#but that’s what the shin in its name means lol

[kwondotcom]

(1) i reference almond by won-pyung sohn as the book that minghao is reading. in the english translation, one of my favorite lines is "anything will lose its meaning if you repeat it often enough. at fisrt you feel you are getting the hang of it, but then as time goes by, you feel like the meaning's changing and becoming tarnished. then, finally, it gets lost. completely fades to white. love, love, love, love, love, lo, ve, looo, veee, love, lovelo, -velo, -velo."

i think that perfectly encapsulates a conflict that minghao goes through in the fic. how often can we say a word before it loses its meaning? how generous should we allow ourselves to be when it comes to the truth?

(2) i think i'm a better poet than i am a writer (lol), so one of my habits is referencing beginnings in the endings. this is one such parallel: how minghao learns about the 'gut feeling' from reader, only to subscribe to it when it matters the most.

(3) language as a time capsule, as a chronicle of one's self, is a recurring theme throughout the work. to minghao, mandarin is the sound of a home that he doesn't get to go back to as often; it's his mother's singing, his childhood friends' games. and to you, who knows several languages, korean sounds a lot like coming home. it's the simple language of your past. before you became a translator. before you had to make a living out of words.

(4) more parallels! :) from minghao thinking it's too much, to so much yet not enough. it's a subtle acknowledgement of his feelings taking a turn for something more romantic.

(5) i've joked that this is an origin story for @xinganhao, except it's not really a joke (lol). this fic came to fruition before i made my sideblog. i couldn't figure out a username, and so i just mindlessly jammed out xinganhao, and, bam. the rest is history. so, quite literally, my sideblog is 'darling, hao.' [xīngān is pronounced shin-gahn!]

(6) when i first wrote the movie-watching scene, i expressly named dìdi as the the film they watched. i eventually culled it in favor of being more vague about the movie, since i couldn't bear the story going on for longer. i'd chosen the film for its logline: "in 2008, during the last month of summer before high school begins, an impressionable 13-year-old taiwanese american boy learns what his family can't teach him: how to skate, how to flirt, and how to love his mum."

(7) i remain a firm believer that minghao is not only soulmates coded, but red string of fate coded. honestly, it's the underlying thread (badum-ts) trying my minghao birthday series together. it's explicitly mentioned in haven't we met?, but pervades in the sense that no matter the universe that minghao is set in, there is a string of fate and love tying him into place.

(8) translator!reader's sentiment about soulmates is a ripoff from my favorite series of all time, the good place. i have minghao echo it in the end for another 'full circle' moment.

(9) a small, almost inconsequential part, but i really loved getting to write this. the two faces of the same coin, the sentiment and the language, in the languages that each of you know.

(10) i'd written the story mostly in order— about 85% of it is done that way— but it's worth noting that the japan bathroom 'fight' scene is the last part i wrote. i couldn't figure out a proper argument for them to get in, because the original argument involved minghao getting a little too handsy with the reader. it felt out of character and i'm glad to have written it out. i still feel like the bathroom scene is one of the weaker scenes in the entire piece, especially as the 'conflict' takes place in vague, overlapping conversation, but i needed some sort of catalyst for the scene that follows.

(11) no real^TM notes on this except that i love yearning...! lmao. the "you said it was pretty, but i was looking at you instead" trope is the oldest cliche in the book. unfortunately, i eat it up every! single! time!

(12) the phone call scene is one of my favorites, if only because there's a lot of interesting dynamics there about the push-and-pull of language. reader choosing to stick to korean because of medical jargon/minghao's moment of wanting to tell you to just use mandarin/reader's switch to mandarin when she senses minghao's mounting panic. i feel like it's the part that encapsulates the fic the most. in it, there's also the line i eventually lead with in the intro. being good to you is the easy part. again, it's minghao in a nutshell. the idea that— despite later insistence, in the confession scene— minghao will 'do all the work', he still thinks it's effortless. treating you well. loving you.

(13) the tooth-rotting fluff in the hospital scene genuinely makes me want to tear my hear out. personally, i latch on to this one little line, as well as this part: "he laughs under his breath because he's not sure what to do about his feelings anymore. maybe it's best to just throw himself off the cliff and see what happens, right?"

(14) again, no notes, except for that i truly wanted to do something in ode of minghao since this is a birthday fic. i've always loved his name (the etymologies of names, in general), and so being able to squeeze it in here felt apt. notably, there's at least three distinct sky scenes in the fic. the stars in japan, the cliffside sunset, and the ending with the moon. in japan, minghao has his revelation; on the cliffside, he's given something he can hold to. the beach scene, under the moon, is where he finally confesses.

(15) "of course i'm going to try again tomorrow," he whispers, and he'll do that for the rest of his life if he has to. is probably my favorite line in the entire fic. it's difficult to explain, but it goes much deeper than just a confession of feelings. it speaks a lot about minghao as a character, as a person, from someone who worked hard to get to each tomorrow, someone steadfast and resilient. it's also just a nice sentiment, [fan]fiction or not. the idea that, no matter what it is, there is only really one thing we can do for the rest of our lives: try again, and again, and again, for all the tomorrows that we have.

lost in translation ♾️ minghao x reader.

“being good to you is the easy part.” # day eight of (the)8 days of minghao. ♡ happy birthday, minghao!

☆ includes: translator/interpreter!reader, idiots in love, yearning!!!, hurt/comfort, confessions. alcohol consumption, reader gets a [minor] surgery. mandarin & other languages are all courtesy of google translate. word count: 25,800+ (damn.)

Minghao learned early on that there were words that didn’t always have a translation.

He had grown up with Shenyang Mandarin, only to have to learn Korean, English, and even some Japanese. It was always such a frustrating feeling, to have the Mandarin word at the tip of his tongue then to need to swallow it or substitute it.

He’s never felt that way with you, at least.

You, PLEDIS’ skilled, multilingual interpreter-slash-translator. Minghao remembers the day you came in, nine years ago. How he had felt a spark of hope when you slid into the dialect that was all-too familiar to him. Finally, Minghao had thought.

He had started off as your pupil, your tutee for Korean. Over time, it blossomed into genuine friendship. He can count on one hand the things that he has in Korea. The group. The fans. The other Chinese idols. And you.

It’s comfortable and easy with you. It’s always been. It’s why Minghao is fine with seeking you out at the company, with sliding into the seat next to you even though you’re working on something on your laptop. Checking subtitles for a SEVENTEEN video, it seems.

He waits until you’ve noticed him before he holds out the book he had been reading. It's a Korean novel. Almond by Sohn Wonpyung. He points to a particular phrase— 눈치가 빠르다— before speaking, but the words aren’t in Korean.

“Is there a Mandarin word for this?” he asks in Mandarin, his voice taking on the lower pitch of the dialect. His eyebrows knit together in a look of utter concentration. “Or is this one of those untranslatables?”

You pull out your earphones, a mild look of amusement on your face at Minghao’s sudden appearance. When you realize what he’s asking of you, a small huff of laughter escapes, but you concede to looking at the book in his hands. You say the phrase under your breath, as if testing it out. 

“It’s not untranslatable,” you say, sliding right into Mandarin to match Minghao. “The literal translation is observant or perceptive. But in Korean contexts, it’s meant to describe— I suppose, comprehension that something is going on with a friend, or a family member. Like, ah—”

You pause. And then you code switch, again, this time, to English. “A gut feeling?”

“Ah.”

Minghao’s expression clears as comprehension filters across his face, his mouth forming that little ‘o’ shape as he repeats the phrase as well. “A gut feeling... okay, like intuition.”

He pulls his legs up on to the chair, resting his chin on his knee. “Do you think it's something that is universal? A gut feeling. Is there a word for that in Mandarin?”

You’re far too used to Minghao getting philosophical, to him pressing for more than the first answer. “Gut feeling in Mandarin... zhíjué?” you offer. 

“Zhíjué,” Minghao repeats quietly, mulling the word over. There’s something satisfying and soothing about rolling the syllables on his tongue, the way he does it. The way they come from the back of his throat— a language that's as intimate as his mother's lullabies when he was a child.

He lets the word rest in his mouth for a while— zhíjué, gut feeling— before he looks back at you, his chin tilting forward in a nod. He gives you a little smile, appreciative.

"Mhm," he says. "That’s close enough."

You chuckle before slipping right back into Korean. It’s a dizzying back-and-forth between at most three languages, at any given time. The two of you have been called out for it, but Minghao secretly enjoys the challenge. 

"I’ve been meaning to check that out from my neighborhood's library," you note as you tap at the spine of Minghao's copy of Almond. He privately marvels at how your voice sounds more mellifluous in your first language, almost missing the question you pose. “How are you liking it so far?”

He looks down at the book in his lap, thumbing through the pages idly. “It’s good,” he answers simply. There’s a pause, but it's not quite awkward. It's something else... an afterthought. The next words are quieter than the last. “A bit sad.”

“That’s what most reviewers have said about it,” you muse, leaning back against your chair to stretch your legs underneath you. “Maybe I’ll finally pick it up this weekend.”

Minghao doesn’t look at you directly when you start to stretch out, when your shoulders roll forward. Instead the focus of his eyes is on the book on his lap, but his mind is most definitely not on the words on the pages.

When you mention picking it up that weekend, he nods in silent agreement, the movement a bit stiff. And then, in that same beat: “Have you gone to the doctor about your back pain?”

The question is quiet but pointed, with just a hint of concern to his voice. He spots all the tells of you preparing to lie to him— the tick in your jaw, your tongue peeking out between your clenched teeth. “Of course I have,” you lie smoothly. “It’s just your regular back pains that come with sitting in a chair a lot.”

“Hm.”

Even this late in the game, you still thought you could lie to Minghao. And maybe you could, and he would let it slide, in favor of being considerate and polite.

But only for a bit, because he knows you haven't seen a doctor about the back pain that started recently. Knows that you’re being a hypocrite, always asking him to take care of himself when you aren’t even doing the same for yourself.

He’s not entirely surprised, admittedly. You’ve always been so focused on your work and on taking care of others that it was sometimes hard to think that you focused on yourself. Not that Minghao is one to talk, when it comes to taking time for his own health. But this was you.

He sighs, just barely, before he reaches over to nudge you on the shoulder, like he would do with Jun or Soonyoung or any of the other members. “Liar.”

A sound between a huff and a laugh escapes you, but then you raise your palms in a show of surrender. 

“I haven't really had the time to go to the doctor,” you admit sheepishly. “There’s been a lot of content to translate. And I’ve been preparing for the group's Japan showcase next week.”

Minghao knows you well enough to know that you'd probably work yourself till you dropped, if you had the chance. The thought makes him want to roll his eyes.

“Mm,” he responds, his eyes narrowing as he crosses his arms across his chest. “You can stop working for ten minutes to go to a clinic. You have enough money. And even if you don’t, I could—”

He cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek. The words nearly slipped.

— take you to one, he had meant to say. 

The offer is on the tip of his tongue; the thought of you walking around with such bad back pain that you could barely walk without hobbling having pissed him off. Some part of him, some tiny selfish part, is holding him back from saying anything.

Maybe he just wants to see what you do. If you’ll finally do something about it, if only because he’s asked you to care for yourself for once.

There’s a flicker of surprise on your expression, though it's quickly smoothed out by something more akin to affection. Minghao had always been the thoughtful kind. It had taken some time for him to warm up to you, but around three or so years into your friendship, you’d started becoming a recipient to his quiet care and compassion.

“I’ll get a proper checkup once the Japan showcase is over,” you finally concede, if only to put his mind at ease. “The whole thing. A CT scan and all that.”

Minghao let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding out in silent relief, his shoulders dropping. When you promise that you'll go for a checkup when the Japan showcase is over, part of him wants to say I don’t believe you or I’m coming with you or even I’ll take you there myself.

But he decides to keep his mouth shut. There's no point in arguing, unless he wants to give you even more of a headache. He huffs with faux annoyance. "I’ll hold you to that," he tells you.

Minghao’s little show of annoyance does little to unnerve you, especially when you know it’s just that. A show. You shake your head with amusement before glancing at the table in front of you, where your laptop rests, forgotten. 

“I still have to finish this, though,” you say almost ruefully to Minghao, tilting your head slightly as you look back at him. “Do you have any other schedules for the rest of the day?”

“I don’t,” he says. “We have a free day today. My only plans were to bother you.”

Minghao’s definition of bothering was a lot different from, say, what Mingyu or Jeonghan would call being a bother. No, for Minghao, bothering you entailed simply being in your space— mostly in silence.

“Knock yourself out, then,” you say with a slight wave of your hand, essentially giving Minghao the carte blanche to stick around, maybe read, as you finish off your work. “I'll probably be done in half an hour. Let's grab something to eat after?”

“Thirty minutes,” he agrees. “And I get to pick the place.”

For the next half hour, Minghao makes an effort to not bother you in the way most of the other members would. No unnecessary comments, no sudden pokes with a pen or a random finger tapping at your shoulder.

He simply sits there, legs crossed out in front of him, one hand flicking through the pages of the book he was reading earlier, the other hand on his knee. Every so often, he glances up, just a brief glance to check if you’re still swamped with work.

It’s hard for anybody, even the most unobservant of people, to miss the sight of the two of you  sharing the couch in the company lounge. Two such different people— you, with your cool temperament and soft features, and Minghao, with his sharp eyes and his sharper tongue.

And yet, the sight of the two of you is more familiar than anything else. Anyone who’s been around the company long enough has seen the two of you sitting almost shoulder to shoulder. Quiet. Serene. At utter peace with each other's company.

There are others who want to interrupt, but the intensity of Minghao’s gaze as he glances up briefly is enough to discourage them. It’s a silent challenge and a promise that they better not disturb the two of you.

By the end of the thirty minutes, you’re nearly done with the video subtitles, and Minghao is about five or so pages from finishing his book. The book has been set aside on the table by then, his gaze now focusing on your work, rather than the story in his hands.

You hammer out the last of your subtitles with a mumble of “I’m done, I’m done.” 

You shut your laptop with a slight snap, groaning slightly as you sink back against the back of the couch. “That was rough,” you huff as you press the heels of your hands to your eyes. “My French is getting rusty.”

“You say that about every language,” he points out. He watches you for a moment more before he reaches over, fingers wrapping around one of your wrists to tug at your arm. “Come here.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d used touch to get your attention. Minghao wasn’t the most outwardly tactile, but he had his moments. Touch was an easy, unspoken thing; it required no language, it spoke volumes.

This was one of those rare, intimate, moments of his. The moments where he let his guard down, the walls around him falling away. He tugs again, pulling you a little closer to him.

“Come here,” he says again. The word comes out in Mandarin, his fingers gently squeezing around your wrist, his other hand going to your hip to encourage you to lean in.

“So demanding,” you huff in the same language. 

You’re complaining, but there isn’t any bite or any real annoyance in your tone. If you were really bothered, you’d pull your arm away and snap at him in Korean. Instead, you go along with what he’s doing, allowing him to pull you closer, even as you continue to grumble under your breath in Mandarin.

You give too much, he thinks silently, as his hand moves up from your hip to gently press your head into his shoulder, his arm wrapping around your waist instead. You let me have too much.

It’s a compromising position, especially in the company lounge. No other idol would be caught dead cozying up to a staff member like this, but Minghao was just a little bit above it all and HR had long since given up on lecturing you both about propriety.

Your hand absentmindedly rests over his knee, the platonic touch hidden underneath the table. You stick to Mandarin as you hum “This is nice.”

Minghao can’t help but agree with your words, his eyes fluttering close as he rests his cheek on the top of your head. Even with a company full of people around you and a door that anyone could walk through at any second, the two of you are tucked away in your own little world. He hums in response to your words, his own hand moving slightly to lace his fingers through yours.

Despite the fatigue weighing down on you both, the two of you stay like that, tangled together on the couch in a way that's more akin to a couple than just friends.

Eventually, the silence and stillness between you two is broken by a gentle knock on the wood.

Minghao’s eyes flutter open; he lifts his head up slightly to glance towards the door. “It’s open,” he says, his voice not betraying that you’re tucked into his side or that his hand is tangled with yours.

The door creaks open a crack, and Jeonghan peeks in. His eyebrows shoot up slightly. His mouth opens and closes, as if to say something, but you can see a knowing look pass across his face.

“Ah,” he says, and it almost sounds like he’s laughing.

You code switch to Korean, unsurprisingly. “Jeonghan,” you greet, raising your free hand to wave at the older boy. You make no real effort to disentangle from Minghao. If anything, the fact that it's just one of his members makes it easier for you to just relax a bit more. "Hao kept me company while I was working."

"I can see that," Jeonghan says with no shortage of amusement. He steps into the room, decisively closing the lounge door behind him. "I figured he'd be here."

Jeonghan takes a few steps closer to the couch before he halts, just a few steps away, his legs slightly apart and his arms folded over his chest. He looks between the two of you, his gaze drifting meaningfully from the arm wrapped around your waist, to the fingers still entwined with Minghao's.

