely have to learn how to do an Indian accent so they can get work e.g. Dev Patel or Sacha Dhawan were probably most likely required to learn how to do an Indian accent in terms of their roles e.g. Outsourced (Sacha Dwahan) - I don't know too much about his filmography but that one is where he uses the Indian accent or Slumdog millionaire and The Best Exotic Marigold 1/?

Hotel. I've just noticed that there is perhaps an expectation for people of colour to have a specific accent that might be part of that ethnicity. Like on one hand it is racist e.g. Aziz Anisari refuses to do an Indian accent due to this, but on the other hand if we look at Constance Wu's accent in FOB, it's done because her character is from Taiwan, therefore she would have a non-American accent. Which is why I like Crazy Rich Asians so much because all, if not most of the characters do not 2/?

have the stereotypical or 'heavy accent', they speak in an almost clear but also received pronounciation (it's the closest way I can describe it e.g. Nick Young's mother has an almost like articulate accent and sounds 'educated' - excuse the vocabulary, I'm trying to ecplain this the best I can). Which tbh, correct me if I'm wrong, but from experience countries such as Hong Kong and more so in India there are people who don't have what people think the Indian or Hong Kong accent, even though 3/?

They're from those countries. I've met Indian people who've grown up in India, but their accents are rather neutral. I think it just depends on socio-economic status as well, considering perhaps how well a person can speak maybe determines how well their educated (this is also talking about native English speakers). But I do not want to go on a tangent about that, but more about how it is racist to see how Hollywood often for roles where the character may be Indian but there is no 4/?

evidence to suggest that he is actually from a non-English speaking country or they just put that in because he happens to be a person of colour e.g. Ravi Patel playing a telephone operator in Transformers, which Aziz Anisari rejected because he felt it fed into the stereotype of a call centre employee with an accent. Which is I think, maybe I'm wrong but the film Sorry to Bother you plays with because it talks abouthow black people often put a 'white voice' on to sound more approachable 5/?

as the 'black voice' is considered 'unapproachable' (racism). I just want to make sense of this, as it's something I've noticed with Hollywood or western media. 6/6

i will address this but first of all what you said about crazy rich asians- look, here’s the thing. as a singaporean myself can i just say that that movie is highly inaccurate because i’ve lived with fellow chinese/indian/muslim singaporeans all my LIFE and we ALL. HAVE. SINGAPOREAN ACCENTS. even if you go off to study in the uk YOU WILL COME BACK WITH A SINGAPOREAN ACCENT. i love henry golding and gemma chan to bits god knows i do but they should have done what michelle yeoh did and attempted a singaporean accent because even with elitist pricks who studied from elitist schools like acs or ri or whatever the fuck we STILL HAVE ACCENTS. michelle yeoh did a singaporean accent and its the closest, most accurate approximation of it in the entire cast. awkwafina’s character is bullshit because i have NOT met a single singaporean who has consistently maintained a blaccent. of course racist singaporeans do a blaccent and thats because they’re racist and antiblack to an alarming degree. but if you’re chinese, indian, malay, eurasian, chindian you WILL have the singaporean accent. its inescapable. 

here’s my opinion on this- its not racist, not at all, because we all have accents. everyone from every single part of the world has an accent. if you think people can speak WITHOUT an accent, that’s because you have been brainwashed into thinking the neutralised american accent is the norm. nothing is the norm. you talk like how people around you talk like. if you audition for an indian role, of course people will xpect you to have an indian accent. if you audition for an american role, people will expect you to have an accent from that bit of america- new york or california or texas. sorry but aziz ansari refusing to do an indian accent is bullshit (and ties into a deeper discussion about indian celebrities in the indian diaspora being shameful about their brown heritage because you see this shit, again and again and again with mindy kahling and kumail nanjiani and aziz ansari like hasan minhaj is the ONLY indian celeb other than dev i’ve seen actually hype up and appreciate his skin colour and race in a really self celebratory manner), because there is nothing shameful about the indian accent. its a beautiful thing and for some reason, indians outside of india think its something derogatory or to be made fun of just because its different than what they’re used to. is it racist for white directors to assume people of a certain ethnicity automatically have that accent? yeah it is, because a little thing called a diaspora exists. but you have to realise that everyone has an accent. there’s no such thing as a status quo accent because if you think there is, congrats because not to go all anti-west but you’ve been brainwashed by the west!

idk which part of the world you’re from but as an indian singaporean who has also been to literally every single country within asia except for korea and pakistan i can tell you firsthand that no, we do have heavy accents. people from hong kong have heavy accents too. so do people from china. but its not something weird its just a Thing because lets be real, white people have heavy accents too. half the time i need subtitles for richard madden interviews to parse out what he’s saying. so tldr, nah its honestly not an issue. not for me, anyway. and crazy rich asians is a shit fucking movie do not support it 

[mcnypieces]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme

fill out & repost ♥  This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

My muse is: canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless /

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK ( They’re missing out )

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK ( It’s subjective )

Are they underrated? YES / NO

Were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG.

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO? ( This is... also subjective. )

How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL

How strictly do you follow canon?

     As closely as possible, considering there’s not very much to work with in regards to his canon to begin with. There’s a lot of freedom in picking up any kind of minor canon character. I look mainly to expand on what little is present. I adore fleshing out even the smallest ideas so having something I can comfortably build on is great.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.

     Pica is loyal, beyond anything. Strong, well-built, and never wavering. Regardless of the situation, he is always on task, diligent to the last moment and perhaps longer. Devotion and collected functionality make a grand guardian. Always acts as a pillar; a collected foundation of a man centered around dedicated familial values. Being in contact with stone makes him nigh invincible, granting him not only the protective assimilation but the literal stature and appearance of a stone goliath given enough material. Strategic with respectable swordsmanship, constantly protective of what’s important. He’s nice on the eyes, quiet, and a good listener. There’s order and beauty laced within all that cataclysmic chaos just waiting to be found. 

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).

     Distant, stoic, absolutely terrible with expression that isn’t hateful and violent. Pica is very strict, lacking a sense of humor. His voice is extremely disruptive. The smallest remarks set his short fuse alight and it burns on and on until there’s nothing left. That murderous intent settles for very few things, and getting him to open up is a long, grueling process. He’s self-conscious but in an overbearingly cocky way, in that pride often masks everything genuine. He thinks very highly of himself and looks down on other people constantly. He’s uncooperative, constantly wrapped up in solemn business, and heavily against indirect methods. Abrasiveness is a weapon and he uses it without remorse. Stubbornness and general unwillingness to speak with strangers make attempting to converse with him the equivalent of talking to a wall. Pica is impatience, wrath, and apathy tied together with coarse cobblestone.

What inspired you to rp your muse?

     As odd as it sounds, I found certain parts of Pica relatable in very specific, personal ways. People never took me seriously when I was upset because I was so small ( sometimes they still don’t dskdsks- ). For awhile when I was younger my voice was really deep and hoarse due to adenoid issues. Speaking in general was hard, because breathing was hard. It made me sound very masculine, especially over any kind of voice-only system. Normally adenoids aren’t an issue at that point because they’re vestigial and tend to essentially be shrunk down to nothing. But something ( probably fighting off infections and never shrinking/bad allergies, nobody knows ) blew mine up and they were blocking 3/4ths of my airway for ages without anyone having any idea what was going on until it got bad enough to the point it was obvious something was wrong. I couldn’t have any stuffed animals in my room because it was legitimately dangerous and a lot of my non hypoallergenic stuff had plastic covers on it. Made me really sad. Eventually they were surgically removed, and it cleared up my breathing and in time my voice was relatively normal. Before then, nothing felt worse to me then than struggling to breathe trying to defend myself in tandem with all the emotional stress it brought on me. 

     I was always quiet and distant otherwise, and a lot of people thought I was just weird and unapproachable ( unless you wanted a laugh, anyway ). There were days before I made my small group of good friends I’d just spend sitting under the stairwell up against a wall eating lunch by myself. I’m probably one of the few people that listened to Pica talk for the first time and didn’t immediately burst into laughter. I didn’t completely click with him at that point, but watching that one little thing turn into a running gag constantly coming back to undermine everything else that was amazing about him really set my feelings in stone... pun completely intended. I’ve loved him ever since. That inspiration and adoration has only grown with time.

What keeps your inspiration going?

     Quite a few things. Aside from the constant love pouring from my being, I love looking at highly detailed stonework. It’s beautiful. Scrolling through rolling mountain landscapes, listening to certain songs, daydreaming in between sentences. I never really lose inspiration for Pica. Something new hits me every day in the most mundane tasks. A lot of it does go unshared, but some of it is personal and other times I simply don’t have the energy or reason. Very well I could be brimming with inspiration for him all day and have nowhere really to put it without excess. Getting opportunities to do so really makes me smile, though. It’s amazing how much being invested in a character will keep your inspiration at an all time high even when you’re having a rough time. Sometimes all it takes is just an extra comment from someone else or an occurrence or some kind of image to put you right back on track. For me, seeing any kind of lovely stonework or abandoned, run down places really sets my inspiration for him in motion.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO ( I would hope so! )

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO ( I’m always thinking of new ones! )

Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO ( It’s been awhile, though... )

Do you think a lot about your muse during the day? YES!! / NO

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO 

Are you confident in your writing? YES / NO ( Generally speaking, I try to be! )

Are you a sensitive person? YES / NO

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?

