#been really sick lately so my artistic vision has not. been working with me.

[weekend-whip]

My DTIYS for @nutellabit!! My tiger looks kinda weird tho 🧐

[wizzard890]

what got you so into the french revolution?

When I was in school for medieval art history, I did a lot of work on saints and their martyrdoms, particularly how the viewers of art depicting suffering imagined suffering, and how the agony/eroticism of those feelings induced a sort of memetic spiritual euphoria. Which means that I spent a ton of time looking at images of executions. I've seen them all: beheadings and sexymen shot full of arrows, saints barbecued or flayed or eaten by wild animals, criminals broken on the wheel -- all the classics. Or at least, I thought I had, until I encountered this triptych in my senior year of college:

This, by Belgian artist Antoine Wiertz, is The Visions of a Guillotined Head, painted in the late 1840s. Wiertz was a symbolist, and spent a great portion of his career drawn to the macabre, never more notably than on the occasion that inspired this painting.

In February 1848, two notable French criminals were due to be executed by the state. The guillotine was of course still in use as a method of capital punishment (and would be until the 1970s), and Wiertz was curious as to what a so-swiftly severed head felt and saw. He wasn't the first; since the guillotine's invention there had been legends of heads that blinked and blushed and tried to speak after separation. Luckily, Wiertz had a friend who was a hypnotist (as you do). Timed to the moment of the execution, he had his hypnotist pal put his soul "into rapport" with the dead criminal, and claimed that he entered the head itself as it fell.

He later recalled his experiences at some length in writing, but since we're talking about me, here is the important passage, dictated as he "felt" the horror of execution:

A horrible buzzing noise, the sound of the blade descending. The victim believes that he has been struck by lightning, not the axe. Astonishingly, the head lies under the scaffold and yet still believes it is above, still believes itself to be part of the body, and still waits for the blow that will cut it off. Horrible choking! No way to breathe. The asphyxia is appalling. It comes from an inhuman, supernatural hand, weighing down like a mountain on the head and neck. A cloud of fire passes before his eyes. Everything is red and glitters.

Now comes the moment when the executed man thinks he is stretching his cramped, trembling hands towards the dying head. It is the same instinct that drives us to press a hand against a gaping wound. And it occurs with the dreadful intention of setting the head back on the trunk, to preserve a little blood, a little life.

This fucked me up so bad.

I am well aware that consciousness after having your spinal cord severed is a done deal. I was aware of this in college. But there was something about this artist's act of imaginative empathy that compelled me, for the first time, to think about the guillotine in particular. About the mechanical wait, not being pushed off a drop or axed while kneeling, about being slid through on a board, of seeing the basket beneath you, already full of heads. Maybe even heads you know.

I imagined it so hard that I made myself sick and couldn't go to class for two days.

The reason I studied what I studied wasn't because I was ghoulish. In fact, I'm a little squeamish. It was because in the experience of pain, we are all deeply individualized, but entirely, helplessly human.

I laid in bed and thought about the small number of humans who I, an educated layman, knew had been guillotined: Marie Antoinette, obviously; Louis XVI; and (in what felt like black historical irony, given what I knew of his day job) Maximilian Robespierre.

It felt intrusive to have intimately imagined their last, most private moments, without really having any idea about them at all. Better to start at the end and work backwards, I thought. So I started reading.

Robespierre, decapitated by guillotine when he was thirty-six. That's the manner of death. How did he meet his death? In terrible pain, I learned. Why? Because he'd had half his jaw blown off the night before. Jesus, why? Because he'd (maybe probably) shot himself. Why?

It turns out, if you keep doing that, a piece at a time, for years, you can learn a lot about someone's life. And, relatedly, in long and branching paths, you can find your way into every nook and cranny of what burned through France at the end of the 18th century.

[harrison-abbott]

big crack

I went for a walk down the street somewhere near midnight. Usually I took my dog with me but my dog was sick so I left her at home and so I was on my own this time. It was raining lightly, the roads wet. And at the far end of the street I heard some noises. Voices, men’s voices. They were shouting. And then three shapes appeared on the road. A trio of men. Just by the way they veered as they walked I could tell they were drunk, and I thought about turning back and heading away. But they’d already seen me and so if I showed cowardice then they might chase me. Walking towards them, I developed that fear that I remembered from boyhood whenever there was another pack of males around. And here I was at 38 years old, feeling the same thing. I wished that I’d brought my dog with me because my dog was an Alsatian. Ha. Hmm. The men got closer and closer and they grew quiet. I tried to ignore them in that lame way people do when it’s so obvious that you’re trying to blank them. And when one of them spoke to me I flinched a little. They laughed. “Sorry?” I said. One of the boys was speaking to me, wearing a red hooded top. “Can I have a shot of your glasses?” he said. I didn’t really know what he meant so I chuckled to try and chuckle it off. And I walked on from them. I quickened my step. “Excuse me!” the red hooded top character called again. “I asked you a question.” And in my corner vision I saw him approach me and so I turned and my heartbeat was quickening now. “You don’t walk away from somebody when they’re trying to speak to you!” he yelled. The others were watching curiously behind him. And I think he had to show them that he was worth something. All of them were in their late teens or early twenties. They would have been drinking in the pub down the road and it would’ve been near closing time so they were on their way home. Anyway. The main boy just came up and punched me clean in the face. It didn’t feel like much. But it knocked my glasses off. They flew over the concrete. Then the boy smacked me again in the cheeks a couple of times and they also didn’t feel like anything physical. His friends laughed. And then they all ran off up the road. … I went and picked my glasses up. There was a big crack on the left lens but I put them on again. I thought about calling the police. But I had this other idea that I could go back to my place and get out the breadknife from the kitchen drawer and hunt those cunts down. But I didn’t do that either and I completed my walk and went home. The next day I had to go to work, but my broken glasses. And the colleagues kept asking me why they were bust. I couldn’t tell any of them the real story. I think I masked it up because that’s how I deal with trauma: I shut it off. When what I should have done was call the police on those thugs the second after I was smacked at the start. Similar incidents happened to me when I was a kid and I never went to the police about it afterwards. What I tried to do was respond to it artistically, with songs and stories and so on. And my music never got popular and my books never sold well. I got through work, being able to see through the one eye. And then the next day I couldn’t head to the opticians because, well, I had to go to work again, but the following day was a Saturday. I had no replacement pair of glasses and thus bounced down to the store and I met this girl who directed me to the best suited new pair I needed and they cost a hell of a lot. Whilst I was paying for them she asked me, “So how did the old pair get broken?” And I responded, “Some younger lad punched me in the face, ho ho.” And she laughed. Because she thought I was joking.

[ayamturd]

end│dreamwastaken

summary: dream was once your everything that you would do anything for; what happens when you finally confront the reality of his manipulation and sadistic destruction?

prompt: “we’re both at fault here, and now we both have to pay the price.” 

warnings: descriptive manipulation, a single curse word, angst

pairing: in-game c!dream

a/n: this is my entry for @sleepysoupi​‘s 1.8k event! it goes without saying how late i am considering she’s currently working on her 2.0k event, but still a huge congratulatory to her amazing success and obvious, well deserved recognition <33 we love soupi in this household, nothing less of the fact *^*

also i know the prison doesn’t work exactly like how i wrote it, but let’s pretend for the sake of this fic

wc: (1.6k) - m.list

“Don’t do this, y/n.”

The air was sticky and heavy. As the lava bubbled behind you, it felt as if the heat could reach out and smother you entirely; the subtle warmth that felt insufferably suffocating in the tight space was a large contrast to the dark, opaque walls. 

Although you stood in front of him by your own desire, habits quickly fell to place as he stood proudly above you. Chin raised, Dream’s shoulders were relaxed while he spoke to you. His words were firm, and with clenched fists, you swallowed harshly from his mocking tone. 

You could practically hear his condescending grin without looking in how belittling he addressed you, and you hated how familiar the speech was. 

“After all I’ve done for you, and you want to throw it all away?”

Despite all attempts, you unconsciously bowed your head down. Whether in unjustified guilt or the internal rage from his lies, you couldn’t say yourself. He noticed nonetheless, and played into your vulnerability further. 

He was the one defenseless in this scenario, yet he held all the power in the small cage between the two of you. 

“We made promises! ‘Till the very end, right?!” He began to raise his voice and feigned some form of heartbreak, taking a step dangerously closer to you while you stood there in frozen fear.

Staring harshly down at your feet, the weight of gravity pulled at your tears as they trickled down sparsely. This was different than when you originally confronted him mere hours ago. Here, you were alone and with no backing, no one to reassure you that you did the right thing. That he was a monster that had you blinded for so long.

That you were justified for betraying Dream. 

“Don’t play stupid with me now. You can’t act like I did this all alone. That I’m not the only sick fuck in the room who enjoys the-”

“Stop it,” you whispered with closed eyes. While your voice was small, it echoed so loudly and threw Dream off guard. He shook his head and with a dark chuckle, sneered disparagingly. 

“You really th-”

Your eyes opened as you unexpectedly interrupted him.

“No. For once in my life, I mean it. Shut your egotistical mouth for one goddamn second.”

Everything was in a frozen stand still as you snapped. 

Course tears ran steadily down your cheeks, yet your eyes held more strength than Dream could had ever perceived in that moment. It had been so long since you had lost your voice. Lost your confidence, your fire that drew him in in the first place. It had been so long since you felt like yourself again, the person you once were before he teared you down completely to his mercy. 

You swallowed sternly in exposed anxiety; when was the last time you saw his face like this? Saw his face at all, at that. 

The molten lava radiated the room, it being the main source of light in contrast to the faint glow of the lanterns built into the walls. When you had originally requested to see him one final time before he was officially locked away for good, you had no idea what you expected to see. You didn’t see anything, actually, since you couldn’t bring yourself to try and meet his eye line the entire time. 

Until now. 

As the magma shaded the room in a warm shine, his dull eyes gleamed a faded hue of ash green. His dirty blond hair was visible without his signature hoodie, his previous clothes stripped away and replaced with an attired uniform instead. He hid behind a mask for so long, it was surreal to see him as something so mundane and human.

Your mouth felt so dry from seeing him again. He almost looked like when you first laid eyes on him, that beautiful day when you thought you had fallen in love. How nice the sun felt, and how crisp the wind blew. The summer day was fresh and the sweet smell of honey pervaded the air. To think it was by mere chance he approached you in the white flower field, hidden in the depths of the forest with a charming smile and gentle hand.

How cruel reality liked to play with you and give you false hope that such love could truly exist. 

The memory brought a smoldering rage that made your heart race in return. Back straight, you dared a step towards him with a quiet, yet firm declaration. 

“I’m done making excuses for your lies. For your actions, for the hurt you cause, for you.”

Dream could barely register your words as you continued in growing fury. It was like the floodgates were open and you felt free to speak your truth. 

You were riding this new found wave and would hold nothing back anymore. 

“I let you get away with so much because I truly believed that I loved you. That my love could fix you, or change what you are.”

You stepped forward again, your finger shakily pointed at him. His mouth opened to respond but you spoke before he could try. You weren’t going to give him anything, you thought, he doesn’t deserve your silence.

“I went against everything I believed!” you suddenly yelled, “everything I stood for, everything I thought because of you!”

Your vision was a blur as your raw emotions came loose. You screamed from the top of your lungs to the point where your voice cracked with a head lifted high. 

“I let people get hurt! People I love and care for because I prioritized you over everything I had!”

Another step forward, your voice shook with quivered lips as a result of an ached and long scorned heart.

“To think I used to be so proud to say it, to say you were my everything and my world.” With a trembled exhale, you gathered yourself before finishing your thought. “Maybe I am stupid, but trust me when I say my ignorance was your freedom and my considered love a blind devotion.”

Dream’s face softened considerably, for he was at a loss for words and didn’t have anything to probe at anymore. It was his turn to suffer in a lost acceptance.

“I…”

Shaking your head, you scoffed with your head tilted in disbelief. Smiling darkly, you knew then and there you regained the power of the room and your self-assurance over him. How the turn tables.

“Funny how things change when you have no where to run. When you’re the one helpless and reliant.”

Standing strong with your arms crossed, you stared at him with such distaste. Dream’s brows furrowed with a clench jaw as he stepped even closer to you. He was now mere inches away and glared down at you from his given height. Even then, you wouldn’t back down any longer.

“I do love you, y/n. Everything I did, I did for us. You can’t leave me like this.” He gazed down with such intensity that your past you would have wanted to say something just to appease him entirely; you weren’t that person anymore, and you wouldn’t let him drag you down more than he already has. 

Dropping yours arms before stepping back, you messaged Sam without wavering your eye contact from him. 

“We’re both at fault here, and now we both have to pay the price of it alone.”

The sounded mechanics from outside the box indicated the lava dropping, signifying the end of your visit. Dream grew agitated at the thought of you leaving and dropped his eyes down in resent, a huge contrast to your relaxed and calm state. 

You moved backwards until your back threatened to be burned by the heat. 

“Here’s to loosing all those attachments you mentioned.”

Dream’s head snapped up from your words, but before he could attempt anything further, the Netherite divider rose and separated you both. The lava parted as you approached the platform, Sam visible from across the entrapping moat. He watched closely in regard to your safety and anything Dream might try with your back currently turned. 

Approaching the stone platform once deemed safe, you turned to face him a final time as the contraption slowly pulled you away. Your chin was raised, and your tears were dry in satisfaction to your found closure.

“You were right,” you affirmed, “we did make promises, and this is our end.”

Bonus:

Tommy had been tormenting Dream for the past few minutes or so, his obnoxious taunts a sign of recovery from all the trauma he had dealt with from his young age. He hid behind his humor, but was strong when confronting his abuser with no uncertainty then. 

“Who do you miss the most?”

Dream paused from fiddling with the leather of the book covers from the simple question. His hand began to curl around the thick material, and he drowned out Tommy’s rambling from behind him.

A familiar scent filled his senses, an old and precious memory uncovered from the oppressed depths of his mind. He pulled the book in hand open to a random, but intentional page, his callous fingers tracing over the stained ink.

He wasn’t an artist, and it easily would have been passed for messy, nonsense doodles, yet the drawing practically burned the paper as a reminder of his failed objectives.

The innocent azure bluets insulted him despite being his own creation.

Dream was done playing into Tommy’s confidence, and spoke lowly as his head turned further away from the boy.

“… I think you should go, Tommy."

[cocobeanncteez]

ATEEZ Yeosang: Soulmate (oneshot)

Genre: Angst, fluff, idol au, soulmate au.

Pairing: Soulmate!Yeosang x Reader (fem) / Yeosang x idol!reader

Warnings: none.

In this world, everyone has a soulmate. Most people give up on trying to find their soulmate, while some travel the world just to find that one special person.

Each person has different indicators that a person is their soulmate; in your case, every mark your soulmate gets on his skin appears on yours, like a burn scar, bruise, or a cut. You didn't have the same moles, freckles, or birthmarks, and if he drew something on his skin, it wouldn't appear on yours; basically, anything that changes an area of the skin that can't be easily or instantly undone, will show up on your skin. Luckily, you couldn't feel the pain from it, you could only see it.

"Y/N, you're next," your group's makeup artist said to you, making you get up from the sofa. You sat on the chair, allowing her to work on your face while you listened to some music. After everyone in your group got ready, you went on stage. You were the leader of your group, so you had to talk before the performance.

-

Ateez had just finished performing and were currently watching your group from the TV in their waiting room while they had some refreshments.

Yeosang wasn't paying much attention as he was really tired... that was until he noticed the burn scar on your finger while you talked: it was the exact same burn scar as his that he got two days ago while helping Wooyoung cook. He got up from the chair, moving closer to the TV to check if it was really the same. He mentally cursed when you gave the mic to another member, cause now he couldn't see your hands anymore.

"What's wrong, Yeosang?" Hongjoong asked.

"Hyung, she has the same scar as me," he replied, showing the scar on his finger, shocking some of the members. "I'm not sure if it's exactly the same."

"Wait, wait, wait," Wooyoung took out his phone; he had already found his soulmate, so he was sure this was a sign. He immediately searched for images on Twitter. When he found a picture of a bruise that you had on your knee, he showed it to Yeosang. "Didn't you have the same bruise last month?"

Yeosang's eyes widened. "No way... this can't be true."

"You don't look very happy for someone who just found out who their soulmate is," Yunho commented.

"That's cause I'm not," Yeosang said through gritted teeth. "I hate this whole soulmate bullshit. I'd rather genuinely fall in love with someone than have the universe choose that someone for me."

None of the guys questioned Yeosang, knowing it was not the best time to talk to him about it; however, they really hoped he would change his mind soon.

-

After your group's performance ended, you all started filming for your behind the scenes content. Today, you all had a challenge to do: your six-member group was split into two teams, and one member from each team had to visit five other groups/soloists in the building to play a round of rock, paper, scissors, and the team who gets the least wins would face a penalty that would be shown on the next vlive. You and one of your members, Aeji, decided to volunteer for it.

After finishing the first four groups, you went to Ateez's waiting room which was at the end of the corridor. Aeji knocked on the door and Ateez's manager opened it. She explained what you both were here for, and he agreed to let you film with them.

You entered the room, bowing to the eight men.  "Hi! I'm Y/N and this is Aeji, we have a small challenge to do here. Could one of you play rock, paper, scissors with us?" You noticed how some of the boys glanced at Yeosang who was staring at your hands. As soon as you made eye-contact with Kang Yeosang, you felt something unexplainable in your heart, making you gasp in shock. Your vision became blurry and your head started spinning, making you clutch your head with your arms in hope of getting the spinning to stop.

"Y/N?! Y/N, are you all right?" you heard Aeji ask, but her voice seemed so far away.

Your head started spinning even faster, causing you to faint.

"Fuck!" Aeji kneeled down, putting your head on her lap while Ateez's staff got some water for you. They sprinkled some water on your face, but you didn't respond. "Oh god, what suddenly happened? She was fine minutes ago," Aeji mumbled to herself, but everyone heard her.

"Yeosang, do something," Wooyoung said. "Maybe she'll respond to you."

Aeji glanced at them in confusion.

"I'm not doing shit," Yeosang said. "You know I don't like this whole soul—"

"I'm sorry, but what are you guys talking about?" Aeji questioned.

"Y/N is Yeosang's soulmate," San stated, making the older man glare at him for exposing him.

Aeji's eyes widened. "Oh, is that so? Well, then do something, please. I don't know what made her faint."

"Well, from what I know, she passed out cause she has seen and been in the same area as Yeosang, but never realized he is her soulmate. The intensity of not knowing but being so close probably caused her to pass out," Hongjoong explained.

You could hear everything, but you just weren't able to open your eyes.

"Hyung, touch her cheek or something," Jongho suggested.

Yeosang hesitated for a few seconds before he sighed, kneeling beside you. He placed his hand on your cheek, gently cupping it, stroking your skin with his thumb. Even though he hated the whole soulmate thing, he couldn't deny that you were absolutely stunning; he had never seen anyone as beautiful as you.

Your eyes slowly opened, immediately landing on Yeosang's beautiful brown ones. Time seemed to have frozen at that moment, and your heart filled with happiness. It was obvious to you that he was your soulmate; you were thrilled about it as you always wanted to find your soulmate, and you always found Yeosang unique whenever you saw him at shows.

"I-I have to go," Yeosang murmured before standing up and leaving the room, leaving you confused. Why didn't he look happy?

-

"Kang Yeosang from Ateez is my soulmate," you told your members. They all were happy for you, except Aeji.

"Y/N, I don't think Yeosang is as thrilled as you," Aeji mumbled. "Jongho told me that Yeosang hates the whole soulmate thing."

"Oh, my brother hated all that too, but after he found his soulmate, he loved it," one of your members said with a small smile.

"Then let's hope Yeosang is the same, hmm?" Aeji said, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. You really hoped everything would go well.

-

"Um, hey, can we talk privately?" you asked Yeosang, standing outside Ateez's waiting room. He rolled his eyes, but followed you to the rooftop of the building.

You gave him a small smile. "So, uh—"

"Look, Y/N," he started in a cold tone. "I don't care if we're soulmates according to the universe or whatever shit it is. Neither do I want a soulmate, nor do I need one. I'd rather find someone who genuinely loves me for who I am, not because of some hideous so-called soulmate bond." You just kept quiet, unsure of what to say while your heart ached terribly. 

"So just move on, yeah?" he continued, staring at the clouds moving in the blue sky. "I'm sure you'll find someone who will genuinely love you." He glanced at you before leaving you all alone on the rooftop with a shattered heart.

You always wanted to find your soulmate. You wanted to experience being madly in love with the person you're fated to be with till death. But how could you do any of that when your soulmate doesn't even want you? You wondered how it was so easy for him to break your heart. Was your bond really that weak?

You sighed, blinking away the tears from your eyes. You can't and won't force your soulmate to love you back, so you should probably take his advice and try to move on.

-

"Wow, Yeosang, didn't know you were getting some action," San said with a smirk, confusing the man who had just finished showering.

"What are you saying?"

"No need to act oblivious, we all can see it," Wooyoung said.

"I pity our makeup artist," Seonghwa commented.

Yeosang raised an eyebrow.  "What the hell are you guys talking about?"

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. "The hickey on your neck, obviously."

Yeosang's eyebrows furrowed. He checked his reflection in the mirror, eyes widening at the big hickey on his neck and one below his collarbone.

"It's on Y/N," Yeosang said through gritted teeth, feeling extremely annoyed and hurt. His heart ached terribly. He wanted to see you right now, but it was nearly impossible. Both his and your group's promotions ended two weeks ago, and there was no way he could meet you anywhere outside due to paparazzi. He didn't even have your number.

"You look... pissed," Jongho stated.