“He's good at keeping company,” Jeonghan agrees, his head slightly tilted.

“Shut it,” Minghao grumbles in response, irritation obvious in his voice.

He doesn’t move his head or his arm wrapped around your waist. Instead, he raises his other hand— the one that’s still holding your hand— to give Jeonghan a gesture that clearly means for him to go away.

Jeonghan just laughs in response to the gesture, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “What, are you two lovebirds too busy for me?” he says, his tone deliberately saccharine. “I just wanted to tell you that the boys scheduled a game night later.”

Minghao glances down at the watch on his wrist, before looking back at the two of you. “What time?” he grumbles to Jeonghan, visibly displeased at the thought of having to disentangle from you. 

“In about an hour,” Jeonghan sing-songs. 

“Don’t be late,” he adds cheerfully, before promptly turning around and leaving the room.

“There goes our dinner plans,” you deadpan to Minghao once Jeonghan has left, although you don’t really sound upset about it. It’s more of a statement of a fact.

“Guess so,” he responds, his chin still resting on top of your head. Your hair is soft, and his fingers absently brush against the strands.

There’s a beat of stillness between the two of you, before he speaks again. “Sorry,” he murmurs, the word quiet and soft. He knows you’d probably been hoping to eat before going back to subtitles.

“No apologies necessary,” you say easily, because this was just sometimes the reality of our friendship. You always had a dozen other things pulling at you in different directions, and so a couple of stolen hours was always a welcome reprieve.

You give Minghao's hand a gentle squeeze. “Let's stay like this for— five more minutes,” you bargain, a slight smile tugging at your lips as you stare ahead. “And then we can pack up.”

“Five more minutes?” Minghao repeats, his voice low. He thinks over your words for a moment, before he lets out a soft sigh, his hand tightening around yours. “Okay.” 

There aren’t many moments when he isn't in control, or when he lets his guard down. But this— with you, with your soft hair and comfortable warmth, is something he can’t resist. He lets his chin rest on top of your head, the weight of his head resting against you. He closes his eyes, and simply lets himself breathe.

The minutes pass by in comfortable silence, the two of you still tangled together on the couch. For those few moments, Minghao has nothing to worry about and nothing to think about. He has no choreography to practice, no schedule to keep. 

Five minutes spin into seven, then ten. Neither of you are keen to pull away. At the fifteen-minute mark, you finally do try. “We’ve had more than five minutes,” you say against Minghao’s shoulder.

Minghao’s arm tightens around your waist, his fingers curling around your hip in a silent bid to keep you in place. He can feel the reluctance in your tone, the hesitation, and that’s what spurs him to be a little selfish.

He lets out a soft breath, his words a low, reluctant mumble. “Just... one more minute.”

“We have to go, xīngān,” you mutter absentmindedly.

It’s unfair, the way a single word in Mandarin sounds perfect in your voice. He doesn’t know if you’re even aware that you just called him darling— maybe it was a lapse in the switch to Mandarin, maybe it was intentional.

Either way, it doesn’t take more than a single moment for his heart to skip a beat, the sound of the word making something flutter and stir in his chest. His fingers involuntarily tighten around your hip.

“Okay,” he responds, his own voice coming out quieter than usual.

He does let go of you afterwards, the loss of your body heat making his hand feel a little cold. The couch feels noticeably larger and cooler without your side pressed against his, and he already misses the weight of your head against his shoulder.

Minghao tries very hard to look collected as he stands up from the couch, his face almost carefully neutral. His lips quirk up into the ghost of a smile before he offers you a hand to help you up as well.

He holds your hand a little longer than is necessary before letting go slowly. Silence drifts over the two of you as you make your way to the door, and for once, Minghao isn’t quite sure what to say. All he can think about is the single word you’d used— xīngān, in that warm tone of yours.

It’s an endearment he’s heard from friends, family, and fans. It’s a simple, innocent term. The only thing that makes it strange is that he’d never heard you use it for him until now.

He clears his throat, trying— and failing— to keep the quiet waver out of his voice. “Hey,” he says, the word falling from his lips a little more softly than he'd intended.

He pauses for a beat, as you turn to look at him questioningly. He doesn't know how to voice what he wants to say, so he opts to keep things as simple as possible.

“You called me xīngān,” he says point blank. 

For a moment, the silence drags on as you keep walking. "Xīngān," you repeat a little dumbly, your eyebrows furrowed as you try to remember how the word translates in. When it seems to dawn on you, you stop dead in your tracks. 

You’re speaking in Korean when you frantically wave your hands in front of you, your eyes slightly wider than before. “I’m sorry,” you say, panicked. “I think I was aiming for yīngjùn de. You know, ‘handsome.’ I don’t know why I called you—”

Minghao's shoulders nearly slump in disappointment. It’s a stupid, pointless feeling. It’s just a word, and a common endearment, at that— and yet he’s disappointed to learn that you were trying to say something else.

He gives a little scoff, not bothering to keep the petulance out of his voice. “Oh,” he responds, his hand lifting to rub absently at the back of his neck. “Damn.”

“Did you— like being called xīngān?” you ask, and then you try for the term in your smooth, easy Korean. “Yeobo?”

Minghao hesitates, the slightest hitch in his breath as you repeat the word in Korean.

The truth is a stupid, pointless one. The truth is that his heart almost jumped into his throat the moment he heard that single word, those two syllables. The truth is that he did like being called that. He liked being called darling. He liked it a lot, to be quite honest.

He gives an aborted nod, his gaze falling away from your face. “Maybe. A little.”

“In Korean or in Mandarin?” you prod. 

“Do you prefer yeobo,” you start, the Korean term rolling easily off your tongue. “Or xīngān?”

Your Mandarin version is a little more hesitant, more reserved, but just a touch more sweeter.

Both, Minghao nearly blurts out, before he stops himself. He doesn't know which one it is he likes more— the sweet, gentle lilt of the Mandarin, or the smooth, almost-familiar Korean. All he knows is that the sound of being called ‘darling’ in your voice, in any language, makes something in his chest flutter and tighten.

He hesitates, but again— there's no point in being coy about it, is there? 

“Both,” he answers softly, his eyes lifting up to meet yours.

“Darling,” you test out— this time not in Mandarin or Korean, but in English. It's heavily accented and clumsy, but the sentiment is still the same. Minghao sucks in a breath, his heart skipping another beat. It's stupid, he’s stupid, but—

He likes how you sound, speaking English. He likes the way your words soften and drag, the way your tongue wraps around the syllables, the gentle flow of your sentences. It’s all so stupid, and yet his heart can't help but skip another beat as he listens to you speak.

The corners of his mouth lift slightly. “I like that one too,” he responds.

“In any language, huh?” you tease lightly, a light pink dusting your cheeks. The two of you begin to walk, again, because you do have places to be.

In an absentminded way, you begin to mumble the ways you know ‘darling’ is translated in other languages.

Spanish. Cariño. Portuguese. Querido. Italian. Tesoro. French. Chérie. German. Liebling.

If nothing else, Minghao has to admit that watching your cheeks flush— and hearing you speak all these other languages— is very distracting.

He’s still busy mentally storing away this new, intriguing tidbit of information that he's learned about himself, but he still can't help his mind from wandering at the sound of other languages falling from your lips. A few of them are familiar, having seen or heard them before, but some of them are entirely new.

Minghao can’t help his mind from dwelling on how good they sound when you say them.

"Wait— what about Arabic?" he asks, cutting into your little list.

It’s the only one he can think of. He just wanted to hear you say this one, too.

“I haven’t touched Arabic in ages,” you mutter distractedly. Minghao can’t help but silently laugh as he watches your facial expressions flicker in a series of micro-emotions, each one slightly different from the other. Frustration, confusion, a pinch of annoyance— and all of it over this little thing.

“I think it's maḥbūb,” you answer after a full moment's pause. Your nose scrunches up in mild frustration; the endearment accented in the language you don’t use often.

His laugh turns into a little scoff, before he finally just lets the laugh roll right out of his lungs. “You’re cute when you’re frustrated,” he tells you fondly, the words falling from his mouth before he can help himself.

Shit.

He'd planned on saying that, but not so— casually. So off-handedly, without a thought to the meaning behind the sentiment. It’s a little much, and yet he can't take the words back now that they’re out there. Thankfully, you take it in stride. 

“And you’re cute for liking to be called darling,” you tease right back.

The words hit Minghao square in the chest like one of your punches. He’s glad you’re a few paces ahead of him so you can’t see the way his mouth parts slightly, the way he nearly stumbles. He’s thankful for the few beats of silence before you pipe up once more.

“I think I’ll stick to xīngān,” you commit.

And just like that, he’s breathless again.

He’s a sucker for that term, the way it rolls off your tongue. The way you choose it, like it's the easiest, most obvious choice in the world. “Xīngān,” he finds himself echoing, his voice softer, breathier than he’d meant it to be.

The sound of it leaves a warm, pleasant feeling in his chest. He likes the safety of the word, the way it makes something in his chest flutter. He can’t help the slight smile from tugging at his lip.

“I like the way you say it,” he admits, no longer bothering to keep up the charade of nonchalance.

“I’ll say it more, then,” you muse.

Minghao isn’t even fully convinced that you realize that this is flirting. He’d always gotten that feeling, that you don't always notice when something turns into that sort of casual teasing. He knows you can flirt; he’s witnessed some of your flirtations personally and he’s heard plenty of stories from the others.

But this sort of thing— this banter, the way you tease him with a casual sweetness in your voice— it’s new flirting territory. It’s something he's never experienced in your presence.

He follows you silently to the doors of the company, his heart pounding in his chest. The two of you walk side-by-side, your hips and shoulders nearly brushing with every two steps.

Neither of you bother to slow down as you near your inevitable separation. There isn’t a point, after all. Why draw out the goodbyes?

Before he loses the confidence, Minghao reaches out to snag your wrist. He can only hope that you’re less oblivious than he’s afraid you are. 

“Hey,” he calls you back, his voice just a touch breathless. “You free this weekend?”

You tilt your head to one side, only momentarily thrown off. It wasn’t unnatural for you to meet with the boys when they didn’t have a schedule. Sometimes, it was a language lesson; other times, it was a spontaneous hangout. It was always discreet, never anything to really read in to.

You and Minghao have had your fair share of escapades. Chinese takeout on the floor of your apartment, trips to a local library. They’re few and far between, but always welcome.

“I’m free Saturday evening. I have to work in the morning, and I have a family thing on Sunday,” you answer. “What’s up?”

Minghao feels the slight tension in his shoulders loosen at your answer. It’s not a no, not when it comes with a little extra clarification, as though you had been expecting something of a meetup anyway.

He drops the grip on your wrist, his fingers loosening just enough that you can pull away if you want. “Do you want to—” he starts, the words catching in his throat. Is it just him, or is the hallway warm? “Do you want to go to the movies?”

“The movies? Sure. What did you want to watch?" you inquire, your head tilting further as your curiosity is piqued.

The overhead lights catch the soft, sharp lines of your face, illuminating the features that Minghao knows like the back of his hand. The gentle tilt of your chin, the way you’re slightly shorter than he was, the way your hair frames your face in a messy but unfussy way— as though you didn’t try, but the effect was pleasing nonetheless.

It’s an effect that isn't lost on Minghao, that leaves something warm and fond twisting in his chest. He struggles to get a hold of himself.

“There's a film festival,” he says. “An international film festival, over in Gwangjin.”

If Minghao were a weaker man, he would have beamed at your reaction— the excitement in your voice, the way you reached out to squeeze his wrist in turn.

“That sounds fun,” you say happily. “I’d love to go.”

He knew you were passionate about languages, about cultures— one of the reasons you two have gotten on so well, as you’re the only person he’s ever met who shares that sort of enthusiasm. The only person who understands it in a way that doesn’t feel too much.

He gives you a little flicker of a smile before he answers. “Good.” 

There's a beat of silence as he contemplates his next few words— and what exactly he was about to propose. “You know…” he finally says, his tone just a little hesitant. “There's a… there's a film that I really wanted to see. In the festival, I mean.” 

“It’s in Mandarin,” he quickly clarifies, the words tumbling from his mouth in a way that feels a little too much like panic. “Um— will your Mandarin be up to it? No subtitles.”

“I’ll be up for it,” you assure Minghao laughingly. “If I miss anything, I guess I’ll just have to ask you.”

Ask him? The idea— the mere implication that you’d be leaning in, closer, to ask him. That you’d be needing something, some sort of clarification, a better context.

The way you'd need him.

And perhaps it was obvious, the way you and he were constantly switching back and forth— him with his Mandarin and your Korean and English, to fill in the blanks. But the words still set something loose in his chest, to know that he would be there to help you if you needed it.

“Yeah,” he says, once he finally manages to remember how to speak. “Yeah, you can ask me.”

As you begin to step away, you speak up. “It’s a date, then,” you say casually, still painfully unheeding to the implications of everything. “Will you pick me up or should I meet you there, xīngān?”

Minghao has never felt more simultaneously grateful and betrayed by your lack of awareness.

Because how could you be so casual, how could you just drop that right in front of him— calling it a date, calling him ‘darling’— as though it was nothing more than just another hangout? It leaves him reeling in a way that makes it impossible to respond.

He can only offer a nod, his throat dry, as one hand lifts in a half-wave. “I’ll pick you up,” he says, his brain lagging behind with the rest of his body.

You give a small wave back, your smile just as bright and friendly as the rest of you. This was going to be a thorn in Minghao's side, it seemed. Your brain wasn’t good at half measures. You needed clarity, needed straightforwardness to confront abstract feelings.

You disappear through the revolving front doors of the company, leaving Minghao in the company lobby that suddenly feels all-too warm. His phone pings in his pocket; a text from Jun.

You're late to game night, his member teases. Get away from the love of your life and get your ass over here. ㅋㅋㅋ

Because of course Jeonghan had tattled to all the other boys where Minghao had been. He rolls his eyes as he glances down at the screen, tapping out a quick response.

I'm coming. Don't cheat.

He glances up and back at the glass revolving doors, knowing full-well that you're already on the street at this point.

Minghao, for all his bluntness, has suddenly found himself in a situation where all he can do is beat around the bush.

Minghao arrives outside your apartment building on time, his hands shoved deep in his pockets against the early evening chill. His heart is pounding in his chest, the nervous energy buzzing in his veins.

He had dressed up. He had put on cologne. He was taking you to a film festival. What could possibly happen that would go wrong?

It's a thought that is interrupted when a horn beeping snaps Minghao's attention away from his inner thoughts, as he straightens and glances down the street. There's no one parked on your street, no one walking down the sidewalk. He takes a step forward, peering across to the other side of the street— and there you are, stepping out of the building.

It takes everything he's got to keep a straight face. It feels like something out of a drama, and he's still not entirely sure he's not dreaming.

The fact that you're dressed up too is not lost on him. Damn it, of course you'd look good to him, no matter what you'd chosen to wear.

Minghao straightens as you draw closer, suddenly not quite knowing what to do with his hands. Does he pull you in for a hug? Offer up a casual, friendly greeting?

He settles for a nod, shoving his hands further into the pockets of his jeans, doing his best not to stare. "Hey."

"Hey," you greet right back, flashing Minghao a dimpled smile. You give Minghao a once-over.

"You look nice," you say like it's the most casual observation in the world. 

The praise sets something aflutter in Minghao's stomach, his hands gripping his car keys a little tighter to try and keep them from shaking. "Thanks," he responds, somehow finding it in himself to step closer and unlock the car door for you. "You look good, too." 

Good doesn't even begin to cover it, he thinks as he goes to slide into the driver’s seat. 

"You got me nervous," you say as you pull the seat belt over yourself, suddenly slipping into Mandarin. "About the film having no subtitles, I mean. So I ended up brushing up on my Mandarin."

He lets out a small huff of a laugh that's bordering on a scoff. "Since when have you had to brush up on anything?" he responds in Mandarin as well, flicking on the turn signal and pulling the car out into the street. "Your Mandarin is perfect."

"I'm always studying. You know me," you chirp, leaning forward slightly to fiddle with the knobs of Minghao's car radio. You’ve been in his passenger seat enough time to feel comfortable doing this; you settle on a station playing mostly Western indie songs.

"And my Mandarin always has room for improvement," you go on. "I'm still working on that C2-level proficiency."

Of course you weren't satisfied with just good. You had to go and be an overachiever. Minghao finds himself shaking his head at the thought of how your drive for excellence in everything was— for lack of any better word— admirable and adorable all at the same time.

"You're insane," he says under his breath, still so awed by self-imposed standards. "You really don't need to do that, you know. You're great the way you are."

"How is it that you're both goading and complimenting me at the same time?" you tease.

The way you speak sounds effortless and yet Minghao can pick up on the little moments where your tongue would just ever so slightly stumble. He could correct you, but God, he's never quite heard that same sound before.