     Actual criticism, yes. I don’t mind it. At the same time, however, I’m really just here to have a good time ─ as is everybody else. Growing and developing my writing is always a bonus when I’ve the experience here in an environment I’m comfortable with, but critique isn’t exactly something I go hunting for. I’m here to write the characters I love and adore and honestly, sometimes, it’s better to have the freedom to do things as you wish without the worry of receiving it, no matter how well-intended it may be. It’s all chill times and good vibes doing what we enjoy most.

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?

     Absolutely! I love randomly being sent things that keep me thinking with any character. I’m always looking for little intricacies and tidbits to really bring them to life. Sometimes it takes a bit for me to think of something appropriate but I always appreciate the brain candy when it comes to new details! It goes without saying that I’ll happily accept anything that gives reason to my constant, aimless musings related to Pica.

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?

     Yes and no? I always love hearing other ideas on why someone else’s headcanons differ from my own. For all I know it might be enough to change my mind or, at the very least, give me a different perspective on something I’ve never thought about before. I’m always curious about stuff when it relates to a character I love. As long as they’re not rude about it and we’ve talked to the point it’s not out of the blue, it’s okay. On the other hand, it doesn’t really matter if someone disagrees. We all have our own headcanons and it’s very easy to be respectful about them. Despite what has already been said, there’s a high chance I’m going to keep to my own headcanons as they are regardless, because I put a lot of thought and heart into them. Someone disagreeing with them at face value isn’t going to make me up and throw all that work in the trash just like that.

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?

     That’s okay. There are plenty of different ways to interpret a character. People are allowed to like and dislike whatever portrayal they so choose, so long as they’re not bashing anyone outright. I would much prefer that be something that’s kept to oneself, however. It’s very easy to simply ignore something you don’t agree with, and it’s just as easy to be kind about things when expressing your own thoughts in comparison with theirs. Plus, there’s always making your own blog and writing whoever however you please! Someone out there is bound to enjoy whatever portrayal you prefer. ♥

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?

     Not personal, certainly, unless it was somehow directed at me personally. It’s very understandable. There’s a lot of potential present for actual progressing development, but on the surface Pica is very dislike-able. It’s very clear his purpose was to act as a stepping stone for another major character’s development and there wasn’t much left beyond that. Of course it’s always a sad thing being hopelessly attached to a character like that but as an avid lover of what are often viewed as very minor, niche characters, it’s something I’m very much used to. Perhaps not intense hate in every case, per se, but underappreciated. It just so happens that Pica is... not exactly a good person, putting it kindly. But that’s just another reason I love him so much as a character.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?

     Sure! Though chances are I’ve probably already noticed at that point and have been embarrassed about it/fixed it. I’ve probably made many over the years and also not realized it. Most of the time it’s something minor anyway, and a lot of people just naturally read it as it’s supposed to be read. So there’s no trouble!

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?

     I’d certainly like to think so! I tend to be very patient and accommodating. I wholeheartedly stand beside the idea that RPing is meant to be fun and enjoyable and not something that causes more stress. People should take their time with things and set their own pace. Being comfortable is part of what makes RP the wonderful hobby that it is. Really that applies to any hobby, but there are many little things that can turn someone away from doing something they love at any given time. There’s nothing that would hurt me more than unintentionally making something someone enjoys a chore for them. I try my best to make sure everyone knows that I’m really just a chill little bun having a good time doting on characters I love. Pica might not be cordial, but I certainly try to be!

That’s about it, congrats for filling out!

     🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

tagged by. @tenyxshx ─ thank you flamingo nerd ♥ ilu

[winterromanov]

hold me like a soldier - bucky x reader fic

PART TWO - JAMES

Pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

Excerpt:   “Anyway. I saw you sitting on your own, and I always sit on my own too, and I kind of hate it because this whole grad school thing has reduced my friendship circle to exactly zero, not including my new pot plant Hero, who is great but not very talkative, you know? She doesn’t have many opinions on Tolstoy’s use of the interior monologue in Anna Karenina. And also my roommate spends a lot of time examining corpses in the interest of science, so she’s not the most fun at the moment.”

Warnings: none

Taglist: @lunatictardis @cals-cigarette (reply or send me an ask to be added!)

You were under absolutely no impression that grad school was going to be easy. Yet, that being said, you’d never counted on it being this damn difficult either. Sure, the classes were more intense and more frequent, the deadlines already piling up and ready to leave you shaking like a village in a cyclone—but the classes you could deal with. You’re more than used to homework and Shakespeare is nowhere near as undecipherable as it was in high school, romance and comedy and tragedy now a wholly fluent language in your brain. No, what is difficult is how fucking lonely you are.

You’ve done the whole moving-to-college thing before, but that was back when you were eighteen and naïve and everyone in your dorm was in the same rocking boat, dropped in the middle of a city and on the hunt for (illegal) cheap beer. Now you’re older, arguably wiser and surrounded by hardworking mature students with exceptional career goals. Your roommate, Elise, is almost finished med school and has absolutely no interest in hunting down New York’s best bookstores with you. And the people on your course…they either have friends already, from their undergrad majors, or rush off the minute class is over. It leaves you aimlessly wandering the city on your own or cowered in the library, desperate for any—literally any—company other than your family, fuzzy and lagging over Skype conversations.

School is important. Probably the most important thing in your life, and you’ve worked really fucking hard to get here. But your sanity is important too. Spending another evening with a bottle of budget wine and Friends re-runs on Netflix while pretending to make notes for your medieval lit seminar is definitely not doing it any favours.

So—this is it, you decide. This is the day you bite the bullet. You will no longer be the loneliest girl in New York City, even if that means forcibly pinning someone to the wall of the literature faculty and making them get coffee with you.

(Not that you’d ever have the nerve to do that. Of course. Where does anyone even acquire that sheer level of confidence?)

Your morning starts in a building a fifteen minute walk from your apartment and the October air is unseasonably warm, sweat pooling in the small of your back where your rucksack dips. You make it to Russian lit with a few minutes to spare so you take your usual preferred seat a few rows away from the back of the hall, trailing to the middle. The faces that start to fill up the seats around you are recognisable, at least, but you know very few by name. A girl who is also in your Early Victorian Proto-Feminism class (Tessa, you think) smiles tightly at you, but decides not to sit next to you, preferring a seat nearer the front. As you get your laptop out in preparation for the lecture starting, another face catches your eye.

You don’t know his name, but you always notice him, whether it’s in class or in the library or the canteen near the activity centre. He always dresses smartly but in greys and blacks and blues, like he deliberately tries to evade attention. His dark hair is short but hangs a little in his eye-line, revealing an attractive face with a sharp jawline and sharper eyes. A ghost of facial hair shadows his chin and although you’ve never seen him smile, you can imagine it being the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. Like the stars back home, the ones unaffected by artificial light, impossibly bright. You don’t get to see the stars like that in New York City. It’s like the skyscrapers have stolen them to burn.

He’s never acknowledged you before. Your stares go unseen, thankfully, because there’s nothing more embarrassing than trying to explain why your eyes refuse to leave somebody’s frame. This time, however—this time, his eyes flicker straight over to you. It’s unmistakable. For a couple of seconds, his blue irises settle on your own, and you snap away quickly as your cheeks flush.

Good one. Real good.

At that moment the professor turns up and starts to load up today’s presentation. When you look back, you can see the back of the guy’s head, a few rows in front of you diagonally across the hall. He’s on the shorter row by the door, only three seats either side of him, but all of them are empty. He doesn’t seem to have many friends either. It doesn’t strike you that there may be a reason for that—maybe he’s just shy, or finds it difficult to find friends, just like you.

(He seems a little older than you, too. There’s just something about his expression, aloof and quiet, that makes you think he carries more years than his face cares to admit.)

The lecture is on Tolstoy and while the professor’s theories on Anna Karenina are interesting, you keep finding yourself glancing at the guy. This is the first time you’ve realised he doesn’t have a laptop, unlike the majority of students in the hall. He’s scribbling notes fervently in a small moleskin notebook, hand covering the side of his face as he writes.

By the time the lecture finishes and you’ve typed a grand total of eight words (the presentation title, go figure) the decision is basically out of your hands. You can’t let him sidle out of the hall like every single Russian lit class before this one, especially if he insists on causing this much distraction to your studies. As the professor finishes up you quickly pack away your laptop, squeezing between the rows in an attempt to reach him before you lose him amongst crowds of other students in the quad outside.

Your gaze follows his scruffy black backpack, standing on your tiptoes as you try to see over the tops of the heads that make their way down the stairs. He presses a white earphone into his ear and between arms, you can see he owns an iPhone, just not a laptop.

For half a second, you falter. Is this weird? Walking up to someone random—well, almost random—after class and just striking up a conversation? Maybe he’s alone because he wants to be, preferring to stalk about without company other than his own. Maybe the seats are empty because he’s completely unapproachable, others before you tried and failing to break into his circle. After all, he’s hardly unattractive. You can’t be the only one feeling subconsciously drawn to him.

Oh, fuck it. Whatever happened to biting the bullet? You remember something your sister mentioned to you in one of your two-hour long Skype marathons—be brave, loser.

You follow him until you’re out of the between-class rush, jogging a little to catch up with his long strides. Taking a deep breath to psych yourself up, you stumble to a halt beside him as he stops to read a message or something on his phone.