"Well, yeah, my soulmate is fucking another man," Yeosang spat before sitting on the large couch in the living room of the dorm, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

Yunho raised an eyebrow. "Do you expect her to wait for you when you literally told her to move on?" he asked in disbelief. "And now that she has, you're pissed? That's unfair."

Yeosang sighed, remembering every word he told you. He knew Yunho was right.

"I know, but... I just can't do this anymore. The bond is torturing me. A-And," his voice cracked as tears swelled up in his eyes. "I love her. I really love her, soulmate or not."

Wooyoung sat beside Yeosang, wrapping his arms around him, letting his bestfriend cry on his shoulder. Everyone could only hope it wasn't too late for Yeosang.

-

"Yeosang... it's been a week. You need to come out of your room," Seonghwa murmured, kneeling beside Yeosang's bed.

"I don't feel like doing that, hyung."

Seonghwa sighed. "We have to practice for the award show tomorrow. Our manager won't let you miss practice for the third time."

Yeosang groaned, putting his blanket over his head. "Can't I miss it? Can't our company say I'm sick?"

"Absolutely not," Ateez's manager said, entering the room. "You might win a big award tomorrow. And there's a large audience, you could draw a lot of attention. Besides, Y/N's group will be there." Yeosang instantly removed the blanket from his head at the mention of your name.

"She'll be there?"

"Yeah, the final lineup got confirmed an hour ago."

-

Yeosang leaned in close to Jongho. "When is our break?" he whispered in Jongho's ear.

Jongho groaned. "Hyung, this is the eighth time you've asked me that in less than half an hour."

Yeosang glanced at where your group was seated; unfortunately, one of your members was covering you, so he couldn't see you. He sighed, shifting his eyes back on the group that was currently performing while he tried his best to wait patiently.

As soon as all artists were given a break, he rushed to your group's waiting room. He found only half of your members there.

"Hello," he bowed. "Where is Y/N?"

"She's in the bathroom on the second floor."

Yeosang rushed there as fast as he could, ignoring the stares he was getting from other artists and staff.

"Y/N!" he yelled once he saw you leaving the bathroom, causing you to turn around.

Yeosang now stood right in front of you, panting from the run. Your heart raced at the sight of how ethereal your soulmate looked tonight, especially in his black suit and newly dyed black hair. He was absolutely stunning.

"Can we talk, please?" Yeosang asked anxiously, hope clear in his beautiful eyes.

You couldn't say no, even though you should've. You simply nodded your head, letting him drag you to the emergency staircase in the building.

You leaned back against the wall, waiting for him to say whatever he wanted to. You noticed how he was fidgeting with his fingers while he leaned against the railing of the staircase.

"Are you okay?" you asked in concern. Your soulmate sighed, taking a few steps towards you.

"Can I hold your hand?" he questioned. When you nodded, he took your hands in his, gently rubbing circles on the back of it while he tried to calm down by taking deep breaths.

"I love you, Y/N," he confessed. "I just... can't stand the thought of you being with anyone else. It kills me to even think of it. I know I was a jerk before and I know you've moved on, but I—"

You cupped Yeosang's cheek before capturing his lips with your own, surprising him; he couldn't believe you were kissing him after everything he said. He kissed you back, his heart beating rapidly like yours. The soulmate bond between the two of you strengthened, causing a euphoric feeling.

You pulled away with a smile that grew wider when you saw how stunned and happy Yeosang was.

"I tried to move on," you explained. "But I couldn't. Not when my heart, my soul, belongs to you. I love you, Kang Yeosang."

Yeosang chuckled happily, leaning in to kiss you passionately. His heart swelled with happiness and he mentally thanked the universe for bringing the two of you together as soulmates.

[rinharu-purple]

Emmm 👉👈 can i request Gavin's spring festival date analysis?! Ehem especially when Gavin said "I've waited a long time for today.." 💙

But Of course if you're not busy.. I'll wait patiently.. I just.. love read your analysis 💙 like i can feel your love and dedication for Gavin.. a lot of Gavin stan is very smart and loyal.. just like Gavin itself

Hello nonny and of course you can! Thank you for your lovely ask and reading my posts. It makes me really happy to hear this 💞 I can also double up what you've said, Our birdcop is smart and loyal and I really love being a part of Gavin-standom which includes so many talented writers, artists, analysts and it has @cheri-translates! There are so many great posts from various accounts and one can feel the love, passion and loyalty towards Gavin in all of them! 💫

An analysis on Spring Festival date is so overdue, so it is me who should apologize for not having written this before. I will more than gladly include your request scene, I hope you enjoy it ^_^

MC Testing Waters: Spring Festival Date

At the beginning of the game, MC is a young woman with lots of love in her heart, however without much experience in love. Fortunately this starts to change when she meets LIs as adults.

Spring Festival Date takes place after Firework Date and before the Romantic Date, although the timeline is quite messy, which I will come to by the end of this analysis.

If you look closely, you can see MC checking Gavin's romantic feelings towards her by using this "boyfriend game" and also uses the opportunity to get beyond his hardened exterior and touch his vulnerable side 💗

Spoilers start below this line

This date comes to, because MC lies to her aunt about having a boyfriend to avoid arranged blind dates and even promises to visit her on New Years with her boyfriend. Speculatively it seemed like a solid play, until...the time literally came.

Thinktanking about a way out of this with Kiki and Willow, they weight different options as to tell them she broke up with him, leave the city or call in sick but then the best wingman on earth Minor saves the way and suggests that she just takes a "fake boyfriend" with her, surely enough with Gavin in his mind.

MC goes through her contacts list to search for a suitable candidate, but her heart Whispers her the answer by skipping a beat as her fingertips scroll down to one name.

... Gavin

As such... MC has chosen her player for the game and Gavin's Heart Trial with MC's family commences...

---Press Start---

Creativity Test

Unluckily Gavin actually shows up for this highly important date late, with his phone off! From the storyline he arrives a couple of minutes late to MC’s aunt's place, thus starting the game one point behind. He was late because he was buying presents for the whole family! With the spot on gifts which are well received by the family because they're expensive, imported goods, limited products, cute and thoughtful he makes up for the lost points.

But it's just the first stage and he has 3 more stages to clear, the pressure is slowly rising.

This gray suit has a lovely story behind it, which you can find by the end of the story.

Decision Test

Gavin has passed the creativity test with flying colors, but in the second stage more challenging questions are on the menu. The eldest aunt wants to know Gavin's age, occupation, salary(?!) and possessions(?!). The last two questions are fairly over the line and is a no-no in my country. Asking people about their financial status as well as bragging about it is perceived as rude and insolent, that's why the way Gavin answers these questions skillfully without bragging about his wealth adds just another brick on my Gavin-temple.

Age: 24

Occupation: Police Officer

Salary: Covers the bills

Possessions: A flat in the city and a motorcycle.

In my Prank date analysis, I've mentioned about Gavin's ability to deal with impertinence and also here, he stays friendly, but only answers the questions necessary to get through with the situation. MCs family is checking whether he's wealthy enough to take care of MC (which is sad that in the 21st century that in some countries women need to be financially secured by men). So Gavin just gives them just the right enough of information to pass the test and pass he does.

There is another aspect to his way of answering though. You see, Gavin is an unmaterialistic man. He doesn't care about money or any other meta. He doesn't touch upon the fact that he's coming from a wealthy family, or that he inherits his grandparents house or that he can afford designer dresses, overseas travels or gems without giving a second thought. That shows just how humble Gavin is and I love him for it. What defines him is not his wealth, nor does he allow anyone define him on his financial status. It's his character, the values he stand for, the vision he embodies, the way he treats MC.. Ehm.. And.. His champion body and drop dead gorgeous looks (comes as an extra;))

But the game is far from over, because the family council is now going to challenge him on...

Affinity Test

This is where things get rosy as the family would like to know how they've met and whether they've been together since high school.

Look, Gavin is actually not playing a game, but living the moment. He is well aware of the fact that once he and MC become an official pair, he will be standing on the same spot a year later. He is serious...

So when they ask about their affection, he gives them his genuine answer and confesses his crush on her during high school and says that they've been going out since fall. This dazzles MC, as if she hasn't been dazzled enough lol.

The three glasses of drink he gulps surely has a role in this sincerity and taking three glasses of a drink as a punishment also becomes a tradition for MC and Gavin in the future.

And so, he proudly passes the Affinity Test with flying colors, effortlessly. Only one more stage and he's done it!

Execution Test

Every hero has his moment, when the fight takes a gloomier turn against his favor and the odds don't look good as before when he gets a strong blow, that is when the family hits him with the question "Don't you get alone well with your family?".

This is Gavin's weak spot, his cryptonite, his bleeding wound and MC's family just pressed on it. What makes this scene so heartbreaking is not just the topic itself and we know why it is a sensitive topic for Gavin but also that Gavin actually tries to signal them that this is not his favorite topic. He tells them he doesn't go home for holidays (friendly warning number 1), the aunties pushes by telling him to take some meal with him to which he replies "Thanks, but that's okay. I've been away for a long time" (friendly warning number 2) the family pushes further and as a one last resort he tells them that during college he rarely went there and spent holidays working afterwards (friendly warning number 3). Sadly the auntie than ignorantly ask whether his family doesn't worry about him and now because he's given three fair warning shots which, he downright gives them a brief and resolute answer:

- No.

That's usually the latest where people with common sense stop digging in further. Unfortunately then the auntie asks whether he doesn't get along well with his family to which Gavin no longer responds. This is the perfect way of dealing with such people and Gavin has a very intuitive talent for dealing different people from different mindsets. Give them three friendly and fair warnings, still pushing? Then give them a last chance by one final brief and to the point answer, they choose to ignore the signal? Stop interacting, you can only waste time beyond this point.

The only problem with this situation here, is that these people are not just somebody, Gavin wants to win these people over, so he cannot just ignore them. But also he cannot do it without a timeout, so he goes to grab some wine. (God it makes me so sorry everytime he has to face his family drama or is misjudged. I just wanna hug him bring him hot cocoa, give him a backrub and bring spicy food for him. Luckily he has MC ^_^)

But let's not talk only about about Gavin, because MC is struggling too. And we should recognize her stick up for him with the most cherishing words:

-Auntie, you got it wrong. He is a decent and pure man and has come to my aid many time and in quite dangerous circumstances.

When she comes back however cannot find Gavin, once she does, a heartwarming moment blooms between them.

This scene is very crucial in Gavin and MC's relationship because this is the first time MC sees Gavin tired and flustered. She feels sad for him but also happy for herself, for she feels as though she gets closer to him, thus seeing the real Gavin. By the way she show him her genuine care, Gavins heart melts and kisses the back of her hand as a gesture and so the first intimate moment involving them having a kiss ensues. Furthermore, they show each other their mutual care, which brings them one step closer and this gives Gavin the only courage he needs to tackle the situation.

When our hero gets the courage and the stamina he need from his girl, nothing can stop him now. Having gatherer his strength, Gavin returns to the dinner table:

“I am so happy to be here with you all today. In fact, I haven't felt this atmosphere of family in a long time. I have a very strict father and a brother I seldom see...I don’t even know when I turned into such a loner. Eating alone, sleeping alone, doing everything alone...until I met her. It was a beautiful autumn day. The gingko leaves were floating in the wind. I was also going through a pretty dark time. But she saved me before I hit bottom...It’s she who told me I could live a stronger life. And it’s also she who told me I could live a more tender life. I never felt lonely before, until I met her. I started to get used to star-gazing with her, having dinner with her, spending the New Year’s with her. In the future, I'll give it my all to stay with her, to take good care of her and love her. I wanna make up many times over for all the times I wasn't there”

MC’s heart stopped, aunties eyes teary, the elder Aunt want his actions to back up these words and thus Gavin has a pass from MC's family. Now that he's won the game, it's time to collect his prize.

After they leave MC's aunt's house, our lovebirds walk together in the night full of fireworks and Gavin tells Mc that Minor has mentored him on being the perfect son-in-law, hence he was late. He also asks her what she would do if he didn't show up, to which she says that her intuition says that he won't fail her and he murmurs quietly:

- I've waited a long time for today.

Of course he doesn't repeats himself when MC asks him about what he just said. But that's what kept him going all night long.

He has waited for six whole years to meet her again, to stand by here, take good care of her and love her. Tonight, he could do them all by being her "boyfriend", giving his word to her family and having their blessings. He could see that she also cares a lot for him, worries about him and wants to be there for him. He landed his lips for the first time on her delicate skin and could give her warmth.

He could finally confess his feelings for her and say the genuine things he will only say to her.

So yes, he has waited for a long time for this moment to come and when it came, he made sure to grab it tightly.

----—----—---

Timeline issues:

- The order of the dates in the game doesn't always reflect the real course of events. The grey suit that Gavin wears is actually bought after Romantic Date, which takes place after this date.

-Even though MC plans this whole game to avert blind dates, but she still gets set up later on a blind date by another aunt lol.

Thank you once again for your patience nonny and I hope that the analysis proves to be worthy of your wait 💗

Masterlist

For MC's confession let me take you here

For Gavin and MCs relationship milestones here

For a fun trivia about this date you can click here

[marrys-dream-world]

if we’re bound to be something, why not together? (chapter 12)

Read on AO3

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Notes: I posted on AO3 yesterday and forgot to post here sooo...  I was having a huge writer's block with this fic and I'm still not satisfied with this chapter, but I also don't think it's gonna get any better. Hope you guys enjoy it anyway. Day 12 (what a joke by this point saldkqçkwdqpo) Blush. The beginning of the chapter is a bit off topic but I love it so pls bear with me. Have another one of my Emilie hot takes ig. 

Adrien Agreste was a man of science. 

It was, perhaps, his mother’s fault. His father was clearly the unholy mix of a man of the arts and a businessman, combining the worst of both worlds, if Nino was to be believed. Adrien let out a soft protest at that, but couldn’t really disagree. His father was all cold businessman and artist with a vision (Plagg often asked what vision it could be if he went dressed around like that and allowed Adrien to wear orange shoes, however, kwamis weren’t allowed fashion opinions so he didn’t pay attention to that). His mother was a completely different story.

Many people thought Emilie Agreste was an artist, through and through. After all, even with her outstanding beauty and ridiculous wealth, she worked in indie films and plays that managed to catch her fancy, managing her time between productions that made waves across France and small movies produced by a friend that had few copies to spare. Adrien knew better. His mother was also a gifted scholar, she loved studying things and figuring them out.  He had asked her, when he was young, why she traveled so much and put so many acting jobs aside, and she had said acting was a hobby, learning was her life.

Like mother, like son then. Being an impressionable young child with only one friend and copious amounts of free time in his hands, Adrien tried to mirror the behaviour of the person he admired the most: his mother. He would join her in her study, very unlike father’s, which was a little messy and always warm and welcoming and he was always allowed in before she got sick and everyone stopped caring about him. He would sit beside her in the little desk she commissioned just for him and study basic science, devouring book after book

and falling in love with the way the world just worked.

“I’m gonna be a scientist when I grow up!” He said once at the dinner table. His mother smiled indulgently, but his father wasn’t as kind. 

“Don’t be foolish, Adrien.” He admonished. “You won’t waste your time with such things, you’ll work with me as a model. We can’t let your perfect looks go to waste.”

His mother didn’t say anything to defend him, she never did. However, she winked at him as his father’s eyes left him. He straightened up then, that little gesture never failing to make him feel like they both knew something his father didn’t. These days, Adrien feels like maybe he hadn’t know anything at all. 

Anyway, no matter how much his father tried to discourage him, Adrien Agreste was still a man of science and that meant experiments! He would usually not try out a behavioural experiment, but it was, as a lot of good stuff in his life was, Nino’s fault. Both had been discussing an art project with Alya and Marinette...

"This is really good, Marinette." He said sincerely, leafing through her and Alya's booklet.

Marinette seemed to shrink, blushing a little and smiling awkwardly, a sharp contrast to Alya, who only puffed up.

"I know, right?" Alya grinned, slipping her arm over Marinette's shoulder.

"I-it's nothing, really. Just a school project hehe." Marinette, taking the book back as Adrien offered.

"Everyone did theirs, but yours is a standout." Adrien said, smiling softly. Her work was amazing and he would say it as many times as it would take for her to believe it.

Marinette turned beet red at that, stammering something incomprehensible and dashing out of the classroom's door. Alya cracked out a laugh, quickly following after her. He watched them confusedly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Dude, you gotta stop doing that." Nino said, sighing. 

Adrien raised an eyebrow. "Doing what?"

"Being all earnest and stuff." Nino answered, clasping his hands together and widening his eyes in a mockery of his best friend. "Oh, Marinette, you're so talented! You're so smart! You're so-"

"I don't talk like that." Adrien pouted. He didn't, did he?

"Yeah, you do." His friend snorted. "It drives the girls wild, even the ones that don't have a crush on you."

"You say that like a lot of girls have a crush on me." He rolled his eyes, other than his fans, the only ones who had a crush on him were Chloe and, the jury was still out on that one, Lila. 

Nino gulped. "I mean, yeah, because of your fans and all! Not Marinette, she doesn't have a crush on you at all! She doesn't like you, even. She barely likes you as a friend!"

His heart fell. "Marinette barely likes me as a friend?"

"No! That's not what I meant!" Nino groaned. "Marinette does like you as a friend, okay, dude? I just word-vomited for no reason. Just don't go around being all you like that on her, she'll blush so hard she'll explode."

“Nino, you’re exaggerating.” Adrien had said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, you say that now, but try it with any girl and see how they react.” Nino answered, mockingly rolling his eyes back. 

He had shrugged at the time, but the question stayed in the back of his mind. Adrien was aware that he was good-looking, it was maybe the only thing his hard-to-please father ever complimented him on, but to make even girls that weren’t attracted to him blush? It seemed very far off. However, he knew his mind wasn’t going to let it go anytime soon. Adrien had a bad habit of not letting things go, Plagg said. So it looks like conducting an experiment was  on the table and there was only one girl he would be comfortable trying it out with.

"Thanks, Marinette." Adrien said as he picked up a macaron from the box she brought to share with the class.

She flushed slightly, nothing so out of the usual that it would prove Nino's theory. "Y-you're welcome, Adrien."

"Did you help your dad make them?"

"Oh, I made them myself, I had some time to go to the kitchen lately." She said, eyes lighting up. "I missed it."

"It tastes great, Marinette." He said, making sure to smile and soften his gaze a little. It was actually hard to not do that around his friend, after all. "You're really talented."

Her face went fire truck red in a matter of seconds, mouth falling open and eyes going a little glazed over. Nothing out of the usual, but that was the thing: Marinette was always like that around him. Whenever he talked to her, a pretty blush would fill her cheeks and her blue eyes would go wide. Was he really so powerful that being earnest was enough to make a girl that only saw him strictly platonically blush like that?

“It’s our raw magnetism, kid.” Plagg told him solemnly when Adrien explained his theory. “Nothing we can do about it, girls better watch out.”

They spared a minute of silence for all the girls struck by their lady killer charms. 

“Hey, Plagg, when you say all girls…” His lady’s adorable face flashed in his mind.

“Yeah, no, kid, dream on.”

However, it must be said again: Adrien Agreste is a man of science and he would never fail to experiment on a hypothesis. 

Their next patrol was quiet, jumping through the rooftops and climbing down to comfort civilians separately. He could feel Ladybug’s eyes boring into his back at every confused glance she threw his way. The silence unsettled her, he knew that, but as much as he wanted to reassure her, he also had to create the perfect setting for his experiment. 

“A bit quiet today, weren’t you, Chaton?” His lady asked when they finally settled down, nonchalant tone costrating with her twitching fingers.

“Oh, I was just struck speechless.” He said, voice purposefully serious as to not arouse suspicion. 

“By what?” Ladybug frowned. 

“By you.” He smiled and she started to roll her eyes when he continued. “You’re really kind, my lady.”

She blinked owlishly. “What?”

“Every time I turn my back to you on patrol, when I look back you’re talking to someone. Comforting that little girl whose ice cream fell, getting that kite stuck in a tree. It’s not even just today, you always do that. I’ve never met anyone who does it as effortlessly as you do.”

The words flew easily from his tongue. Complimenting Ladybug was often easier than not.

“You’re really kind, Ladybug.” He repeated, only to see her face darken until her cheeks settled into a rosy pink. 

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it again when she noticed it was hanging open. Her blue eyes went wide and shiny. It was the prettiest sight he had ever seen.

Maybe being a man of science has its perks sometimes. 

[thehaemanthus]

Our Savaged Souls

Trying out a new thing of posting the full chapter on tumblr. You can read from chapter one one AO3 (unless it’s not your thing, and in that case you can send me an ask and I’ll be like! sure! I love to be accomodating! I’ll post full chapters on tumblr :) )

Feyre Archeron is born under the new Wall separating human lands from the Spring Court- her home. She hunts in her forest, forms a friendship with the High Lord's third son, and is introduced to his friend. Then it all goes wrong.

Chapter 6

Tamlin soon forgets his ire about the Suriel. Or at least, he pushes it down far enough and eventually bounces back, dragging her out on more adventures. He manages to swing by for a few hours of her birthday party, and then is required at home for much of the spring. By the time the summer rolls around, Feyre can tell he’s eager to be away from family and make up for lost time.

The latest outing is a jaunt to a pool of liquid starlight, one that Feyre has visited only a handful of times. It’s one of Tamlin’s favorite places, she knows, and she felt the honor in the first invitation.

Her linen dress brushes just past her knees, only half of her hair pulled back in anticipation of a relaxing afternoon spent lounging in the shade and wading in the water. No boots or tight braid needed today. Her contribution to the picnic is a batch of scones, some ruby-red cherries, raspberry preserves, and roasted almonds. With her bounty and dress, Feyre decides to winnow rather than pick through the forest.

Feyre expects it to be a small party, but she does not know how small it actually is until she arrives.

There are two people there. Tamlin and Rhysand.

Of course. Rhysand. Of course he is here.