In fact, he's suddenly very aware of just how different you two sound when you speak his mother tongue.

"It's called being a good friend," he responds, fighting the rising urge to say something else.

"You're a pain in the ass, but I love you, anyway," he continues, his hand settling on a knob on the center console to change the radio station to something with a bit more of a modern beat. You always had to listen to indie music.

As the sounds of some Top Fifties pop song filters through the car, you let out a snort of laughter and respond noncommittally to Minghao's jab. "Love you, too," you say with no shortage of sarcasm. The words, in Mandarin— wǒ yě ài nǐ— still sound soft and sweet and lilting, despite your best effort to sound mocking.

Minghao suddenly has to swallow against his very dry throat. He hadn't expected that response from you, not when the last time he had said those words to you was months and months ago during an argument between the two of you. A particularly stressful work week, a squabble that neither of you talk about anymore.

"You better," he manages to respond, his voice cracking ever so slightly on the second syllable of 'better'. He hopes it goes unnoticed.

That little stutter, that tiny stumble around the last syllable of 'better', was the only indicator that betrayed the way Minghao's heart was hammering out the wildest beat in his chest.

He knows it's a sign of his own impending nerves when he turns the radio volume all the way up, drowning out any chance of conversation between the two of you for the rest of the ride to the venue.

Far too used to Minghao's pockets of peace, you pay no heed to the fact that the rest of the car ride is spent in companionable silence. You only break it once Minghao is pulling up into the parking lot of the theater house.

"You should go ahead. I'll get us snacks," you offer delicately, this time in Korean. The reminder of how the two of you had to hide any sort of public interaction settles like a stone at the very bottom of Minghao's stomach, and yet he nods anyway, silently agreeing with the logic of your suggestion.

You ask, "Is there anything you want to eat?"

He lets out a soft sigh as he pulls the keys out of the ignition. "Popcorn," he responds, his eyes skimming over your form as you unclick the seatbelt to leave. "With M&Ms."

The familiar request makes a small smile tug at your lips. It was the same thing, still, that Minghao asked for after all these years of movie-watching. "Got it," you say, sliding out of his car. "I'll find you in a bit."

Even through the closed car door and over the sound of the car radio turned up to its highest, he can still clearly hear the smile in your voice. It sets that now familiar thump in his chest into overdrive.

"Hurry up," he responds in all of his usual nonchalance, despite the fact that his eyes are still following your figure, taking in the way you carry yourself as you walk away.

Shit, he's so gone for you.

Minghao's choice of seats are typical as always. In the very back of the theater, to keep him away from possible prying eyes.

You settle into the seat at his right, carefully balancing the food you’d gotten the two of you. "I couldn't carry two popcorn buckets, so we'll have to share this big one," you whisper to him as you pass him his pack of M&Ms and a bottle of soda.

"Thanks,” he murmurs over the sound of advertisements playing over the big screen.

"I've heard a lot of good things about this film," you mumble. "No making fun of me if I cry."

"I would never," he replies, voice as light as yours.

Sure enough, the opening of the film has Minghao leaning forward on the edge of his seat, engrossed in the drama unraveling between the characters on-screen. It's like he was that sixteen year-old boy in the movie, struggling to find his place in the world.

He's all but quiet in his consumption of popcorn, a hand sneaking into the bucket at times to munch on a few pieces idly. A few times, when the food almost runs out— he accidentally brushes his fingers against yours. The touch is brief, accidental, but each time, his skin feels like it's singing, and he fights the impulse to grasp your hand altogether every time he reaches for popcorn.

He does notice, however, when you seem to encounter unfamiliar words. His gaze flicks over to you as your lips wordlessly form the nickname they call the main character. Xiǎoshì.

It's a term, sure, but it's far more than that to him.

For him, it's a moment. A time in his life that was so brief, but one he remembers like it happened yesterday. A small part of him wants to tell you all about it, but he can't now. 

And so he settles on another form of communication. With your attention still on the screen, Minghao reaches over— and finally grasps your hand. Interlocking your fingers together.

As your fingers grasp with his, a part of him hopes that you don't pull away. He almost wants to look sideways at you, just so he can see your reaction— read your face as you focus on the movie in front of you, as your heart beats fast, loud, against your ribcage.

He doesn't dare to hope, though. He keeps his hand in yours, holding on tightly, as the movie continues to play out, the scenes getting more familiar to him.

The main character gets into a particularly nasty row with his mother about following his dreams, about leaving home, about wanting a better life than the one they had in their province. His gaze flinches slightly at the familiar scene before him and the memories, the emotions, that it all brings up in him.

It's a tense scene, spoken in the scathing language he'd grown up in, and you can tell the way it's affecting him. Instinctively, you reach your free hand over to gently press at the side of Minghao's head; a quiet invitation for him to rest his head on your shoulder.

Minghao takes you up on your invitation, the touch of your hand almost a command to him. He lets his head rest on your shoulder, not unlike a weary puppy. He can practically hear his mother's voice in some parts of the argument playing out in the movie. He can hear his own words echoing in his ears— almost as if he himself was the one speaking on-screen.

He wants to stay in the moment, with you, in the darkened theater as the movie continues to play. He doesn't think he can tear his eyes away from the screen, just like how he feels like he can't let go of your hand.

But it's a movie— a coming-of-age one, at that— and so all ends well. The boy and his mother reconcile. The main character is not any older by the last part of the film, but he's wiser, and the whole thing ends with him looking out at the Beijing skyline, humming an old lullaby for comfort.

The credits roll. The lights stay off as they do, and you finally, finally, bring yourself to pull away from Minghao's shoulder.  

You keep your hand in his, though, as you let out a quiet, watery laugh. "Xu Minghao," you reprimand in Mandarin. "You took me to the saddest movie ever."

"I told you," he responds back lightly, in Mandarin, his own voice a little rough from trying to hold himself back just a bit. "My friend said it was a sad one, when he recommended it. And you said you were fine."

He squeezes your hand again, shifting in his seat so that he was facing you, a hint of teasing in his tired eyes.

Absent-mindedly, you rub your thumb on the back of his palm. "How did you like it?" you ask, pitching your voice lower, still, despite no one being within your vicinity.  

Minghao's eyes soften a little at the tender gesture on your part. He feels the light, comforting motion of your thumb brushing against the back of his palm and he lets out a small, shaky sigh of his own. "It was... a little difficult to watch," he admits, his voice quiet, his eyes focused on your interlocked hands between you.  

"Do you want to talk about it over dinner?" you offer, your smile just a touch rueful. "Or we could just... have dinner and not talk about it at all. Whichever works best for you."  

At your offer, a small, almost self-deprecating smile quirks at the corner of Minghao's lips. He squeezes your hand one more time. "Dinner, yes. Talking, no."

The walk back to the car is a quiet one. Once you’re in your seats, Minghao puts the burden of deciding on you. 

"There's this barbeque place I've really been wanting to try out over in Myeongdeong," you rave, but then your fingers freeze over the GPS screen. You glance at Minghao over your shoulder, suddenly a bit sheepish. "It's a bit out of the way from your dorm and my apartment, though. Is that alright?"  

He lets out a small, soft laugh, shifting in his seat a little before reaching over to lightly flick your ear. "When has distance ever stopped me?" he retorts, his usual dry tease in his voice. "Let's go, I'm starving."  

"Alright, alright," you huff as you plug in the address. The directions to the restaurant— somewhere twenty minutes away, barring traffic— appear on screen as you move back into your seat, still pouting slightly at your ear being flicked. "I just thought you'd be sick of me after the movie."  

"Sick of you?" He scoffs at your words as he begins to peel out of the parking lot. "I think I would die of boredom without you, actually."  

“Ah. Because no one else will keep up with you like this, hm?"  

"They're not quick enough. You're one of the rare ones who don't make me want to tear my hair out."  

"You're laying it on thick tonight. Is this a ploy to get me to pick up the dinner bill?” you tease. "Because really, Hao, there's a rather big difference between the salaries of idols and translators."  

He chuckles a little at your comment, his grip around the steering wheel tightening slightly. "No, this is not a ploy to make you pay for dinner. I'm treating tonight. I'm rich, remember?"  

"Yah, you're not treating!” you shoot back. “We’ll pay for our own shares. You should only spend your money on things that are important.”  

"And treating you isn't important? You're always important to me. Don't deny it."  

When you suddenly go silent as a flush starts to creep up your face, Minghao can't help but look away from the road for a few moments to glance at you from the corner of his eye. He can only see the side of your face, the blush that colors your cheeks glowing against your skin.  

"You can't just say stuff like that so casually," you snap, though your tone is soft around the edges. "You should save that for birthdays or holidays."  

"And why only birthdays and holidays?" he muses. "I'd rather tell you all the time."  

In a bid to regain a bit of an upper hand, you keep your eyes out the window as you mumble in Mandarin, "Just keep driving, xīngān."  

Seeing your flustered face flush an even deeper color of red gives Minghao a sort of satisfaction, his lips tugging up at the corners. He can't help but chuckle a little more when he hears the words that leave your mouth in Mandarin, his mind taking a few moments to register the nickname he's grown to like.  

"Yah, don't just call me that without warning," he says, voice slightly muffled as he continues to focus on the road. "My heart can only handle so much."  

You finally glance over at him. The blush still lingers, but there's a bit of a mischievous glint in your eyes now. "Should I warn you, then, if I'm about to use it?" you say sweetly, sticking to his mother tongue for the sake of seeing how far you can go with it. "Should I only save it for special occasions?"

"Yes," he manages to hiss out after a beat, a small scowl on his face when he realizes that you're taking advantage of his weakness. "I'd much prefer you to warn me in advance. And only use it on occasions that actually count."

"I'm about to use it," you warn instantly, leaning slightly forward to turn down the radio. There had been some other group's song playing, filling the car with the sweet, lilting sounds of a ballad.  

"This occasion counts, xīngān," you sing-song. "Every moment with you counts."  

At your obvious mockery, Minghao's scowl only deepens, not that he really minds. Your sweet words have his heart thudding loudly in his chest in spite of his protests.  

"Stop being so cheesy. You're only saying this because you know that I like it, aren't you?"  

"I'm saying it because I like it," you answer. "It suits you. I'm about to use it again."  

You pause for a beat. "Darling," you say, this time cycling between English, Korean, and Mandarin. "Yeobo. Xīngān."  

This time, Minghao can't help but chuckle. He's definitely going to be having a good time tonight.  

"Are you going to spend the rest of the night calling me that?" he questions, finally having to pause at a red light. He turns to look at you for a few moments. "Just so I know what to expect."  

"Do you want me to?" you ask right back, your eyebrows raised slightly.  

"If you did," he starts, the words coming out before he even fully registers them, "I wouldn't stop you."  

The light turns green. The cars in front of you move forward a bit, and that means that you have to as well. The moment passes ever so slightly as Minghao is forced to lurch forward, to turn the corner that will finally have you at the barbecue place you'd recommended.  

You look ahead, away, the smile on your face widening just a bit. And because he said he wouldn't mind, because he'd given you something akin to a go-ahead—  

"Alright, xīngān," you say softly.  

The term of affection in your voice has Minghao's heartbeat rising, the nickname ringing in his ears, filling his chest with a sort of sweetness at the sound of it. It was like music to his ears, he thinks, the way you say it, the way it sounds.  

Once again, he can't help the smile that finds a place on his face, though he hides it by turning away to concentrate on the road ahead, trying to focus on it instead of the way his heart just won't stop racing in his chest.

The meal is comfortable. You talk about everything and nothing; you take turns cooking the meat. If sometimes you fall silent, neither of you feel the need to fill that quiet. You're so assured in each other's presence that we're fine to just be.

It's easy, with you— easy to relax in a way that he sometimes can't with others. He feels comfortable with you, safe around you, and he doesn't really have to think about what words he uses or the right thing to say.

You make it easy for him. And he's grateful for it.

As the night continues, though, the light conversation seems to eventually die down. Not that it bothers him; no, as Minghao has said before, the two of you do well with silence.

In the quiet that now surrounds the two of you, though, his mind begins to wander. A thought that has been in the back of his mind since earlier that night resurfaces again.

"Xīngān," he begins tentatively, his eyes still on the grill in front of him as if staring at it is supposed to give him some strength. Once again, he finds himself turning to Mandarin for the question, the words feeling like home on his tongue.

It feels, somehow, more fitting to ask you this question in the language that's his, one that he's comfortable and practiced in. "Do you believe in fate?"

Mìngyùn. Fate. Your mouth soundlessly tries out the word, the two syllables lolling on your tongue.  

"Like— the red thread of fate," you say, just a little dumbly, as you contemplate Minghao's question. You don't even notice the way you've switched over to Mandarin to match his pace. "Like that kind of fate? Or something else?"  

He takes a beat before he answers, trying to figure out how to word his question, how to express what he means in a way that makes sense, even to himself. "I mean that kind of fate," he clarifies. "Like, soulmates."  

"Do you?" you ask suddenly, throwing the query back to him.  

"I do."  

"What version of the red string of fate do you believe in?"  

He hesitates when you ask him the question, not quite sure how to explain the kind of fate he believes in. "I believe in things that are inevitable."  

"I mean— I believe in things that are destined," he continues, trying to elaborate. "I believe the people— the ones who are supposed to be together— will always find each other, in a way, no matter what happens. No matter how much time passes, or what obstacles there are between them."  

The way the corner of your mouth twitches when he says the word inevitable sets something ablaze inside him. 

He knows the look you're giving him is just one of interest, not a look of affection, but to him, it feels like a look of affection.  

Your lips twist into a slightly rueful smile as you take a moment to flip the meat on the grill, trying to keep it from burning. It's your turn to keep your gaze evasive as you answer. 

"I'm not sure if I believe in fate," you say, your Mandarin deliberately careful and slow. "Or soulmates. Not in the way that you do, at least."  

The words strike a painful sort of ache in his chest and Minghao finds himself having to bite down on the inside of his lip, trying to quell the way his heart seems to clench at the confession.  

This time, you slide into Korean, desperate to get your point across in the language that you know, in the tongue where you won’t be misconstrued. "I want to. I want to believe that soulmates exist— that there's someone out there for all of us," you say with a little more firmness, the change in speech giving you some more conviction.

"But I think that if soulmates do exist, they're not found; they're made." You pause to bring your gaze back up to Minghao. "People meet, they get a good feeling, and they get to work building a relationship. And that will lead to the inevitable."  

He's not quite sure why it feels like a loss, somehow, to no longer be speaking in Mandarin, and it makes his fingers itch for something to do. There's a moment where Minghao has to process the words you say, the way you express yourself so firmly and deliberately, as if you've given this some thought. Slowly, he gives a nod. "Like working in a relationship. Like making it work."  

"Like making it work," you concede.  

You gently place the last pieces of meat on Minghao's plate. "The concept of the red string of fate has always scared me," you admit, your mouth twitching upward in a slightly wistful smile. "What if the person on the other end follows the string only to realize they don't like what they find?"  

Minghao's gaze drifts down to the plate of food you've assembled for him, a gesture that feels oddly domestic, somehow, to have someone prepare a plate for him, and his heart gives a warm, affectionate little squeeze. 

He looks back up when you speak, his face a carefully stoic mask in spite of the way his heart is giving a painful thud, thud, thud inside his chest.  

"I think..." he begins slowly, his eyes still on you, the words leaving his lips careful and deliberate, as if he's trying to pick them out slowly from a tangled mess in his mind.

There's an intensity to his gaze, a gravity that's hard to miss. "I think even if the person on the other end of the string doesn't like what they find, it's what they're supposed to have. It's what they're destined for."  

"Ah. Destiny."  

Minghao had stuck with Mandarin; you say it in Korean. The two words— mìngyùn, unmyeong— are the two faces of the same coin.  

"And who do you think I'm destined for, xīngān?" you ask with just the right amount of teasing, making it a point to still refer to Minghao with the Mandarin term of ‘darling’ despite speaking the rest of the question in Korean.  

It's supposed to be nothing more than a good-natured joke, but Minghao feels the sudden urge to be honest.

He knows it's a joke, he knows it's meant to be a lighthearted question, but something in the back of his head, something sharp and cruel, his traitorous, selfish heart keeps repeating the question back to him: Who do you think I'm destined for? 

The thought that you'd be destined for anyone but him makes him feel like there's something lodged in his throat, something painful and sharp, and he wants to reach out and grab you, hold you, pull you tight against him and just never let go.

But instead he just looks at you and he forces the corners of his lips to tug up into a smile. "You're destined for someone wonderful," he says in his soft Mandarin, his trademark sincerity.

It's a non-answer; a cop-out, a way to avoid confessing things he shouldn't, but it's the best he can manage at this moment, when I wish it was me is screaming so loud in his head, it's all he can hear.

You smile softly.

Minghao had told the truth. You are destined for someone wonderful. 

He just wishes he could have been more specific. 