“Hey,” you say, a little breathless from your jog, pulling your rucksack straps up your shoulder.

He blinks, a little surprised, like he hadn’t seen you. His hands tighten into fists, then relax. He recognises you. “Hey?”

You smile, hoping to appear approachable, but wondering if it actually comes across as a grimace. “I’m, uh—sorry, we just had Russian lit together?”

His face is totally unreadable, but his body looks tense, putting you on edge. Maybe this was an extremely bad idea. “Yeah. I saw you.”

“Yeah, I saw you too. Well, obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have…” you realise you’re rambling and to your surprise, there’s a hint of amusement on the guy’s face. It seems to flicker away quickly, like he’s telling himself off for it. “Anyway. I saw you sitting on your own, and I always sit on my own too, and I kind of hate it because this whole grad school thing has reduced my friendship circle to exactly zero, not including my new pot plant Hero, who is great but not very talkative, you know? She doesn’t have many opinions on Tolstoy’s use of the interior monologue in Anna Karenina. And also my roommate spends a lot of time examining corpses in the interest of science, so she’s not the most fun at the moment.”

He listens bemusedly, his hands sinking into the pockets of his trousers. You sigh. Verbal diarrhoea.

“The point being…we could, maybe, sit together?” you offer, hoping you haven’t immediately put him off if he was ever considering what you’re proposing. “Talk about Russian books sometimes so I don’t go mad?”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he looks down at his shoes; they’re scuffed up red Converse sneakers, the only part of him in technicolour. You’re almost certain he’s going to turn you down, the sting of rejection premeditated in your stomach, because hell you’ve been in this position before. He’s silent, considering this simple arrangement for longer than you’d anticipated, which is somehow a good and bad sign simultaneously.

“I…” he begins, and you’ve already finished the sentence. I would rather not, thank you. His jaw flexes, hardens. “I can sit with you.”

“Oh!” you say, brightly, by surprise. Nonchalance isn’t an option. Your grin is so damn obvious and you’re not even ashamed of it. “Oh, cool!”

“But—I don’t say this to be…I’ve just got a lot of stuff going on.” He smiles sadly, painfully. This expression is definitely readable. More readable than he wants it to be, you suspect. He dips his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your hand closes round his arm and you can feel it tense, rock hard, and it’s like—like he realises you aren’t a threat, so he relaxes, his expression soft but eager to get away. You smile as a peace offering. “I just thought I’d ask your name. Then I’ll leave you alone. Promise.”

He mulls the question over in his head like he’s attempting a complex math problem, not a daily occurrence. His mouth curves before deciding on his answer. “James.”

“James,” you repeat, trying it out. You give him yours in exchange and he nods once, expression returning to neutral. He turns and makes his way to his next destination, perhaps another class, and before you know it he’s swallowed by college crowds and completely gone from view.

It’s been one of your more…charged interactions on campus, but nevertheless it leaves a warm feeling in your stomach. Sitting with someone is a start. It’s sure as hell better than sitting alone.

[haeddoti]

This is my first blog-post and it is about some of the books I read between year 7 and 11 in my German high school. These books aren’t in a particular order, I just wrote all of them down and took some notes to guide me along. I’ll give a brief summary and then my thoughts about the books.

Without further due, let’s get into the series!

Nr. 1 “Hexen in der Stadt-Ingeborg Engelhardt”

We read this book in seventh grade and immediately after reading (actually during reading as well) we asked ourselves how and why someone thought “Hell yeah, that’s a topic for 11 year olds” since the book is originally listed for grade 5 and 6.

The story takes place in a German town during the Thirty years war, the witch hunts are running wild and the church is all over the place. The story follows a family of four who live in this town, the father is a doctor, one daughter is read-headed and the other a sleep walker. And although the father is greatly needed in this time, the towns people are really suspicious of the family, and they have to flee the city.

First of all, the book was so dense, it was almost unbearable. Definitely not something for children and yet the book won the “Youth literature award” in Germany, so I guess it wasn’t too bad after all. I honestly don’t remember a lot from it, I know we watched a horrible movie about it and I also remember that the pacing(?) in the book was weird, because the first 80% or so took reaaaally long to read through and virtually nothing happened and then in the last 20% everything happened all at once and it was just too much.

Nr. 2 “Am kürzeren Ende der Sonnenallee-Thomas Brussig”

The only (apparent) reason why we read this book was because we had our final class trip to Berlin in year 10.

 The setting is the DDR, East-Berlin to be precise, somewhere around 1970ish. Our protagonist Micha lives in a street which was cut in half my the Berlin Wall and he, unfortunately enough, lives in East-Berlin. He frequent meets with his friends in a nearby park where they listen to West-Music and swoon about Miriam, the neighborhood beauty who is kinda a not-like-other-girls-girl.

All in all, the books is about searching happiness and thinking about how it is so very close and yet never being able to reach it.

It was comfortable to read and overall it was an okay novel. I don’t remember much about it, although I literally read it a year ago. The insight about east-Berlin was cool, and the author definitely implemented own experiences and as someone who grew up in post-split Westgermany it was rather informative and interesting. The quote on the back of the book was also pretty.

“Happy people have a bad memory and rich memoirs”

Nr. 3 “Frühlings Erwachen-Frank Wendekind”

(Springs Awakening)

Oh. My. God. This whole topic was such a BS and I hated every second of it.

The book takes place, once again, in a German Town in a time where there is no Sex-Ed, aka 1900th century, which is also the topic of the book; Sex-Ed gone wrong. Our first protagonist Wendla grows up in a home with a loving, strict mother and far, far away from everything unholy like sex. Our second protagonist, Melchior, is a really smart, really handsome boy who is the top of his class and who likes to read provocative literature which makes him think about masturbation. His best friend is also handsome but really stupid but the social pressure keeps him from dropping out of school- that and his strict, abusive father. Melchior and Wendla fall in love (he hits her with sticks after she metions that she has never been hurt before), have Sex(he rapes her) and after Wendla gets pregnant and dies after an attempted abortion via poisonous plants her aunt have her, Melchior is only mildly devastated. He turns sad, and kinda crazy, after his best friend commits suicide. He has a rendez-vous with the ghost and death itself, he is happy again? I dunno, the whole book was all over the place.

Worse than the book was the discussions we had in class afterwards. One time we had to argue whether it was in-fact rape or if it was just sex. Second discussion we had was about Wendla being a masochist.

The worst thing about the whole topic was the stupid ass movie adaptation.

You think Percy Jackson has it bad? Oh boy. Ohhh boy. The movie plays in the 2000s, graffiti, cool skater boys, rapper-wannabes and early 2000s fashion included. The names stayed tho, cause why not name the male protagonist Melchior in 2001. There are scenes where teenagers, TEENAGERS, go to a brothel. Ah, I forgot.

They are 13-14, book and movie alike.

10/10 would NOT recommend.

Nr. 4 “Der Besuch der alten Dame-Friedrich Dürrenmatt”

(The visit)

(No, not the horror movie)

Oh my goodness, I loved this book.

Picture this. A small town in a German province far away from any major cities with a single trail connection between Hambourg and Zurich, aka the whole length of Germany, where virtually nothing happens. One day, a former resident, comes for a visit. But not just anyone, Claire frikking Zachanassian comes for a visit.

And for blood, because this sixty-something, badass multi-billionaire who got her fortune by marrying a bunch of men who died coincidentally one after the other proposes to the town an offer.

One billion for the head of the man, Alfred the third, who expelled her out of the town after getting her pregnant and lying about it in court after she sued him.

They sent her away in the train, called her a hoe and laughed about her. She lived in a brother for a little while, her son died, and a horny, rich man decided to marry her because why not.  

At first the towns people are disgusted by the offer, outraged by the immoral offer and they straight up deny it. “I’ll wait, Claire says”.

You see, the town is really, really poor. Not only because it is in a terrible location commercially wise, but also because Claire bought every factory in the town and brought them all to a stand still to slowly dry the city out. She planned this revenge.

And you see, the proposal of 500 million split between the inhabitants and 500 million for the industry of the city sounds great if you are on the brink of disaster and hunger and misery. But surely, with such an immoral offer, no one would want to commit a crime? Or would they.

Because, now that I look at it, Alfred really did something horrible… maybe, just maybe I can allow myself to stack up some dept.

And Alfred grew more and more paranoid. Begging Claire to stop this, apologizing on his knees, crying and sleeping with one open eye at all times.

We discussed in our class what we would do. We didn’t really came to a conclusion since we had nothing to compare, not one of us was ever asked to make such a decision. “It depends” was our final answer.

They do kill him in the end. It doesn’t end happy, Claire isn’t happy, but she does give the towns people their money. I really enjoyed reading this book. The female “antagonist” was refreshingly bad-ass and the moral despair was entertaining to read.

We learn that Claire is rich and powerful, but that she lost so much innocence, so much energy to enjoy her life in such young years that, as a reader, you cannot not sympathize with her.

Nr. 5 “Das Versprechen-Friedrich Dürrenmatt”

(The pledge)

Hands down the best book I’ve read in school.

This book is originally a critique by Dürrenmatt about the emerging detective novel genre where everything always works out.