“You managed to make it on time!” Tamlin greets her with an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek and takes her basket from her hands, retreating to add it to their pile of food and blankets. The space already looks inviting, dappled in shade. Sweating bottles of lemonade and ice water peak out from a wicker basket full of white porcelain plates with painted primrose borders and crystal glasses. A partially wrapped loaf of bread and hard cheese rests on top, along with a sharp knife and a bounty of fresh fruits.

Feyre scowls. “I was late one time, Tam, it’s not funny anymore.” She glances at Rhysand. It would be impossible to pretend he’s not there. It’s just the three of them. It would be rude to not say anything. It should not be difficult at all to just greet him. She wrangles her expression into something pleasant. “Hello, Rhysand.”

“Feyre darling,” he smirks. “I thought you were calling me Rhys now?”

She actually turns a bit red and fumbles. Thankfully, Tamlin’s big mouth saves her. “When did that happen?”

“A while ago.” Rhysand reclines on one of the picnic blankets, lounging like a cat. He waves a hand. “Won’t you join us, Feyre?”

There’s really no way to refuse. She takes a seat, folding her legs under her. “It’s hard to break a habit. I’ve been calling you Rhysand for a long time now.”

“I’ll have to keep reminding you, then,” he says as he roots through a picnic basket, plucking out a tin of cookies. “Want one?”

“Thank you, Rhys,” she stresses his name, plucking one of the cookies from his hand.

He smiles at her, and the tension seems to melt away.

Has she always looked at him like this, or did the Suriel trigger something in her soul that flipped the world upside down? Feyre wonders how long this feeling, this awareness of him has been growing in her heart, encroaching so slowly and naturally that she has not noticed until someone drew her attention to the blossoming.

For a child of the Night Court, Rhys looks good in the sun. She has always known he is beautiful, but something has changed. As they chat and nibble on the picnic, Feyre observes him. There is something fuller in his laughs, more playful in his smirks today. It would be impossible to forget that he is an Heir— powerful radiates from his body and he approaches every conversation and confrontation with arrogance. He is still guarded. But if his true soul is an impenetrable fortress, Feyre thinks they’ve passed through the gates of one or two battlements.

The sun beats down on them, stronger now that the world has moved and positioned itself in summer. The Day Court is absolutely sweltering, Rhys informs them, and there’s been some problems with heat sickness in Summer. In Spring, Feyre keeps an extra canteen of water and takes frequent breaks when romping about.

Sweat gathers at her brow and pools on her upper lip. Eventually, sipping cool drinks and relaxing in the shade is paltry comfort.

“I’m going for a dip,” she stands. “Anyone want to join?”

The males scramble up after her. It’s some work to unlace her stays, so they end up shucking their clothes and splashing into the pond before her. Feyre finds herself sighing in relief when they don’t look twice or offer to help. It would be well meaning from them, her friends, if not a little playful and flirty. But if Rhys offered…

Mother above. Surely it should take her longer to fall?

“Are you coming?” Tamlin calls from the water, flicking some water in her direction. It glitters like diamonds where it lands on the grass and dirt. It might not actually be water, but Feyre has never known what else to call it.

She scowls. “It takes a little longer for me.” She toes off her slippers, wiggling her feet in the cool grass. In the past, Feyre hasn’t had trouble with stripping down to almost nothing and jumping into lakes and rivers. Now, she keeps her chemise on and tries not to think too hard about it. After tossing her hair pins on the blanket, she wades in.

The pond is cool and refreshing. Sunlight almost blinds her as it bounces off the surface. Feyre glides through the water, slowly acclimating herself. When she dunks her head under and emerges, the liquid starlight clings to her lashes and makes the world look brighter and chaotic. She swipes a hand at her eyes and blinks to clear her vision.

Tamlin floats on his back, golden hair floating around his head like a halo. Rhys lazily swims a circuit around the pond, much like she was. Feyre treads in place for a moment before floating a bit closer to Rhys.

Sensing her presence, he surfaces. Feyre’s breath catches. She’s sure he reads something incriminating on her face, but before he can speak she opens her mouth. “This pond suits you.”

“Oh?” he questions. His feet must reach the bottom, because while Feyre is working to stay afloat at the edge, he is merely holding out his arms to keep himself steady.

“The starlight.” Her eyes roam over his face and dip down to his neck before shooting back up. If she looks too far down she won’t be able to return her gaze to his face. “Son of the Night Court. It all works.” She waves a hand in his face, and he laughs. The starlight clinging to his hair and shoulders and dripping from his chin bring out the constellations in his eyes.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, darling,” Rhys nods at her.

She wishes she had a mirror, if only to try and memorize her own look for a painting later. “Do I?” she asks, leaning back a bit in the water and pretending like his words do not send her heart racing.

Her eyes are on the sky, but when Rhys is silent for too long she propels herself upright. He’s frowning a bit, looking more unsure of himself than she’s ever known him to be. “Rhys?”

“I can show you,” he says, expression much too serious for an afternoon swim.

Feyre laughs softly. “You have a mirror? Where are you hiding that?”

Rhys’s smirk lacks some of its swagger. He brings up a hand and, from nowhere, conjures a hand mirror. “I do have some tricks up my sleeve. But that wasn’t what I was talking about.” As quick as it appeared, it's gone.

Feyre cocks her head. Rhys wants to show her what she looks like, but without a mirror or any reflective surface...and it’s not like he’s an artist…

She gapes a little, swimming closer. Tamlin is still floating on his back, hearing muffled from the water, but she lowers her voice anyway. “You’re daemati?”

It’s the only thing that makes sense. And she would expect no less from Rhys. In addition to being obscenely powerful, to have this as well...he won’t just be a powerful High Lord, he’ll be unquestionably dominant.

His brows lift a little in surprise before his expression settles. “Clever girl. I shouldn’t be surprised that you guessed.”

Feyre bites her lip, torn between being pleased and being concerned. She does not think that Rhys has ever used his power against her. But how would she know? She has heard plenty of stories, has been given plenty of reasons to be wary of the Night Court. Feyre is not so arrogant as to think that she is a worthy target, but just the thought of her thoughts being combed through or someone getting information from her mind is disconcerting.

Rhys— whether by looking at her mind or her face— knows where her thoughts lead her. He moves a little closer as well. “I have never looked in your mind, or Tamlin’s for that matter. I’m not that kind of male.”

“I know.” The words are said without thinking, but they ring true.

He does not look convinced. “If I wanted to use you, I would have hovered in your mind as you hunted the Suriel and asked them a question myself. I would have probed your mind to see what you asked.”

She nods. Part of her knows it to be true, but another part, an animal, instinctual part, shies away from him.

But the Suriel told her to trust Rhysand.

It’s not effortless, but she stays. “You keep it a secret?”

“We keep it quiet,” Rhys admits. “We” probably means his family, his Court.

What does it mean that there is a secret daemati ready to inherit one of the mightier Courts of Prythian?

If she was a good person, she thinks, she would tell someone. But being a good citizen and a good friend are directly opposed at the moment. It does not take Feyre very long to decide which title is more important to her.

“I won’t tell anyone.” She values her friendship with Rhys, trusts him more than she maybe should. Even considering what the Suriel said, she would be a fool to throw herself into his arms blindly.

“Thank you.” Under the water, he reaches out to squeeze her hand. “I know you still aren’t comfortable with this.”

It’s difficult to meet his eyes, so she looks down. Right at the curves of his shoulder, where brown skin and black ink peek from beneath the surface. Her mouth goes dry, but she manages to force words out. “It is...strange. To realize how vulnerable I’ve been.”

There are dangers in Feyre’s life, but she has always known them. She has rules, has trained and armed herself against threats. Don’t stay out too late after night falls in the forest, don’t stray too close to creatures who have young ones to protect. Keep your eyes averted when speaking with the High Lord and try to not attract too much attention, bite your tongue in front of certain people and laugh and gossip in secret circles only.

There is no such defense against Rhys. At least, she assumes so until he speaks. “I can train you to shield your mind.”

Feyre blinks, shocked. “You can?” It’s possible? And he would offer that to her?

A deluge of cool water drenches her. Feyre cries out in shock, whirling to scowl at a laughing Tamlin.

“You two are much too serious,” he says, slapping the surface of the water again to send another splash their way. “What were you talking about anyway?”

“We had a run-in with a daemati in the Night Court a while back,” Rhys says smoothly. In an instant, his cool confidence is back. He swims away from Feyre, closer to Tamlin. She is sure there is a good reason he turns his back and tells herself it does not sting. “I was telling Feyre that I wouldn’t mind offering some lessons on how to shield her mind.”

“Why would you need to shield your mind?” Tamlin asks her.

She scowls. “Why wouldn’t I? Don’t you want to keep your thoughts private?”

“Sure,” Tamlin shrugs. “But it’s not like any daemati would target you.” He is lackadaisical and inattentive, paddling around the pond like a slippery otter. The mere word “daemati” was enough to alter Feyre’s mood, but Tamlin is barely affected.

“She’s been spending time with two sons of High Lords,” Rhys points out, flicking some water into Tamlin’s face. “I’d say that makes her plenty vulnerable. You should learn to shield, too.”

Tamlin nods, finally starting to take it seriously. “You were taught?” He propels himself upright, staring intently at Rhys. It is not hard to see how Tamlin esteems their older friend. Anyone who spends five minutes with the two of them can see how Tamlin might look at Rhys for approval, how he weighs Rhys’s words and commits them to memory. Sometimes, Feyre worries about how reliant Tamlin is, how he has replaced his own older brothers with the Heir to the Night Court. But she hardly has room to talk.

“Almost as soon as I could grasp the concept,” Rhys says. “I’ll give both of you lessons. It’ll be hard to test without an actual daemati, but it’s worth trying.”

You’ll have a bit of an advantage over Tamlin. Feyre gasps as Rhys’s voice echoes in her head. Her limbs freeze. She sinks a little in the water before propelling herself back up, sputtering.

Tamlin glides closer. “Feyre?”

“I’m fine,” she assures him, pointedly not looking at Rhys. “I thought something brushed my leg. What lives in this water anyway?”

“Nothing natural,” Tamlin scowls at the opaque surface as if his ire can be translated to whatever dwells below. “Come on, let’s leave before we find out.”

Feyre wades out of the pond, chemise sticking to her skin and hair dripping down her back. She squeezes her hair to dry it as best she can, then moves to gather a fistful of her chemise and wring out the water.

It’s silent for a moment. When Feyre looks up, she sees two males looking at her instead of getting out of the pond.

Emboldened by their attention, Feyre raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Tamlin coughs, looking away and stepping out of the water. He passes her without a comment, even as Rhys continues to look. Her challenge is answered as his eyes rove over her body, from long bare legs to the wet material clinging to her hips and chest. She half expects something flirty to spill from his mouth, but he just keeps the smirk on, looks his fill, and emerges from the water.

It takes a lot of effort not to pay him back in kind, though Feyre does sneak a look at those tattoos and well-muscled chest.

The light breeze chills their damp skin, and the once sweltering heat becomes a comforting embrace. The trio sprawl out. Between bouts of dozing off, they have a contest to see which pair is best at tossing grapes into someone’s mouth. When Feyre’s hair is mostly dry and her fingers get caught in tangles, Rhys slips behind her and braids it back.

She is half awake as his fingers comb through her hair, catching every other word of his explanation that his little sister has now grown old enough to demand all sorts of hairstyles and pampering from her devoted older brother. Feyre hums with a smile, picturing the scene.

There’s a knock on the edge of her mind. One she is better prepared for this time. Rhys slips a memory into her mind, one that is not hers, but his. Through his eyes he sees a head of black hair, a young girl’s bedroom, a reflection of him and a little girl, the former wrestling with a hair brush and the latter rifling through a basket of ribbons. There is a love infused in that memory, a feeling so pure that it nearly brings a tear to Feyre’s eye.

I almost neglected my promise earlier. Rhys’s voice is low and smoky in her mind. A moment later, a different memory. Her grinning face, covered in droplets of starlight.

There is emotion in this memory too, though not the all-consuming devotion Rhys feels for his sister. But it is something, and it makes Feyre smile anyway.

It is the perfect day. Feyre is not naive enough to think that this dynamic, with her two dear friends, can last forever. Rhysand will one day become High Lord, and Tamlin’s own role will likely change when his father passes. But fae are immortal, and she is untouched by death, and the thought of painful change is so far away in that perfect summer afternoon.

She cannot be blamed for thinking peace will last for a good, long while.

--

Being the Lady of the Spring Court is good for little else besides ordering the servants around the house.

Alis can grumble and protest and toss every veiled hint that she can think of, but in the end she cannot prevent Feyre from leaving her bed. Sleep came and went in the night. When the discomfort impeded her peace, Feyre tossed back healing tonics and pain remedies and whatever cocktail of drugs that the healer left on her nightstand.

Her smaller cuts are healed, but her ribs are still tender. The worst bruises are black and blue and impossible to look at. Feyre chooses a boring corner of the room to stare at as Alis dresses her in light fabrics and a dress that laces loosely. Alis picks a gown in an opaque green with a yellow underskirt, as if that will lend color to her pale skin or brighten her gaunt face.

Feyre tells the staff that she and the High Lord will not be entertaining any guests and to send away anyone that might drop by. Not that anyone comes for Feyre unless she specifically invites them.

The only other person in her home besides the servants is Lucien. He clearly did not expect her to leave bed and nearly leaps from his seat when she slips into the dining room. “You should be resting.”

She probably should. There is an exhaustion that has settled in her, infused in her bones and powdered on her skin. Her tongue is weighed down. Feyre has no words for her friend, only enough energy to squeeze his shoulder as she walks past to take her seat. She sees the way his eyes scan her, the way his jaw clenches when he notes how she sits gingerly.

Tamlin’s chair at the head of the table is empty. The space feels like a chasm.

When Tamlin is home, the table usually is weighed down with food. Today, Lucien just has one plate sent up from the kitchen. Feyre gets the same toast, fried eggs, and sausage. No platters of sliced fruit or tureens of gravy or plates of sugary pastries. Lucien pours her a cup of tea wordlessly.

Feyre eats in peace, but Lucien has a stack of papers by him that he leafs through in between bites. With Tamlin gone, his work will be all the more difficult. Lucien cannot make certain decisions, cannot sign off on projects, cannot approve a budget. But there are some things that must get done and emergencies to deal with.

“Anything I can help with?” Feyre speaks her first words of the day.

Lucien’s eyes flick up briefly. “I’ll let you know.” He’s gone a few minutes later, only a squeeze of her shoulder as a goodbye.

There are things Feyre can do, even some things that Tamlin might expect her to accomplish. Ferye thinks of the piles of letters she can respond to and the parties she might plan. The next holiday is never more than a few months away, and Tamlin likes to take any opportunity to celebrate and fill their home with his friends.

She does not do any of that.

The servants push back on some of Feyre’s whims, but they can never outright refuse her. A few months ago, it was a battle to get them to relinquish their gardening tools. Another battle to ask one of the gardeners to teach her, show her, and not do anything beyond that.

But a few months ago she was also a bit more fragile, and so they followed her directions with less protesting than she usually was in for.

Now, Feyre knows where to find the tools she needs. She slips on the gardening gloves that Alis procured and forced on her. While it might be seemly for the Lady of Spring to prune a few roses, cuts and calluses were utterly unacceptable. Feyre can stroll in the gardens, can even kneel in the grass, as long as she has a wide-brimmed hat to shield the delicate skin on her face.

How she longs to rip off the hat, unpin her hair, and sprint through the fields once more.

No one disturbs her as Feyre weaves through the perfectly manicured gardens. She passes tall hedges, venturing deeper until she crosses into a little hidden nook. It is cordoned off by nothing more than a charming wooden gate, but symbolism is strong. No one has ever entered without the express permission of the Lady of Spring.

Feyre let the little space go unattended for years, not caring much for gardening or pretty flowers. Now, the hidden nook is ringed with blooming jasmine. She might add a stone bench in the middle, but for now she is happy to sit on the grass.

A proper gardener might prune and use sophisticated techniques to care for the jasmine, but Feyre likes to see it grow wild. She removes weeds and brushes away dead leaves. In Spring the bushes are almost always flowering, clogging the space with their intoxicating scent. She would have kept blooms in her room, if not for what they symbolized.

Jasmine is a Night Court flower.

Tamlin does not come to her jasmine garden. He either does not know or was informed and has not confronted her directly. Now that she is in the garden, Feyre wonders if this is, in part, what set him off.

The flowers are not for Rhys. Not really. True, they remind her of him, in a way. But she mostly likes the scent, likes that when she smells it she immediately feels at peace. Jasmine is not the most beautiful flower in the world, but it is still pretty. A flower alone cannot make her happy, but it settles something in her soul anyway.

White jasmine is crisp and clean. Pure.

For a while, Feyre had no closure after the loss of her child. These things happened, so the healer ensured she was physically healthy and then sent away. There was no goodbye, no body, no ceremony to send the child off. They were there one moment and gone the next, not having made any mark on the world besides a scar on Feyre’s heart. She does not know if they were male or female, if they had Tamlin’s blond hair or her own darker shade, if they would have had freckles or their father’s straight nose. After they were gone, the child seemed to exist for Feyre and no one else.

So she planted the jasmine.

Now, as she lays on her back in the grass, she can imagine it. A giggling toddler, running circles around her. But not here, not in Spring. The flowers perfume the air and make it all too easy to pretend she’s in another place.

Maybe the jasmine is selfish. Maybe Feyre did have another motive in creating this secret space.

While she is here, she can mourn her child. While she is here, she can pretend that she is someplace else.

[themonkeycabal]

Wandavision Ep 7 Spoilers

Spoilers below

Good morning. There's a guy power washing the sidewalks at 12:30 a.m., and the drone from the generator is drilling into my brain. So I will watch WandaVision instead of doing something I might regret.

Previously on: Wanda was getting sick of Pietro's shit. Vision knows/thinks his wife is behind all the creepy shenanigans, and he tried to escape the Hex, only to fly to pieces in the real world. I can relate.

Outside, Monica, Jimmy, and Darcy were banished from the SWORD circus by Acting Director Dick, because of course. They snuck back in, also because of course. Darcy hacked AD Dick's files and found out he's Up to Something. Then she ran to try and help Vision and got herself arrested and handcuffed to a jeep. Which is where the brave SWORD agents left her when they ran away as Wanda, attempting to save Vision, expanded the Hex, swallowing Darcy and the SWORD compound, turning it all into a sitcom circus. Well deserved. Well, not Darcy, but anyway.

AD Dick escaped. Unfortunately. But, so did Jimmy and Monica who were off to her mystery aerospace engineer friend to find a way into the Hex.

Also, Tommy and Billy have powers.  

The episode 7 summary is a delight: "Two super-powered beings living ideal suburban lives suspect that everything is not as it seems." You don't say, Disney+.

Wanda wakes, regrets everything, and hides under the covers.  Understandable. Cut away to her addressing the camera The Office style "Look, we've all been there. Letting our fear and anger get the best of us; intentionally expanding the boarders of the false world we created". (cut to screaming running SWORD minions lol).

The boys come to get her, their game is freaking out. The video game controllers can't decide what decade they're in and are glitching it up.

Billy says his head feels weird and noisy. Wanda isn't terribly responsive. Mommy needs some her time.

"As punishment for my reckless evening, I plan on taking a quarantine-style staycation. A whole day. Just to myself. That'll show me." lol

Wanda eventually rouses herself, goes downstairs in her robe and sweats, ignores the boys fighting over a video game controller, and goes for the sugariest cereal. The milk container keeps glitching, she tries very very hard to ignore that.

Interesting Office-style opening credits, where it's just her name on everything. Vision is only added at the end, with the tag "Created by Wanda Maximoff".

Out in the real world, what is the point of SWORD? Like how do they have jurisdiction? Where is SHIELD. Director Mack, wtf, dude?

Anyway, now that part of their camp has been swallowed by the hex, they're further out, staring at the angry glowing force-field. AD Dick is a dick. He wants to know what's happening with the broadcast. His little minion says the signal's gone. Ominously he says "we launch today". Mmmm, what delightfully heavy-handed dipshittery will we have to endure?

Back inside. Vision wakes in the field at the edge of town that is now a circus. And lots and lots of clowns. He gets yelled at by a strongman who seems to think Vision is the new clown and tells him he's late for rehearsal with the escape artist. Who is Darcy. lol

"I put in for the bearded lady. But this alabaster complexion wasn't fooling anyone."

Darcy is chained to a ye olde fire engine or tractor or something. Vision walks up to her making a weird face and kind of waving his hand back and forth between them.

"You don't remember me from last night? We locked eyes, there was an unspoken understanding." Darcy tells him "um, hard pass." lol She busts out of her chains and walks away, Vision chases after.

Back at home, Wanda wants to know if the boys have seen dad, they haven't, but Billy wants to know about that whole thing Uncle Pietro said about dad being dead again. Wanda says Pietro is not their uncle. The boys don't understand, and Wanda has a little rambling breakdown about how she has no answers and maybe there's no meaning to anything ha ha don't worry boys mommy's just having a little depression.

Agnes knocks and then, you know, strolls in, when Wanda magics the door open.

"Hi Agnes. I'd get up but I just don't, ahahahah, want to." If I was Billy or Tommy I'd mount a search for dad. Stat.

Agnes: "I think I got there in the nick of time, 'cause she was one split-end away from cutting her own bangs."

(It's 1 a.m. and I swear to God, that man is still power-washing the sidewalks.)

Agnes suggests the boys go with her and give mommy that 'me time' she so desperately needs. The boys are reluctant but Wanda is ecstatic.

Once alone with her certainly soggy cereal, Wanda settles back to watch crappy daytime TV. But, damn it, the furniture is glitching through the eras.

"I'm fine! I'm fine hahahah. *sigh* I'm fine. i'm fine. … I'm fine."