The next time he sees you is ahead of the boys’ Japanese showcase. Minghao had been lagging behind in the airport; he'd managed to get a few moments of shut eye on the plane, but it did little to stave off the exhaustion he still felt.

He walks a few steps behind Seungcheol, his eyes flitting idly through the crowd, until they land on you, walking slightly ahead.

You were already moving efficiently, keeping your gaze straight as you walked next to Seungcheol, your eyes focused and unflinching even as the press and fans yelled out at you.

Minghao's eyes don't leave your figure, following you and Seungcheol as you navigate the throngs of airport patrons with practiced ease. He's almost unsettled by how effortless you seemed— walking through the crowd as if it were nothing more than a casual stroll through the park, your expression set and unwavering as you translate for Seungcheol in a low, firm tone.

Once you finally get past the front doors of the airport, there's a lull as the boys all pile into a twelve-seater van. You stay by the door, finally stealing seconds to see each of them as they pass by you.  

Vernon dips his head in a nod. Mingyu throws you an exaggerated wink. Jun mouths 'hello' to you in Japanese. 

And then it's Minghao's turn to get in the van, to pass by you. There's not much either of you can do or say yet, considering the fact that there are still fans and press scrutinizing your every move, but he still has this. A moment of acknowledgment, however he deems fit.  

Minghao's mouth tugs up at one corner as he sees you smile at him, the sight immediately making something warm bloom in his chest.  

He can't help the subtle, almost instinctual reaction as he stops ever so slightly in passing you. He wants to say something, but words elude him.  

Instead, his hand just grazes against your wrist— the merest press of his fingers against the bare skin of your arm. It's a tiny gesture, but one that speaks volumes.

For the rest of the car ride to the hotel, Minghao struggles.

He's stuck in a car full of members, all exhausted from the flight, all loud and noisy and rowdy, and the van feels suddenly stifling. He spends most of the time looking out the window, trying to focus on whatever he sees.

Anything to distract himself from thoughts of you and the ghost of your soft, warm skin under his fingers.

The next time you're slated to see the group is in the dressing room before their showcase. It's hours later. Hours you spend translating, liaising, transcribing. The dressing room is as lively as ever, most of the members having already changed into their stage outfits. Several of them are sitting around, idly eating snacks or watching videos.  

You carefully push open the door. "Hey," you greet, and you're met with the instant chorus of thirteen boys welcoming you.  

Seungkwan excitedly calls out, "Hey, hey, hey!"  

Joshua gives you a warm smile. Chan waves exaggeratedly.  

You let out a huff of laughter, already acutely familiar with the boys' habits. "Just wanted to check in on everyone before the showcase," you say as you lean against the doorframe.

Minghao is sitting on a couch in the corner of the room, his eyes on you as you say your reason for coming to see them. 

"We're all good here," Jeonghan answers, one hand propping his chin up. "You look like you could use a sit, though."

Your laugh is just a little strained, your smile a touch forced. But your façade stays intact, even as you shake your head. "I've still got some preparations to do," you say lightly, and then you shift gears before anyone can press. "How was the flight?"

"It was fine," Seokmin pipes up. "You know, nothing out of the usual. We were well-behaved."

"Well-behaved," Wonwoo echoes from the couch. "If by well-behaved, you mean Soonyoung and Vernon got extremely handsy in the plane."

"Hey," Vernon protests, whipping his head around to look at Wonwoo, "don't say it like that!"

On the couch, Jihoon lets out an amused snort, shaking his head in fond, exasperated disbelief. "No, no, please," he encourages, his voice laced with sarcasm, "tell everyone how you two almost got us yelled at by the stewards because you were roughhousing over some food."

Soonyoung pouts, his expression instantly adopting a look of exaggerated innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about," he insists. "I was a perfect angel."

While the other boys are all busy ribbing on Vernon and Soonyoung, Minghao makes his way over to where you're standing against the doorframe.

He stops when he's standing next to you, and the corner of his mouth tugs up into an amused smile as he takes in your distant, almost out of it expression. When he speaks, his voice is soft enough for you to hear but low enough that the others can't, barely more than a whisper. 

"You look tired."

You give him a sheepish smile as you pat out invisible wrinkles on your linen blazer. "Hao," you greet quietly, still a bit hesitant to use xīngān in front of his members.

Your gaze flickers briefly to the rest of the room before you switch to Mandarin, a clear indication that you want your next words to be for Minghao and Minghao alone.  

"I am tired," you admit in his native tongue. "But it's nothing crazy. Just the usual exhaustion."  

"You always work too hard," he responds, matching your switch to Mandarin. His gaze sweeps over your form, taking in the weary lines of your frame, the subtle stiffness in your stance. "You look like you'll fall over any second."  

You roll your shoulders a bit, unconsciously leaning closer toward him. "It's my back, still," you confess. "Making things a little harder than usual. I really will get it checked when we're back in Korea."  

A concerned frown tugs at the corners of Minghao's mouth when he hears you say it's your back, his eyes sweeping over your frame once again. "How long has it been bothering you?" he asks, his gaze sweeping over you.  

He tries not to seem too obvious about it, but he steps a little bit closer, shifting a fraction of an inch closer in case you do fall over. His arm brushes up against yours, the contact between the two of you almost imperceptible.  

"This morning," you say with a rueful smile, your hand reaching behind to massage the small of your back from over your layers of clothing. "The plane was a bit cramped."  

Minghao's eyes narrow a fraction of an inch when he hears the reason, one of his eyebrows lifting slightly in a mixture of surprise and annoyance. "I told you to get it checked before the flight," he says.  

You give Minghao a look that's mildly exasperated and wholly exhausted. "I'm already booked to see a physician once this trip is over," you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest as you look up at Minghao.  

"You always say that," Minghao responds, the hint of annoyance in his voice a clear indication of just how frustrated he is. "It's clearly bothering you every day. If you just took some time off, maybe even just a week, maybe you'd—"  

"Minghao."

The quiet, stern way you say his name— just his name; not Hao, not xīngān— cuts right through his frustrated tirade. A flicker of surprise passes across Minghao's features, the almost snap in your tone shutting him up.

"I'm going to go," you inform him stiffly, slipping back into Korean and away from the language you reserved for each other. "We need to prepare for the showcase."

His jaw clenches, a muscle in his cheek twitching as he tries to keep his mouth shut for once, biting back the words he wants to say, the protests that are so close to leaving his lips. He lets out another huff of air, forcing his expression to stay neutral. 

"Yeah," he replies in the same language, the one word filled with annoyance. "See you."

When the showcase rolls around, you maintain a backstage presence. Your role, as always, entails that you pay complete attention to the boys as they speak. Whenever they address the crowd as a whole, you translate their Korean into Japanese.

For some reason, hearing the familiar sound of your voice coming out of the speakers, the smoothness of your Japanese, still feels somewhat calming to Minghao. In the chaos of lights and loud music, hearing the rhythm of your words through the speakers makes it feel like, at least for the moment, you're still right there beside him.

When the songs pass and the showcase ends, the members are all still riding the high of the excitement of their performance, the energy of their fans still buzzing in the atmosphere.

They all make their way backstage, the hum of their conversations filling the air, a sense of excitement and satisfaction, each and every one of them energized. Minghao, once again, makes his way over to where you're standing, his eyes on you, his expression almost intense.

You don't immediately notice Minghao approaching because a staff member is talking to you in rapid Japanese about some interviews you need to coordinate, need to play the role of interpreter for. You're trying to bargain for a moment's break, but it's a losing battle.

The staff then suddenly folds into a bow, and only then do you realize that Minghao had come up to you. You dip your head in an equally respectful bow of acknowledgement.

In Japanese, you tiredly assure the staff member you'll be there for the press circus; she leaves Minghao and you alone at your reassurance. You flash Minghao a weary smile, slipping, this time, into Korean. "Good job with the showcase," you say benevolently. "You did well."

He can't help the subtle frown that forms on his face, the way his eyebrows furrow in concern. The fact that you're once again hiding behind that professional exterior of yours, the friendly, polite smile you're shooting him, does nothing to soothe his frustration.

"Thanks," he mutters, his tone somewhat clipped.

He hesitates for a moment, his gaze sweeping over you. "Hey," he eventually says. "Come with me for a second."

You cast a glance around backstage. The boys are all off doing their own things— chugging water, ribbing each other, taking photos. In a gaggle of thirteen, it's easy to fly under the radar at any given time.

"You have a magazine interview in fifteen minutes," you tell Minghao, clueing him in on the conversation you had with staff just moments prior. "We can't really go anywhere—"

"I know," Minghao responds, his tone perhaps a little sharper than he'd meant it to be, frustration getting the better of him.

He takes a quick glance around the backstage area, confirming that the others are all occupied enough that they won't notice, before his gaze lands back on you. "We won't be long," he assures you, already grabbing your wrist.

His grasp on your wrist is firm, his hand strong and his fingers wrapping around the limb easily, pulling you along with him, with no room for any protest. He doesn't break his pace until he's found a small, secluded bathroom, pulling you inside and shutting the door behind the two of you before anyone could notice.

"Minghao," you hiss under your breath, still obviously pissed in the way you forgo both his nickname and pet name. "You can't just drag me off when we have work."  

Even in his already frustrated state, Minghao finds himself momentarily distracted by your pissed off tone, and the use of his name without a nickname or pet name. He likes you calling him by some form of a cute or affectionate moniker far more than just plain, unadorned Minghao.  

"We still have a couple more minutes," he retorts, mirroring your tone even as his hand slides down to lace your fingers together.  

His eyes are heavy on you, his expression intense even as he takes an unabashed, close-up look at your face, studying the weariness in your expression, and the strain that's clearly weighing down on you.  

He makes a move to reach down, his gaze on your cheek, to brush away a strand of stray, loose hair. His heart lurches when he sees the way your expression softens subtly, even when you're still trying to be mad at him. The way you immediately intertwine your fingers in his— God.  

"We look very suspicious right now," you say dryly, your free hand gesturing vaguely to the fact that Minghao practically has you pinned against the bathroom wall. "Is this what you pulled me away for?"  

"We'll make it quick," he manages to reply, sounding slightly hoarse, before closing the already-minimal distance between the two of you, one arm snaking around your waist.  

"We shouldn't—" you protest weakly, because there's just some things you can't explain away. Like how Minghao and you might be caught hugging in this bathroom when you were colleagues at worst, good friends at best. "We're going to get in trouble."  

"We won't," he responds, his tone firm, stubborn.  

His other hand comes up to rest at the back of your head, pulling you in even closer, burying your face in his chest, the other arm still looped firmly around your waist. He lets out a sharp exhale of air, the frustration and tension of the moment melting into something akin to relief. 

"Just—" he mumbles, his breath hot in your ear. "Let me hold you. Just a little— for a second."  

A small flicker of relief fills his chest when he feels the tension ease as a result of his embrace, the way you lean against him, almost as if you're allowing yourself just to relax. To melt against his body the way you almost never did in public.  

When you mumble Mandarin against his chest, your words are slightly muffled. "I'm sorry about earlier," you whisper. "I was really stressed."  

"I know," he responds, just as quietly. "I'm sorry too."  

This was how it was with the two of you— the quick-tempered arguments, the stubborn disagreements, and then the inevitable apologies that always followed. Minghao knew he was stubborn, maybe even a little irritable, and he would admit that he could've handled his response better.

But, for some reason— in the moment, at least— all of that tension that had been between the two of you in that moment just evaporated in the embrace. "You're working yourself to the bone," he mutters quietly, into your collarbone.

He knows how hard you work, in general, but it's become increasingly worse as of late. The endless translation, the interviews, the subtitles and scripts. It all seemed to be getting too much, even for you.

"I know it's not my place to tell you this but—" he continues, his voice becoming even more hoarse and heavy in worry. "You need to take better care of yourself. You can't just keep pushing yourself like this. Not like you've been doing. You're going to burn out at this rate."

It's just the way the two of you were— you, the overworked, over-stressed, and over-tired, and him, almost constantly worried about your general well-being, worried about you working yourself to actual exhaustion.

The moment you gently run your fingers through his hair, he instantly melts against you even more, practically nuzzling against your shoulder.

"You do have some right to tell me this. We're friends," you sigh, tilting your head to press your lips to the side of Minghao's temple. "And you're right— I'll look into taking a medical leave for a bit, once we get back home."  

"Good," he responds, his voice quiet but firm. "You need a break. And I—" he pauses, hesitating.  

He doesn't like seeing you like that, he wants to say. He doesn't like seeing you so tired and so stressed every day. He doesn't like how you barely have any time together anymore. He doesn't like seeing you overexert yourself so much.  

He stops himself from saying it out loud, instead letting out a soft huff before continuing. "I really worry about you, you know?" he mutters against your shoulder.  

"I know, xīngān," you respond, slipping into Mandarin in a bid to comfort Minghao a little more. A beat. And then, ever so quietly: "I worry about you, too."  

You slide your hand up and down his back. "We're both fools," you whisper with a slight huff of laughter.  

"Yeah," he agrees with an exhale of a laugh at your last words. "We are both fools."  

But we're fools for each other, his mind unhelpfully reminds him as he dares to hold you for just a moment more.

He just has to go and mess it all up by insisting, "I wish you’d let people take care of you."

People, meaning him. He had meant to say I wish you’d let me take care of you, but instead something entirely else came out. He knows he ought to back down the moment he feels you tense under his grasp, but Minghao was nothing if not adamant.

"I don’t need to be taken care of," you persist. 

Minghao huffs into your hair. "That’s bullshit and you know it."

"Hao—"

"It’s not a sign of weakness—"

"You keep treating me like—"

"I’m not—"

"Minghao!"

You’ve all but pulled away now, your earlier softness replaced with a new kind of tension. It’s not the same tiredness from being overworked; no, it’s the frustration of the two of you trying to speak over each other. The push and pull of your words. Your mutual inability to communicate just what you mean. 

Minghao’s fingers ball into fists at his sides to hide his almost trembling hands. It’s all he can do to keep himself from reaching back out for you.     

"I'll go ahead," you whisper decisively, your gaze fixed on the door. "I'll see you at the magazine interview."

An almost visceral, physical pain shoots through Minghao's chest at the mention of you leaving. His mind screams no, don't leave, don't go. But he swallows down his own irrational, impulsive desires, his own selfish longing for you.

"I— yeah," Minghao responds slowly. "I'll meet you there."

He watches silently, almost helplessly, as you make a beeline for the door.

The interview is with NYLON JAPAN. You interpret and translate for both the interviewer and the boys, once again acting as an off-camera presence— an intent, constant figure quietly relaying questions and answers.  

There's some benefit in SEVENTEEN being thirteen members strong. That way, Minghao is in the second row, some distance away from you. If you avoid his gaze, it almost feels negligible.

For the duration of the interview, Minghao can hardly concentrate on the questions and answers being traded between the members and the interviewer. His focus is firmly drawn towards you.  

He can't help but glance in your direction every so often. Every time your gaze accidentally meets his, it's like a jolt of electricity straight to his chest, his stomach clenching at the painful realization of how close you are and how far away you feel.

When the interviewer begins to ask member-specific questions, you do your job as well as you always do. The first two are for Seungcheol, then Chan. And then, of course, there it is.

You nod a bit as the interviewer poses his question. "Jun and Minghao," you translate, your voice wavering imperceptibly on the second name. "You two are the members that have given up a life in your home country in exchange for being an idol. How are you able to cope with that?"

As you translate Jun’s answer to the interviewer, Minghao can hardly focus on the actual words he's saying. He’s only half-listening as he watches the subtle flutter of your eyelashes, the slight parting of your lips, the crinkle in your forehead as you concentrate hard on getting the Japanese translation perfect.

His chest feels tight, like there's a band wrapped around his entire body, constricting his airflow.

When your gaze finally moves back to him, locking eyes with his own, a rush of breath leaves his lungs, his heart jumping in his throat. The look in your eyes, the distance between the two of you— it’s nothing short of exaggerated.

For a brief moment, he's not answering a question for a Japanese magazine interview. He's answering a question for you. 

"It's hard," Minghao answers, his voice quiet and low, somewhat hoarse. "It’s really hard and lonely sometimes."

Every word that leaves his lips feels like a struggle to get out, like they're getting stuck in his throat, choking him.

"But I have the members, and we have the fans," he continues, a quiet yearning in his eyes. "And so it’s bearable," he says, despite the pit still present in his stomach, despite the ache of needing more.

He keeps his gaze focused on you, letting every word he says hold a meaning beyond the answer to the interviewer’s question— as if he’s answering for you and not the interviewer. But he has to keep his words vague, just in case those damned cameras picked up on his words and the way he looks at you.

"It's bearable," he repeats, swallowing hard, letting his eyes convey what he really means, even if his words can’t. You make it bearable.

There are some things that don't need to be translated. The pinched look on Minghao's face. The way he's openly staring at you. The subtle shift among the members— all of whom seem to pick up on something Minghao isn’t saying.