The setting is in a Swiss town, 1950ish, and in the beginning the reader takes on the role of an author who meets a certain Dr. H who works for the police. They become friends and take a ride through the mountains. Upon taking a stop at a gas station, Dr. H introduces us to a seemingly old, smoking, alcohol-reeking man and a scruffy looking girl. The narrator is confused, asks who these people are, and back in the car, we learn that this is the former detective, no-one-escapes-me, super-brain Matthäi.

From that point on the narrator switches and we are now in a third person narrator perspective.

Matthäi is introduced again, this happening in the past, as a hard-working, clean, structured man who doesn’t smoke, drink or disobeys rules. No one really likes him in the office, but they value that he just so good at his job. But because he is so unapproachable, they want to sent him away to Jordan.

The week he was planning to travel there, a young girl is raped and then brutally murdered in a small town nearby. And because he is Mister Superbrain, he goes there to help investigate.

The other officers at the crime scene are (understandably) uncomfortable, they don’t want to talk to the family, or the people there in general. So Matthäi talks to everyone. He is a very calm, collected, cold man. So he meets with the family, tells them what happened to their daughter and is utterly, completely shocked when the mother just blankly stares in his face, and asks him to promise her to find the murderer of her daughter. He is shocked by the lack of emotion in this moment and sees himself in this cold visage of the mother. He promises her, just to get away from her as fast as possible, and drives back to be office.

I don’t want to spoil too much because this book is just so good, but oh my god

I’m in general a sucker for drastic changes in character or demeanor (hence why I liked The Visit so much as well) but his book takes everything to another level. They “plottwist” is so incredibly frustrating and nerve wraking to read, the perspective changes provide so much more depth.

And for the first time I finally read a really intricate, morally gray character.

Nr. 6 “Nathan der Weise-G. E. Lessing”

(Nathan the Wise)

This book was kinda eh. If I had so summarize it as fast as possible it would probably be “Religion and accidental incest”. It is about the three world religions and stereotypes between them, about genocide and also about stigmatization. It ends on a nice note, tho.

The only really remarkable passage of this book is the so-called “Ringparabel” in which Nathan answers to the question which religion is the real, big OG of them all. It is pretty nice and the symbolism is really fitting as well. The beginning of the book is incredibly boring but it does get better in the end. All in all not a total waste of time and money but nothing I would read again.

Nr. 7 “Die Leiden des jungen Werther- Goethe”

(The sorrows of young Werther)

Ah yes, no German class without Goethe. This book is written in a way that lets the reader really seep into Werthers emotion because it is written as a letter-novel. Werther is a young, nature-loving guy who (in the beginning of the book) is just really happy, go-lucky and over all nice. Then he meets Lotte, a young, pretty, smart and book-loving woman who is empathic to all those around her.  He falls in love with her, despite knowing that she is literally engaged and about to marry. She knows he loves her, her fiance know he loves her and literally everyone knows he loves her and they are ok with it? I dunno. Werther has a severe Seasonal-affective-Disorder. He kinda makes it through the first winter after meeting Lotte but never really recovers, even during summer. In the second winter, he can’t take it anymore and he commits suicide.

I liked the book (not only because I can identify with the SAD). In the end we learn that Lotte isn’t as good as we originally think she is; She is actually really possessive of Werther and although she wants him to be happy, she doesn’t think anyone is good enough for him and thus he should just stay close to her. She enjoys the attention given by her husband, who is actually really nice and whom she does love, and by Werther who is utterly and completely obsessed with her.

Opinions on this book split 50/50 with my friends. Some of them think like me and they see the heart break and the desire to move on but ultimately, the way attraction is so so strong. Some other friends, more specifically my Help-with-Maths-Go-to-Guy hated this book with a burning passion. I can see why. The imagery is sometimes a tad too far-fetched and the wording is, in true Goethe-Fashion really hard to read and the sentences are kinda messed up as well.

But in the end it is still the book which opened the way for Goethe to be one of the greatest writers in Europe and I can see why.

Oh wow. This concludes all the books I read thus far. There will be definitely more to come next year and maybe I’ll do another post like this once I read some more.

I hope you enjoyed to read my thoughts and maybe felt inspired to look into one of these as well!

See you soon!

[starryikesen-blog]

boyfriend! mitsuhide

CONFESSION

- when you first assumed your role and duty of chatelaine, you were receiving orders from mainly nobunaga and the other warlords

- the jobs, ranging from serious to absurd, would always be completed by you at the end of the day, no matter how ridiculous it was

- none of those were really dangerous, because those were left to the vassals and even the warlords themselves to settle

- however, this— this was peculiar

- this particular request from masamune and hideyoshi combined had certainly piqued your interest

- after receiving a neatly wrapped multi-layer lunch box, you went over to mitsuhide’s manor and into his room

- you weren’t so comfortable around him compared to the others, and reasonably so, since history in your time had recorded him as the mastermind behind nobunaga’s supposed death

- and he just gave an aura of general… sketchiness

- even as he sat down, in front of his messy desk strewn with books and papers, his eyes skimming through a few documents, it sent a chill down your spine

- he had an effect on you, for sure, it just wasn’t a pleasant one

- “hello. what brings you here?”

- the next thing you knew, those sharp amber eyes bore right into you, a thin smile spreading across his face

- “uh, masamune told me to deliver this.”

- you unwrapped the cobalt blue fabric and set the lunch box in front of him, before automatically going about to rearrange his things into a few neat piles on the mat

- “insisting on trivial things as always, i see.”

- despite those words, you could sense a hint of fondness in his voice, and as frightening and unapproachable mitsuhide was, you had to admit that you partly accepting this request because you wanted to know him better

- (and also because masamune wouldn’t accept a “no” as an answer)

- you watched as you sat opposite him, perched somewhat worriedly and curiously, as he picked up one of the layers of the lunch box, containing a few vegetables, and attempted to dump the contents into another layer with curry—

- “no!”

- “no?”

- “sorry, i meant no, don’t do that. you’ll ruin the flavour.”

- mitsuhide stared you for a moment, before smirking and putting the vegetables back down on the desk

- “it doesn’t matter to me, but i’ll stop, since it seems to disturb you.”

- “i mean, the curry’s sweet and watery. the vegetables are crisp and salty. they just don’t mix together well, no?”

- “no. flavour doesn’t exist for me.”

- that sentence hit you pretty hard, and you had to ask hideyoshi when you ran into him in the corridors

- as you suspected, mitsuhide can’t distinguish flavours, and to your horror, you were also informed that he didn’t take good care of his health

- he’s basically no better than mitsunari, just not that extreme, but still pretty bad

- and that set a flame in you to take care of him— pretty contradictory to your initial behaviour, but you couldn’t help it

- since then, you’ve always made time to head to mitsuhide’s manor; and every time, without fail, you bring a lunch box with you, and make sure mitsuhide doesn’t crush everything up and eat it

- but he wasn’t there all the time, and frequently went missing for a day or two before returning

- upon your inquiries, he would simply smile and say he made a little “business trip” to meet someone and do something

- and it really worried you, because you knew mitsuhide was a nice person, at least under the cover of a big bad wolf

- he’s just too smart and scheming and that made people say… certain things about him, that made your mouth taste sour afterwards

- you wish you could prove to them how kind he actually was, but when you think about it, you were, too, once someone who didn’t know any better and assumed mitsuhide’s personality right off the bat

- and you were sure that he was like this for a reason, though he never let you in on anything private

- you dismissed it as something required for the nature of his job, which was partially right, but still, you wished he could let his guard down a little around you

- you expressed this wish to him, and he returned it with a teasing smile and promised to do so

- honestly, mitsuhide doesn’t know why he did that, and did the weird pinky thing (you called it “pinky swearing”) but he knew that you cared a lot for him

- he’s a little amazed and amused by how innocent you were, trusting him without any questions whatsoever; he’s used to being treated like the opposite, and people either suspected him, feared him, or hated him, save for a few people here and there

- as innocent as you were, some people would call you foolish, and mitsuhide knows he would’ve normally, but you were so strong and this dogged determination of yours, as well as your optimism to try again and again really struck something in him

- he just couldn’t bear to see your expression if he ever called you nasty names

- but he hasn’t ever held back like this— with other people, he doesn’t twitch when questioning them, torturing them, because it’s necessary

- so why was he so weak when it came to you?

- besides, mitsuhide isn’t someone oblivious or dense; it doesn’t take him much to accept that he’s attracted towards you

- but you and him were like two different ends of a whole spectrum; you were opposed to war, which you made clear to him once, and you were honest, unsuspecting, pure

- he was the opposite of all those, and you were like a white flower, bound to wilt in those hands of his

- but mitsuhide won’t stop his actions towards you, unless you like another person

- it started out as little affectionate gestures, like stroking your hair idly and patting your head whenever you went over to deliver him food

- and when he returned after going missing for a day or two, tiny forehead kisses were sometimes there

- this sudden increase of affection answered a large question that has been residing recently in your mind, and you were relieved, somewhat

- it was this period where both of you knew what was happening, but didn’t do anything to further catalyse it

- tentative was probably the word for it

- to put it in a more modern context, it was like you both harbour lovers’ feelings for each other, but none of you confirmed it, so technically you’re still friends

- you thought this was pretty pointless, so one time when you were reading in mitsuhide’s room and he was doing paperwork, you kissed him in one place none of you had before: his lips

- it was warm on yours, and unexpectedly soft, and that was all that you thought, as it was a peck on the lips

- mitsuhide didn’t move for a few seconds, and you thought he had ceased to breathe, but then he sighed and set his brush down

- “it’s going to be a lot of work.”