In the real world. Jimmy and Monica are still on the move. The file on project whatever it was from last episode (Cataract), that Darcy forwarded to Jimmy's email, has finally found its way to him. It's R&D reports.

Oh, that asshole, AD Dick was trying to bring Vision back online. Monica puts the pieces together "Heyward wants his sentient weapon back."

Jimmy says somebody has to tell Wanda.

Good thing they arrive at the other side of the Hex, I guess? Where Monica has another team waiting. An Agent Goodner. They brought her like some sort of big Mars rover thingy.

Vision is still trying to talk to Darcy. "You tried to help me." "Doubtful. I'm notoriously self-involved."

lol, some amusing back and forth. Darcy is an f'ing delight and I don't just say that because I am obviously hideously biased.

Vision distracts her with a mime and takes the opportunity to do his brain mojo on her, waking her up. "Part of me secretly wanted a guest spot on this show, but seriously that sucked."

"Dr. Lewis. I have questions." "I have answers."

And then they steal the funnel cake truck.

"Dr. Lewis, my questions. Are my children safe?" "That I don't know." "And who was that Pietro?" "Beats me."

Wanda is still working on her bowl of cereal. Give it up, sister. The house redecorates itself around her.

Uh-oh, in her talking head segment, about how she doesn't understand whats going on, the person behind the camera speaks, and asks if maybe it's what she deserves. "You're not supposed to talk."

Commercial time. For a depression medication. "Nexus, a unique antidepressant that works to anchor you back to your reality. Or the reality of your choice."

Back in Westview. The boys are hanging at Agnes's. Billy has a rabbit. As happens at your crazy neighbor's house. But, he says he likes it there, because it's quiet. "You're quiet, Agnes. On the inside." J'ACCUSE, AGNES!  

Back at Monica's backup camp, she's getting suited up in her SWORD astronaut suit. Jimmy's sad because Darcy's missing the fun. But, Monica will rescue her. SWORD is worse than SHIELD for slapping their name all over everything.

Monica and the little rover zoom off to the hex. Should she really go that fast? Maybe this is something to take cautiously? Oh, and look, she hit it hard and she's stuck. The Hex doesn't want to let her in, but she keeps trying. And now the Hex is eating into the rover — sorry, *re-writing* it. Well that was a dumb plan. Sorry guys, but come on.

Monica escapes, but the hex eats the rover and then spits it out, the front half transformed into a truck. Monica is shocked, Jimmy calls for a medic, and as they run forward, Jimmy, who has known Monica for like two days, recognizes she's got 'I'm a heroic dummy' face on and he's all "noooooo!". She runs for the hex and pushes her way in.

This is a really long sequence of her going through the hex. Like … too long. Sorry, but it is. There's a whole thing where she's hearing voices from moments in her life, and she hears Carol tell her how she's a tough kid, and now Monica is Filled With Resolve and breaks through the Hex, still in her Astronaut outfit, so like she resisted the sitcom wardrobe department.

I enjoy this show, but there are moments of hokeyness that I find very trying.

The hex rewrites you at a basic level as you pass through it. So, third time through and Monica's eyes are glowy blue and she can, like, see electrical currents, or electromagnetic fields (it looks like). Trippy. She can see power along the power lines, fields around streetlights. Closing her eyes and shaking her head makes it all go away. Of course.

Meanwhile, Darcy and Vision are on their slow-speed getaway in the Funnel Cake truck. She's trying to catch him up on what's happened since he's been dead. They keep hitting red lights and obstacles. Vision thinks Wanda's doing it to keep him from getting home. "I'm not amused," he tells the camera with a very not amused face on. lol

Vision is trying to understand what he is now. It's not going well. "My corporeal form was born from Ultron's plan for global genocide?" "Correct-o." Darcy might not be the best person to be explaining this to him.

"What am I now?" Poor Vision.

Darcy takes a deep breath. In fairness, she looks like maybe she'd rather not be the one doing the explaining, either. "Honestly, I'm a STEM type of lady, so I thought she just flipped a switch on your head and brought you back to life. What I don't get is why you can't leave the hex."

Vision is having an existential crisis. But, Darcy assures him that based on her week-long experience as a fan of WandaVision, he and Wanda do really love each other. So, there's that. "You belong together," says the shameless shipper.

Meanwhile, Monica has arrived at the Maximoff residence and busts into the house, breathlessly trying to tell Wanda it's all Heyward being a dick, but Wanda's stunned by the sudden entry and then too pissed to really listen. "The drones, the missiles, Pietro." "No, Pietro wasn't us." "All you do is lie." She's tossing Monica around with her powers.

Monica, friend, buddy, pal, was that really your plan? To barge right in and just … what? Talk fast and hope she didn't yeet your ass again? Okay, she didn't have a lot of time, I get that, but surely she could have come up with something. Like, she should have found Darcy and Vision first, and then the three of them could approach Wanda. But, no. Jimmy Woo would have a plan, Monica.

Well, fortunately for Monica she's been rewritten into Electricity Lass. She hits the ground with a staticky crackle and her eyes glow blue again. Wanda's all "bu-whu?"

"The only lies I've told are the ones you put in my mouth," Monica says all angry like. Mmmkay, I thought you were trying to help? Wanda does not care for this response. Because, no offense Monica, but the last time she heard your voice, she had a missile launched at her head.

Monica challenges her. "Do it then, take me out." Not an approach I’d go for, but it seems to work, and Wanda hesitates and Monica tries to warn her again, that unlike Wanda who isn’t actually violent and evil, Heyward will burn down Westview to get what he wants. "Don't let him make you the villain."

"Maybe I already am."

Next door, Agnes is looking out the window, watching them, with a considering look on her face. BECAUSE SHE IS IN ON WHATEVER THIS IS.

Monica is still trying to talk down Wanda. Agnes interrupts. Creepily. And shepherds Wanda away.

Vision and Darcy are thwarted in their journey again. "Oh come on! Kids? What's next? Puppies?"

Vision takes the faster way and intangibles himself out of the van and flies off, leaving Darcy at the endless intersection. "Go on! I'll just meet you there then?"

Back at Agnes's shack of creepy ladies who are freaking up to something. Where are the boys? Oh, Wanda notices the half-eaten PB&Js and the nightmarish kids' show on the telly. Behind her the bunny is in its cage. No sign of the boys. Agnes says they're probably playing in the basement.

Wanda wanders off to find them. But, there are no boys, only horror show creepiness. The basement turns into some weird sort of domed cavern with arches all around and in the middle a weird glowing rectangle.

Agnes comes up behind her. "You didn't think you were the only magical girl in town, did you?" I was wise to you, Agnes. Which, given she was a featured co-star, was probably no great insight on my part. BUT STILL!

"The name's Agatha Harkness. Lovely to finally meet you, dear." OH! LOLOLOL! OH, I didn't see that one coming. Wow, you got me, show. It never occurred to me for a second that it was Agatha Harkness.

And now a fantastic montage of Agatha doing tricksy things as Agnes through the series, with the best theme song ever "Who's been messing up everything? It's been Agatha, all along! Who's been pulling every evil string? It's been Agatha, all along. She's insidious. HA HA! So perfidious." Oh man, this is great. "And I killed Sparky, too."

LOL. Great ending.

Hey, an unexpected mid-credits scene of Monica trying to get into the house. Maybe Agnes's? Oh, yeah, she finds a storm cellar and opens the doors, to see a stone stairway with vines or roots growing all around it and zippy electrical sparks and such. Pietro appears behind her. "Snoopers gonna snoop."

Credits!

Well then.

I KNEW IT! I didn't know what I knew, but I knew I knew a thing!

[howaminotinthestrokesyet]

Behind The Album: In Utero

The third and final studio album from Nirvana was released in September 1993 via DGC records. The band wanted to make a clear departure from how their second album sounded. They felt that their huge hit album, Nevermind, was too polished as a record. The producer of that second LP, Butch Vig, would later note that Kurt Cobain needed to “reclaim his punk ethics or cred.” For his part Cobain would tell Rolling Stone in early 1992 that the record would have elements to it much more raw then found on the second album. However, he did emphasize the fact that the pop sound would not disappear entirely. He had hoped to start working on it l in the middle of 1992, but distance between band members getting together was an issue as they all lived in different cities. Another issue came in the fact that Courtney Love was expecting their first child. DGC was hoping to release a new record by Christmas of the year, but instead they were forced to go with the compilation album of all the early material from Sub Pop, Incesticide. For In Utero, Cobain showed interest in working with former producer of Bleach, Jack Endino and Steve Albini. They brought in Endino to work on a few instrumentals for the record that were eventually re-recorded, and he was never asked to produce in any capacity. The group went back and forth debating whether to hire Albini or not. In January 1993, the group recorded another set of demos while on tour in Rio De Janeiro, Brazil. This would later become the track, “Gallons of Rubbing Alcohol Flow Through the Strip,” which originally had the working title of I’ll Take You Down to the Pavement. The latter represented a direct reference to an argument between Cobain and Guns N’ Roses frontman Axl Rose at the 1992 MTV Video Music Awards. The band finally decided to go with Albini as a producer despite his reputation of strict discipline within the studio and remaining one of the most opinionated producers out there. He was said to have referred to Nirvana as “REM with a fuzz box, unremarkable Seattle sound.” He would later say that his decision to work with the band came out of sympathy, feeling smaller groups like Nirvana were at the mercy of the record label. This particular statement should be taken with a grain of salt as Nirvana had just released the biggest record since Appetite for Destruction. Cobain had been a fan of the producer based on his work with the Pixies and the Breeders.

Producer Albini wanted to complete recording within a strict two week timeframe. Nirvana paid for the recording sessions themselves on Albini’s suggestion to avoid interference from the record label. The band paid him $24,000 for his services, while he refused any royalties whatsoever, which would have amounted to $500,000. He would continually say that royalties were immoral and a complete insult to the artist. They recorded at Pachyderm Studios in Cannon Falls, Minnesota in February 1993. Krist Novoselic would compare the environment to a gulag. “There was snow outside, we couldn't go anywhere. We just worked." Nirvana during this time emphasized to the record company that they wanted absolutely no interference from them, which meant they did not share anything from these sessions with their A & R representative. For his part, Steve Albini followed suit by only speaking with members of the band. He characterized anyone associated with the group as “pieces of shit.” After a short delay, the band's equipment finally arrived, so the actual recording of the album went very quickly. Each track began with the group playing together as one doing the instrumental aspect of it. For some tracks, Dave Grohl did the drums in the kitchen due to the natural acoustics sounding better. Albini had also surrounded his drums with 30 microphones for each track. They did not remove any take from the album, but instead kept them all. Cobain even added more guitar parts at the end of each day before doing the vocals. Although Albini had a reputation for being opinionated, he let Nirvana decide what to keep. “Generally speaking, [Cobain] knows what he thinks is acceptable and what isn't acceptable [...] He can make concrete steps to improve things that he doesn't think are acceptable." They did all of their musical work in six days, while Cobain said that it was the easiest recording he had ever done. Albini proceeded to mix the album in five days, which actually was slow by his standards because he usually only spent 1 to 2 days on it.

After completion, the band began to send the unmastered tapes to various people including the president of the DGC records. They absolutely hated it saying the songwriting was mediocre, the entire album was unlistenable, and radio would never except Albini’s production. Cobain took the comments personally to mean that the label wanted him to start from scratch and record again with a new producer. He would say, “I should just re-record this record and do the same thing we did last year because we sold out last year—there's no reason to try and redeem ourselves as artists at this point. I can't help myself—I'm just putting out a record I would like to listen to at home." Yet, the group remained dead set on releasing this version of the record as late as April 1993. They had played it for a number of their friends, who had liked it. The singer said, “Of course, they want another Nevermind, but I'd rather die than do that. This is exactly the kind of record I would buy as a fan, that I would enjoy owning." Around this time, some doubts crept up with all members of Nirvana because the mix of In Utero did not sound right. They asked Albini to possibly remix the record, and he flat out refused. “[Cobain] wanted to make a record that he could slam down on the table and say, 'Listen, I know this is good, and I know your concerns about it are meaningless, so go with it.' And I don't think he felt he had that yet ... My problem was that I feared a slippery slope." They took the record to Bob Ludwig for mastering, while at the same time mentioned their issues with the mix to him. Upon completion, Krist Novoselic said he was happy with the result, but Cobain still felt it was not perfect. At this time, Steve Albini gave an interview with the Chicago Tribune, where he doubted whether the record would ever be released. Newsweek would run another article that echoed the comments made by Albini. This caused Nirvana to write a full page letter to the magazine denying the label was putting any undue pressure on them. The same letter would be reproduced as a full page ad in Billboard not long after. The head of Geffen Records, who owned DGC made the unprecedented move of actually calling Newsweek to complain. The band thought about having Andy Wallace remix the release, but once again Albini refused saying they had only agreed to work with him. At the time, the producer also would release any of the tapes that were now in his possession. He only did so after a phone call from Krist Novoselic. The entire album for the most part was not changed at all, except for a remastering. Yet, the producer continually made comments that it was nowhere near the album he recorded in Minnesota. “The record in the stores doesn't sound all that much like the record that was made, though it's still them singing and playing their songs, and the musical quality of it still comes across." He would go on to say that major labels refused to work with him for the next year or so because of In Utero.

As for the music, the producer wanted to go as far away as possible from Nevermind with this record. He felt that the second album made the group look incredibly bad because it had been overproduced at such a level to make it extremely radio friendly. He wanted to create a much more natural sound for the group. The 1993 Nirvana biography, Come As You Are, noted the vision for the band on this record. “The Beatlesque 'Dumb' happily coexists beside the all-out frenzied punk graffiti of 'Milk It,' while 'All Apologies' is worlds away from the apoplectic 'Scentless Apprentice.' It's as if [Cobain] has given up trying to meld his punk and pop instincts into one harmonious whole. Forget it. This is war." If one goes through the track listing, you can count which tracks are over the top punk, and which tracks are more radio friendly pop. The interesting thing is that they correspond equally, 6 to 6. Fans and critics alike would talk about how abrasive In Utero turned out to be, but Cobain and Novoselic really did not see it that way. The bass player had said the band had always had songs as they are found on In Utero. Yet, the group did consciously try to bring fans into the more punk sounding songs by releasing the first two singles that could have realistically been included on Nevermind. Some of the songs found on the record had been written years prior as early as 1990. Cobain used various points of inspiration for the lyrics. The track “Frances Farmer” came from a 1978 biography of the Seattle figure called Shadowland. “Scentless Apprentice” originated from a horror novel that the singer had read by Patrick Suskind. One of the central themes found on the album noted in that same Nirvana biography from 1993 was the fact that every song talked about sickness or disease in some manner. Although Cobain said the lyrics were very impersonal to him, many disagreed with this assessment. Dave Grohl would say this in an interview. “A lot of what he has to say is related to a lot of the shit he's gone through. And it's not so much teen angst anymore. It's a whole different ball game: rock star angst." The singer continued to argue that much of the album had been written years prior to any issues he was going through at the time. For example, “Rape Me” quite possibly could be talking about his frustration with the media in how he has been portrayed over the past couple of years. The track “Serve the Servants” seemed to specifically talk about Cobain’s father and how divorce affected him from a very early age. The Nirvana frontman wanted his father to know that he did not despise him, but he also had no desire to be around him whatsoever. One track, “Gallons of Alcohol Flow Through the Strip,” was actually one of the only improvisational tracks they ever recorded. The song represented a jam session that the group would frequently participate in in during down times at the studio. They had done this quite often, but this would be the first time that it was ever recorded in some form.

Upon its release, the record label took a very low key approach to promoting the album. None of the singles would come out commercially in the United States, as they concentrated all of their press releases at media specializing in alternative music. The band remained convinced that there was absolutely no way that In Utero would sell even a quarter of what Nevermind sold. The record would debut at number one on the charts selling 180,000 copies in its first week. They sold this many copies without big retail chains like Kmart and Walmart selling it because officially the demand was not there. The truth was actually these chains feared backlash due to the graphic nature of the artwork accompanying the album. In March 1994, an edited version of the album would be released with new artwork and alternative song titles. The band made this concession saying they wanted fans who could not go to a traditional record store to be able to purchase the LP. Following the death of Cobain. the third single “Pennyroyal Tea” was canceled, as well as any tour plans. Immediately following his death, the popularity of In Utero on the charts increased by 122% from 72 to 27. The album would eventually be certified five times platinum.

Critics were not unanimous in the praise of In Utero. For the most part, rock writers really liked the new sound from Nirvana. Time’s Christopher John Farley noted that once again perhaps the mainstream may need to go to Nirvana, rather than the other way around. David Browne of Entertainment Weekly emphasized the absolute contrasts on the release. “The music is often mesmerizing, cathartic rock & roll, but it is rock & roll without release, because the band is suspicious of the old-school rock clichés such a release would evoke." David Fricke of Rolling Stone would say that the record was both “brilliant and corrosive,” but undoubtedly a “triumph of the will” for Kurt Cobain. NME’s John Mulvey did not share the same sentiment as he observed the album really was not up to par with previous Nirvana standards. The review from Plugged In did not mince words saying it had absolutely no redeeming value whatsoever. Some reviews became quite bittersweet as you are reminded of Cobain’s suicide. Q said this about the record. "If this is how Cobain is going to develop, the future is lighthouse-bright." Ben Thompson of the Independent merely seemed happy that the record did not represent the punk rock nightmare the group had continually threatened to release. In Utero would go on to top several end of the year lists as one of the best albums including Rolling Stone, Village Voice, and the New York Times. The band would even receive a Grammy nomination in 1994 for Best Alternative Album. As time has passed, critics have lavished even more phrase on it seeing their work with Albini as far superior to Nevermind. Charles R. Cross would write in his Cobain biography, “If it is possible for an album that sold four million copies to be overlooked, or underappreciated, then In Utero is that lost pearl." Pitchfork named it the 13th best album of the 1990s, while it even made Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. NME named it number 35 on its greatest albums of all time list creating quite a sense of irony since the periodical did not think too much of the album at the time of its release.

[thecourtsknight]

I already know the answer to 💐 for alexandra but I need you to tell the public anyways. also, 🥀 for alexandra as well, 🌠 for quill (I think quill's a level 8 Baby), 💦 for stag, and 🌳 for rufus

TELL THE PU BL IC WHAT??? THAT SHES A BRAT?? DFGKJH. okay okay.

gunna have to put this under a read more.

For Alex

How does your OC handle being unwell or forced to rest in bed? Who cares for them and in what ways? Does your OC enjoy being doted on or are they a terrible patient? Reversed: is your OC good at taking care of others who are ill or in need?

Awful. Genuinely unbearable. This woman acts like she has to work 24/7 or her bones will turn into sawdust. She will do anything she can to stay out of a bed, her getting any kind of illness aggravates her to no extent and she makes sure everyone around her knows that. I’d say the main people who fuss over her most is, understandably, Cornelius as its his fucking job but probably Florence? and definitely Quill. Even though she’s usually denied entry as not to catch or spread anything Alex might have.

I wouldn’t say she hates being doted on. She’s prideful and it does feel odd to have someone literally take care of her in that sense because no ones done that since her parents but in a weird way she does appreciate it and shes not one to not thank someone looking out for her. She mind drive Cornelius insane with how much she doesn’t do what he asks but she will thank him at the end of the day when she finally agrees to sleep for a bit. 

It’s very much a “thank you, I really appreciate all of this... but also I am getting out of the bed.” 

Being reversed on the other hand. Alexandra cares a lot of for folks, she isn’t the best at knowing what to do if they’re sick but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t try. She’s always been one to do what she can for other people if she has the means to, it’s why she tries to stay so in tune with her crew and actively ask them if there’s anything that can be done to help if something is truly bothering them. And then all of this kinda got turned up to an 11 when Quill came on board because. 

Well. It’s. Quill. Alexandra had honestly never felt the actual fear of someone getting sick until Quill got sick when she was younger and it actually had her kind of frazzled, because this was no longer an adult she could offer support to this was a child that was her responsibility. She is actually a surprisingly good caregiver though, she’s very diligent and focused with making sure someone is recovering well but not as strict as someone like Cornelius. She won’t give someone too much shit for wanting to get up when they’re sick because hey haha handshake emoji.

How would your OC decorate a notebook or journal? What kind of things are written in there? Could you give an example of a nice entry?

Alexandra, for the most part, has a very. Confusing way of writing. She writes pure chicken scratch for one and a lot of her notes can end up sounding utterly confusing. She’s not one to draw unless she REALLY has to because shes not very confident or even really that comfortable with sketching something. Quill’s always been the better visual artist even if her artistic skills aren’t really that great either. 

She’ll often find herself writing things down like ‘Solid Iron. Fire. Moth’s Wing.’ which makes no fucking sense but then she’d explain that something she’s researching will most likely be made out of solid iron, have something to do or be aligned with fire elements and its rumored to cause a supposed affect when Moth’s Wings are used as fuel. But to anyone else its like what the fuck am I reading. 

She actually struggles writing coherently a lot of the time but she had to for her own novels, those honestly ate up so much of her time journeying back from places which was a blessing and a curse because she’d much rather be enjoying being out and about on the deck and enjoying the trip back to land instead of cooped up in her god damn quarters trying to recap shit. 

An example of a more put together entry that you’d find in her novels would be something like: 

‘I believe one of the many things we came across and managed to get our hands on was a Belt of Dwarvenkind. For any readers who might not know what such items are rumored to do let me explain. If you’re not of Dwarven Lineage for starters you can write, read and even speak Dwarvish. (I can confirm, firsthand, that this is very much true. It was one of the first things I ran to check once we got back to my dear ship.) Your vision in the dark improves exceedingly well and according to most sources I could find you handling poisonings or anything that perhaps might have a bit more of a poisonous sting to its arsenal a lot more thoroughly. As much as I’m sure you’re all dying to know my findings on that one I wasn’t exactly in the mood this evening to put that one to the test.