"Is that all?" you ask Minghao in Korean, your voice steady as ever despite the flicker of emotion in your gaze.

That aching, yearning expression is still present on his face as he responds. 

"Yeah," he says. "That’s all."

Minghao's phone is tucked under his pillow, the device set to vibrate.

He jolts awake the moment it begins to buzz, a habit he had grown after years of being under the spotlight and on the road. His hand flies out to grab the phone.

His eyes bleary, he blinks a few times to clear his vision. A slight smile involuntarily tugs at his lip when he sees your message, his eyes skimming over the contents of it several times.

i'm sorry about today. (yesterday, technically?) i hope you're resting right now. ily.

"Idiot," he murmurs quietly to himself.

You don't have anything to apologize for, he replies quickly. It's not your fault. I'm the one who should be sorry. I should've been more patient with you.

How are you? Are you okay?

i'm ok. fell asleep on the couch and woke up suddenly. but did i wake you? it's so late. you should be asleep.

A quiet sigh leaves Minghao's lips as he reads your response, a part of him feeling a pang of guilt, as if knowing he was the reason you were awake right now.

You did wake me. But don't worry. I'm glad you texted me. Can you call me?

A beat. 

let me just step out onto my balcony so i don't wake my roommates.

The image of you carefully sneaking out onto the balcony to talk, just so you wouldn't wake your roommates, briefly flashes through Minghao's mind. It reminds him of his own sleeping roommates a mere few feet away from him.

He sighs softly, quietly pulling himself out of bed, careful to not disturb Mingyu and Jun as he quietly makes his way out into the balcony from the door to his left.

The air is cold and the night sky is clear. Those are the two of the three things Minghao registers when he steps out on the balcony of his hotel room. The third thing comes after you call him and there’s a slightly amused edge to your tone as you say, "Look to your right, xīngān."

He turns to look to his right just as you asked, his eyes searching the balcony area in the distance. He can't quite make out any details on your figure in the low lighting, but when his eyes finally land on you, his heart skips a beat all the same.

"Found you," he murmurs.

"I didn’t mean to wake you," you say softly. "We could have talked in the morning, you know."

"I know," Minghao responds. He leans against the railing of his own balcony, the metal cold to the touch, his eyes fixed on you. He's sure you can't see him clearly, but it doesn’t matter at this moment.  

He was looking at you, and that was enough.

"I wanted to talk to you," he says simply, the words said without a trace of shame, just quiet honesty.

"What did you want to talk about?" you ask, giving him the liberty to set the pace for tonight, to pick and choose his battles.

There are a lot of things Minghao could say right now, a lot of things he wants to say. But instead, he settles for, "How are you?"

"Better now," you say simply, your gaze still fixed on Minghao in the distance. And it's the truth, even if the second half of your answer goes unspoken. Better now, that you're talking to him.

He stands there silently, still watching you from a distance. Despite his earlier confidence in talking to you, he's suddenly feeling uncharacteristically timid. Tongue-tied, almost, with his words caught in his throat. He can’t bring himself to speak for a moment, a part of him still feeling guilty about earlier.

He swallows the tightness in his throat, taking a deep breath, before finally forcing the words out. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. "For what happened in the bathroom."

Perhaps it's the years you’ve known each other, the herculean task you’ve both faced. But Minghao and you know better than anyone that things were so easily lost in translation, that there’s only so many emotions that can be grasped in all the languages of the world.

"We just have to get better at using our words, I guess," you sigh. 

Something in his chest settles at your response— at the understanding in it, at the fact that you don't hate him. The knowledge washes over him like a sudden warmth, the guilt he'd felt earlier slowly evaporating with each passing moment.

"We do," he replies quietly.

There's a comfort, still, in being just a couple of balconies away. How you can make out each other's vague silhouettes in the late evening of this foreign country.

It feels like you're standing on the precipice of something, of possibility.  

But instead of confronting it, you opt to dance the line a little longer. Your eyes are still trained on the sky as you slip into Mandarin.  

"The stars out here are so clear, xīngān," you muse thoughtfully. "It's beautiful, don't you think?"

The change in language registers quietly in Minghao's mind, his brain taking a second to get used to it after speaking in Korean and stilted Japanese most of the day.  

He looks up at the night sky for a moment in quiet contemplation, taking in the beauty of the stars as you'd described them, before turning his gaze back to the shadowed outline of your figure in the distance.  

Something about the sight, about you, makes his heart ache a little bit. Beautiful, you had said about the stars, but he’s not looking at them. 

He responds softly, longingly, in Mandarin, his voice almost a whisper in the night air. "It really is."

The next day, you both get on separate flights back to Seoul. As Minghao had poked and prodded you to do, you finally take the medical leave from work— a one-week block, which was the longest you’d ever gone away from PLEDIS since you first started nine years ago.

Roughly three days into your break, Minghao is in dance practice when he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. He frowns when he glances at the screen and sees your name. 

can i call? 

The sight of the message, so unlike your usual lighthearted air, makes his heart drop instantly in his chest. There's no text-speak, no cutesy words, no emoji— just a simple question. He drops whatever he's doing, ignoring the questioning stares from the members as he steps out into the hallway and quickly dials your number without a second thought.

"Xīngān," he greets you, a little breathless from the rush he'd felt upon seeing your message. There's a hint of concern in his voice as his heart races in his chest, his mind whirling with thoughts. 

He doesn't even bother with pleasantries or small talk, diving straight into the issue at hand. "Is everything alright? What's wrong?"

Much to Minghao's chagrin, you bother with pleasantries. "Hey," you say back in Mandarin when he greets you. For a moment, you hesitate; like you're not quite sure which language you want to speak to Minghao in.  

"I'm sorry," you say in Korean. "Did I bother you?"  

Minghao shakes his head even if you can't see him. He's silent for a moment, mulling over his words before replying, "No. Never. You didn't bother me, xīngān."  

The words are uttered quietly, his voice soft and gentle, as if he's afraid that the volume of his own voice might somehow scare you away.  

"I finally visited a doctor for my back," you say, finally. "It's a herniated disc, and I'm being slotted in for a surgery in two days."  

His heart drops into his chest at your admission, the words feeling like a sudden weight upon him. Herniated disc.  

The words feel like a sudden strike to his heart, his mind racing with questions and concerns. "A herniated... disc," he repeats, his voice a little breathless, a little shocked, as he quickly tries to process what he'd just heard.  

He doesn't realize he's switched to Mandarin, his own words spoken in a rush. "How bad is it? What are the doctors saying?"  

You stubbornly stick to Korean, likely because it's easier to accurately relay your medical results in the same language you'd received them in. "It's not bad," you say firmly. "The operation is an open discectomy on my lower back. It will take at most an hour, and I'll only need to stay in the hospital for up to three days."  

There's a flicker of irritation in Minghao's eyes at your insistence to continue speaking in your language, frustrated at the lack of comprehension and understanding it brought. He wants to protest, to argue, to tell you to just use Mandarin— but it disappears when he hears your firm voice, when he realizes what it is you're telling him.  

An hour-long operation. Three days in the hospital. It didn't sound bad, per se, and logically, he knew that you would probably be fine. It still didn't make him worry any less.  

"What are the risks?" Minghao asks after a moment.  

Normally, he would have just looked up whatever answers he wanted, searching it up in medical databases and online articles. But, for some reason, he's suddenly terrified to hear anything other than the sound of your voice— your words, reassuring him that everything will be okay.  

"No change to the back pains," you rattle off. "A five to fifteen percent chance of a revision discectomy if the herniated disc returns. A lower chance of an unstable spine. It's— they're truly not bad risks, Hao."  

"Five to fifteen perc— no, that's not a 'truly not bad risk'," Minghao counters immediately, his voice sharp and frustrated, as if scolding a child that was being too nonchalant.  

"You— it's surgery, xīngān—" he continues in Mandarin, his tone almost pleading. "Five to fifteen percent chance— it— what if something goes wrong?"  

He feels a little bit frustrated at his sudden loss for words in both languages, as if his own limited vocabulary couldn’t express the rush of emotions that had suddenly overwhelmed him.  

"Hey," you say softly into the receiver, this time switching over to Mandarin. Because it had always been more soothing to him, more familiar in the sense that mattered. "Take a moment and breathe for me, xīngān."

There's a sense of calm that washes over him as he finally hears the change in language. He takes a deep, shuddering inhale, followed by a slow exhale, his eyes squeezed shut as he mentally counts down seconds.

Slowly, the panic, the fear he'd felt gradually starts to subside, leaving his heart and breath steadier— but not completely unbothered.

After a moment, you go on in Mandarin, calm and measured. "It's a surgery with a high success rate of sixty to ninety percent," you maintain. "I need it to address the persistent back pains, xīngān. If I don't do it now, the pain will only get worse and more of my spine could be affected."  

You pause, letting the words sink in. "These doctors are good," you go on. "They do their job well."  

Minghao takes several more slow, steady breaths as he listens, the sound of your voice alone calming him down, helping him keep his mind clear and focused. He knows you're speaking to him in Mandarin because it's easier to communicate with him this way, but he can't help but notice the subtle firmness, the reassurance in your tone.  

The statistics, the numbers, the facts— they're hard to deny, and as he takes another shaky inhale and exhale, he realizes that you're right. "Sixty to ninety percent success rate," he repeats to himself, his voice a soft murmur.  

"Sixty to ninety percent," you reaffirm. Then, in a more shy tone, you add, "I'm sorry for springing this on you. I— I just didn't know who else to call."  

He notices it then, the meekness in your words, the small hint of vulnerability in your voice. Any remaining anxiety he felt from the situation suddenly dissolves with the realization that you needed this.  

You had called him because you’d needed to hear a familiar, comforting voice, a sense of reassurance after what you'd just confessed. He swallows back his fears, his worries, any thoughts about the risk and that lingering, unpleasant feeling in his chest, because you needed him to be calm, to be steadfast.  

"Don't... Don't apologize, xīngān," he says almost immediately after. He swallows again before continuing, mentally berating himself for letting his anxiety and irrational fears take over his brain. "No, don't— I'm glad you called. I'll always pick up the phone."  

"Are you free tomorrow?" you ask tentatively. "We could grab a meal before I have to check into the hospital."  

As he hears the question, his mind immediately begins to run through his schedule for the next day.  

He knows what he should do. He knows what the logical part of his brain, the part that's in control of his rationality, is supposed to do. But when he thinks of you— of you, in the hospital, waiting to undergo a surgery (it's safe, it's a safe surgery, he chants in his brain) alone, without him—  

"I'll clear my schedule," he tells you.  

"No, you don't have to," you say quickly, falling back on Korean in an attempt to express your haste. "It's okay. We can just meet once the operation is over—"  

"I'm clearing my schedule,” he repeats, his voice firm, final. “I’m going to be there. We’re eating before the surgery, and I’m going to be at the hospital with you afterwards. I’m not letting you go to the hospital alone."  

A beat. While there are things that Minghao and you have yet to clear about the nature of your friendship, one thing stands true regardless of label.

"You're too good to me, Xu Minghao," you say softly, shifting to his mother tongue for the sake of sentiment. 

He lets the sound of your voice, the familiar language, wash over him. As it does, it soothes the anxiety that still gnaws at the corners of his mind.

"It’s…” he begins quietly, a small, almost sheepish smile forming on his lips, “not really…”

There’s a moment of silence before he sighs softly, his expression growing more earnest as he continues. “Being good to you is the easy part.”

"And it’s xīngān, not Xu Minghao," he adds quickly, and he’s sure you can hear the pout in his voice. 

It draws a laugh out of you— one that's still quiet, but a lot more genuine. A moment of levity. A brightness that only Minghao could truly give you. The sound of your laughter, even over the phone, is enough to lift his spirits, his heart swelling in his chest in relief.

"Xīngān," you amend, and your voice is just a little too fond to be friendly. 

For a moment, Minghao can convince himself that all will be alright in the world again. 

The discectomy is relatively uneventful, which can only mean that it was good. There's no way of Minghao knowing this, of course, not as he spends the entire morning in a group meeting he can't really skip.

Regardless, all the members can tell that Minghao's heart isn't really in it. That he's physically at the PLEDIS building, sure, but his mind is on you— somewhere in an operating room, under anesthesia.

Seungcheol broaches the topic carefully. "Ah, it’s their surgery today, isn’t it?" the leader asks almost too casually, to no one in particular. There's a murmur of agreement across the table of thirteen boys. Some shifty, knowing glances at Minghao.

Minghao nods in response to Seungcheol's question, his expression still entirely too… anxious. "Yeah," he replies, keeping his voice as controlled as he possibly can, even as he feels his dread build up inside of him. "I'll be going to see them, after this."

It doesn't go amiss to anyone that Minghao doesn't even bother to extend the invite to anyone else. Jun is the only one who looks vaguely miffed about it, but they're all mostly understanding of how different Minghao felt with you compared to their own concern, their own affection.

Joshua offers the next best thing. 

"I was thinking we could chip in to send flowers," he says, and there's easy assent across the group. Minghao feels a small flicker of warmth in his chest at the thought of how you'd receive these messages of their care and concern.

As Vernon and Jeonghan debate what arrangement to send, Jun throws a glance at Minghao and almost smiles. Almost.

"What flowers did you get them?" Jun says in Mandarin, so no one else in the room can pick up how quickly the other Chinese man had clocked that Minghao was already three steps ahead.

Minghao glances over to his friend, his expression unreadable, as he answers in the same language. "Sunflowers," he replies, not missing a beat.

Jun can only smile faintly at Minghao's answers. "Sunflowers for your sunshine," Jun teases good-naturedly, still in the tongue that none of the other members will understand.

There's something about the way the Mandarin word for 'sunshine'— yángguāng— that sounds just so right. The Chinese term falls from the older man's lips like a blessing, a wish for good luck and health and goodness for all those involved. 

Minghao isn't sure if he'd imagined it, not exactly, but he sees the way Jun looks at him right after he says the word. For a split second, Minghao's chest tightens, his throat clenching up, because maybe Jun thinks his feelings for you are obvious.

Maybe Jun thinks he's been obvious all this time. In his head, Minghao had already been thinking it— yángguāng, sunshine, mine— And it's only now that he realizes that he was never the only one who saw it that way. That saw you and Minghao as something inevitable. 

He glances at Jun, eyes softening, filled with almost a wave of gratitude.

"Sunflowers for my sunshine," he repeats, hoping it will somehow manifest like a prophecy. 

You wake up after your operation with one less disc in your spine and one too many floral arrangements in your hospital room. As you blink against the vestiges of your anesthesia, you register the absurd, almost comical amount of flowers piled on the couch, and it doesn't take you more than a couple of seconds to realize it came from the boys.  

One of whom is dozing off in a chair next to you. You watch with mild amusement as Minghao's head dips in his restless slumber, his fingers still surprisingly firm around the bouquet of sunflowers in his lap. The affection you feel for him then threatens to overwhelm you.  

You manage to tamp it down in favor of gently prompting, "Minghao."  

Your voice is still hoarse, still a little rough around the edges. Not quite enough to rouse him from his sleep. After two or so more attempts, you go for what you know will wake him up.  

"Xīngān," you call out with no shortage of fondness.  

The sound of your voice jolts Minghao awake, and he opens his eyes in an instant. For a moment, his vision is still blurry, the world around him seeming almost vague, fuzzy with sleep, but then it snaps into focus when he sees you.

When he sees you awake, alive, and looking at him. His heart does somersaults in his chest.

"Yángguāng," he answers, his voice low, soft and affectionate, barely above a whisper.

"That's a new one," you say in Mandarin; your voice is still scratchy, but your amusement is not any less evident.    

He thinks he'll never get tired of watching that. Of watching your lips move that way. "You like it?" Minghao asks.  

He doesn't need an answer to his question, because he already knows that you do— but he can't help himself, needing the confirmation, needing to hear your answer. The thought of calling you 'sunshine' isn't a new one, but saying it out loud to you for the first time, when you're awake? It feels like a miracle.  

"I could live with it," you answer with a soft smile— even though both Minghao and you knew that you would now never be able to live without it.  

Minghao wants to laugh at the way you shrug his question off, at the way you seem so nonchalant, even as you give him that sweet, sweet smile that is so bright that it could rival the very sun itself.  

Because he knows the truth. He knows you're happy about it. He knows you love it. He can tell it in the way you're looking at him, in the way your eyes glitter with affection.  

"I'm glad," he answers, playing right into your charade because he knows every little trick in your book.  

And then, in a fit of bravery— one that he almost feels like applauding himself for— he leans in to press a kiss to your temple.  

When he pulls away, the bouquet of sunflowers still clutched in his hands, he's sure he can see it. The happiness in your eyes. The sheer, blinding affection in your smile.  

"Thank you," you whisper earnestly. Partly because your voice is still shot; partly because you don't trust yourself to speak any louder. "For coming to see me."  