- “i know.”

- “i could die anytime.”

- “i know.”

- “and yet, you still want this?”

- “...yes.”

- he gazed at you with a mixture of emotions— the love for you bubbling up, but also while thinking how strange of a person you were, like a moth attracted to light

- except that he didn’t know he wasn’t the fire; but the moon instead, and he had no idea how much you were going to teach him

CUDDLING + KISSING

- mitsuhide wouldn’t be someone who spends his kisses on your lips; instead, he would be kissing you everywhere else for most of the time

- forehead kisses are a norm, and for absolutely no reason at all, it just happens to take mitsuhide’s place as the number one place to kiss you

- maybe because it’s pretty convenient for him to drop one there whenever you bump into him while doing your duty, and both of you are busy

- or he loves the way your mind and thinking works so differently from him that always catches him off guard, whether or not he shows it

- when he’s back from his little trips, you would show up in his room, smile bright and eyes sparkling, and he would sweep you into his arms wordlessly and let his kisses linger on your face

- when cuddling, you’re most probably on top of him, where he can see all the small details of your expressions and the way your facial muscles work

- it sounds weird, but mitsuhide is definitely someone who would prefer seeing your expression and reactions to the things he say

- he just thinks that you’re so cute and innocent, and also because they were expressions he couldn’t ever show

- and this surge of wanting to protect you from all the dark, ugly things residing in this world just rises up from his chest

- he would hug you just a tad bit tighter, and you know he’s having these thoughts when he goes silent and doesn’t answer you, just gazing deep into your eyes

- it’s not that he’s trying to block your words out; he’s genuinely lost in his thoughts, and it takes a moment or two before he snaps back to reality

- and as merciless and teasing he is, he holds you and drowns you in his love like your a precious porcelain doll, bound to break any time possible

- it’s just so raw and tender and so gentle

EMOTIONAL

- as stated before, mitsuhide does feel the constant urge to protect you

- but sometimes it occurs to him that he’s no better; he too, has stained his hands, caused many people to perish, and he’s merciless

- it strikes him that he’s that dark and ugly thing, and it terrifies him to no end, because the last thing he wanted was to drag you into all these

- he didn’t want to see that foolishly innocent soul fade away because of all these things, he wanted it to continue to burn bright among the abyss

- and sometimes, it throws him into this line of thought that you shouldn’t have fallen in love with him; he didn’t deserve it, and neither did you deserve this exposure to the darker side of humanity

- you could tell when this happens; he sort of just blocks out things whenever you talk to him, start mashing up his food all together again, and spends more time in the dungeons

- you’d have to drag him out somewhere calm and quiet, and outdoors, and silently sit by him as he processes that you’re fine and both of you are still together

- since you can’t really tell what’s going on in that mind of his, and also because you know mitsuhide would trust you enough to realise that you were strong enough to stand by him

- he just needed some time away from everything

- otherwise, mitsuhide is really well put together other times

- when you’re worried over something, or someone, such as mitsuhide himself, he would calm you by analysing how the thing you’re worrying over wasn’t even going to happen

- for example, if you’re worried that one of the warlords would be wounded in a battle, mitsuhide would tell you how the oda forces were way stronger and the chances of them being hurt were extremely low

- rather than using words to comfort you, he would try to make you weigh the facts and come to a more positive conclusion yourself

- he couldn’t lie in front of you and say everything’s fine when it isn’t, because he knows it would hurt you even more in the end if something actually happens

- in a way, it’s not what most people would like, but it’s his own way of protecting you, by making you mentally stronger and preparing you for everything

DOMESTIC

- man, mitsuhide needs someone domestic to take care of him, because we all know that’s one thing he can’t do

- or more like he doesn’t really care about it

- but when he sees you putting in so much effort to cook meals that have a more distinct flavour specially for him, he has this urge to put down his work and make time for you, which he hasn’t done before

- much like mitsunari, you would make sure to appear in between your duties as chatelaine to his manor if he was doing administrative work, and stay with him until you’ve seen him finish his food

- or you would coax him to sleep when it’s getting a little too late

- if he had to go into battle, or somewhere far away again, he would develop a habit of bringing something that belongs to you— an obi cord, a hair clip, anything

- he would look at it and silently promise that he would return to your side after it ends, and it makes him more careful than usual in order to be successful in the operation

- and when you return, you would pester him in hugs and little kisses and all, while asking if he needs anything

- he tells you every single time that seeing your happy face was more than enough for him, but you aren’t convinced anyways

- but that’s the truth, and you were his motivation to return alive and well everytime, and if mitsuhide was being honest with himself, he didn’t care if you didn’t love him back— just seeing you happy and smiling was enough for him

FINAL VERDICT

- all in all, this relationship is somewhat fragile, but not at the same time, if you understand. there are insecurities, but there’s the unconditional love and the amount both of you are willing to sacrifice for each other is amazing

[ahomeganeyatsu]

Choupisson

This is self-indulgent. I never had a hedgehog before and my current knowledge has been supplied by a hasty google search. Still, this idea had been sitting in my head for awhile and it demanded to be written.

I hope you enjoy it. =)

“Mika?”

The older male looked up from the box he had been rooting in. He saw Lucas exit the room that he claimed as his own and step into the living room. The frown on his face was more visible than usual and he was holding an empty cage.

“What is it kitten?” Lucas would usually roll his eyes at the nickname but he has learned to tolerate Mika’s propensity for calling him that. Besides, he couldn’t be bothered to react when there were more pressing matters.

“Did you see Choupi?”

Mika frowns at the name. “You mean that little prickly devil of yours?” he asked as if he didn’t know. This time Lucas did really rolls his eyes. Ever since Mika had been pricked by Lucas’ pet, he had refused to call him by his given name. It was his fault in the first place. He startled Choupi when he tried to pet him and the little guy just reacted naturally. So really, Mika should really get over it.

“He’s a hedgehog, Mika. He also has a name.”

“I also don’t call you by your name and you aren’t complaining.” He smirked and raised his brow at him. Lucas only scowled further. “Ah, like father like son. You know you should have named him Lulu instead. It’s really hard to see the difference.”

Lucas huffs an exasperated breath. “Did you see him or not?”

“Can’t say I have,” Mika said. He then jerked his head towards Lisa’s room. “Maybe he’s hiding in Lisa’s room? It’s quiet and dark in there.”

“I already checked. Lisa said he wasn’t in there.” He rubbed a hand on his face and ran it through his hair in frustration. “Did you at least keep the door closed?”

They both looked towards the direction of the entryway and saw the door was slightly ajar. Lucas’ felt his heart jump into his throat. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no. He placed the cage down on the counter and grabbed a jacket before heading out. He heard Mika call for his name but he just ignored it. He had to find Choupi. He had just woken up and he had placed him in a new, larger hide box as Lucas cleaned up his cage. Hedgehogs were explorers and he should have expected Choupi to run around the apartment for a bit of exercise. Lucas fully expected him to be in Lisa’s room because, as Mika had pointed out, it was quiet and dark there. Unfortunately, he had underestimated how much of an explorer his little baby was since Choupi decided to brave the outside world of their apartment.

With Choupi’s size, he shouldn’t have made it too far. The halls were empty and no sign of the hedgehog could be found. He made a turn in a corner and found someone crouched low on the ground. From this angle, he could see how broad the person’s back was. They wearing a tan jacket with a black hood and seemed to be talking to something on the floor. Lucas tried to ignore how weird that was. This person could be his only lead to Choupi’s whereabouts. He wasn’t going to call them chelou to their face and lose any chance of finding Choupi.

He really didn’t like talking to strangers but Lucas had no choice. He began walking towards them, mentally practicing the words he would say. “Excu—” before Lucas could say the remaining syllables, the person pushed themself up from their position and stood. And boy, being just a few feet away, Lucas could perfectly see how tall they were. The person turned and the syllables died at his tongue, the breath trapped in his lungs and he just stared.

That face should be fucking illegal, Lucas thought. How the hell is he even real? And yes, it seemed the person was a he. And one drop dead gorgeous he at that. His heart was picking up speed and he was worried he would end up dying from this single encounter. He lifted his eyes to meet the guy’s and oh shit, he’s staring at me. Lucas felt his ears burn. He’s glad that his hair was absent of any product that day. It made it fall over his forehead and hid the tip of his reddening ears. Still, having those blue-grey eyes on him… Lucas was shaken. He has never felt this way before. There was just something about the way this guy stared at him that made the very core of him tremble. He couldn’t take it any longer and averted his eyes.

He looked at the guy’s hands instead. That sounded like a safe idea. Except, well, the guy also had really beautiful hands. Shit, is anything about this guy not beautiful? It was then that he noticed the guy was holding something. A familiar ball of cream spines banded with black to rust-brown, a black nose and an evident scowl on that little face.

“Choupi!” the name punched itself out of him, relief washing over him at finding the tiny explorer.

He heard the guy gasp and Lucas’ eyes widened as he returned his eyes to that face. He was wincing and Lucas couldn’t help but give him an apologetic look. Fuck, right, no startling Choupi.

“I’m really sorry for that,” he said in a more controlled volume. He reduced the gap between them into a meter, and okay, his neck was going to suffer from this. He already had an idea that the guy was tall. He just didn’t expect himself to be dwarfed when standing this close to him.