 Though anyone who wears this belt will immediately feel a lot more thoroughly stronger and resilient and I can vouch. There’s also mentions of it being worn makes speaking to Dawrven kind a lot more smoother though that implies that Dwarves aren’t already a wonderful bunch to converse with. Attuning to such an item felt like a no-brainer with all of these wonderful effects but alas three things stood in my way. Belt’s like this don’t exactly suit me, secondly I’d rather give these artifacts the proper home they deserve to be studied in more depth and have at the ready instead of being here with me and I always uphold to that and third... From what little knowledge I could grab, there appears to be a rather common chance for people who don this belt to grow out a full-on beard and... Unfortunately, due to wanting to attempt to attune to the belt and test a few things out I’d rolled rather luckily on such a chance, if you can call it that. So I can confirm firsthand that this side-effect of sorts is entirely true for this belt. Unless something cursed me back in that building to grow a beard. You can never tell’ 

For Quill(and techincally me)

On a scale of 1 - 10 how Baby is your OC? BONUS when asking this question rate the OC yourself as see if the reply matches up!!

I’d say an 8 is pretty much there. 7-8 would’ve been my guess. She might try to act big and strong and put on a whole show of it but really... she is just a soft idiot who really wants to rest her head in someones lap and have her hair played with. 

For Stag!

If you as the writer could erase one traumatic event from this OC’s life what would it be and why?

Honestly? I’d say her dad passing away, especially in the originally way I saw it. As much as its important to the story beats of Stag’s own story, its something as of late I wouldn’t mind reworking into something else. Though I’m also okay with it staying. 

And Rufus!!! 

What is your OC’s favourite way to relax after a stressful day? Do they have a favourite book to curl up with? A hobby? Or do they have a nice bubble bath and have an early night to bed?

Rufus likes to sit and watch things. An ideal evening for them would be watching some birds try to find things for their nests, watching ants carry things back to help their colony. Watching the way the wind shakes the trees as the sun starts to set. 

If there’s nothing really available to focus on reading is their usual go to. They like to read outside if they can, and just gather their thoughts or cook with their mother. Gardening also comes to mind if they really need something to do with their hands but thats only if they’re utterly frustrated and need something to actually focus that negative energy into.

[waywardnerd67]

TFWB - Chap 10 Colors of the Soul

Summary: Misha has the opening of his new art studio. Characters: Misha Collins, Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Rachel Sanderson (OFC), Reader Pairing: No Pairing Warnings: Fluff/AU Word Count: 873 Squared Filled: Artist AU A/N #1: This is for @spnfluffbingo​ card

Check out: The Family We Built Masterlist

The sun was just peeking over the horizon as Misha stood in front of his new art studio. The grand opening was just a few days away and he still had a few pieces to get finished. Unlocking the door the smell of paint thinner and his oil paints hit him.

“Shit.” He mumbled opening the two front doors and all the side doors.

After an hour of fresh air, he could finally work in his studio again. The soft open was happening at the end of the week and he still had several pieces to get through. The one he was working on now was inspired by a conversation he recently had with Jensen.

***

Misha knocked on one of the large wooden doors before walking into Jensen’s office. He was seated behind his large desk, his cell pressed to his ear and his face halfway hidden behind one of his computer screens. He sat in one of the chairs propping his feet up on Jensen’s desk.

Jensen glared at him as he continued talking, “Jim, I don’t care. It’s your responsibility to handle this account and not your junior accountant. Fix it.”

“Hey!” Misha chuckled as his friend hit his boots off his desk putting his cell down, “I always find it funny to hear you use your CEO voice.”

“I hate my CEO voice but it is what it is. Come on, let’s go over the final paperwork and have a drink.”

Both of them moved over to Jensen’s small conference table where they discussed the final investment funds for Misha’s art studio. Once all the papers were signed and handed off to his assistant, Jensen poured them each a drink.

“Scotch? Wow, must have been one hell of a day.” Misha commented letting the dark amber burn down his throat.

Jensen slowly took a sip, “You have no idea.”

Misha stared at his friend for a moment. His brow in a permanent furrow hard lines etched into his forehead. His jaw tense and the corner of his lips downcast. He leaned forward grabbing the bottle and drinking straight from it.

“Dude…” Jensen murmured.

“What? Like we’ve never drank from the same bottle before? Tell me what’s really going on.”

Jensen downed his glass before grabbing the bottle himself smirking, “I don’t know. I think I’m just sick of the corporate bullshit. I’m sick of sitting behind that fucking desk and moving pawns all damn day.”

“Then quit.” He grabbed the bottle back chuckling.

“Oh yeah, just quit a multimillion dollar company that I help build from the ground up. Easy.” Jensen scoffed, “Honestly, I wish I could. I would give it all up in a moment if…”

“If what? What is holding you back?” Misha held the bottle away from Jensen when he tried to grab it.

Jensen averted his eyes from his, “Fear of the unknown. Fear of failure. Disappointing those around me. Take your pick Mish. Honestly, I envy you and Jared so damn much.”

Misha threw his head back in laughter, “Oh yeah, Jared and I are living the high life.”

When he looked back to Jensen, he saw it clear as day in his olive eyes. He truly was envious of their lives, “Jensen you know you could do whatever you wanted too, right? Even now, you can live this behind you and do whatever, be whatever you wanted.”

“Yeah… maybe one day. Come on, I believe we are going to be late to (Y/N)’s.” Jensen got up, rinsed their glasses out and grabbed his jacket.  

***

Misha stood back looking at his finished piece. An emerald brick road of money forking off into a darken forest. The other road was bumpy with rocks and craters leading to a peaceful meadow surrounded in sunlight. He painted his trademark signature on the bottom right hand corner and smiled.

The soft opening of his studio was going wonderfully. Some of Jensen’s investors were admiring his work and even a few bought a few pieces. Misha walked over to his group of friends that were looking at his latest piece.

“Misha, you really out did yourself with this one. What’s the title?” Jared slapped his back nearly knocking his drink out of his hand.

“Road to Destiny.” He looked over to Jensen whose eyes were wide looking closely at it.

When everyone had stepped away, Misha stood next to Jensen, “The road has broken up sentences of your manuscript hidden in it. The trees made to look like pencils and flowers were lined paper.”

“How…” Jensen whispered looking over to him, his eyes shining.

“After our conversation at your office, I inquired with a certain book editor who may or may not have helped me with a page of your work. I wanted to show you that your path is not set in stone but what you choose it to be.”

Jensen pulled him into a tight hug, “Thank you.”

“Thank you for believing in my vision for this place.” Misha kept his arm around his waist as Jensen kept his arm around his shoulder.

“You truly do see the colors of the soul.” They both laughed walking towards their friends and enjoying the rest of their night.

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

My Nerd Herd: @waywardbaby​ @ladywinchester1967​ @akshi8278​ @ericaprice2008​ @deans-baby-momma​ @spnbaby-67​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @carryonmywaywardcaptain​ @-lovepeacenhope-​ @destiel745​ @carribear31​ @srsllydunnodoncare​ @whimsicalrobots​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @starstruckzonkoperatorbat​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @bella-ca​ @drakelover78​ @imascio08​ @pisces-cutie​ @dwgrl1903-blog​ @mannls​ @the-salty-asian​ @winchesterprincessbride​ @xostephanie​ @superromijn​ @witch-of-letters​ @time-travel-bouqet​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @myinconnelly1​ @sister-winchesters99​ @thekatherinewinchester​ @maddiepants​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @sandlee44​ @destielhoneybee​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @thefaithfulwriter​ @stoneyggirl​ @supernaturalginger​ @emoryhemsworth​ @wednesdayismyfunday​ @team-free-will-you-idjiot​ @atc74​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @casseythebee​ @miraclesoflove​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe​

[eabhaalynn]

My 11 Songs of the Decade (because 10 would be boring and is overdone.)

Cigarette Daydreams – Cage the Elephant

The song… This is the closing song of Cage the Elephant’s 2013 album, Melophobia, and the third single released from this album. It describes the pain of someone’s search for their own identity through the musings of a parted lover.

For me… To this day, this is the song I cry to. This always has been me and my friend Iona’s song. It will forever be inseparable from the Ulster Museum and Botanic Gardens in Belfast, from rainy summer’s days and rants about our seemingly massive problems with GCSEs and girls from school. When she went abroad for her gap year, I couldn’t bear to listen to it. It’s another one of these songs that manages to articulate what it feels like to be young and thinking too much.

Key lyric…If we can find a reason, a reason to change Looking for the answer If you can find a reason, a reason to stay Standing in the pouring rain

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uvVJ0v6Vta8

Ribs – Lorde

The song… This is a deep house influenced electronica song that discusses Lorde’s stress over ageing. It was released on her debut album, Pure Heroine, in 2013. It begins ambiently and builds to become increasingly more frantic as the song progresses.

For me… Despite being released when I was a young teenager, this song was written when Lorde was sixteen or seventeen. It articulates exactly what it feels like to be that age, at that stage of life. I’m quite sure teenagers across the globe can relate to that. This song has been the soundtrack of my teenage years, the imagery is both relatable and accessible. Listening now, it gives me a sense of nostalgia, a yearning to be back where I was a year, or two or three years ago. Even now, it is the sound of being alone in a crowd. It is musically perfect, and a piece of exceptional songwriting.

Key lyric…This dream isn't feeling sweet We're reeling through the midnight streets And I've never felt more alone It feels so scary, getting old

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qaeoz_7cyE

Sign of the Times – Harry Styles

The song…  This is Harry Style’s debut single as a solo artist. It was released in early 2017 and appears on his self-titled debut album. It is a power ballad with eclectic influences from genres such as soft rock, indie rock, glam rock and psychedelic soul. It features Styles’ vocals alongside choral harmonies throughout. It is essentially about avoiding emotion during times of grief and hardship.

For me…This is the song of me leaving school (for the first time). Listening to it now coughs up all the feelings of relief, and yet uncertainty. Excitement, but also nerves. Summer 2017 was a turning point for me. I had had a terrible couple of years over my GCSEs, and overall, my second school was a far better place for me to be than my first one ever was. At the time though, I didn’t know this. Sure, how could I? This song helped me figure out my feelings, and make sense of feeling happy when I really didn’t know what I should have felt at all.

Key lyric…We don't talk enough, we should open up Before it's all too much Will we ever learn? We've been here before It's just what we know

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qN4ooNx77u0

Ride – Lana Del Rey

The song… This song comes from Lana Del Rey’s third EP, Paradise, released in 2012. It served as the first single of this re-release. It is a ballad that includes, among other themes, parental problems, loneliness and alcohol misuse. Del Rey sings over a string drenched, piano driven melody.

For me… This is the song of every summer. It has never been an exceptionally happy song for me, but it is the embodiment of what it is to feel young and alive, if a little bit tired. The glamour of it, alongside the acknowledgement that everything isn’t perfect, but that they will be okay if you just go with the flow, was exactly what I needed at the time it was released. The blissful uncertainty of the summers of being 14 and 15, partnered with the irrelevance of the future, is exactly what this song will always be about for me.

Key lyric… Been trying hard not to get into trouble But I, I've got a war in my mind I just ride, just ride

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Py_-3di1yx0

Don’t Delete the Kisses – Wolf Alice

The song… This is the second single from Wolf Alice’s second album, Visions of a Life. It is characterised as dream pop, synth pop, shoegaze and indie rock. Frontwoman Rowsell referred to it as “one of those, you know, ‘head out the window on a long drive’ kind of tunes.’

For me… If ‘ribs’ is the sound of being seventeen, then surely this is the sound of falling in love. This song is the ultimate love song. I am absolutely convinced of it. It is greater than any one person as it is simply the sound of the feeling. I am very lucky that I actually was falling in love for the first time at the time this was released. I will always be indebted to Ellie Rowsell for being there to tell me in plain English how I was feeling. This song has defined every ‘lovey dovey’ mood I have been in for the last two and a half years. I’m sure most people of my age feel the same. It was written for the era we are living in and it is perfectly suited to it.

Key lyric…I see the signs of a lifetime, you 'til I die

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WqxE-zppu30

Motion Sickness – Phoebe Bridgers

The song… This is the third single from Phoebe Bridger’s 2017 Debut album ‘Stranger in the Alps.’ It describes “being in love with someone who is super mean to you… like conflicted feelings.” Bridger’s stated to radio station KCRW that the song was written about fellow musician Ryan Adams.

For me… Admittedly, I discovered this song late in the decade. But it’s a song about feelings. Like, really hard feelings. This decade, and especially the latter half of it, threw up a lot of feelings, about a lot of things. I suppose this is fairly standard for most people approaching the end of their teenage years. It’s angsty, without being too bothered about anything. It’s raw and honest; articulating everything I’ve felt about everyone at one stage or another, and I’m equally, I’m sure it articulates enough people’s feelings about me.

Key lyric… You said when you met me you were bored And you, you were in a band when I was born

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9sfYpolGCu8

A & E – Brand New Friend

The song… This illustrates the rise and fall of a relationship, and in doing so highlights the more melancholic acoustic side of Northern Irish indie pop group Brand New Friend. It was initially released in 2016 as the closing song of their debut EP, American Wives, but was remastered and re-released on their 2017 album Seatbelts for Airplanes.

For me… This is the song of the medicine application. Bearing in mind I know this band, and know that there is a well-developed meaning to the song that has nothing to do with me, this is the song that I have listened to, and seen live, countless times from the day I decided I wanted to be a doctor to the day I got into medical school and beyond. It is a rare and beautiful connection to have to a song like this, and one for which I am forever going to be grateful. Now, I can’t hear the song live without bawling my wee eyes out. I have come so far, and the band have too, and the song has been with us every step of the way. That truly means the world to me.

Key lyric… She wants to be a paramedic / Wants to save a strangers life / Now she wants to hold my hand / Does she know she’s saving mine?

https://open.spotify.com/track/5RmOfF1s5zW2B942H9OGXT?si=hsauA8iXQN6mXQnL8s0fBw

Brazil – Declan McKenna

The song… McKenna initially self-released this song in December 2014. It is critical of FIFA, of their awarding of the 2014 World Cup to Brazil without addressing the deep rooted and extensive poverty affecting the Nations people. It gained widespread media attention throughout the FIFA corruption scandal, before featuring on his debut album, ‘What do you think about the Car?’ in July 2017. It is an indie rock song that is driven by guitars and synths.

For me… This song was the sound of 2016 and 2017. It was released a while before this but I was fairly late jumping on the bandwagon. It’s a political song, speaking of the injustices behind FIFA and their 2014 World Cup in Brazil. As an angry little leftist, I have always appreciated this. I can only appreciate it more knowing that Declan McKenna himself was only fourteen when he wrote it. For me the song has many happy memories attached to it, from the long summer walks from my house to the nearest village to see my friends who were working as sailing instructors, to attending a tiny gig of Declan McKenna’s in the Oh Yeah Centre in Belfast and being about 6 feet from his face while he was 6 feet from the cusp of fame.

Key lyric…Because you've had your chances, yeah you've had enough I'm gonna burn your house down to spread peace and love

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=duHjQ3BE6D8

Robbers – The 1975

The song… This is the sixth single from the 1975’s self-titled debut album. It was released as a single in May 2014. The song’s concept follows an ill-fated robbery, and was inspired in part by the 1993 film ‘True Romance.’ It is essentially about a relationship in which the partners are too focused on each other to notice the destruction they are each causing.

For me… This song is fairly definitive of my teenage years as a whole. The narrative of a toxic relationship that the writer could not, or would not leave, was one that I always managed to connect to, across all aspects of my life as a young teenager, encountering uncomfortable situations within school and with different people and groups of friends. Matty Healy was (and honestly still is) one of the biggest crushes I’ve ever had. I’ve now heard this song live three different times, at three completely different phases of my life. It is a song with so much meaning, and yet one that has grown and evolved with me throughout the decade.

Key lyric… Now everybody's dead And they're driving past my old school And he's got his gun, he's got his suit on She says, 'Babe, you look so cool'

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iyy3YOpxL2k

Get Well Soon – Ariana Grande

The song… This is the final song on Grande’s 2017 album ‘Sweetener,’ it is a soul ballad with layered vocals, and is inspired by Grande’s personal anxiety and trauma following the May 2017 terrorist attack following her concert in Manchester. In memory of the 22 victims of this attack, there is a 40 second moment of silence at the end of the song.

For me… I am, and have been, a very anxious person for a very long time. This is something I have never really hid away from, but also never felt up to talking openly about. This song manages to describe the feelings associated with anxiety in a way I have never heard any mainstream musician attempt before. Ariana’s concert which was attacked in May 2017, that which inspired this song, immediately followed her concert that my father and sister had attended, and so the whole song and sequence of events is and always has been very close to home for me.

Key lyric…I'm too much in my head, did you notice? (Girl, what’s wrong with you? Come back down)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hXU4P6j3TNY

She’s Thunderstorms – Arctic Monkeys

The song… This is the first song from the fourth studio album by arctic monkeys; Suck it and See, released in 2011. It originated when Alex Turner was looking for a new way of complimenting someone. It begins with an Eastern inspired riff and is fairly heavily guitar led, characteristic of this period in the Arctic Monkey’s discography

For me… I’d be lying if I said this isn’t one of my favourite songs of all time. I chose it for this list because it is my favourite song by the arctic monkeys, who are my favourite band. Its subject, Alexa Chung, basically leads the life I wish I had. Even more so at the time this song was written than now. I remember being twelve or thirteen and just wanting someone to write something like this for me. The sheer detail of the lyrics is beautiful and so captivating, they played a huge part in helping me find my love for music in an accessible way. I loved, and still do love, the relationship they had. I feel like it translated so well into his music, and into the popular culture that shaped my teenage years exceptionally well.  

Key lyric…Here is your host, sounds as if she's pretty close When the heat starts growing horns She's thunderstorms

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQSQnHh4rPE

[tirsden]

I feel like I need to say something about this, and ironically I already said what I want to say in Youtube comments, so the following has been drawn heavily from said comments.

At the timestamps of 19:26 and 19:35 of the Cynical Reviews video are two scenes that stand out from the movie, and I remember those textures from the trailer too. If you want to trigger an autistic person on any level of the spectrum, show them those scenes or even a still from the scene. I pulled up Notepad at that point to pre-write a comment and about one-third of the paused video was showing behind Notepad. Even just that much in my peripheral vision was literally making me nauseous as I worked on the comment. The busy, repeating pattern on the wall and costumes is a fucking nightmare.

Before I go any further, I'll mention where I am on the spectrum. I'm high-functioning autistic, the label formerly known as Asperger's Syndrome but I'm guessing they're trying to get rid of that label because apparently Dr. Asperger was cushy with Nazis. Oops. And if that word seems a little too flippant, understand that my seeing the relevant information on Wikipedia was devastating. I've been getting fed up lately seeing that "Aspergers is no longer a diagnosis" because I went 28 years without knowing what was different about me and why the world didn't make sense. I was about to leave a comment on another video, something along the lines of, "You can't take my diagnosis away from me, I have a label and it's mine. Not only is doing so disingenuous to me and people like me, it's disingenuous to Dr. Asperger." Before I hit submit I realized I should go google him before I said something I might regret... and staring at his wiki page, if I had a proper desk close enough to use, I would have been head-desking so hard. I really don't know how to properly put in words how I feel about the whole situation now... though the phrase "this is why we can't have nice things" comes to mind.

Back on the Sia topic and review, after I'd finished composing that bit of comment and watched a few more minutes of the review, I was feeling more and more like I'd been hit by motion sickness. Some of the footage after the timestamps probably didn't help, but my gods... "you haven't even watched my film" = "I DIDN'T EVEN SHOW IT TO ANYONE ON THE SPECTRUM OR THEY WOULD HAVE BARFED." Maybe I'm a little more sensitive than some in the motion sickness / visual trigger department, but come on. That is some horribly tone-deaf cinematography, and that's not even getting into the portrayal of the autistic character.

One of the first things I thought about Maddie's interpretation of autism, is that it's closer to something like Down Syndrome, but I had a Down Syndrome aunt and the comparison still makes me want to throw up a little. Closer does not mean accurate... but, yeah. That was my observation. Cynical's mention of Maddie drawing character ideas from a DiCaprio character with some other type of developmental disorder explains so much now. And I don't blame Maddie for what she was involved in, because it's clear she has an abuser controlling her life. There really isn't any flowery way to say that. It is what it is.

Sigh. What the hell do I even do with this? I love(d) Sia's music, and her episode of Carpool Karaoke was probably one of the most fun things I'd ever watched on Youtube. My favorite Pandora station is based off her song Chandelier, a station I've affectionately referred to as "Dying Cat Radio" due to the sound style of a lot of songs that play on it. Now... I think I'm going to have to delete the station and try to rebuild it via Aurora and similar artists. I do not do well with associations, and I was already on the fence after watching the Music trailer recently. After this review? It's over. And it's another nail in the coffin of "having real people as heroes," especially celebrity figures. Other nails for me have been Mel Gibson, Bruce Willis, and Vin Diesel... and I wonder at what point these people either became so disconnected from reality they lost their "souls," or if they were always like that and we just couldn't see it yet.

As for the associations thing and a big reason why I can’t really separate artist from art, I've only ever seen it addressed once by someone else, in the book Red Dragon by Thomas Harris. In the book, the author briefly describes his character Will Graham as such:

“Graham had a lot of trouble with taste. Often his thoughts were not tasty. There were no effective partitions in his mind. What he saw and learned touched everything else he knew. Some of the combinations were hard to live with. But he could not anticipate them, could not block and repress. His learned values of decency and propriety tagged along, shocked at his associations, appalled at his dreams; sorry that in the bone arena of his skull there were no forts for what he loved. His associations came at the speed of light. His value judgments were at the pace of a responsive reading. They could never keep up and direct his thinking. He viewed his own mentality as grotesque but useful, like a chair made of antlers. There was nothing he could do about it.”