He has to swallow hard to regain control of his emotions, because he is so terribly, terribly in love. He laughs under his breath because he's not sure what to do about his feelings anymore. Maybe it's best to just throw himself off the cliff and see what happens, right?  

"I'll always come see you," he answers, instead, making a promise for the future.  

He leans in again with that thought on his mind, and he presses another kiss to your temple, softer, longer, his lips lingering against your skin for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary.  

He pulls away to meet your gaze, and he almost feels like laughing at the way he can see his feelings reflecting in your eyes, shining in the pools of your irises. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you. How is he going to live with that?  

Minghao leans in again, but this time, he kisses the corner of your lips, right where your smile is.  

And it's astounding, really, just how terrible Minghao and you still are at this whole thing. Despite all the years between you, you still falter and stumble in getting your feelings across.  

There was always something. A job to do. A reputation to uphold. And now, a hospital bed, a recovery period.  

But, for once, you can only laugh breathlessly as Minghao gives you two more kisses, as you feel the upward curve of his lips against your face. Your heart stutters at the peck on the corner of your mouth; it's not quite what you both want, what you both need, but you'll take it. God, you'd take it.  

"Stop that," you try to chide in between your giggles. "Get off me, Hao—"

The sound of you laughing is like a revelation in Minghao's chest. As if a chord of tension that had been strung taut within him for so long had been cut.

He pulls back with a look of satisfaction on his face, that teasing grin playing on his lips as he does. "But why?" he asks in an absolutely, unbearably sweet tone, a tone that is laced with faux innocence, even though he knows why. You were recovering. You had to be careful.

A part of him is almost glad he hadn't kissed you properly. Because if he so much as feels the softness of your lips against his, he's not sure he'll be able to stop.

But God, does that make him want it even more— the fact that he can't, the fact that you're so close and still beyond his grasp. He forces himself to look elsewhere then and his gaze falls to the bouquet on his lap, to the flowers he'd brought you.

Sunflowers, because he doesn't think they make flowers that even compare to the brightness of your smile, or the way your eyes glitter when you laugh— at least, not flowers that make him think of you and you alone.

He holds the bouquet out to you. "Do you like them?" he can't help but laugh. He had chosen them and bought them for you, and yet, in true Minghao fashion, he finds himself still asking for your approval.

"I love them," you say easily, readily, already reaching out to take the arrangement from Minghao. 

Three sunflowers in full bloom, flanked by chamomile and irises and baby's-gypsophila. Your smile is bright and wide as you look down at it, as you hold it delicately. 

When you look back up at Minghao, there's that touch of amusement again. That tinge of disbelief that seems to wordlessly communicate, I can't believe you.  

"You didn't have to," you point out with a low chuckle, shifting slightly in your hospital bed as your fingers go imperceptibly tighter around his flowers. "But thank you."  

The sight of the smile on your face is enough to almost make him want to kiss you all over again.  

It's not the first time he'd given you an arrangement of flowers, but it's the first time it's made Minghao feel like he's just given you his heart, too.  

"No, I didn't," he agrees lightly, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the very tips of his fingers brushing against your soft skin. But I wanted to.

The boys all come to visit, one after the other. In small groups, in age order, until they have to be kicked out for being too noisy and potentially drawing too much attention to themselves. There are doctors, too, and nurses. All of whom are a little shell shocked at the idols just milling about in your hospital room, making themselves at home.  

Throughout it all, Minghao stays. His usual quiet, steadfast presence. He absorbs all the diagnoses; he tells off his members when they get overwhelming. And, when no one's looking, he'll squeeze your hand or press his fingers into your shoulder.  

As always, there are some things neither of you have to say out loud.  

He's more than happy to play the role of your protector, even as he continues to worry, even as he's filled with dread over the possibility of you not recovering fully and what that might mean.  

See, Minghao would never describe himself as a man of prayer. He doesn't go to temples nearly as often as he should, though he does go often, and he doesn't consider himself not spiritual.  

He finds himself praying anyway. To the universe and whatever is out there, begging for the chance that all of this would work out for you.  

But for now, at this moment, all Minghao can do is wait, and focus on the way your hand feels in his— a source of comfort in and of itself.  

That's how your mother finds you, actually, on the evening that she deigns to visit.  

Minghao is at your bedside, playing with your fingers, and the two of you are debating over something trivial— the merits of adapting dramas into other languages— with your heads bent together. It would've been negligibly friendly if it weren't for the obvious affection in your petty argument, the way you practically lean into each other's touch.  

That's why it takes a moment for either of you to register that a third person had entered your hospital room. You look up at the sound of a throat clearing, and you're just about to apologize when you register who the silver-haired woman by the entryway is.  

Your spine goes rigid; your eyes, imperceptibly wide. "Eomma," you choke out in a slightly strangled whisper.  

Minghao goes still the moment the word leaves your lips, and his mouth goes dry when he registers the figure at the door. He doesn't exactly know what kind of a relationship the two of you had, but Minghao can only hope, for the sake of politeness and respect, that she doesn't despise him.  

"Hello," he says weakly, his hand tightening almost protectively around yours in a silent gesture of support before he finally rises to greet her. He bows respectfully, clearing his throat to greet your mother appropriately.  

Your mother's scrutinizing gaze flickers over Minghao— everything from his polite bow to the way he had just been holding your hand, moments prior. When she speaks, it's in garbled Korean; there's a hint of a French accent, one that doesn't quite match her Seoul dialect.  

"There's no need for that," your mother tells Minghao, referring to his bow. She's aiming for kindness but comes off, still, as cold. It must come with the nature of her profession; you had once mentioned that your parents were diplomats.   

Minghao forces himself to stay calm and composed, even as the fear of how your mother may react to him sets in the pit of his stomach. He nods his head, but he doesn't quite dare to look her in the eye  

"I'm Xu Minghao, ma'am. I'm here to offer some company," Minghao tries to explain, though he's not sure he's doing the best job of it.  

There's a flicker of recognition on your mother's composed expression. The look of recognition in your mother's eyes puts Minghao slightly at ease, but that doesn't quite erase the nervous tension, the anxiety that thrums against the underside of his very skin.  

"Xu Minghao," she repeats, and you let out a groan when she sounds just a little amused despite her stoic demeanor.  

He waits, just about holding his breath as your mother comes further into the room, stopping in front of the two of you. Minghao shifts awkwardly in his spot, glancing over to you just about nervously, as if waiting for you to take charge of the situation.  

"Eomma," you repeat. This time your voice is a lot more level. You try to ignore the way Minghao seems absolutely scared shitless at your side. "When did you fly in?"  

There's a detached casualness to your mother's response, almost more like you're colleagues than family. "Just this morning," she says. "I'm staying at your grandparents’ for now."  

You dip your head into a nod. There's a pause.  

"Minghao is a member of SEVENTEEN," you say, sounding just slightly resigned at having to remind your mother.  

The older woman turns her gaze back to Minghao, her eyebrows raised slightly. "I'm aware," she says coolly, an edge of amusement in her tone. When she refers to you, she sticks to your full name instead of your nickname. "How is it working with my child, Minghao?"  

"They’re wonderful," Minghao answers without hesitation, his answer almost coming out a little too fast.  

He doesn't bother to temper it back, because that's how he feels— and because he believes that your mother needs to know how he feels about working with you, about being around you.  

"Kind," he adds after a moment of pause, looking back over to you, just about begging to be given permission to continue, to gush about you.  

You look straight back at Minghao, barely resisting the urge to vehemently shake your head. You know him. You know how he wants to say more, would probably talk hours and hours about your role as an interpreter if you gave him the green light.  

As you attempt to wordlessly communicate with him through your pointed glare, your mother watches the exchange with growing amusement. Then, just as you always have whenever you wanted to get Minghao talking more—  

"I would hope they were kind," your mother says, though she says the words in Mandarin.  

When your mother speaks in Mandarin, Minghao can't help the rush of gratitude that floods through him, because that only means one thing— that it was okay, that he was encouraged to say more. And so, he does, a small smile on his lips.  

"Kind, thoughtful, patient," he says softly, almost like a litany. "Always on top of things. Brilliant."  

There was something about talking about you in his own language that made everything come so much easier to Minghao. "They make us all look bad," he adds with a soft laugh, though there's a hint of truth behind the words. He means it.  

You made him want to be better to you, more worthy of you, and not just as a person, either. As a man, too.  

You stare up at Minghao, exasperated at how a simple change in language had suddenly gotten him so honest. "You shouldn't say all that—" you hiss at him.  

As you go on to tell off Minghao under your breath and he only looks down at you with that completely smitten expression, your mother puts two and two together. One doesn't have to be in the same room as the two of you for too long to recognize it.  

Ah, the older woman thinks to herself. They're in love with each other, and they don't even know it.  

The expression on Minghao's face as you scold him would be better described as that of a puppy who doesn't quite understand what he'd done wrong. His eyebrows furrow, and as you continue to hiss under your breath, he looks like he simply wants to reach out and pull you into a hug because he can't stand it when you fuss over him.  

But he settles for squeezing your fingers once more, his grip tightening, just enough to ground himself when you don't seem to relent in your quiet berating.  

After a moment, your mother clears her throat again. It's a habit of hers that immediately gets you to shut up.  

"I just wanted to drop by," she says vaguely, switching back to Korean. "But I really must get going. Duty calls."  

"Duty calls," you echo quietly, and your mother's gaze softens imperceptibly.  

"I'll be back later tonight," she reassures you. Her gaze flickers to Minghao for a moment before returning to you. "I trust that you'll be in good hands until then."  

"Eomma," you huff, and your mother looks like she almost might laugh.  

Minghao stays still as he watches you interact with your mother, as he watches her gaze flicker back and forth between the both of you. He can't help the slight smile on his face at the look in your mother's eyes, however, because it's almost like approval.  

She turns to Minghao, this time. Gives him a once-over. He's jolted when your mother suddenly speaks French. It's not anything Minghao will understand— just a brief sentence that is meant for you and you alone. It's almost impertinent; the words are anything but.

Your smile widens and you respond in the same language.  

Your mother gives Minghao a nod. "Goodbye, Minghao," she says in Korean as she takes her leave. "It was a pleasure to meet you."  

Minghao is left looking at you, still holding on to your hand. His eyes flicker down to your smile, a grin of his own blossoming on his lips. "What did you say to each other?" he asks, almost immediately pouting.  

He won't admit it, but he feels almost jealous. The feeling tides over when you absentmindedly note, "It was nothing."    

The smile on Minghao's face turns soft and he squeezes your hand for good measure, still watching your face even as you slump back against your bed.  

"You're a terrible liar, y'know." He raises your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. "You know I can read you, right?"  

"She asked me if I agreed with the meaning of your name," you say point blank. "And I said yes. Of course."  

Minghao pauses, his lips still at your knuckles as he absorbs your words.  

He knows what his name means. He's heard it enough in his lifetime. As far as names were concerned, he always considered himself lucky for the fact that he's got a pretty decent one.  

Ming, 明, which meant bright and brilliant. Hao, 浩, which meant grand and vast. Minghao— someone bright, brilliant, vast like the sky.  

But to hear you say it back to him like this? It feels like a revelation. Like you're giving him a gift, something that he can hold on to.  

"Of course," he repeats reverently, his heart a steady thump, thump, thump in his chest.

The subsequent recovery period is a slow crawl. Minghao fusses more often than not. He ensures you're on top of things— physical therapy, check-ups— and is extra careful about anything that might involve your back.  

Even as you're given the go-ahead to return to work, he frets, having read through one too many articles about the risks of having a discectomy. How strenuous labor and contact sports are still off the table for the foreseeable future. How, now, four weeks after the surgery, you still ought to be careful with routine activities.  

It's as endearing as it is vaguely irksome, especially on instances such as these. The rest of the staff avert their gazes and try not to laugh. The boys look like they're most definitely going to give you grief later on.  

Because Minghao is still adamantly carrying your things as you all head to a shooting location for the newest Going Seventeen episode.  

"Hao," you say through gritted teeth, right at Minghao's heels as he lugs around your duffel bag. "I told you, I can carry that!"  

Despite the slight exasperation in your voice, Minghao can't hide the way the corners of his lips tug into a smile.  

He knows exactly what he's doing and he knows how it makes you feel. But he can't help himself; it's too easy to wind you up. "It's heavy," Minghao insists, despite the fact that it's not that heavy, or that he doesn't actually believe that it is.  

He’s just being a slight nuisance on purpose, something he does often to get your attention.  

"It's not heavy," you seethe, taking extra steps to keep up with Minghao's lithe strides. He’s leading you to one of the company buses that would take all the members and the staff to today's shooting location— some beachside AirBnB along Sokcho.  

"I packed it, for Christ's sake. I know it's not heavy," you insist helplessly, reaching out one hand to tug at the back of Minghao's shirt.  

He's always like this, pushing and prodding and annoying you to get reactions out of you because he finds it amusing. It's been such a long time since you last properly scolded him, and oh, how he wants you to do it again.  

He stops in his tracks, forcing you to either halt in yours or bump into him. When he pauses, your feet keep moving on their own accord. Your face smashes right into Minghao's back.  

Immediately, your hand that had been grasping his shirt flies to your face. You clutch the bridge of your nose— feeling a slight sting there, following the impact— as you mumble a low chorus of "ow, ow, ow, what the hell..."  

The moment your face smashes into his back, Minghao finds himself doubling over in laughter, his frame shaking as he braces against his knees. The look of pure disbelief on your face is probably one of the funniest things he's seen all week, and the laughter that bubbles up out of his chest is unrestrained and free.  

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" he apologizes, his voice wavering in between laughter as he slowly tries to regain his composure. "Are you... are you alright? Does it hurt? Is it broken?"  

"You're insufferable," you huff before stomping ahead of him, making it a point to bump your shoulders against his as you make a beeline for the bus.  

Minghao only continues to chuckle, shaking his head as he follows after you, his laughter never once dissipating. By the time he reaches the bus, he's still smiling, completely unable to hide the way he keeps grinning.  

Much to Minghao's chagrin, however, you exact your revenge in the smallest way possible: By settling into a seat next to Mingyu, who's always more than a little willing to jump on Minghao's nerves when given the chance.  

"Sorry, Hao," Mingyu sing-songs, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "But I'm calling dibs for the next two hours. There's an empty seat next to Jun, though!"

Minghao only rolls his eyes, clearly slightly miffed at the way you'd just abandoned him for Mingyu in a heartbeat.

He finds his way to Jun's side, plopping down on the seat next to the other boy with an overdramatic, exaggerated sigh. "He snatched her away from me, ge," he whines, glancing back over to you with that same pout still on his face.

"You made her bump into you, Haohao," Jun points out with another roll of his eyes, shaking his head, though there was still a slight curl on the corners of his lip.

"I'm just having fun! You could at least sympathize with me.” There's no seriousness behind Minghao's complaint. It's a tone of complete and utter playfulness, and that only deepens Minghao's smile as he leans back in his chair.

The bus ride drags on, slow and careful, with Mingyu and you chatting about menial things. At one point, he slumps against your side to fall asleep on your shoulder, and you doze off with your cheek pressed to the top of his head. Seokmin takes a photo for posterity purposes.

Jun and Minghao watch from a couple of seats behind, and for a moment, Jun is contemplative.

It's a conscious choice for Jun to slide into Mandarin. The only other person in the bus who might understand it would be you, and you’re knocked out cold. That means the words are for Minghao alone.

"How much do you like them, Haohao?"

The switch in language catches Minghao's attention, especially when he hears the seriousness in Jun's voice. It's enough for him to pause, lifting his head up from where he'd had his chin resting against his knees.

"Too much, I think," he finally answers, with just a slight hint of hesitation.

It's not because he's ashamed, but because he's never been the kind of person to be so open about these type of feelings before. He's not even sure he knows how, sometimes.

"There's no going back now," Jun says, reaching out to lightly nudge Minghao's hip with his own. There's a slight look of concern in his eyes, but he speaks carefully, keeping his voice low as he continues.

"You might be in too deep," Jun continues, his voice a low murmur as he adds. "But I think... if the way they look at you is any indication, they’re right there with you."

The smile that spreads across Minghao's face is blinding, despite the way he turns his gaze down to his shoes. He can't help it— not when his heart is beating fast against his chest, at the idea of you feeling the same way that he does.

He wants it to be true, more than he's ever wanted something to be true in his entire life.

"I should hope so," he says, in an attempt at being flippant, but the way his voice sounds? It would give him away instantly.

When the company bus eventually rolls up onto a gravelly parking lot, the sight beyond the vehicle is one to behold. Sprawling, white sand beaches with glittering waters. The boys are still supposed to film some content, do some challenges, but the prospect of being in somewhere so pretty has significantly boosted everyone's spirits.

Wonwoo rouses Mingyu and you from your sleep. Mingyu chatters aimlessly at your side, only pausing when Minghao comes up to you; of course, the older boy can't resist one last jab.