“It’s alright. I would have reacted the same if I lost my pet.” Lucas tried his best not to sigh at the sound of his voice. Seriously, Lallemant? It hasn’t even been ten minutes and you’re already smitten with the guy. Pull yourself together!

Except, he couldn’t really blame himself. The guy was gorgeous and from the way he was smiling at Lucas, the impression of being unapproachable had easily melted. He was warm and bright and Lucas could not stop staring at him. The desire to be closer thrummed steadily in his veins and honestly, that scared the shit out of him. His reaction to this guy was simply unprecedented.

“Y-yeah.” He cleared his throat and swallowed the dryness there. “I was cleaning his cage one minute and the next he’s out of the apartment. He’s a real explorer.” His hands were gesturing, a nervous habit he tried not to show.

The guy laughs, a light sound and Lucas wished he could hear more of it. “He sure is.” A beat passes between them. Both seemingly reluctant to interrupt it. “So,” the tall brunette started, “Choupi?” Lucas flicked his eyes up and caught the teasing glint in the taller male’s eyes and the raised brow.

Lucas groaned and rolled his eyes, but a smile quirked up at the corner of his lips. “I got him when he was still a baby, and he was cute.” He could read the amusement in those blue-grey eyes. It made his cheeks heat up. “Oh, shut up. It’s a perfect name.”

“Hey, I didn’t say it wasn’t.” If he could raise his hands in surrender, Lucas would definitely see him doing exactly that. But Choupi was still cupped in them and they remained there. “It’s a perfectly good name for a choupisson.”

The shorter brunette huffed out an embarrassed laugh. “Okay, I admit. I’m not the most creative in the naming department.” It was weird that despite his heart beating a mile a minute, he was still able to string coherent sentences. And alright, maybe the first few seconds where he had been caught staring wasn’t a great start. Especially when he got the guy pricked by his pet’s quills. At least he wasn’t a blubbering mess or completely silent.

“Nah, it isn’t the worst. Besides, it really does suit him.” He kept his gaze trained on Lucas’ own, and softly he uttered, “Choupi.” His eyes become impossibly small and the corners wrinkling with how wide he was smiling. Lucas’ heart fluttered and the blush made another appearance. How was he expected to survive this encounter when the guy looked at him like that? Really, if Lucas had ever doubted the state of his sexuality, this meeting was proof enough that he definitely wasn’t straight.

Fuck. He was so gone for him. And he still hadn’t gotten his name. “Do you—”

“Lucas?” Mika’s voice suddenly interrupted him. He swiveled around, his face scrunched up into annoyance as his flatmate rounded the corner. “Did you find that prickly devil child of yo—” Mika stopped in his tracks, eyes immediately trained on the person behind him. “Well, hello there.” Lucas almost groaned in despair at the seductive lilt in Mika’s words. He should’ve grabbed Choupi earlier and retreated back to the apartment if it saved Tall, Beautiful and Blue-Grey Eyes from meeting Mika.

Well, too late now.

Mika walked towards them and stood a step in front of Lucas. He wanted to drag Mika away—far, far away—from the guy holding Choupi. He could not bear to see Mika’s attempt at flirting. He could not bear to watch and see it work. First guy he liked after Yann and then he gets stolen right in front of his eyes by his own flatmate? Lucas knew the universe hated him. He just didn’t know it hated him that much.

Fuck my life really.

Silently, Lucas watched Mika give the tall brunette a slow once over, lips raised in a pleased smile. Definitely liking what he was seeing. Only for the smile to drop when his eyes landed on the ball of cream and black quills cupped in large hands. “He let you hold him?” the scandalized tone in Mika’s words almost made Lucas laugh. “I cannot believe this. I’ve known that prickly demon for weeks and he won’t even let me near him. This is unfair. How dare you.” He pointed at Choupi making the hedgehog huff and shuffle around. Blue-Grey-Eyes eased his hold a bit so Choupi could move more easily. Lucas snickered when Choupi finally settled in his new position—back turned away from Mika and snuggled down deeper into the large, probably warm and undeniably comfortable, hands that cupped him.

Mika scoffed in offense, hand placed on his chest dramatically. “The nerve of this animal. He’s definitely your son, kitten. All prickly and huffy and picky. Definitely has a type too.”

Lucas stared at Mika wide-eyed, disbelief and shock written across his face. “Mika!” he hissed, wanting him to shut up. But this was Mika and he never stopped until he was finished.

“He certainly knows how to pick ‘em. Yann, Charles, Alex. Seriously, Lucas, what is it with your prickly devil child and tall, gorgeous men? Is he trained to track down them down?”

He had never wanted to murder someone badly until that moment. “No, he is not. Choupi likes who he likes. Besides, it’s not like he lets them carry him all the time or hasn’t pricked them. You’re just being stupid for not trying again. Choupi isn’t bad. Just stop startling him.” From his peripheral, he could see the guy watching him. The smile was still on his lips and the amusement hasn’t faded from his beautiful eyes. In fact, it seemed to be growing.

Mika chuffed. “I certainly won’t be holding him. Anyway, aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend?”

Lucas froze. “Uhm… Well. He’s—” he gestured towards the guy and he seemed to have read Lucas’ intention because he easily supplies, “—Eliott. I’m Eliott.” The second time was more aimed towards Lucas, his smile easy and bright. Like he was so glad that he could give it to him. And the name… The name suited him and Lucas couldn’t help but smile back.

“Nice to meet you, Eliott. I’m Mickaël, but you can just call me Mika,” his flatmate replied with cheer.

“Nice to meet you too.”

“As much as I want to stay and chat, Lucas has found his wandering child and I still have to unpack some boxes” Mika sighed heavily, disappointment dripping from that single action. “See you around, Eliott.” Mika turned around and gave him a wave, walking back towards their apartment.

Remembering that he still had to get Choupi from Eliott, he returned his attention back to him. “I should take him off you. He probably held you up from whatever you have to do,” he said to him apologetically.

“Oh, no. Not at all. Don’t worry about it. Besides, it’s really nice getting to hold him.” The soft look on his face just about melted Lucas in his spot.

“Yeah, I get what you mean. Choupi may not give the same cuddles like other animals, but there’s something oddly soothing in just holding or having him there.” Lucas didn’t often admit it out loud but the little hedgehog had provided him the support and comfort he needed when his parents divorced and his mother’s worsening condition had her staying in a clinic. Being sixteen with a dad that’s barely there and didn’t seem to care for him much, and a mother he can’t always be with, it was hard. Having Choupi to take care of and providing him company when he couldn’t stand being with other people had helped balance him. It’s probably the only thing he’ll ever be grateful for from his dad.

He looked up from Choupi to Eliott, only to meet his eyes. He couldn’t put into words what he saw there, but there was something. Something that had Lucas saying, “You could still hold him if you want.”

This surprised Eliott as much as it did Lucas. “What? Really?”

Lucas shrugged. “Yeah, he looks comfortable where he is, and he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry from getting out of it.” He rubbed the back of his neck and tugged at short locks there. “We can hang out in my place or yours? Watch a movie? Or something?” He fully expected Eliott to say no. They did just meet. Who invites someone just like that?

His gaze met Eliott’s again. The smile that slowly spread on his lips made Lucas catch his breath. It was really such a beautiful smile. It was so infectious and Lucas felt his lips answering with its own. “I’d like that. We can got to my place, since well, we’re already at my front door.” The smile turned cheeky and Lucas huffed a short laugh.

“Alright.”

“I hope you don’t mind having left over carbonara,” Eliott shifted his hold so Choupi rested on a single palm. The key had already been in the doorknob. Eliott only had to twist it and the door was unlocking. A second later, they were stepping inside.

“As long as it doesn’t have honey. I’m good with it.”

Eliott made a face that had Lucas giggling. “Who puts honey in carbonara?” he asked incredulously.

“Oh, do I have the tale for you.” Lucas began to launch into the story, the tension he hasn’t noticed in his shoulders eases as he talks. His body growing more comfortable in this space. He wasn’t sure where this would lead to—if it was leading into anything at all. There was just something about Eliott that Lucas couldn’t get enough of. He wanted to know him. Wanted him to know Lucas too.

But there was also an inkling that told him staying with Eliott, letting him hold Choupi in his hands, was the right decision.

[smis-five-creedmoor]

In light of all the news I’ve been hearing of, I need to get this off my chest. This will be a very, very unpopular post, and I’ll probably even lose a few close friends for saying this (you know who you are), but it needs to be said.

But first, some background:

See, I grew up in a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses. As such, I was told to keep an arm’s distance away from any and all non-Witnesses. This made me a very lonely individual. Further compounding the issue was the fact that, at some point in my childhood, there was an individual who abused me to hell and back. All the while discouraging me from being close to anyone that isn’t him. Further compounding the issue was my autism making it hard to maintain what little social ability I had.

Basically, I was kept in isolation for large amounts of time at a time, resulting in me gaining a bit of a reputation of being quiet, weird, and at times unapproachable.

Then, after graduating high school, I was a NEET for about 6-8 months. I had wanted to use those 6 months to figure out what I wanted to do in life. The result is me staying at home playing nothing but Minecraft and watching MLP all day, even further ensuring my social isolation.