And... I've run out of mental steam, so [insert conclusion here] because I've said what I want to say. The formal writing rules in me are cringing with a closing like that, but it can join everything else cringing over the disaster that is Music. Time to damage-control the migraine that's asking me why I'm staring at a big white thing with little black letters, and why I sat through that review when I knew the footage was not good for me, even just the clips used. "Oof" is right, Cynical Doggo... "oof" is right.

[neocity-sarai]

Tattoos Together

❈ main concept: childhood best friends to lovers!

❈ pairing: mark lee x reader

❈ alerts: fluff, angsty angst, language, parties, mentions of drinking/smoking, mentions of the dreamies/other idols

❈ song reference: “tattoos together” by lauv

Vancouver has always been home. Since you were a child, Vancouver has been the place to be. Years of dinners in the city, biking around Granville island, and field trips to the Victoria gardens were the norm, just little secret spots you go to when you want a getaway- an escape from school, work, whatever it is you’re doing. At age 15, the Lees moved into the light blue house next to yours, the one with overgrown weeds in the yard. The one with the crooked, leaning mailbox in front of it- daisies painted on the rusty metal. A young girl, an artist, used to live there until she moved to Paris for her next exhibit- leaving the lonely, periwinkle house behind. That day the Lees moved in, your parents baked more muffins than usual (on purpose) so they could welcome our new neighbors by enticing them with food. The saying goes that a way to a person’s heart is through their stomach right? When dad is done packaging them up into a neat little box, he shoves it into your hands, “Y/N. I hear the Lees have a son about your age, go introduce yourself.”

Glaring at your father, you set the box that was tied with a small yellow ribbon on the table before saying, “I’m sure they can manage just fine without the muffins. Why do we have to go greet them now? they’re probably tired from moving.”

Mom gives you a stern look, her jaw tightening, “Don’t be silly, it’s a nice gesture. Come back before dinner is ready.”

Before you can even protest, your parents are shoving you out the door, still careful not to crush the perfectly wrapped box. Stepping over the stairs, you finally manage to make it to the door. Here goes nothing? The cherry red door swings open lightly after you linger my finger-tip on their doorbell, opening up to a pretty woman- her facial features defined of asian descent. Her dark hair is tied into a loose braid, her pink sweater tucked into the waistband of her culotte pants. The woman smiles at you, the corner of her lips upturned, “Ah- you must be Y/N. I just got a call from your mother.”

You try to hide the shaking of my hands, handing her the box of warmed muffins, “Uh-hi Mrs. Lee. My parents made some muffins to welcome you to the uh- neighborhood.”

The woman’s eyes crinkle until her eyes stretch thinly, “That’s so nice of you! Thank you, I’m sure Mark will enjoy these!”

You question,“Um- Mark?”

Her laugh is light and airy, “My son-Mark! Wait here, I’ll get him.”

You wave my hands at her, motioning my refusal, “No worries, I-I have to get going for dinner..”

She doesn’t wait to listen to my words before turning away from the door to scream Mark’s name. A few minutes later, a boy wearing a dress shirt over his black t-shirt comes stumbling down the stairs, a pair of black headphones hanging off his neck. His glasses rest on the bridge of his nose as his jet-black hair sits as a messy pile on his head. It looks like he hasn’t combed it in days. Mark shouts, “What? What did you need mom?”

Mark’s mother clutches him by the arm, shoving him into my view, “Meet y/n. She’s the daughter of the family next door.”

At first, no words come out of Mark’s mouth, his doe, boyish eyes as wide as saucers. Mark’s mother hits him in the back, causing him to cough abruptly, “Uh-yeah-my name’s Mark. W-what’s your name?”

Mark’s mother laughs again, leaning down to whisper into his ear, “I already said her name is y/n!”

Redness creeps up to Mark’s cheeks, his nose tinted a slight shade of rose as his dark irises bounce everywhere but at me.

You smile anyway, “It’s y/n.”

He gives me a small smile and a nod, eyes set on the ground. His mother speaks up again, “I’m really sorry y/n, my boy’s really shy around pretty girls…”

Mark lightly hits his mom in the shoulder, “Mom! Don’t say that! You’re embarrassing me!”

His face is as red as a tomato, glasses sliding farther down his nose only for him to push them up with the tip of his index finger. I laugh at their cute relationship, holding out a hand to Mark, “It’s nice to meet you. I hope we can be friends?”

Mark stutters once more, his eyes wild with energy, “I-i’d like that very much-h, yeah.”

After you tell Mrs. Lee goodbye, you give Mark a nod before turning back on to their driveway. The both of them stand in the doorway, Mark’s voice reprimanding his mom in the house behind me. Maybe it wasn’t so bad meeting the Lees after all. That night, you go to bed, replaying the vision of Mark’s embarrassed smile in your mind.

Age 18  (senior year)

The next several years breeze by. Ever since Mark Lee enrolled into Everlane high, he wasn’t as shy of a freshman compared to the day you met him all those summers ago. Over the years, he grew a lot taller, his face a lot mature, yet still adorably awkward at the same time. He became a smart student, one favored by many of the science teachers- causing his friends (Jeno and Jaemin) to roll their eyes playfully whenever Mrs. Scofski would praise Mark for solving a chemical equation on the white-board. Mark was a basketball captain along with his best friend Hyuck, the two always tag-teaming during the school’s games. Due to Renjun’s forcing, Mark joined the student body as a reputable member. He became a biology tutor for kids who had found science class difficult or just fooled around without paying attention (Jisung and Chenle being two of those kids). Quickly, Mark was showered as Everlane’s golden boy, your neighborhood’s ideal son. He was doted as smart, popular, and mr. perfect to all the girls in the area- no matter how much he always denied it when you told him so. After your first meeting, your parents would frequently eat together, alternating households. The Lees also force Mark to walk you home from school, in fears that you would be kidnapped by a random stranger. At least he was good for one of many things- telling you that he’d swing his basketball at any person who would come even close to you.

Most days after your homework sessions, you’d plan new adventures with each other. your week went like this: on Mondays, you went walking along the water, skipping rocks on the bay until the sun went down and could see the glitters of the city sky-line. In the spring, the sky would melt from a tangerine orange color into a musty silver. On Tuesdays, you’d get clam chowder at Phil’s on 2nd avenue, Mark always ruined his shirt ( you would forbid him to wear white on Tuesdays) and then you’d sit on this abandoned rooftop above an old department store. Up there, the air always felt cold so that you would have to blow your warm breaths into your hands, lean your heads on each other’s shoulders as Mark let out his high-pitched laughs. On Wednesdays, it was maple waffles before school in Gas town, the steaming clock chiming delicate music by the hour. Thursdays were meant for taking stupid photos, listening to dusty mixtapes, and hanging out with the rest of your friends. Last Thursday, you would all go to the Capilano suspension bridge and sit on a treehouse’s edge- causing Hyuck to scream from the heights. Jaemin always quieted him down with a bone-crushing hug or a playful kiss, earning a look of disgust from Renjun. You always wanted gelato after that. On Fridays, all of you would stay in for a movie night at either Mark’s house or yours- Jeno punching Chenle to stop him from making fun of the ghosts in the horror movies you’ve been watching. It never works. Saturdays were like Mark’s public appearances at Everlane high’s party scene, one call and you all would be at someone’s house party. You’d never really enjoyed them though: too many people, too much dirty dancing, and the burning stench of vodka stung your nose. The only reason  you would stay is for Mark and the boys. Sundays, your family and Mark’s get together for either dinner or lunch- switching off every week. Your parents would even play a betting game to choose who gets to wash dishes, Mark groaning every time his family loses rock-paper-scissors. Spending time with the people you loved made the days go by faster as you never particularly had bad days in the extreme. Piles of homework and grumpy teachers didn’t hold a candle to what you’d get to do every day- if it meant spending time with Mark. When you go to bed each night, you would feel content- happy, even.

Monday

You still think back to the moment when the boys were eating lunch in the cafeteria, like you did everyday. Chenle was talking about how he’d earn himself detention because he was messing around with chlorine in chemistry in order to make Jisung laugh.

“You’re such an idiot, Chenle. That’s going on your record, you know?” Jaemin scoffs.

Holding his sandwich in one hand, Jeno sweeps his coffee-colored bangs out of his eyes, “What do you expect? it’s Chenle- it’s like he’s powered on candy all the time.”

Chenle slurps up his gummy worms in an exaggerated motion, “I’ve already been through 6 packs of these since this morning. I feel so sick.”

Narrowing his eyes, Hyuck rests his chin on the palm of his hand as he pouts his lips, “Poor baby, eat more and you’ll be blowing up the toilet in no time!”

Chenle squints his eyes at the blond-haired boy, tossing a gummy worm at him, “Hyuck! Stop it!”

Hyuck continues to laugh as he clutches his stomach, Jisung stealing the candy from Chenle’s fingers before stuffing it into his mouth. I pull Hyuck up from his side, “Hyuck, you’re going to fall, sit up!”

Due to his lack of breath, Hyuck stares into my eyes, his golden irises gleaming, “You’re here to catch me though.”

You push him back down, palming my hand onto his face, “Stop reading cheesy rom-com lines. It’s so not cute, cringey at that.” Before Hyuck can finish whining, we’re interrupted by Mark plopping his food tray on the table. Jaemin says, “Someone’s late. Where were you?”

Mark looks like he’s out of breath, heaving and panting as he cards his fingers through the crest of his raven hair. “You guys aren’t going to believe this but, I think Cassandra likes me.”

Jaemin raises a skeptical eyebrow, “You mean Cassandra as the cheerleader who got kicked off the team for drinking last year?”

Suddenly, you stop paying attention to the conversation anymore. All you feel is the weight of your heart sink, my limbs feeling heavier at your side. Hyuck looks at you, noticing your fallen expression before clutching your hand under the table, giving it a comforting squeeze. It seems like Jeno sees it too because he glances from you to Mark as Mark excitedly explains his story. “Yeah, I was just finishing up some tutoring with Roberto from last period and Cassandra gave me her number after that! Isn’t that sweet?”

Jaemin nods disinterestedly, “Yeah, sweet I guess.”

Among the group, you have only ever admitted your feelings for Mark to Hyuck because he cornered you about it one day. Yet, it seems like Jeno, Jaemin, and Renjun have caught on from their pitied faces. Mark drones on about how “totally cool” and how athletic he thinks Cassandra is. The difference is you don’t play any sports and you don’t slap coats of makeup on your face every-day before school,  nothing like Cassandra. You shake your head at the ping in your heart- a small glimmer of hope that Mark would ever feel the same about you. By the time lunch is over, classes feel longer than usual. They drag on, your teachers’ words in one ear and out the other. You text Mark that you have to stay over for school so he can walk home without you- a blatant, utter lie. Instead, you opt to put my headphones in and take the long route home. Plopping on to the surface of my comforter, you hear the familiar ring of Mark’s text tone.

[2:55 P.M.] (Marcus Lee <3) Y/n? Did you get home okay?

[2:55] Yeah, I did. Thanks Mark.

[2:56] (Marcus Lee <3) Hey, are you okay? You seemed a bit down today? Like you know you can tell me anything right?

[2:56] Yeah. I know. I’m just a bit more tired than usual. Stayed up last night writing Mr. Gillion’s paper..

[2:57] (Marcus Lee <3) hahahah ewww. That doesn’t sound fun… Do you want to go into town and get churros later?

[2:58] I think I’ll pass today, I got some homework to finish. I hope you have a good day though :)

[3:00] (Marcus Lee <3] hahaha okay. I guess I’ll have to take my mom on a churro date then hahah. See you tomorrow! ;)

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to hang out with Mark. Still, you couldn’t forget about the way Mark’s eyes sparkled when he talked about Cassandra, the way his voice cracked from the excitement of talking about it. How can you expect him to know? To reciprocate? It’s not like you were dating, you have no right to be jealous of Cassandra- a pretty girl, someone who had football players falling at her feet. Even if you had told Mark the truth, what if he didn’t feel the same? It would make these awkward, not to mention with your friend group. You shouldn't.

Tuesday

In all honesty, you had forgotten about yesterday’s lunch conversation. That was until the reminder hits you like a slap to the face when you see Cassandra’s arms wrapped around Mark’s neck as he laughs into her shoulder. Renjun and you had been walking to art class, the crack in your heart widening by the second. They fit so well, the way Mark’s basketball jacket matches Cassandra’s cheerleading uniform, the way his teammates and her friends hang out together in a pack. Renjun whispers to you, “Are you okay?”

You nod at him, trying to conceal your emotions, “Just fine, let’s head to class.”

When you pass Cassandra and Mark along with their cluster of friends, Cassandra’s voice comes out in a squeaky tone, “Hey, y/n.” When you turn to look at the pair, you see Cassandra’s hand daintily resting on Mark’s stomach, his eyes wide as saucers when he realizes you and Renjun are in front of him. You hear Renjun mutter an ‘ugh’ after curtly waving to them. Mark leaves Cassandra’s grasp, motioning towards you both, “You guys going to art? I’ll walk with you-”

Before you can answer, Cassandra wraps her thin arms around Mark’s waist, “We have to go help Felix with the party stuff remember?”

Mark scratches the back of his neck before glancing back at her and you with Renjun, his mind in a state of conflict. To make it easier for him, you smile at him, “You go, looks like you’re busy.”

Walking faster, Renjun drags you by the arm as we breeze past the crowd of athletes and cheerleaders. Renjun rolls his eyes again, “I don’t get why he likes her so much, they haven’t even been friends for that long and you’re right-”

You cover a hand to his mouth, “Renjun, it’s okay. I’ve accepted it by now.” You try to convince yourself at the very least.

After art class is done, lunch time seems to come in a hurry. Everyone takes their usual seats, Hyuck on your right with Renjun on your left. Jeno, Jaemin, Chenle, and Jisung sit around you three in a circular formation. Jaemin speaks first, “So, what, are Mark and Cassandra dating now?”

Jeno shrugs his shoulders before stuffing a quarter of a cookie into his mouth, “Don’t know and don’t care.”

You say, “Looks like it, they were pretty intimate in the hallway this morning.”

Renjun and Hyuck make disapproving faces, Renjun quips, “I don’t know. I feel like this is happening so fast and he told me that he really-”

“Shut up!” Hyuck screams at Renjun, throwing a limp french fry at him.

“Ew, what the hell was that for?” Renjun’s eyebrows are furrowed with disgust, patting the fabric of his white denim jacket from any salt crumbs.

Hyuck’s eyes go wide  as he makes a zipping motion on his lips, his blond hair gleaming under the dim lights, “Don’t say it- she needs to hear it from him!”

Renjun shoots back, “But it’s so obvious, what difference does it make?”

“What are we talking about?” Chenle’s face contorts with confusion, Jisung looking at him for any hints.

Jaemin glares at the pair, “Shh, let’s just all move on.”

You say, “I’m with Chenle, what are we talking about?”

Hyuck places a firm hand on my shoulder, his honey blond hair casting shadows on his forehead, “Nothing, it’s not important.”

As you eat, you spot Mark walking over to all of you, his black backpack slinged over one shoulder before setting his food down. “Hey, guys. We can squeeze in two right?”

Hyuck looks at Mark, his eyes furrowing with bewilderment, “Two?”

“Hey guys!” Cassandra’s preppy figure pops out from behind Mark. She looks more done up than before: red lipstick, long platinum-streaked hair in a slicked pony-tail, and the tightest cheer-leading uniform she could fit herself into. She plops herself down in between Mark and Hyuck, taking off the container of her salad before looking around our table. I sense Renjun and Hyuck give me a look while the other boys continue to eat in silence.

“So what did you guys do today?” Mark asks. Jaemin gives him a short response while Jisung explains how the class pet mouse made it’s escape during second hour, earning a chuckle from Mark. You get an odd feeling in your stomach when Cassandra looks at Mark so lovingly at your lunch table. The boys’ dynamic seems almost disrupted every time Cassandra butts in to say that she doesn’t think Jeno’s jokes are funny. As lunch finishes up, the school bell reverberates through the cafeteria walls- a signal for the next class period.

The next class is statistics with Mr. Midas. Out of the group, Mark and Jaemin are the only ones in the same class as you  but it doesn’t help that they’re seated as farway as possible. On the bright side, you’re seated next to Chan, one of Mark’s basketball teammates. Over the course of the year, Chan has always been a kind deskmate by helping you when you’re confused with a problem or sharing his study guide with you. Sometimes you notice he scoots closer to explain a formula and asks you if you’re uncomfortable with his sudden closeness, to which to his relief, you always reply no. Chan is just as handsome as Mark, someone well regarded in the school. No one could resist his flirty charm, the way his chestnut hair curls to one side of his forehead and the way his hoodie falls past his waist a bit. You discover how Chan is really passionate about producing music and running your high school’s channel as a radio dj. When Chan smiles, it makes you happy to see how his eyes crinkle into crescent moons, and how his teeth gleam white when he smiles about the flower you drew him at the corner of his notes.

“Are you doing okay, y/n?”

You give a reassuring nod, “I’m doing okay Chan. Thanks for asking.”

He quirks up his brow, a scar slashing it at the end, “You don’t look okay though. Listen, if you don’t want talk about it, you’re all good, I just-”

Pausing him with the hold of your hand,  you continue, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk about it.”

He gives you affirmation, you say, “Have you ever felt unrequited love?”

Chan shakes his head no, leaning back in his chair, “Maybe when I was younger but not now? I’m truly sorry y/n. Whoever it is, anyone who doesn’t see how funny and beautiful you are doesn’t deserve you period.”

You hold your tongue for a bit due to the fact of Chan’s comment catching you off guard. Freezing, he realizes the bluntness of his words, “Oh man, you just said unrequited love and I biffed it right? I didn’t mean it that way-no, wait. You are funny and very pretty so, uh-yeah.”

Bursting into laughter, you put a hand to your mouth causing Cassandra and Mark to look at you from across the room. Soon enough, you tear your eyes away from the students staring at you to focus your attention on Chan. He’s laughing too, his voice full of brightness and mirth. You respond, a light cloud of pink floating your cheeks, the room feeling a bit warmer, “I really appreciate that Chan. Thank you for making me smile today.”

A smirk graces Chan’s face as he says, “Happy to do it, whenever you want really.”

Statistics goes by extremely quickly when you’re sitting next to Chan- it’s like he’s telling you a couple of jokes and then it’s over. As the bell rings, Chan nudges you with his elbow as he packs up his bag, “So, I uh-this friday, we’re having our championship game and this party after? I was wondering if you want to come?”

You hesitate, thinking you might have plans with Mark, yet you decide he would probably hang out with his girlfriend over you anyway.

“I’d love to come. On one condition.”

Chan raises his eyebrows, “And what’s that?”

“You have to win the game.”

Chan throws up his hands almost hitting you in the process, “Well, duh! I’m not going to let you down, I promise.”

Friday

For the past couple days, you haven't heard from Mark. No texts, no calls, and no plans out in the city. You were hurt that the boy you’d call your best friend would ignore you just because he got a new girlfriend, your years of friendship overlooked just like that. When Friday rolls around, you attend the Everlane versus Brisbane championship basketball game. You decide that you’re there to cheer on Chan, the boy who’s taller than the rest, his purple jersey hanging against his muscular frame. You spot Cassandra giving Mark a kiss on his cheek on the court, you have to look away at the sight. By the next hour or so, you’re surprised at how long Chenle, Jisung, and Jaemin have been screaming. Each of them held a poster for each Hyuck, Jeno, and Mark- their jersey numbers adorned with dollar store glitter and messy handwriting. When Mark makes a slam dunk in the basket, the crowd goes ear-deafeningly wild, cheering out Mark’s name like a repeated mantra. Shortly after, Hyuck makes an attempt to pass the basketball to Mark; the ball missing Mark’s hands before Chan dribbles it to their opponent’s basket. The cheerleaders dance to the thrum of the crowd screaming Chan’s name over Mark’s, causing Mark to grit his teeth with irritation. For a while, the back and forth of swaying bodies goes on until the Everlane team makes the last shot before the final countdown. When Jeno makes the last point, you’re certain you’ve lost your hearing by then. The cheers ring in the gym, causing the alarm to blare with victory. After everyone exits the gym, you see Mark, Chan, and Jeno being tossed into the air in a sea of fellow players and short-skirted girls as pompoms explode upwards. You decide to wait with Chenle, Jisung, and Jaemin in the empty parking lot, waiting for Renjun to pull his car around. Jeno and Hyuck jog to you all first, their basketball duffels hanging from their hands, bodies are drenched with sweat. Chenle says, “That’s some fine work out there gentleman if I do say so myself.” Hyuck does his signature handshake with Chenle, a reckless grin smeared across his face, “I knew we’d win. Brisbane can’t take down the undefeated.”

Jeno gives him a firm nod, slinging his arm around a pleased Jaemin. You smile at the boys, “Congratulations guys, you all killed it on the court.”

Hyuck and Jeno smash you in a sweaty hug, “Aw, thanks y/n. You did well cheering for us.”

You laugh, “Get off, you guys are sweaty!”

Before Hyuck can smear his sweat onto your shoulder playfully, a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Y/n!”

It’s Chan. A damp towel hangs off his neck, his nike headband wrapping his forehead under his bangs. “You ready to go?”

You shout, “Just give me a second!”

Hyuck and Jeno give you a knowing look, “Where are you going with Chan?”

You reply, “Oh, we’re just carpooling to the party at Felix’s house.”

Renjun asks, “Also, where’s Mark?”

Hyuck shakes his head in contempt, “He’s heading to the party with Cassandra.”

Jaemin mutters, “Of course he is.”