In full view of Minghao, Mingyu does an infuriating shaka sign in front of his face and mouths 'call me, jagiya', completely unwarranted. It draws a proper snort of laughter out of you. 

"Stop it," Minghao whines as he reaches out to pinch Mingyu, though there's no real heat behind his voice. He doesn't even try to hide that smile on his face, not when he catches the way you laugh.

He can't look away from you once he sets his eyes on you. He's never been able to.

He just hopes that you can't tell exactly how in love he is. Because how is he supposed to tell you he's fallen hard?

The day at the shore flies by faster than any of them expect it to, but in the end, the filming is finally over.

By the time the staff tells them they're finished, the sky is painted in beautiful shades of orange, pink, and purple. It only adds to Minghao's already good mood, especially when he gets the chance to steal you back from Mingyu and get you all to himself.

When filming wraps up and the cameramen all begin to pack their material, the boys take it as a go-ahead to treat the rest of the late afternoon as a beach day.

You smile, mostly to yourself, as they break off— to take photos, to go for a swim, to explore the private beach. All the while, you try to maintain your focus on your laptop, your practiced fingers moving across your keyboard.  

It's why you're initially oblivious to Minghao's stealthy approach.  

Minghao lingers behind for a moment, watching you work. He's already gotten changed, his clothes swapped with swim trunks and a simple black tank top.  

He knows better than to bother you while you're working, and so— to your oblivious self— he's content to stand by and simply watch until you're done. After another moment, his expression softness as he sees how your brow furrows in concentration. Minghao steps in a little closer, one hand coming up to gently ruffle your hair.  

He almost doesn't want you to get back to work and instead considers pulling you up so you can go for a swim with him. He does no such thing, though, settling for patting your cheek once before pulling his hand away.  

You briefly glance up from your laptop so you can flash him a ghost of a smile. There's something to be said about the ways you often communicate without words, how easy it is to just understand.  

You dip your head, give a wave of your hand, turn your gaze back to your laptop. A silent, speechless Go ahead, I'll follow.  

It's like there's nothing he's not feeling right then— just happiness at seeing a smile, and the way that it feels like there's no secrets between the two of you.  

He reaches out to gently pat your cheek once more, his hand lingering for a moment before he pulls away again, turning to make his way out of the tent, the grin on his face still ever-present.  

By the time you're done with your work and changed into some proper swimwear, most of the boys and the staff are already in the water. It's in moments like these when you're reminded why you've stayed with PLEDIS for so long— the ways you're allowed to interact, to just be, when there's no cameras on, no job to do.  

You linger by the shoreline for a beat too long. Before you know it, you're being swept off your feet. Your shriek of surprise pierces across the beach as Jun easily throws you over one shoulder, his hand respectfully bracing the part of your back where there's still marks from your surgery.  

"Sorry, tàiyáng," Jun cheekily says in Mandarin as he rushes the two of you into the water, eliciting laughs from everyone else. He sends you hurtling into the ocean as you scream bloody murder, but you're laughing, still, as you go down.  

Minghao is laughing from where he's standing near the shore, still waist-deep in the water. He'd heard you scream, but the second he hears the sound of your laugh he knows you're fine. Instead of rushing to his feet and out of the ocean, he just stays where he is, the smile on his face never faltering.

The sound of your laughter is only made better by the way the sunlight dances off the water, reflecting off its shimmering surface like diamonds.

He watches as you resurface, your wet hair in your face as you gasp for breath, your face bright with a smile, and he can't help the way he feels himself falling, falling, falling.

He wants to swim over and make sure you're alright, but he knows that Jun won't let anything happen to you. All Minghao does is watch, his grin wide and bright, his eyes never leaving you. He's completely smitten, and right now, the others are just going to have to deal with him being even more of an insufferable, lovestruck fool.

The next couple of moments drag on with light-hearted rough housing, with idle splashing and lazy swimming, until Jun has somehow maneuvered you and him towards where Minghao is in the water.

Jun, behind your back, throws his best friend a conspiratorial wink.

Minghao knows that he can be obvious to an almost comical degree when he's in over his head in his feelings for you, but Jun winking is an entirely different story, and he's already a little wary as Jun brings the two of you over in his direction. 

Even still, nothing could prepare him for the sight of you soaked from head to toe, the water shimmering on your skin in the sunlight as you near him.

Oh, he's screwed, and he's pretty sure Jun and the others know that.

So he does the only thing he can think of.

Minghao dips under the surface of the water and disappears, ducking under the water for a few seconds before he comes back up just behind you, and reaches out to tickle your sides. If he's going to be an idiot and fall all over you, he might as well try and cover it up with a little bit of playfulness.

"Yah, don't do that!" you cry, already rounding in a futile attempt to stop Minghao. You weren't particularly ticklish, but something about the cool water and the warm breeze has you feeling more sensitive than necessary. Breathless laughter escapes you as you try to capture Minghao's wrists, to stop him from his actions.  

Jun quietly pads away with the pleased air of someone having done his job well. Some of the other boys share knowing glances— like they know they ought to intervene— but it's Seungcheol who shakes his head, who wordlessly calls everyone off.  

The leader, telling his members in the most subtle way, Let Minghao have this.  

There are words Minghao wants to say when you reach for his wrists to stop his actions, to ask if you want to join him in diving under the water with him, but words have never been his strong suit.  

No, it's actions that are his strength. And so, instead of asking if you'd like to join him, Minghao does just that, wrapping his arms around your waist and ducking the both of you under the water, the salt in the water stinging his eyes a bit as he opens them briefly beneath the surface.  

And then he brings you back up for air, the look on his face almost triumphant as he laughs, shaking his head to rid himself of the water that's plastered all over his hair and face.  

When you emerge, you laugh in between gasps for air, and instinctively reach up to push aside the wet strands of hair sticking to Minghao's face. "Look at you," you say disapprovingly, but you're betrayed by the pure, unadulterated adoration in your tone.  

"You love this look on me, xīngān," he insists, with that same wide grin on his face.  

And, well, he's not wrong. He can see the way your gaze lingers on his face, even as you scold him and ruffle his wet hair teasingly.  

It makes him wonder what it'd be like if all the what-ifs were real, if this was a relationship rather than an almost. He's almost afraid to wish for it. As if wanting it too much might break it.  

Minghao likes the way that you press close to him, and he keeps his arm wrapped snugly around your waist as you talk and laugh and joke with the others.  

It almost feels right, the way you're there next to him. Even though this isn't a relationship, the way that you slot right next to him is comforting because it almost makes what isn't feel more like what it could be.  

He wants the taste of you to be something more than just a taste. He wants more than a simple bite.

And so, that's how he finds himself suggesting that the two of you go on a walk together once the sun starts to set. There's a slight flush to his cheeks as he asks the question, a shy little smile on his face as he murmurs it.

He wants a chance to be alone with you. He thinks he deserves that much, especially now, after spending the rest of the day having been teased and prodded and jabbed at by the others about his feelings for you.

"Sure," you say coolly, somehow managing to keep your voice level. "Let me just grab my stuff."  

That's how you and Minghao end up breaking off from everyone else, kicking up the sand underneath your feet as you go. There's a couple of jeers here and there; Seungcheol warns you both to be back before dark.  

You take it in stride as you go on ahead, your shoulders just barely brushing. Like you're absolutely helpless to the pull of gravity that tries to keep you together.  

Once the other boys are out of sight, out of earshot, Minghao finds himself growing slightly less shy as you walk side by side, the two of you headed for a small cliffside pathway.  

His gaze is drawn to you rather quickly— to the way the ocean breeze makes your hair blow about, the way you almost shine when the sunlight hits you. The way your hand is so tantalizingly close. His own almost aches to reach out and take yours.  

"You know," he says instead, his lips quirking up into a little cheeky grin that makes his dimple show when he sees the path lined with flowers. Some of them blooming, some small clusters of white blooms scattered around the cliffside.  

Minghao plucks one of the blooms from its plant and tucks it into your hair so it's just behind your ear. He has to focus to not notice the way his fingers skim your cheek, and God, you're so close.  

"I think you look pretty like this," he says, and the words are whispered out like a confession. He picks another of the blooms, and offers it to you, his smile bright, genuine. "Take it. For good luck, maybe."  

When he extends to you one of the white blooms with that gorgeous, dimpled grin, you chuckle quietly. You take the flower. You hold it in your fingers for just a beat.  

And then you stand on your tiptoes to mimic Minghao's action— tucking the bloom right above his ear.  

"You're all the good luck that I need, xīngān," you say laughingly, in Minghao's mother tongue.  

Minghao melts, his lips parting in the slightest as he stares at you like you're a vision, like you're something to worship. He's already far too gone on. The moment he feels your fingertips against his skin, he decides he'll never be able to get over you, not if it takes him years to try to do it.  

There, the two of you stand, looking at each other with an unspoken, shared admiration, standing in front of a cliffside that overlooks the ocean with the sun setting against it, the horizon all burning shades of amber and orange and red.  

This is a moment that Minghao won't forget, and he takes your hand in his, slowly interlacing your fingers together to see if you'll let him.  

Just to know that there's a little bit of a chance that his dreams could come true, someday.  

Your fingers find purchase in the spaces between Minghao's, slotting there as if it was something meant to be. As if the two of you might have the right.  

For a beat, neither of you really say anything as you look out to the glittering expanse of ocean, the sun setting right beneath the horizon. It's a little too picture perfect.  

Exactly the reason why neither Minghao nor you dare to verbalize whatever this is, whatever you've been dancing around for years and years. Minghao wants to tell you everything, tell you that he loves you, maybe get down on his knees and kiss your hands, ask you to be his and to let him be yours.  

But he stays there. Silent. Holding your hand by your side.

When you head back to everyone— where food is being served for the members and the staff— there's a bit of an exaggerated welcome from all sides. The boys all jeer, and the staff give you side-eyes, but you only shake your head slightly as you peel away from Minghao's side.  

The words stay unspoken. The red thread of fate, the one that Minghao so firmly believes in, draws out for another moment more.  

As you go to shoot back some drinks with your team, Mingyu sidles up to Minghao's side. The older man presses a sweating bottle of beer into Minghao's hand.  

"Still not tonight, huh?" Mingyu asks with no shortage of amusement.  

The beer in his hand is cold enough that it would be a little uncomfortable to hold onto if Minghao weren't so used to it, but he simply wraps his fingers around the bottle and takes a half-hearted sip from it.  

His lips purse as he hears Mingyu's question, a frown crossing his face.  

"No. We didn't talk about anything," he says, somewhat regretfully, because tonight just felt like it could have been the right night to say something. To finally admit how he feels, to finally ask what he wants to ask.  

And maybe you would deny him, tell him that you just wanted to be his friend, but he'd take it. He'd take anything if it meant he could stay in your life—  

Or maybe you'd even say yes, and he could finally have a chance to prove himself to you.  

"Are you going to try again tomorrow?" Mingyu asks, taking a sip of his own beer, his eyebrows raising a little.  

Another sigh falls from Minghao's lips and he nods, his gaze softening as he looks in your direction, watching you smile in spite of the way he aches to be by your side.  

"Of course I'm going to try again tomorrow," he whispers, and he'll do that for the rest of his life if he has to.  

The night drags on with everyone getting progressively more drunk. Soonyoung is reduced to tears at one point, while Seungkwan puts on an enthusiastic, one-man performance of Aju Nice. 

And maybe Minghao drinks a little more than he usually does, partly because Mingyu and Jun take advantage of the fact that it's a rare thing for them to be drinking with you within the vicinity.  

Minghao's best friends are menaces who want to see what type of drunk he is, who want to see how it will affect the way he approaches you. He's always been quiet when he's drunk— the type of drunk with a slight permanent blush to his cheeks, with a lazy grin on his face, with thoughts too slurred or in Mandarin for most of the boys to understand.  

And tonight was no different, with his face flushed from alcohol and his words so slurred that all Mingyu and Jun can pick up is the word pretty over and over, along with a couple of other words in Mandarin. But he's always been honest when he's drunk— almost too much so.  

Jun is a bit stressed having to play interpreter for Minghao's drunken ramblings, but it's all worth it when Mingyu tosses his head back with raucous laughter at every word spilling from Minghao's lips, interpreted by Jun.  

"This is too much," Jun whines once the three of them have worked through a significant amount of soju. A glassy-eyed Mingyu nods in agreement, though neither of them are as bad as the notoriously lightweight Minghao.  

"Haohao, are you going to go up to her or what?" Mingyu teases.  

Another slurred word in Mandarin falls from Minghao's lips upon hearing that, his eyebrows knitting together for a moment as he pouts at Mingyu.

It's almost comical to see, to hear Minghao's usually soft and lilting voice falter, all while his cheeks stay a soft pink and his hair is a mess from how he's been running his hand through it.

The thought of approaching you makes his stomach churn, but he knows that he will. After this next shot. Just one more drink.

"Ge, you said you'd only drink one," Jun murmurs, a bit of concern seeping in his tone as he sees Minghao grab shakily yet another shot glass of soju.

Of course, he ignores their warnings for the moment as he downs the shot, his face growing pinker as he shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet.

It takes him a moment to gain his footing, his legs a little wobbly from alcohol, but he gets it. Mingyu laughs so hard that tears come out of his eyes. Jun, distressed, shoots back some more alcohol.

Minghao's vision is a little blurry, but you're just within his sight. And so, with Jun and Mingyu watching from behind, he makes his way towards you.

He's got a lopsided grin on his face, his cheeks a little pink, and he thinks he must be in love in a moment like this.

"Xīngān," he slurs, a slight hiccup following the word as he stops in front of you, his vision still a little fuzzy. He raises his hand to gently rub the back of his neck, his tone a little softer— and a bit more earnest— as he murmurs his invitation. “Can we talk for a minute?”

"Hey, you," you greet, readjusting the flower that he'd placed behind your ear. "Having fun?"  

Minghao shakes his head, his lips parting to say no only to dissolve back into soft little hiccupping giggles instead. Of course he's having fun— how could he not, when his love is right there, and he gets to see you smiling and laughing and tipsy yourself?  

He stumbles forward, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you in, his free hand coming up to your face as he squishes your cheeks and gives you a bright, gummy smile. "Are you having fun, xīngān?" he asks.  

"I'm having fun, Hao," you concede laughingly, resting your other hand at his waist to keep yourself steady. It's— once again— a position that implicates you a little more than it should, but everyone's varying levels of drunk anyway.  

This isn't the drunk Minghao, exactly, that everyone has seen. This is the one he so rarely allows anyone to witness, the one who gets clingy and a little emotional. He's usually much more capable of keeping his composure, even with alcohol loosening his tongue and his inhibitions, but he just can't manage to focus on anything but you tonight.

"Come run away with me," he murmurs. He tugs you against his side again, a little less carefully this time. He wants the closeness, tonight, as he leads the two of you over to the chairs loosely surrounding a warm bonfire.  

It's mostly the other boys here— Joshua and Vernon practicing an acoustic guitar, Jihoon chatting with the co-producer everyone knew he had a bit of a thing for. They all watch with mild amusement as Minghao drunkenly stumbles over to one of the chairs, single-minded in his ambition of sharing a single seat.  

He plops down onto the chair, tugging you right into his lap. He's so close to you then, his lips next to your ear as he wraps his arms snug around your waist, his legs on either side of you, pressing you close against him.  

"I missed you," he murmurs, and the words are slurred, warm on the shell of your ear as he presses his face into the crook of your neck and exhales softly for a moment.  

He's drunk. And in love. And that's a dangerous combination.  

You press your fingers into Minghao's knee, your shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. "How could you miss me?" you whisper back. "I was right there the whole night, xīngān."  

He shakes his head, burying his face into the crook of your neck, mumbling softly. "You were far," he pouts, his words a little more garbled than before. He has no sense of personal space right now, with you pressed so close against him, and he's more prone to whine to get his way. 

He wants this. He wants you close. He wants you. 

"Is that so?" you say sympathetically, the words coming out almost like a coo. "You have me now, though." 

"I'm never letting you go," he responds.  

There's still an almost childish part of him that thinks if he says it, like this, with you wrapped up in his arms, with your face flushed from alcohol, that maybe you'll stay by his side.  

He just has one question that he wants an answer for.  

"Will you hold my hand," his words are slurred, his fingers tracing along the small of your back, up, down, back up again, "and look at the moon with me?"

Wordlessly, you reach for his hand at the small of your back and you thread your fingers together. You keep your intertwined hands over your thigh as you lean just a little further into Minghao until he's pressed against the back of the chair and you're practically lying on top of him.  

It's easier, this way, for you to tilt your head back and do exactly as he asked. "Moon," you point out with your free hand, the word coming out in Mandarin. Yuèliàng. "It's a crescent moon tonight, see?"  

With his arm securely around your waist, he presses closer still to look at the moon together, his words still a stammer as he murmurs, "Yeah. Just like us."  

The words have no logic, not when he's drunk and soft and clingy like this. But he's still happy with it.  