By the time I finally chose something for college, I was socially...stunted. I was highly combative, prone to fits, VERY distrusting of people, and just was an unpleasant individual to be around. But by this point I was used to being isolated.

An important tidbit of information here is that when I went to college, I had the whole thing paid for by my parents (mind you it was a fairly short program akin to the US’s “Community College” and I still lived with my parents for this, so the costs were kept fairly minimal).

It was also around this time I was interested in firearms (though, more specifically, air guns at this time).

This next bit of story will seem a little more familiar to the Millenials following me on this site, but with a slight variation. See, I went to school for HVAC-R (Heating, Ventilation, Air Conditioning, Refrigeration), and while I was able to graduate, I still had to take a test in order to be fully qualified to be a mechanic. I’ve attempted the test, and I failed three times in the course of one year, all the while keeping social interactions to a minimum. The rules state that if I fail the test three times, I basically had to go back to school to try again.

As you can see, this was a failure. My parents said they would not be helping me with payments for college. And thus, I was back in square one. This was around the time my mental health was at its lowest. And thus, I began looking for any work. My parents supported the endeavour, but was forever disappointed that it wasn’t related to my college education.

Basically, for much of my life, I was isolated. VERY isolated.

Now, what was the point of telling you this (quite frankly long-winded) backstory? This is a chillingly similar story to a lot of the Far Right terrorists I’ve been reading about. However, where I stopped with the backstory is where the divergence begins. See, in my case, after effectively throwing things up at the ceiling in hopes to see what sticks, with a further declining mental health and wallet, I eventually got myself a nice job selling guns to people (I do realize the irony in this and to this day it still makes me chuckle).

Okay, that divergence point wasn’t the only point where I differ. The positive about the air gun hobby (which evolved into gun hobby) is that I was exposed to a bunch of weirdoes (of which I consider to be cool people in my life), which, in many cases, were acting as the only social interactions I had.

See, in my case, I had just a few tiny embers of motivation to keep going, even in the worst of times. In the case of, for example, the El Paso shooter, I see a completely extinguished flame of motivation to succeed in life. A pitch-black pit of ashes and soot. At best this results in suicide (of which becomes, at best, a statistic) that nobody reports on. At worst is what I’ll be talking about next:

I can’t claim to know everything that’s happened to the guy in El Paso, TX, USA (or really any of the Alt Right), but the few commonalities I’ve seen between me and these Alt Right weirdoes is indicative of a problematic pattern:

Isolationism.

Humans are social creatures, and as such talking to one another and having dialogue is crucial. And at the risk of sounding like “hurr dburr technology bad Thomas Edison was a witch”, for all the good the Internet has brought us (and it most certainly has), it’s also acted as a double-edged sword.

I’m not going into a “in the past humans spoke with each other face-to-face myeh~” because that’s, at most, only part of the issue. I don’t know when, but at some point people kept cutting more and more people out of their circles due to differing opinions. This results in those social rejects to seek out anyone to speak with, both on and offline. Now, I do know why that happens. I forget where but I read somewhere that differing opinions trigger the same brain response as when a saber-toothed tiger rushes towards you: a fight-or-flight response.

I don’t know if it’s because of deliberate actions of some nefarious actors or just something that festered over time, but at some point the talking points between these groups of rejects became very extremist. But because nobody else would dare approach them with a 50′ pole (be it because they’re just that well hidden or their actions are really just that repulsive), their views go unchallenged.

Even further compounding the issue is all the news and media attention mass shooters have had received, especially around 2008-2017, but starting from Columbine (even though mass shootings took place before then, see Ecole Polytechnique of Montreal, QC, Canada). And given the nature of Cable News around this time (24 hour coverage of everything ever), this only emboldened a lot of these killers.

Now, to their credit, they did slow down on the reporting on the mass shooters’ profile and what have you, but because there’s enough of a backlog of previous mass shooters, it’ll still be a while before it all dies down. Not helping is that these incidents are becoming weirder and crazier, with the latest one specifically targetting Latin Americans and leaving a manifesto (in the same fashion as the guy in Christchurch, also racially motivated). Why? Because they know it’ll result in The Clicks. It’ll result in The Attention.

The same Attention they never received as kids.

Mix that with the utter nihilism, and this results in a horrific cocktail of terror.

Before any of my followers to the right of the aisle say any sort of Shen Bapiro style quip of sorts, this is not limited to The Far Right. I’m bringing them up because right now that seems to be The Big Discussion Point right now.

You may have noticed that I’ve not mentioned Donald Trump or his rhetoric. Let me first make things clear: I do not like Donald Trump. I do not like a lot of what he’s done, or what he’s said.

But the reason I’ve not mentioned Trump is simple:

This shit’s been happening since at least the Clinton administration. It’s only gotten this insane because it had the time to grow over a very long time.

You may have also noticed that I’ve barely mentioned firearms. Well I can tell you from personal experience it takes more than just a drum mag to drive people to want to kill (I’m so afraid of conflicts that I kept this entire essay below a cut).

I can tell you right now, for every one drum mag used in a massacre, one thousand of them have been used strictly in the range (be it an official one, something cobbled together in some redneck’s backyard, or as gun owners call it: “innawoods”). Most gun owners don’t even like those things for the simple fact that they’re expensive, heavy, and unreliable.

Somewhat off topic, but the whole “sensible gun laws” discussion infuriates me, for the simple fact that nobody can really agree on what “sensible” even is. For some, semi is acceptable but pinned to 10 or 5. Others will say semis are unacceptable altogether. Some will say no guns longer than certain amount, others will say no shorter. Some will say only some guns are acceptable based purely on what they’ve heard, and others will flat out reject guns altogether. Some say shotguns are fine but rifles aren’t, others say rifles are fine but shotguns aren’t.

The fact that everyone wanting “sensible gun laws” have wildly varying ideas of what “sensible” is makes the whole discussion not only pointless, it also assumes that the person declaring their view of “sensible” is in charge of what is sensible, and everyone else must follow it. A very self-centred approach, if you ask me.

All the while having zero clue as to what the hell they’re talking about.

If you made it this far, or just sort of skimmed through everything (I don’t blame you if the latter), here is a scene from Steven Universe that sums up what I’m saying (not perfectly, mind you, but the gist of it remains the same):

So the solution seems simple, yes? Re-integrate these extremists back into society, right?

Well, at this stage it’s not that easy.

And I hate to disappoint, but I don’t really have any answers. At least, one that can be summed up in even just a paragraph. Rather, the way I see it, every individual is a different case study as it is. We all need to approach things in that manner.

Because sweeping legislation of what people can or can’t say, use, or do will only work until it is used against them.

But hey, it’s the fault of a piece of metal and plastic, isn’t it?

[autistic-yuri-on-ice]

in the anime jj is shown to interact pretty awkwardly in social situations , such as trying to make a joke/join in on the conversation at the restaurant scene and annoyed the others. he was v confused and didn’t really understand why. so i was just wondering your thoughts on this ?

Oh yeah, JJ is definitely one of the most socially awkward characters in the show. Even Viktor thinks he has “a certain unapproachable quality the other competitors don’t”. I’m glad you mentioned the restaurant scene because that’s the biggest and most memorable example….Pretty much the go-to scene when I’m thinking about autistic JJ in canon, because he reads the situation and the group’s reactions really differently than we as the audience do (since we are aware of things characters aren’t) and including him in that scene was a deliberate move to show how he doesn’t fit in.

As an apology for my rambling on that specific scene I put the rest of my analysis under here haha

So, Viktor says this famous line:

And we in the audience get to have a laugh because we know that Yuuri is Japan’s Ace and obviously will be winning a gold medal this season and even if he doesn’t, they’re still going to get married. No doubt in our minds at all. However, the group reacts like this:

What I like to imagine them thinking: “So you don’t even see us as competition? You’re really surrounding your marriage plans on a gold medal he may not win?” (They don’t get to see the full story, or Viktor and Yuuri’s relationship, like we do so obviously they’re a bit confused by the wording.)

Then JJ shows up, hears all of the commotion and is all:

Whether he meant it to sound arrogant and kind of condescending or not is besides the point because that’s how everyone took it, even the audience. Of course we did, because the only things we knew about JJ at that point were that he was one of the best skaters and super full of himself about it. Even when he invited Otabek to dinner like five minutes ago he called him weird. (So seeing Otabek reject him but then having dinner with literally everyone would kind of hurt, even if they weren’t friends, but that’s not what I’m focusing on here) I don’t know if JJ and him were friends at any point so I can’t say for sure if Otabek thinks he is being serious or not. (I doubt it because it just seemed like friendly teasing, but who knows? otabek barely has any words and only 2 expressions.)

He doesn’t read the group’s looks of -_- and :/ at all. He just thinks that he can make a joke with them and they will know he is making a joke because that’s what most people think, that their jokes are obvious. I act the same way when I try to be funny, I forget that not everyone knows my sense of humor or what I’m even talking about and I have to explain myself a lot. JJ wants to be included and that’s how he tries.

But everyone’s a bit ticked off and probably not having the energy to talk to JJ at the moment so they just leave. Their actions, not their expressions, make JJ realize that they thought he was just being a asshole. This is honestly such a relatable autistic moment, I laughed a lot at this scene when I watched it. He says something that was misunderstood and he only realizes it when they leave. Do I think the writers wrote JJ (or any character) to be autistic? Unfortunately, no. Will that stop me from thinking this whole scene is the Biggest Autistic Mood? Nope! 