Of course he would. Mark is one of the captains on the team, why would he be excluded from the after-party? The ache in your heart pings again, you feel sick from the thought of Mark making out with Cassnadra at some gross party. You wouldn’t be able to handle the tears.  Though, Chan had invited you, not Mark- who he didn’t even mention it to you, the least you could do is be courteous. What kind of person gets invited to something and cancels so last minute?

You say, “You guys get to the party and I’ll meet you there, okay?”

Renjun’s eyes crease his concern, “You do know that Mark and Cassandra will be there though right?”

You nod, “Yes. But we won’t mind them, let’s just go have fun tonight.”

After parting, you jog over to Chan who’s tossing his duffel into the trunk of his silver Lexus, his hair damp from the game. He turns to you, grinning, “you ready?”

You smile at him, telling him yes before launching yourself into the passenger seat. Chan turns the ignition, his car interior smelling like cherries from the air freshener that hangs above his head. As Chan drives, the street lamps glow on the side of the road as the moon peeks between the rainy clouds. He rolls your window down, your skin shivering at the cold chill of the night. “So, there was something I wanted to ask you?”

Turning to him, you face the chestnut-haired boy, “You remember stats class a few days ago?”

You reply, “I do?”

“Mark was looking at you the whole time. When you guys hadn’t texted in several days, he asked me if you and I were a thing during practice.”

You quirk your brows up in surprise, “And what did you say?”

Chan smiles to himself, letting out a breathy chuckle, “I said no. But, I was definitely interested.”

You allow yourself to feel nice, to feel like Chan likes you for who you are around him. Chuckling at him, you flip your hair in a sassy manner, “Well, I’ll definitely keep that noted.”

When you arrive at the party, the small two-story house looks like a sight straight out of one of those coming of age movies. The small house is jam packed with people, some hanging out on the lawn as they sip their drinks as music shakes the walls. You spot Renjun’s car from the side of your eye, meaning that your friends had gotten there before you and Chan. Upon entering the house, it’s like a warzone within it. Some people are peacefully talking by the lounge area as they feast on snacks. Some are in the kitchen mixing a plethora of colorful drinks together while also playing a form of beer pong. Girls run up and down the stairs with their friends, some with boys trailing behind them with a trance in their eyes. Some are grinding on each other on the dance floor, sensual music thrumming at the source of the boombox.

The first thing you see are your friends sitting in the corner by the backyard door, Mark on the loveseat with Cassandra practically on his lap. You instinctively grab Chan’s hand so you don’t break down right there. He gives you a surprised glance, “y/n? What’s wrong?”

Instantly, you let go of his hand as you cast your eyes down towards the floor. When you don’t answer, he sees a view of your friends laughing along with Mark and Cassandra. You feel a large hand cover yours which causes you to look up at Chan, “It’s okay y/n. Just stick with me.”

You nod, leading him to the drink table in the kitchen. When he leans down to sniff a large bowl full of sour juices and cubes of fruit, his nose scrunches in disgust, “ugh, jungle juice.”

Out of random courage, you swipe an empty cup from the tower as you shove the metal ladle of jungle juice into it. Downing it despite Chan’s protest, you feel a surge of electricity light your lungs on fire as the beat of your heart quickens from the liquid courage. He laughs, keeping his hand on the small of your back, “You surely make reckless decisions when you’re bothered by something.”

You giggle back at him, “You drink something too, you’re a winner tonight after all.” Chan reaches from a glittery purple bowl that pops with bubbles, “a toast to that, y/n. A toast to that.”

before he downs the liquid in one go. You feel his body jolt from the energy too, a smirk plastered on his face, “Wanna go play a game with some of the boys? Only if you want to, we can talk upstairs too.”

Shaking your head in refusal, you hang on to Chan’s shoulder, “Let’s go have fun.”

Chan grabs your hand, his metal chain bracelet cool on your wrist as he leads you past your friends, Mark, and Cassandra before opening the backyard door. Mark moves Cassandra off his lap, her eyes as cold as ice before she angrily gets up to get another drink. The rest of your friends sit in their circle in awe, glancing down at Chan’s hand enclosed on top of yours. Coolly waving to them, you say, “I’m outside if you need me.” before you meet eyes with Mark- his lips pressed into a frown, his irises shot with hurt. You ignore the ache that grows on the wall of your heart. You tell yourself, Mark’s ignored you all this time because he doesn’t feel the same way and never will. After being outside on the patio for a while, you meet some of Chan’s radio-club friends as all of you play a game of sorry. For a moment, Mark and the others aren’t on your mind, just the fact that Chan is pulling you into an enthusiastic hug after winning a round. You turn to Chan, “Hey, I’ll be right back. I have to use the bathroom.”

Chan smiles at you before he presses a lingering kiss to the crown of his head, “Sure thing. I’ll be here.”

You’re not even surprised that Chan kisses you, whether or not it’s the alcohol, you don’t mind it. When you head back into the house, you feel an arm grab your wrist and spin you around. Your friends are still sitting where they had when you passed them except Mark is the one boring his eyes into yours as he grabs your shoulders, “We need to talk now.”

Before you can say no, he pulls you to the quieter part of the kitchen, you say with bitterness, “What do you want Mark? I have someone waiting for me.”

Left without any patience, Mark lets out a huff, “Are you and Chan together?”

You sigh, casting your glance at him, “Seriously? It’s none of your business. Second, it’s not like you told me that you were with Cassandra.”

Mark uses his hand to comb back his black hair, making it even more messy, “Y/n. That’s because we’re not together, it’s just complicated and I haven’t had the time to tell you why or how we-”

“Stop right there. You ignored me for days Mark! You never texted or called! What was I supposed to do? Pine after you when you’re chasing Cassandra around?”

Mark’s doe eyes flash with pain, his hand tightening around the sides of your arms, “No! That’s not it! I didn’t mean it that way, I’m just trying to figure out what to do..” You shove Mark off you, his hands sliding off your arms, “Well save it. I’m done with you playing around with my feelings!”

Mark calls after you, tears streaming down your face as you try to make your way to the bathroom without being stared at. It takes all three minutes of some Chris Brown song for you to stop heaving. You feel sick to your stomach, so much for a fun night. You text Chan to meet you outside in front of the house, avoiding the corner your friends were comforting Mark at. Chan finds you leaning against his car, “Oh my god, are you okay?”

Giving him the only smile you can muster, you explain, “Listen, I’m so sorry. You invited me to this party and I just-I’m here being a cry-baby and everything. I’m just going to walk home now. I’m sorry.”

Chan shakes his head in definite refusal, “Nonsense. I’m driving you home. I’m about done anyway.”

You ask hesitantly, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

The night drive back to your neighborhood gives you peace of mind. Chan rolls all the windows down as soft music plays from his radio, slowing the bounce of your heartbeat. He’s got one hand on the wheel and one hand rested on yours by your knee, you feel comfortable with Chan. It’s the same feeling that flutters in your stomach when you’re close to Mark and right now, you hate the thought of the black-haired boy that consumes so many of your thoughts. Before Chan’s tires screech to a stop in front of your porch, he turns to you with concerned eyes, lips pressed into a pout. “Come here, y/n.”

You waste no time collapsing into the space on his wide chest, his hands stroking your hair down. Resting his chin on your head, you close your eyes to the rhythmic beat of Chan’s heart as the soft patter of the rain is enough to drift you to sleep. You pull away from his chest, looking up at the shadows in Chan’s eyes, his hair falling near his eye-lids while he glances at your lips before looking down to his lap. He says apologetically, “I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to take advantage of your feelings right now. I’m really not-”

You cut him off with your hand pressed to the curve of his cheek, “Can I kiss you?”

He doesn’t waste time to grip the back of your neck, kissing you harshly as he bites the bottom of your lip. You sigh into him, fisting the fabric of his jacket when he moves in even closer to twist a hair behind your ear. When you detach from him, you can’t control the burst of tears that shakes your body. The alcohol blurs the vision of Mark and Chan together as your mind throbs from the effect, leaving you dizzy. You apologize to Chan over and over again, wiping the tears that fall from your eyes. Instead, he kisses his lips to the side of your temple as he urges you to get some sleep. Like the gentleman he is, he walks you to the front door, draping his basketball jacket over your shoulders. Your home is dark- due to the fact that your parents are out of town on a business trip in Toronto so you just flop onto your bed in defeat. Mark’s ringtones shoot off from your phone, notifications of several apology texts and missed calls. Not wanting to check any of them, you toss your cell phone into the grey trash bin that sits by your desk. Going to sleep feels especially difficult when alcohol still surges through your veins and you can’t control the sobs that erupt from your throat. You hear Mark’s car pull up on his driveway, not wanting to see him whatsoever. On your bed, you almost feel him looking up at your window to check if you’re awake- for once, you’re glad it’s curtains are securely shut.

The next few weeks are pretty miserable besides the fact that you’re getting closer to Chan. You don’t acknowledge Mark’s presence anymore. By Hyuck and Jaemin, you’re told he comes by to the lunch table to check if you’re there. You still hang out with your friends separately rather than in your usual group- the web that connects you slowly falling apart. It’s difficult when you have art with Hyuck and Renjun, stats with Jaemin, and ceramics with Jisung, Chenle, and Jeno- as you try to take paths opposite of Mark at the same time. Later on, you explain everything that’s been going on between you and Mark to Chan. He takes it surprisingly well by comforting you and listening to your anger, how he’s willing to let you heal before you two start anything. How could Chan be so patient with you? He says it’s because he really likes you and would rather be there for you as a friend first. When you get home, your parents give you a lecture about starting things with Mark, how they want to have dinner with his family but can’t. Of course, they feel sorry once you explain to them what really happened.

Now, the weather outside seems a lot sunnier, yellow pollen from the peonies float in the air as you make your way out of the double doors. The time is nearing for spring break- a well needed barrier from Mark, from everything. Before you walk your way home, you’re stopped by Hyuck and Renjun. Renjun holds an envelope in his hands before giving it to Hyuck, both of them trapping you, “Y/n. We’ve been looking all over for you.”

You say, “I’m going home now, can we talk tomorrow?”

Hyuck narrows his eyes at me with contempt, “No, of course not. Just hear us out.”

Renjun speaks up too, “Do you have plans for spring break? I’m assuming you don’t because you mentioned a few weeks ago that you didn’t. We’ve got 8 tickets to Victoria island.”

You reply, “And.. your point is?”

Hyuck crosses his arms, rolling his eyes, “The point is to make up. Our group is in shambles because of all this lovesick drama. A trip is a perfect opportunity to mend things.”

Laughing, you cackle at his suggestion, “If you expect me to go then that’s hilarious. I’m not going.”

Hyuck throws up his hands in frustration. “How can you kick it if you don’t even know what will happen?”

Raising your eyebrows defiantly, “Do you remember what happened when Mark and I were in the same room? Hyuck, it’s not happening.”

Renjun grumbles, flicking the envelope in my face, “Fine! We won’t invite Mark then! We just want you to come with us and then we’ll see what happens from there okay?”

Hyuck socks Renjun in the shoulder with a fist before shouting, “How can we not ask Mark?”

In response, Renjun shoots a frigid glare at Hyuck as if he’s threatening him with his eyes,  “We’re just not going to ask him! Y/n, will you come?”

You pause for a moment as you stare back at the pair. You raise your voice to make yourself crystal clear, “I will only go if Mark doesn’t. Simple as that.”

Renjun bobs his head in agreement, “Deal. No Mark.”

When you walk away, you still hear Hyuck berating Renjun for his decision only to be shut up by some snarky comment that comes through Renjun’s lips. The sound of their voices falling away.

First day of spring break

By the time spring break begins, you find yourself standing in front of Renjun’s van with your suitcase packed full of your things. You’re greeted by Renjun, Hyuck, Jaemin, and Jeno first. Of course, Jisung and Chenle are seen scampering across the school parking lot with their duffel bags messily unzipped, some shirts hanging out of the top.

“Didn’t I tell you to pack the night before?” Renjun scoffs at the pair.

Chenle pokes his tongue at the older boy, wrapping his arm around Jisung’s broad shoulders. Jeno holds his hands up in the air before bellowing, “shot-gun!” straight into Hyuck’s ear- causing Hyuck to throw a whiny fit. Once our suitcases are in the back of Renjun’s car, he leans on the side of his van as if he’s waiting for something. Jaemin says, “Okay, isn’t that all? Why aren’t you closing it?”

Renjun has a wicked grin plastered all over his face, “Not everything and not certainly everyone.”

You all turn to face Mark, circles under his eyes, his hair unruly as if he hasn’t gotten sleep in 3 whole weeks. Shoot a menacing face at Renjun, you whisper at him, “You told me Mark wasn’t coming.”

Renjun gives you  an evil, sinister smile, “I crossed my fingers behind my back.”

Having the extreme urge to strangle Renjun on the spot, you ponder about Renjun’s extreme lengths to reach his goal of making up. Before you can walk away from the car, Hyuck drags your hand back to the door of the van, “Ah-ah- y/n. You’re not going anywhere.”

The whole car ride to the ferry is awkwardly silent due to the fact you’re mercilessly squished between Hyuck and Mark. Personal boundaries don’t exist in the car, your legs are practically on top of each other as Mark steals side glances at you from the corner. Getting to the dock port seemed less stressful than you’d imagine it to be. Renjun had parked his van at the base garage of the ferry before unloading everyone's belongings.

Just as easy as it was to get on to the boat, it was easy getting off too. You’d make your way down to Renjun’s car,  Renjun driving it down a ramp and into the pathway that opened into Victoria island. You have to admit to yourself, Victoria island looked even more gorgeous than you had remembered last time you came with your family. During springtime, all the beautiful flowers in Butchart gardens would bloom pinks and purples, the greenery would turn a lush, healthy evergreen, and the city would stay lit for the tourists. It was the perfect place to have a vacation, one with friends at that. Jaemin and Renjun booked a small cottage house for everyone to stay in, one straight out of a fairy tale storybook. The cottage ceiling looked like it was made with hay and lime-green vines, beams of cedar-wood reinforced the walls of the structure. It had a white picket fence that surrounded a small rose garden near the entrance; white lilies floating in an old, peeling fountain. Finally entering the house, you were amazed by the impeccable interior:various paintings of Victoria island, a kitchen that was big enough to seat 10, and bedrooms slacked with ivory/gold wallpaper. Like ants scattering into their units, the boys jumped on their beds that they ‘claimed’ while you and Mark stood in the middle of the hallway. Watching all of them make a clamorous reaction over who got the best room was like watching families seize their buttons during family feud. By observing them, you’ve come to realize that there were only 7 rooms instead of 8. Realizing this, you glance over at Mark who was in turn staring back at you before racing towards the end of the hall- flying to the surface of the bed. Both of you landed on it at the exact same time, faces extremely close together. Hastily, you sit up in an attempt to push Mark off the bed that you claimed first, “Mark Lee, get off my bed now!”

He incredulously stares back at you, “Your bed? This is mine!”

You exclaim, “You’re trying to take my bed now? I clearly jumped on it first!”

“No, you didn’t!”

Bickering back at forth, you and Mark don’t even realize the rest of the boys practically flailing in the doorway, Hyuck saying in a sing-songy voice, “Or.. you could shareee!”

In unison, you and Mark shout, “Hell no!”

You get up first, shoving a pillow at Mark, “Fine, you have it! I’ll room with Hyuck.”

Hyuck clicks his tongue, “Oh no you’re not, y/n. Nada. No bueno.”

Before you can argue with Hyuck or chase him out of the room for that matter, you hear Mark speak up from behind. His voice is shy and quiet, his face a shade of beet red, “You just take the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

You turn to face him as you’re about to reprimand him for such a stupid idea until you realize that it’s probably the best decision to make at the moment.

After dinner that night, everyone had settled into their respective rooms. You had changed into a hoodie and sweatpants after you had showered. You sat on your bed, texting Chan goodnight before shutting it off to charge on your nightstand. Mark had stumbled into your shared room with one pillow and a thin fabric cover-(hardly a blanket) before setting it down on the carpet. Seeing Mark in this state, it reminds you of the old days. The way that his headphones sat comfortably on his ears, his black hair matted with drops of water, and his toned frame covered with black pants and a black tee. The hollows of his cheeks make his face more prominent, his lips the color of a strawberry slice. In one swift motion, he wraps the thin cover around his body before turning on his side, “Good night, y/n.”

Unable to say anything, you shut off the lamp- casting darkness all around you. “Good night, Mark.”

You almost forget that Mark’s there in the room with you until you hear the tick of his teeth chattering and the breathy huffs from how cold it is. You sit up to take a look at his shaking figure, the thin material doing no justice as a blanket. You believe that the air bnb manager hadn’t put extra blankets or control instructions for the ac system as you had all looked for them earlier. Deciding to wrap one of the thicker blankets that’s draped over your legs, you almost trip towards Mark’s shuddering body before patting it against him. Before you turn to go back to your bed, you feel a hand curl around your fingers, Mark slightly opening his half-lidded eyes at you. “y/n?”

Pausing, you touch your hand to Mark’s cheek, “Mark, you’re freezing. You should have told me, this blanket cover isn’t any better than a piece of paper.”

Mark shifts his body closer to face you now, his hands still wrapped around yours, “i-i didn’t know.”

“Do you want more of my blankets? I’m kind of used to the cold.”

Mark says, “No, if I take them, you’ll catch a cold.”

“Mark, I’m fine, really.” You insist on letting you help him, the boy shivering from the icy temperature.

His eyes become stern, his muscles stiffening, “y/n, I said no!”

Pausing, retract your hand from Mark’s as the warmth slowly is replaced with cold air. You give him a gentle nod this time, “I-okay.” Mark sits up from his place, fingers running through his messy hair, an earbud still plugged into his left ear, “What I mean is, I don’t want you to get sick. It’d be my fault.”

Instead, you walk back to your spot on your bed, “Look, don’t take this the wrong way but, you can come warm up for a little. Just before you go back to sleep, I promise- I won’t touch you.”

In the dark, Mark’s eyes glint like swirling, black orbs as he nods at you, getting up to take a spot next to you on the bed. He leans back into the pillow by your head, the coolness of it feeling like a cold cloud. Sighing with content, he submerges his body under the warmth of the comforter, careful not to over step his boundaries with you. When Mark lies next to you, you can seem to shut your eyes. Instead, your heart beats out of your chest when you hear Mark whisper. “y/n?”

“Yes, Mark?”

He says with a heavy heart, “I miss us.”

Propping my elbow on your pillow, you turn to face him, “I miss you.”

You choke on your words, your head throbbing with dizziness when you realize what you had just admitted to Mark. You seem visibly gulp, his eyes tracing the crease where the flowery wallpaper meets the ceiling. His voice comes out shaky, “y/n..I-I like you.”

Mark’s earbud sings the words of a beautiful, familiar tune:

Said I never fall, i’d never fall and then I fell for you mhm

Back against the wall, against the wall, and against the wall, that’s how it felt with you mhm

When those words fall from Mark’s lips, all the oxygen from your lungs makes an exit and threatens to not come back in- you’re left stunned. Mark turns his face to you to see your reaction and you stare back at him, eyes widened. Before you have the chance to say anything, Mark presses his lips to yours, rising from the pillow as his nose knocks against yours lightly. You find yourself kissing him back, harder than when you kissed Chan the night of the party. The kiss is full of yearning, almost full of struggling sadness to trap the right feelings- Mark’s hand snakes a hand around your jaw in order to stabilize you. He keeps kissing you aggressively, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as his tongue swipes your bottom lip. You pull away first, fire thrumming in your lungs as you place your hand on his chest, “Mark, you have a girlfriend. We can’t.”

Mark shakes his head slightly, “I’m not dating Cassandra.”

You make a face at him, “What do you mean? Because if I’m a rebound, I don’t want to be.”

Mark chuckles, a smirk snaking on his swollen lips, “Trust me, you’re not a rebound. And, I meant what I said about liking you.”

“Mark, you can’t just tell me you like me and then kiss me like nothing’s happened. I saw you and Cassandra with my own eyes.”

Mark sighs before gazing back at you with his obsidian-colored eyes, his skin glowing from the moon that shines slightly through the window curtains, “I’ve liked you since the day you brought those muffins to my house. I thought you would never see me as more as a friend and I tried to use Cassandra to get over you. I never wanted to burden you if you didn't feel the same. Clearly, it didn’t work. Not even partially. I’m sorry.”

You press your forehead against Mark’s, pressing a lingering kiss to the shape of his lips as you use one hand to pull the hairs on Mark’s nape- causing him to groan before reciprocating.

You whisper to him, a beautiful sound to his ears, “Why are we so difficult? We’re such idiots.”

Placing your head on Mark’s chest, both of you collapse on to the bed, sleep washing over your minds. You hear Mark giggle before putting his right ear bud into your ear, the sound of a man’s voice humming:

One weekend in Portland, you weren’t even my girlfriend

We were walkin’ and talkin’

Then somebody said.. let's get tattoos together, something to remember

If it’s way too soon, fuck it, whatever

Give me shapes and letters

If it’s not forever, then at least we’ll have tattoos together

Mmm, ‘cause I love you

Mmm, ‘cause I love you

When you wake up the next morning, you and Mark are greeted by Jaemin and Renjun cooking breakfast in the kitchen as Jeno, Hyuck, and Chenle play mario kart on the old television in the living room. Jisung is setting the table with eating utensils while also stopping to look at his Nintendo switch every few seconds. Aside from reddened faces and teasing, the boys had already suspected of your making-up based on the blush that coats both of your faces. That afternoon, you call Chan on the phone through facetime, letting him know that you and Mark had made up. Chan tells him how happy he is to hear it, telling you that he’s always known how much Mark had liked you and that he didn’t hold a candle to how Mark would talk about you to the basketball team. You apologize out of worry that you’ve hurt Chan but like the gentleman he is, he tells you that you’ll always be good friends especially when he’s good friends with Mark.

The next few days are like dreams. Together, you, Mark, and the boys go gallivanting across Victoria island through the sea towns made of floating boathouses and seafood restaurants. You bring your polaroid camera with you, capturing memories of Hyuck dropping his ice cream, selfies with Jeno and Jaemin, and seagulls chasing Renjun- all in a few frames. Even one morning, all of you had the spontaneous but rather, stupid decision to get matching commemorative tattoos, each of them a different flower on your wrists to commemorate your friendship. Each afternoon meant picnics at the Goldmere Provincial Park or whale watching tours out on the cobalt waters that were foaming with white. Other days you’d all visit the aviation museum or opt to sample the best chocolate fudge at Roger’s after a small hike.

On the last night of your trip, Mark had made sure that he wanted to take you down Tiffany avenue before meeting up with the boys for dinner. He’d told you to dress nicely in which you all did, leading you by the hand down the shopping street as your tulle skirt wavered behind you. When the both of you came to a balcony that overlooked the water,  the ocean looked so vast like it could swallow you into the great swirls of turquoise and aquamarine as white ocean spray crashed on the sharp rocks. The sky turned a lavender shade that bloomed into a twilight pink, the sun barely touching the tips of the mountains. Mark had placed an item in your hand from his pocket, a pair of cherry earrings he had bought in a souvenir shop when you weren’t looking. It reminded you of the song on Mark’s playlist from several nights before:

Yeah, your cherry earrings are my favorite

It looks so good I had to save it

I’ve been hopin’, prayin’ we last forever

‘Cause there’s nothing better than you and I

A week ago, you told Renjun that in any circumstance, you would never go anywhere if it reminded you of your feelings for Mark, of your friends, of everything that had happened. Now, you’re glad to be able to let go, you’re able to feel the cold wind on the cliffs- Mark right by your side. Being wrapped up in the tight security of your boyfriend’s arms, (yes, Mark had asked for real this time) along with your best friends, you’re careful to not let go of them now. There’s no place that you’d rather be.

[quickspinner]

Flash Forward

Inspired by Clairvoyance by @whatarubberchicken​

Clairvoyance has always been one of my fav fanfics, and a bout of insomnia plus a 'what if Lukanette' thought later, this fic was born. Nothing is the same but the basic premise, but I hope I did the original justice. 

If you prefer you can read it on AO3.

Luka opened his eyes, and stared at an unfamiliar white ceiling. He felt heavy and slow, as though he were waking from a deep sleep. But...he hadn’t been asleep, and this wasn’t his room. There was no steady motion, the ceiling was too high and too white. He moved slowly, looking around at a sunny, cheerful...apartment? His arm came down from where it had been over his head and he felt fabric under his hand; he was laying on a couch.

Luka shifted and sat up slowly. There was a hiss and a small weight tumbled off his chest. He put up his hand to catch it, but missed as he was distracted by the sight of his own arm. Specifically, at the snake tattoo winding up his forearm that he definitely didn’t have this morning.

“Luka,” a raspy voice complained. “A little warning next time.” A small green snake-like being floated into his vision. Luka’s eyes went huge and he started to hyperventilate.

“What the hell?” he whispered. “What—what are you? How do you know my name? Where am I? What the hell is going on?” Some instinct kept his voice low, though his pitch increased with his panic.

The floating snake being’s eyes narrowed, and he floated closer. “I am Ssssasssss, your kwami. Have you had a nightmare?.”

“Kwami? What’s—what is that? And what do you mean, you’re mine?”

Sass floated closer still, and Luka froze as the little kwami’s slit-pupils eyes filled his vision. He felt a light touch on his face. “You are out of your time,” the kwami said cryptically, backing away to a more comfortable distance. “What issss the last thing you remember?”

Luka frowned, thinking. “I took a walk down the Seine. I found a nice spot and I was playing my guitar. The music festival is in a couple of weeks and I was working on a song. Then there was—“ His eyes widened. “I was hit by an akuma.”

“Ah. Excussse me a moment. Wait here, I will return.” The...kwami? zipped away deeper in the apartment.

Luka sat there, confused and a little scared. For lack of anything else to do, he lifted his arm and looked at the tattoo again. It was actually pretty sick, a hooded cobra with a diamond pattern on its back, intertwined with flowers. He wondered if he had any others.

Luka looked up as Sass returned. Sass seemed to relax, folding his legs in midair and curling his tail around his body. Distantly Luka recognized the diamond pattern on the kwami’s tail as the same one on his arm. “There issss no need to fear.” Sass told him. “Your mind will return to your time when Ladybug cleansesss the akuma and sssendsss the cure. It should take no more than a few hours.”

“My time?” Luka asked, bewildered. “Where am I now?”

“Thisss isss your home,” Sass replied calmly. “But the better question isss when are you now. How old are you?”

“I just turned seventeen last week.”

“About ten yearsss in your future, then. We recently celebrated your twenty-seventh cycle. ” Sass’s tongue flicked out and Luka got the impression of amusement. “You mussst be very confused indeed. It isss best of you do not know too much. Jussst go with the flow and enjoy the moment. Play along for now.”

“Play along with what?” Luka asked, bewildered.

“Your life,” Sass chuckled. He flicked his tail toward the pictures on the wall. Luka got up and went over to look at them. The biggest in the middle immediately caught his eye.

“I’m—married?” he whispered. He raised his left hand and stared at the silver band on his ring finger. He looked back at the picture and felt an odd rush as he stared, not at himself, but the petite black-haired woman beside him, blue-eyed and smiling from ear to ear. “Wow,” he whispered breathlessly. “God, she’s beautiful—When do I meet her?”

“When the time issss right,” chuckled Sass. He looked off to one side. “Or perhaps now. Her name is Marinette.” He slipped out of sight.

“Luka?” a voice said softly behind him, and he turned and froze as he found himself faced with the real life version. She smiled at him, not so wide as in the wedding picture, but softer, warmer. Kind. His heartbeat picked up. “Oh good, you’re awake. I hope you had a good nap. We’ve both been so tired lately.”

“Marinette,” he whispered, remembering what Sass has told him, and her smile grew a little.

“Hey rock star.” She crossed the room to him and put her arms lightly around his waist. “Still waking up?”

Play along, Sass had told him. “I guess so,” he said roughly. “Or maybe I’m still asleep,” he added, taking in every detail of her face. His heartbeat quickened further. Her soul sang to him, vibrant and alive and intoxicating. Something in him knew her, even if his conscious mind didn’t.

“Charmer,” she smiled, “I guess I’ll just have to wake you up.” She leaned up and kissed him.

Oh God, if this was a dream he never wanted to wake up. Stunned as he was, his body clearly knew her, welcomed her, his arms coming up to hold her, his lips moving with hers like they knew exactly what to do.  The rush of desire that coursed through him when she pressed her body up into his was both thrilling and confusing. Luka was kissing this woman ten years older than him that he just met, but he was married to her. On top of that, he shouldn’t have a seventeen year old’s hormones in this body but he sure as hell felt like he did.

Body switching time travel was weird.

She pulled away and for a moment he followed her before catching himself and straightening. The sight of Sass clearly laughing at him over Marinette’s shoulder helped sober him a little. Then Marinette reached up and lightly raked manicured nails across his scalp just above his neck and his eyes half closed in pleasure even as he registered that his hair was short where she touched him though he could feel hair falling on his forehead—did he have an undercut? He needed a mirror.  

“We need to go get ready,” she told him. “Juleka will be here soon.”

“Sure,” Luka said dreamily, still focused on her fingers in his hair. God that felt good. He sighed when she drew her hand away.

“Come on,” she said, tugging his arm lightly. “Your suit’s laid out on the bed. And don’t you dare ‘lose’ the tie again.”

He made a face, and she laughed. “I know you hate them,” she teased, “But despite your high opinion of me I can’t change the fashion world overnight, so you’ll have to wear one at least for this party. You knew these galas were part of the deal when you married me, lover.”

Seventeen year old Luka would have blushed crimson at the nickname. Grown-up Luka only felt a faint heat in his face. “Yeah, I can’t see that stopping me from marrying you,” he managed, and she gave him a blinding smile that made his knees weak.

“Go,” she said, pushing him towards the hallway she’d come out of. He walked down it blindly, Sass floating alongside him.

“I sssee enjoying the moment will not be a problem,” the kwami chuckled.

“She’s amazing,” Luka breathed, clutching at the heart threatening to jump out of his chest. “I’ve never felt like that...Is this really my future?”

“At the moment, yesss,” Sass said cautiously. “Time isss fluid. You mussst ssstill work for it.”

“I will,” Luka said firmly, and then paused, looking at the doors in the hall.

“Left,” Sass instructed.

“Thanks.” Luka went through the door into the master bedroom. As Marinette had promised, a suit was laid out neatly on the bed, much nicer than anything he’d ever owned. He changed quickly, trying to keep his gaze from lingering on the bed. Shit, he was tall, he realized as he pulled on his long pants. He was in for a lot of smacking his head on doorways if he grew this way while he still lived on the boat.

Luka jumped when Marinette opened the door behind him, and immediately felt stupid. They were married, of course she wouldn’t knock. He was just glad he already had the suit pants on. To her they might be married, but to him, she was still a (really attractive, wow) stranger. Luka turned away quickly when she began to undress, chatting lightly about whatever this party was they were going to. Gala, she’d said; was she an artist or performer?

There were more pictures on the walls, and he looked at them as he buttoned his shirt, partly to keep his mind off the woman undressing behind him. These weren’t formal portraits, but candid photos of them with friends and family and each other. He found one where they were quite young, surrounded by some of Juleka’s friends, in his favorite jacket and hoodie, the ones he’d been wearing this morning in fact. I’ll meet her soon then, he thought, fighting the urge to cheer. He found one of Marinette in a cap and gown, hugging a small Asian woman and being hugged by a huge mustachioed man who had such a look of pride that he could only be her father.

Then he found a picture of himself in some sick stage gear with a fancy guitar, standing next to—

“Sass,” he hissed, when Marinette went into the bathroom. “I played with Jagged Stone?”

Sass chuckled. “You did.”

“Holy shit,” he muttered. “Will I remember this when it all goes back to normal?”

“Difficult to sssay,” the snake kwami spread his flippers out. “Mossst will not, but asss my partner you are a special case. Mossst likely, yes you will remember sssome of it, but as one remembers a dream. A few clear details, and the rest a haze.”

I won’t forget her, then, he thought, tucking his shirt in and shrugging into his coat, eyes on a picture of him dipping Marinette into a kiss in front of a fountain. Did he know that fountain? It looked familiar.

He froze when a thin wail echoed through the small apartment.

“Luka, can you get the baby?” Marinette called. “I’m not quite done.”

Baby?? He whirled around and looked at Sass, who just grinned, tongue flicking in amusement.

“Luka?” Marinette called again.

“Uh, sure!” Luka called back, stumbling towards the bedroom door, tripping over his suddenly larger than usual feet. Sass went ahead of him, chuckling as they led him down the hallway.

“You are having way too much fun with this,” Luka muttered. “Shouldn’t you be more worried about the integrity of the space-time continuum or some geeky shit like that?”

Sass paused outside the room where the wailing was coming from, “We have been partnersss for many yearsss,” Sass told him, and there something undefinable in the kwami’s smile that gave Luka the shivers. “I realize you have no reason to trussst me, but I trussst you.”

Luka flushed, but before he could say anything, the kwami phased through the door. Luka blinked for a moment. “Neat trick,” he muttered to himself, carefully opening the door. Sass was hovering over a white crib, crooning a sibilant

lullaby.

Luka leaned over the crib, but at the sight of the swaddled and wailing infant, he panicked. “Sass, what do I do?”

“Pick her up,” Sass instructed blandly. “Just mind her head.”

Luka slid his hands, still thin and long but also bigger than he remembered, under the baby, sliding one up under her neck, and lifted her carefully out of the crib. “Oh my God,” he whispered, a fresh wave of panic washing over him. She was so tiny in his grown-up hands.

But once again, with his brain paralyzed, it was as if his body knew what to do. He pulled the baby close and held her to his chest, swaying and making gentle shushing noises. Luka found himself relaxing a little bit and the crying quieted. Softly he sang, “My love is like a red, red rose,” as his mother used to sing to him and Juleka. “My love is like a melody that’s sweetly played in tune.”

Luka brought the baby up to his shoulder and  rubbed his cheek against her soft hair. She made a soft cooing noise. “What’s her name?” he asked quietly.

“Erika,” Sass replied. “With a k.” Luka looked at him and Sass shrugged. “Your mother insisted.”

“She would,” Luka chuckled, and resumed singing to her. “And fare thee well my only love, and fare thee well awhile,” he sang. Luka looked up as Marinette appeared in the doorway, dressed in a glittering gown with her hair in an updo. “And I will come again my dear, though it were ten thousand miles,” he finished softly, eyes fixed on her.

Marinette smiled and came to him. Luka lowered the baby, thinking Marinette meant to take her. Instead she looped the tie he’d left on the bed around his neck and began to tie it for him. “You’re such a good dad,” she said affectionately, and Luka blushed.

She finished with his tie and then stepped back, smoothing the fabric of her dress self-consciously around her middle. “Do I look okay?”

“You’re stunning,” Luka told her honestly. “I can’t believe this is my life. I can’t believe I get to be with someone like you, and—“ He looked down at the baby in his arms, who was beginning to scrunch her face and fuss a little. “I can’t believe I get to have this.”

Marinette smiled, coming near to lay her head on his shoulder and caress the baby’s face. “It’s still overwhelming sometimes isn’t it? Let me take her, I’ll change her while you make her a bottle.

Luka opened his mouth and then shut it again. He just gave her the baby and walked out of the nursery. He didn’t have the faintest idea how to make a bottle, but he couldn’t explain that to Marinette, and he felt he was less likely to irrevocably screw up a bottle than changing the baby. Sass zipped in front of him once he was out of Marinette’s sight. Luka wondered if she knew about the kwami. What was a kwami, anyway? Sass had avoided that answer.

Sass guided him through making the bottle, and Marinette came out with the baby just as he was breathing a sigh of relief at having accomplished it. Luka hovered while she fed the baby—his daughter, oh my God—trying to look at more of the pictures around the room without being too obvious.

“There,” Marinette said, setting Erika in a baby swing by the window that Luka hadn’t even noticed and switching it on. Erika waved her little hand at the brightly colored baubles hanging from it as it swayed her back and forth. “Hopefully that’ll keep her happy for a bit.”

Marinette sighed as she straightened, and then come towards him. He opened his arms automatically to receive her. She snuggled into his chest for a moment (best feeling ever). “I’m excited to go out tonight, but nervous about leaving her. It’s our first night out together since she was born,” she said quietly, and Luka squeezed her tighter at the vulnerable tone in her voice.

Then, grinning up at him, she tugged him down by the tie and kissed him, and Luka was forced to revise his opinions on ties just slightly. Maybe they weren’t all bad. He lost his mind just a little bit when her fingers slid up into his hair again. He pulled her up against him, and lost the rest of his senses in her.

“Mmm, down boy,” she giggled, pulling away from him. “Juleka’s going to be here any minute and I know you don’t want to answer the door all hot and bothered.”

“Right,” he said said breathlessly, wondering if he was always this goggle-eyed and speechless in her presence or if she would eventually notice he was acting like a complete moron.

She gave him a smile that made his toes curl. “I’ll make it up to you when we get home.”

Oh God. Kissing was one thing, but he hoped Ladybug managed to fix things before then because he was pretty sure that if he had to consider the implications of sleeping with his future-wife that he’d just met while in twenty-seven-year-old him’s body it would give him some kind of mental breakdown. Not to mention that she would surely figure out something was up—something was wrong if he passed out the moment she touched him.

A knock at the door saved him from his mini meltdown. “There she is,” Marinette moved away from him to answer the door. Luka took the chance to breathe a little bit and give his older self a mental nod of respect for being around that every day and still managing to, apparently, function like a normal adult.

“Hi bro,” he heard behind him.

“Hey Jules,” he answered automatically, turning, only to get another shock. Juleka had always been pretty, but she’d grown up into a beautiful woman. More importantly, she stood tall, her shoulders back, her hair pulled away from her face, and she looked him in the eye.

He almost teared up, he was so proud. She cocked an eyebrow. “You’re being weirder than usual,” she said.

Not mumbled. Not grunted. She said it. Softly and in a deadpan tone, but audibly, and clearly.

Luka hugged her, overcome. She startled, but patted his back.

“He’s a little emotional today,” Marinette said beside him, rubbing his arm. “I’m supposed to be the one with the post-pregnancy mood swings,” she teased.

Luka straightened and let Juleka go, smiling at them both. “I just feel lucky, that’s all.”

“Whatever,” Juleka huffed, in a very typically Juleka fashion that made him grin. “Where’s my little monster?” She shoved past him, heading for the baby. Marinette slipped under his arm and he put it around her shoulders, squeezing lightly.

Suddenly he felt dizzy, and dimly he heard Marinette say “Luka?” and suddenly everything went black.

He woke up on his back on cold cement, staring up at the clear blue sky, with the familiar sound of the Seine in his ears. I’m back, he thought numbly. His head hurt, probably where he had cracked it on the pavement passing out.

Passing out. Did future me pass out? I hope I didn’t worry Marinette.

Marinette. He blushed—a proper intense, 17-year-old blush—and covered his face with his hands. He picked himself up off the pavement, checked his precious guitar over. If it had been damaged in his fall, Ladybug had fixed it. He packed it up in the case and started his walk back home.

Sass was right. No matter how much he thought over his—vision? Or whatever it was...anyway, the details slipped away. Even Marinette was fading; the feel of her in his arms and the thrill of her kiss was slowly but surely growing foggy moment by moment. By the time he got to the Liberty, all that remained was a hazy impression of love and happiness and belonging and the utter certainty that he wanted it back. Only a few things remained clear—Sass, his future wife’s eyes, her song, the softness of his daughter’s hair on his cheek, his pride in Juleka.

Luka faced his mother’s interrogation, and her brief but genuine concern as she inspected his head and declared it harder than the pavement. Then he went below to his room, feeling tired and vaguely empty. Luka sat on his bed staring at at his bare forearm for a few minutes, and then kicked off his shoes and flopped full length on it.

He wasn’t ready for any of that stuff, Luka told himself. Marriage, fatherhood, are you kidding? He had plenty of life to live before he got to that point. This was fine. He was fine where he was. He liked his unhurried pace. Savor the moment. Live every breath. No strings, very few rules. A wife and a kid and fancy parties (was there a party? he thought he remembered something about a party)...would there even be room for his art in a life like that? It all seemed so...mainstream. Not exactly the rock star lifestyle or wandering street artist that usually popped up in his bored daydreams on the rare days he bothered to think about the future. And there was no passion in marriage. Not like his parents’ long-running on-again off-again chaotic love affair. Marriage was boring and...stable. Secure. It wasn’t like he wanted that.

He remembered those eyes and the way they had looked at him and a warm feeling started in his chest. He no longer remembered what it had felt like to kiss her, but he remembered that it was good. And definitely not passionless.

Luka pulled his pillow over his head and groaned. He’d never been very good at self-deception.

Sunset light was filtering through the portholes when he woke up. He sat up in his bed, ruffled his hair, and rubbed his face.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty,” Juleka mumbled from her vanity, where she sat brushing her hair.

Luka sighed. “Hey Jules. Were you near the akuma?”

“No,” she replied. “Nowhere close.”

“Good.” He got to his feet and stretched his back.

“Leftovers in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

“I’m always hungry,” Luka groaned, stretching forward.

“Maman didn’t want to wake you for dinner but we saved you some. She said you got hit?” She looked up at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, coming over to squeeze her shoulder. “Nothing Ladybug couldn’t fix. My head doesn’t even hurt any—“ he stopped, staring at her wall.

“Luka?” Juleka frowned at him.

“Can I see that?” he asked, pointing.

Juleka gave him a look but reached up and pulled the picture down, handing it to him.

Luka stared at the picture of Juleka and two of her classmates. Juleka’s visible eye was open wide, her smile huge, and she was claiming her space in the picture. If he tried, he could see the beginnings of the woman she would become.

But it was the heavenly blue eyes of the girl next to her that caught his attention and quickened his pulse. “Remind me who this is again?”

“It’s Rose and Marinette, from my class,” Juleka mumbled. “I told you about Marinette. She set up the photos and broke the curse.” Slowly she reached for the picture, giving him a concerned look the whole time. He let her take it from his hand and watched her put it back up on the wall. No. No way it was this easy.

“Marinette,” he said to himself thoughtfully. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a sweetheart, until you make her mad. Got some fire in her. Designs clothes. Crazy talented and mad skills to boot. Hates horror movies though.” Luka smiled. That was a pretty big character flaw in Juleka’s eyes, but since he didn’t like them either, it was fine by him. Juleka studied him a moment. “What’s wrong with you, you’re being weird,” she told him flatly.

“I just think her eyes are pretty,” he said, shrugging, and then his stomach growled. “Ugh, I’m going to go eat.”

“Well,” Juleka said slowly as she watched him walk away, “I invited her over for the music festival, so you can meet her in person then.”

“Yeah?” he said absently as he turned away. The music festival was only a couple weeks away. “Cool.”

By the time the festival came, he had managed to put his little out-of-body-and-in-his-other-body experience out of his mind. With as much practice as they’d been cramming in, and all the decorating and set up, getting the lights and the sound all working the way they wanted them to, it wasn’t even that hard.

The number of people on the boat was beginning to get to him and Luka had gone downstairs for a little quiet time before rehearsal, and he must have been down there longer than he meant because they sent someone down looking for him. He heard her startle and, chuckling, he opened his eyes and met hers and…he didn’t know this girl except for Juleka’s picture but...

But he knew those eyes.

And her soul sang.