JJ’s inability to fit in and attempts at doing so are clumsy and seems like a theme for his character. Only in episode 11/12 do we and the characters see that the pressure gives him a lot of anxiety and he’s not as confident as he seems. Yuuri begins to respect him more because he understands. He also has some issues with his self-esteem and fitting in. I could talk about Yuuri too but I think I should end it here!

In conclusion, JJ is autistic and can’t read people well at all- a headcanon that happens to be 100% supported by canon baby!

[astalkingirin]

Alright, Awakening thoughts, they were long so let's put it all on tumblr instead of in more transitory form. I feel like this is something I'd regret but also I don't use tumblr as tumblr so maybe not.

Gross terrible dwarf wasn't that terrible actually for the part of the game he's mandatory but I did ditch him immediately so he was never around the rest of the female companions which is probably why. His banter with the guys is okay, probably because neither of them had any buttons for him to push. I'm still sad I didn't accidentally kill him by staying at the city, though. And why would an alcoholic with a compromised liver do better at the joining ceremony anyway?

I did so much worse at sucking up to everyone this time, because I was trying to continue playing the Warden I'd established while last time I built my personality around someone it made sense to be friends with these guys. As a city elf, I was sympathetic to class issues and generally forgiving of mass murder as long as you promised to not mass murder later unless you really needed to, BUT nobles are assholes and mages are scary and I totally do not regret killing that kid. That dovetailed nicely into gameplay because I was running through the game with minimal strategy/party management, so any time there was an enemy spellcaster I just sprinted at them to deal with it personally and a whole bunch of time I killed the guy only to keel over from curse of mortality.

As a result, I got along best with Sigrun. "I ruined this person's life but I had no choice!!!" Of course you didn't the dwarves are SO MEAN they betrayed me twice over (also they poisoned my sister) and also fuck da police and really you did her a favor by getting her to come to the surface where people are only awful some of the time. I gave her half the alcohol I was still carrying on me from last game. I'm actually not certain I maxed out anyone else. Also, all of her prickliness was for people trying to start conversations with her, and you can't really do that, so she was only cranky and unapproachable to everyone else. Relatedly, I found the whole thing about "hey the casteless took up arms to defend this place!!!" to be deeply uncomfortable and the people who said fuck it, let's make a break for the surface had the right of it. Like yes, they did prove they weren't worthless - but you shouldn't be sacrificing yourself covering the retreat to prove you're not worthless to the people who insisted you were worthless in the first place and left you behind to die. (Also I really can't buy they "accidentally" "forgot about" the casteless during the evacuation. A city's worth of dwarves don't accidentally sneak out of anywhere.) Pick up the weapons to do a fighting retreat toward the surface, let those assholes slow down the darkspawn with their deaths the way they meant for yours to. And relatedly NO SIGRUN JUST DITCH THE LEGION OF THE DEAD YOU OWE THE DWARVES NOTHING! You love the surface! You love everything about being up here even more than you hate everything about being down there, at the very least get yourself killed fighting forest demons or something instead of the deep roads.

Anders just has no standards, so even though my responses to everything he said were along the lines of "mages are scary" and "sounds fake but okay" he was just really grateful I didn't hand over my healbot to someone challenging my and my entire organization's authority (after I had previously murdered the last assholes to try that). I think the problem was that my character is forgiving of actual crimes but cranky about lying while he comes off as someone scared to tell the truth. If he just said, "I think mages should get to kill people!" I'd be all "lol cool I also enjoy murder" but he kept trying to argue they weren't dangerous as the underpinning for his argument so I kept responding with "are so!" So I guess the other half was that he wasn't enough of a killer because I got on great with straight up assassins. I am still not over that you give him shiny stuff to make him like you. What is with mages even. How are you shallower than Zevron. Anyway, I feel bad because everything about him was so sad. It's like he'd lost his inside voice during solitary so now he just babbles whatever's in his head out loud and tried to cope by sounding like he's doing it on purpose as a joke. I don't feel like there's anything my non-mage Warden could ever do to really change anything about that, though - sure, he's grateful for whatever you do for him because he has such awful expectations, but it's for the same reason I can't see him believing I'd do anything more than what I demonstrated. It's not like Morrigan where her low expectations are because she's had limited human interaction so she's willing to accept new data points. Also I would like to throw my hat into the bloodsplattered ring - Anders didn't kill the Templars, because he wouldn't lie if he had. He didn't do anything at all because magic is so bad and they're here to keep him from doing any of it, right? After they were dead, he engaged the darkspawn, which explains why it was such a close thing.

Got on well with Nathaniel once he accepted I was right to murder his dad and take all his stuff (still mad BECAUSE TORTURE CHAMBERS NATHANIEL was not an option), and honestly, he barely even put up an argument before then, he was just mildly huffy no matter how nasty I was about it. Nathaniel is just so much a people-pleaser. Actually, that seems like a thing for the rogues. He made a good stab at friendship with Sigrun that got rebuffed for class issue reasons, then came back for a strong second try by saying he totally understands class issues suck. I'm so sad he rebuffed Anders' one attempt at finding common ground because Anders rejects all overtures coming from other people I could see. Also, like, maybe you could have someone ELSE get those phylacteries, Anders? Maybe a person who not only can't be tracked by those things but can straight up turn invisible? And whose entire skillset is based around sneaking into places?

Justice was creepy as fuck A+++++ I only regret I didn't get more of Polite Spirit In Rotting Corpse trying to talk to people. Also, that bit about the lyrium song was very intriguing, especially since it not only came up with the darkspawn, but the Mother seems to think going to the Fade is tied to hearing it.

I only had Velanna on my side for a bit because I was trying to keep the same people in my party but I thought it was hilarious that even if you make no real effort to be convincing she's just like "huh, a split second of self-reflection is enough to make me realize this does all seem like a total setup, whoops!" Then I went straight to the city so she was still in my party and we went to the merchants to tell them I'd dealt with the problem and she was sooooo uncomfortable. Like, not remorseful so much as embarrassed she'd screwed up so bad. Also she was spamming some spell that changed her skin so it was like she was trying to hide the whole time we were there but ineptly because she was no longer in a forested environment and it was as hilarious as every picture of animals failing at camouflage ever was. I realize this is not supposed to be seen as part of her characterization but that's what I love about videogame canon.

The actual plot...I don't know really. So the Architect wants to free darkspawn, but also he said nothing about making it so the darkspawn stop killing everyone and I don't know how I'm supposed to believe his claim he didn't want to kill the Wardens when there is one alive one left, but with broken legs who dies when I find him. And I'm on the side of blights being good for precisely the reason he points out, they kill off massive numbers of darkspawn. (I think it'd have made sense for the reason this Blight was weird is related to the fact there's been a longer than usual time between them - that means the darkspawn population should be much higher.) If he was talking about peace between our peoples, that'd be great, but no matter how many chances I gave him to say that, he kept avoiding the subject. I let him live mostly because my Warden generally let anybody live who wasn't actually in combat with her, and I feel bad about how I overruled my companions and their completely reasonable WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK opinions on that.

I guess it makes sense that waking up as a broodmother would make you way more likely to go crazy, so it really wasn't any more misogynistic than the initial setup already was, but it still meant there was this whole gendered conflict between the rational man of progress and the crazy woman whose feeble mind broke under the strain. And given the Architect was supposed to be unique, why did he have to be a guy anyway? Given the darkspawn are all getting born of regular race females it’d be plausible that a female one might be more lucid, maybe it’s a more successful clone compared to the male form.

(Why does it make total sense that someone can completely transform into an enormous flesh lump and asexually churn out billions of monster babies by magic, but only if they have a regular uterus first? Men are the ones who produce huge numbers of gametes forever if we're being "realistic".)

I actually really loved the shortness of it - the one thing that actually did bug me about Origins was that, although they did have the one big early event, I kept crisscrossing the map doing sidequests so it took me forever. Having fewer total things makes me less able to fritter away my time and so makes it feel like there's a real time limit, and it also made me stress less about completing sidequests properly since redoing it wouldn't be such a trial. Plus the limited party is less painful when it's actually conceivable to replay the game over and over with different people.

I like the idea of having to choose between the city and the keep, but I don't get why killing a few darkspawn to allow evacuation wasn't an option. It'd be one thing if I had to pick initially to stay/go, but I already walked all the way to the city, I can spare five minutes before setting it on fire. Somehow I'm suddenly at the chantry and people are talking about staying and me routing the darkspawn and geeze, you guys wouldn't let the refugees in because your city was too good for them, I didn't actually mind this place burning down. It seems like the point of tension is supposed to be about saving the city itself (the jewel of the region, etc) vs the keep itself, so I don't think it'd have been too much of an issue to have a third option of letting the people escape and getting to the keep slightly later for a harder battle or something.

I wish there was more talking. I accidentally killed the mages because I accepted the quest to find out what it was and then they started attacking me. Also did I really murder people over moonshine because of a prank letter? It seems like there's mostly the option to resolve things peacefully when that's obviously a bad idea, like with the demons and darkspawn. Maybe I wouldn't have kept letting demons gallivant all over the countryside if I had more of a choice about if I wanted to turn every band of mooks into chunky salsa. (Game could also have used a system where resolving things peacefully didn't cheat you out of leveling and items in return for nothing at all.)