"Just like us?" you echo, and you briefly wonder if you're just a little too tipsy; if you'd missed a chapter or two about how you could be compared to the waxing crescent. Your eyebrows furrow in mild confusion, though you quickly realize there's no point in worrying your head when you could just ask.  

"I'm the moon, and you're the flower," he declares, with all the confidence of his own drunken logic, his eyes falling to look at the flower still tucked behind your ear. He reaches up a hand to brush his fingers against the side of your face. 

If not for the alcohol, he might be too shy to admit how pretty you are to him. 

"We're a matched set, xīngān," he says.   

The smile that breaks out on your face, then, is bright and wide and warm, rivaled only by the bonfire raging a couple of feet away. Your friends are still chattering amongst themselves, completely oblivious to Minghao's bold declaration.

A matched set. And you're just a little out of it, just a little drunk yourself, as you mindlessly link Minghao and your pinkies together. It's a quiet promise on its own. An assurance that this was something that could happen, would happen, at the right time.  

"My moon," you concede, calling Minghao with a breathless sort of giggle. "My moon, my xīngān, my Hao."  

"I love it when you speak Mandarin," he admits, his words warm against your temple as he presses closer still, his lips a few centimeters from your skin.  

He has too much alcohol in his system, too little a filter for his thoughts, and right now, Minghao's world consists only of you and how you look in the moonlight— like some kind of vision, like something he'd write about in a song.  

"Say it again," he instructs, his tone gentle. A request. Never a command.  

"Which part do you want me to say again?" you ask in Mandarin, because Minghao had said he loved it when you spoke in it and you'd be damned not to give in.  

It's all the same to him. The gentle words that come tumbling from your lips— he doesn't need to understand the meaning, he just wants to hear you speak. 

Because how you sound when you speak Mandarin is lovely, and Minghao can't help but lean in just a little to drink in the sound of it, his fingers tracing along the exposed skin of your upper back.  

He's never cared or loved the way he does when he's speaking Mandarin. But you, when you speak to him, it sounds like poetry.  

"Anything," he murmurs. "Just say anything."  

You tilt your head back up to the sky, where none of the usual Seoul light pollution is barring you from seeing the stars. When you see the expanse of the Big Dipper, you stick to what you know.  

A Korean myth from your yesteryears, one that he hadn’t heard of in his own childhood.  

"Once upon a time, deep in the mountains, lived a mother and her seven sons," you start softly, in Mandarin, as per Minghao's request. You tell the story almost in a whisper— the cold winter, the seven brothers, the Jade Emperor of Heaven.  

A part of you, in the language that was a part of Minghao.

As you tell the fable, the alcohol settles comfortably in Minghao’s system. He feels sobered by the fact that you’re so close, that you’re indulging him in the way that you always do. So much, he thinks again. You give me so much. 

And yet it’s not enough, still. He thinks back to the Korean phrase he once sought you out for. Intuition. Zhíjué. 

Your story is winding to a close when he decides to trust his gut, this time. His arms tighten around your waist and he buries his face into the back of your shoulder.

"I love you," he says. Wǒ ài nǐ.

You pause. He can hear the smile in your tone as you respond, "I love you, too." Wǒ yě ài nǐ. 

But, no. Minghao is done.

He won’t let this pass, won’t let miscommunication take this away from him. He has spent the better half of his twenties grasping at straws, bridging gaps in languages; this will not be another one of those things that he can’t say. He takes a fortifying breath. 

He doesn’t care if you don’t believe in soulmates. If he’s the only one who thinks there’s a red string tied between you two. He’ll subscribe to your credo of destiny. He’ll do all the work. 

"I’m in love with you," he amends. Wǒ ài shàngle nǐ.

He says it in his language, because it feels right, but then he repeats it in yours so there’s no room for you to misunderstand. It doesn’t change, anyway. Korean, Mandarin. English, Japanese. 

Minghao is helplessly, hopelessly in love with you. 

It feels like forever before you respond. 

When you do, it’s in Mandarin. "Me, too," you admit, and he peeks at you enough just to see the way you’re gazing up at the night sky. He catches the hint of the smile on your face; the sincerity of which threatens to bowl him over. 

You repeat his words— I’m in love with you— in Mandarin, then Korean, then English, then Japanese. Then all the other languages you know. 

Minghao resists the urge to tell you to stop, to tell you it’s okay. He holds you tight, laughing quietly, as he basks in what feels a lot like the beginning of something. 

It’s okay, he wants to say as you confess to him in Spanish, in Portuguese, in Italian. 

I hear you. 

I hear you loud and clear. 

[no1ryomafan]

Apart of me very tempted to make a “how to explain shin means 3 different words” image but by using the various different getters cause each meaning of shin has been used once- until i remember i basically have this image but all im missing is god getter since thats the third translation of shin. (Also I can’t remember if I fucking posted this so sorry if this is a repost)

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

If you could give First Ninja a name? What would it be?

People keep asking me about First Ninja's name, but to be quite honest, I've been really struggling with picking one for him, ever since I decided to try and draw stuff for Torn Pages AU and it only got worse, since I started to ship him with Chase.

Choosing a name is really hard. I kinda wish RC9GN creators gave at least trivia at what his possible name could have been, so I had some place to start. And while I saw a couple of names that fandom seemed to give him, the most popular ones were somewhere along the lines of Satoshi, Satoru - but I really couldn't get behind those, you know? Just not vibing at all. Doesn't sound quite right to me personally.

On a related note, someone in rc9gn tag pointed out that 'Norisu' is not really a proper Japanese surename, but variations of it actually exist! I think they actually settled on 'Norisawa', but I preferred 'Norisugi' - which is a pretty rare last name, but not so rare that I couldn't find a Wiki commons media entry on one Kazu Norisugi - a Japanese government official and educator around 1900s (link). It seemed very appropriate that it belonged to a teacher! And the rarity of the surname, could tie into the lore of Norisugi Clan/Name becoming rare after they left Japan and were pretty much eradicated during their journey. And aside from that, linguistically speaking - over the 800 years 'Norisugi' is more likely to morph and change from 'Norisugi Village' to 'Norrisville', which is a thought I enjoyed very much! ;D

When it comes to first name itself, I've been kinda trying to pick something that is a variation for First or Ninja on Japanese (because I am not very imaginative at all, xD), and it became a list of similar sounding names that I can't decide on, if only because etymology behind the kanji are all so very interesting. And all that information comes from japanese names site i found.

So I decided to share my top 11 picks in poll format, just to gauge's others opinions! ;3 (not that it would really influence my choice in the end, but i just really wanted to make a poll xD)

Names Propoganda underneath or aka kanji meanings that make me unable to choose a name more fitting for First. xD

[Ichi-to] - Kanjis for [Ichi] could contain meanings such as One, Alone, Single, First, Primary, or even Run, Escape, Let Go. [To] has a lot of variations, including Tiger, Fierce, Brave, Soar, Fly, Humanity, Benevolence, Kindness, Samurai, Warrior, Gentleman, Cross, Pass Over, Climb, Ascend, Way, Road, Journey.

[Ichi-ya] - [Ichi] as One, Alone, Single, First, Primary. [Ya] can mean an indication of strong emotions or emphasis, but also can mean Dart, Arrow, Night, Evening, Sun, Sunlight, Positive, and also it could mean eight (8) as in kanji 八 - 8 (which was one of the biggest draws for this name to me, because ya know Ichi 1 + Ya 8 = 9th Norisugi sibling lol).

[Ik-kou] - [I(k)] is usually written with the same kanji 一 as [Ichi] sometimes so the meaning is in similar vein of One, Single, Alone. [Kou] has a lot of meanings, including Light, Radiance, Further, Change, Improve, Happiness, Good Fortune, Luck, Voyage, Sail, Navigation, Public, Official, Prince, Achievement, Merit, Success, Direction, Orientation, Grand, Vast and Respect for Parents/Ancestors.

[Is-sei] - [I(s)] is similar to [I(k)] where its written in kanji 一 that means One, Single, Alone. [Sei] can have meanings such as Pure, Clean, Star, Sincerity, Honesty, Astute, Shrewd, to Become, to Accomplish, to Succeed, Power, Force, Expedition, Conquest, Equality, Uniformness or Life, Essense, Spirit, Holy, Sacred, Vow, Pledge.

[Is-shin] - [I(s)] can be written with similar kanjis with meanings One, Single, Alone, but also First, Primary. [Shin] can mean Humanity, Benevolence, Truth, Reality, Heart, Mind, Spirit, Core, Essense, Center, Extend, Stretch, Faith, Belief, Discretion, Caution, to Advance, to Acend.

[I-tsuki] - [I] can mean One, Single, Alone, First Primary, but also can mean That One and in certain Kanji variations can mean Dependent, Rely on, Trust in or Authority, Power, Dignity. [(Ts)uki] - has a lot of meanings including Moon, Month, Precious, Valuable, Honorable, Rare and Hope.

[Kei-ichi] - [Kei] includes meanings such as Blessing, Favor, Grace, Excellent, Beautiful, Good, Enlightenment, Wisdom, Celebration, Joy, Happiness, Open, Begin but also Jade Tablet, Square Jewel (which really made me snort, because of First's square lil face lol). And [Ichi] as One, Alone, Single, First, Primary.

[Kou-k-ichi] - [Kou(k)] can have such meanings as Like, Fond of, Respect for Parents and Ancestors, Good luck, Fortune, Constant, Always, Cultivate, Prosperity, Success, Smooth Sailing, Light, Radiance, Public, Official, Prince, Achievement, Merit, Success, Direction, Orientation, Grand, Vast, Work, Sky, Brilliance, Brightess, Further, Change, Improve, Armour, First (in a sequence of items), Consider, Think, Navigation, Sail, Voyage and many more. The second part of the name is actually traditionally written ine one specific kanji 吉 that has a meaning of Good Luck, Fortune, Auspiciousness.

(and now to obvious Ninja variations lol)

[Nintoku] - seems like a rare name, with only 1 variation that I found so far. First Kanji 仁 - means Humanity, Benevolence, Kindness and Second 徳 means Virtue, Morality, Goodness.

[Nin-ga] - 仁雅 [ninga]- variation is considered a Classical Zen/Bushido name, where first part 仁 [nin] - means Humanity, Benevolence, Kindness and Second 雅 [ga] means Elegance, Refinement and Grace. 2nd variation 忍我 [ninga] means 忍 [nin] - Endure, Bear, Persevere, Conceal, Hide, Sneak and Second 我[ga] means Ego, Self, I.

[Nin'Ya] - is another rare, with only 1 variation of 忍也 [Nin'Ya] consisting of 忍 [nin] - Endure, Bear, Persevere, Conceal, Hide, Sneak and 也 [ya] that means Also, Too, Likewise.

I admit, Nin'Ya is probably the weakest (more jokey lol) choice in this line up, but i just couldn't resist the idea of calling First Ninja, Nin'ya in my head, in that stupid voice like in that goddamn meme "Opennenyoor" xD

(You can find all the names here on Japanese Names, if you want more information btw. )

If you notice, in general I liked the idea of having One, in some form in his name, which not only adresses his eventual modern nickname 'First' but also because it would be like a prediction of his dark future - that he would be left as a solitary survivor of Norisugi Clan. AND a third secret meaning - is that he is the One - the Primary concern of his siblings. Which leads to other meanings I enjoy for various reasons - like Blessing, Hope or Prince to reflect on how he is a cherished youngest sibling (basically an youngest heir) of other 8, born as a blessing during time of turmoil. Journey, Sail, Voyage to refer to his life-long hunt for Sorcerer which would take him over land and sea (and I headcanon that he enjoys sailing). A lot more traits and characteristics like Brave, Kind, Benevolent, Shrewd and etc, to reflect how smart and resilient he had to become in order to survive. A lot of references to Mind, Spirit, Core, Essence and to Ascend, Change, Persevere are about his eventual ascension into Higher Spiritual state in Ninjanomicon. There are also several obvious ones, like Warrior, Samurai or even Work and School somewhere in the long lists.

But yes, this is basically my dilemma. I still have no solid single idea, but so far its all I've got in choice department lol. I would not mind some opinions or ideas or just thoughts about names I guess, if you have any, so feel free to drop them on the post or in asks btw. ✌️

[toxictigertonic]

Glad to see that my mad ramblings are entertaining this corner of the outlast community, I will continue to talk until I've juiced the smooth ball of gum I call a brain of all its flavor. Pspsps Franco fans hiiii tell me what I should draw him doing/wearing pleaaaase.

Today's headcanons are: How are the prime assets when it comes to board/card games?

COYLE

- Do not play games with this man unless you want to have the least fun of your life.

- He has the rule book out on the table as you're playing so he can read them off at any point.

- In fact I know that fucker memorizes game rules and starts fighting people if they don't play by them.

- "WE GOT LAWS AROUND HERE! WE GOT FUCKING LAWS!" "Leland calm down we're playing uno..."

- If he catches someone cheating he's hopping the table, there's a crime in progress and he's about to be SUCH a good cop.

- Play monopoly with him to experience The Thrill of being tased over fake money.

- If you use a +4 on this man in Uno he will scream until you show him your hand to make SURE you're not lying about not having any other cards to use. He'll also pout about you using it in general.

- The sorest loser ever, genuinely. Somehow worse than Franco. And Franco is a baby man with a gun.

- It should be a rule that he's not allowed to play cards with Franco but Phyllis is stubborn and wants them to get along. It never ends well.

- Gets far too giddy playing Mousetrap.

MOTHER GOOSEBERRY

- Forces Leland and Franco into game nights. They can't say no or they'll upset her, thereby upsetting Futterman, thereby risking their lives to The Goose.

- Has a massive collection of card games and board games, take your pick.

- And she knows how to play all of them, mind you. She has the rules memorized as well but doesn't have an electric stick up her ass like somebody we know.

- LOVES Candyland and Parcheesi. The brighter and more colorful the board the more she finds it adorable.

- Futterman eats pieces when Phyllis is losing. Don't turn around he's a hungry little guy.

- He got caught eating pieces once and had to wear the Bag of Shame for multiple game nights afterwards.

- Futterman also is allowed to play the games, somehow always wins in the end. Leland is suspicious of him cheating (but isn't willing to face drill wrath to investigate)

- Have I mentioned that Futterman will call both Franco and Leland awful names when he's losing? Because he does. Has made both of them cry before. Game night had to end early and Phyllis felt very bad.

- Not a sore loser per se, but will ask to play again until she wins. Futterman will stare whoever down until they agree to another round.

- If you don't help her put away the board or cards she's holding a grudge. And if pieces are missing you BETTER help find them, even if it means shaking them out of Futterman's mouth.

FRANCO

- Play silly games, win silly prizes. I'm saying if you try to beat him at cards (and you're not a fellow prime asset or someone whose lap he wants access to) you're getting shot in the foot.

- He's required to turn in Lupara at the beginning of game nights now after he tried to take Coyle's shin off. He only gives Lupara up bc Phyllis asks so nicely (and because he's a simp lol).

- Really good at cards, but still cheats. Mainly to fuck with Coyle. He'll take any opportunity to piss that man off.

- Sometimes wants to play solitaire like an adult, other times he's playing candyland with Phyllis having the time of his life.

- If it's a game with unique pieces you BETTER let him pick his piece first or he's throwing a tantrum.

- If Leland's winning he'll kick him under the table then say he was imagining things. Leland is THIS 👌 close to starting a fight.

- He lets Phyllis win to get on her good side. Doesn't matter the game, he'll let her win. Gets pissy when she wins naturally though.

- He always tries to gamble when they play anything. Coyle does not approve of gambling. Have I mentioned these two want each other dead?

- Phyllis complimented him on being really good at shuffling a deck of cards and he rode that high for weeks.

- Very good at convincing the others that it's his turn if they've lost track of who goes next. Doesn't matter if he just went, he will get to go again.

- Likes to play card matching games by himself when he doesn't wanna think about the game too hard. Phyllis sometimes sits with him and plays too. Futterman calls them both stupid if they fuck up.

I love how much Franco and Leland hate each other I want them to fist fight ❤️. Lock them in a room together and whoever crawls out at the end wins. No weapons just two bald bastards.

[ghostfrog28]

Yuurivoice Characters And Listeners As Incorrect Quotes!

I already did this with Escaped Audios (sort of, it was mostly DennysVerse) but for these, the way the listeners respond will mostly be based off of my OCs for them (which I will make posts about eventually) PS, this is mostly Boo and Alphonse lol

~~

Alphonse: [Grabs Boo's ass while they're gettin groceries out of the car]

Boo: Excuse me thats my ass

Alphonse: That's our ass. We're married, bitch

~~

Finn: If I were a gardener, I'd put our tulips together.

Sunflower: Aww, babe. That's so sweet.

Alphonse: If I were a gardener, you'd be my hoe.

Boo: ... thanks

~~

Lucien: *stroking Angel’s hair* you're so tiny.

Angel: *sleepily* I could beat the shit out of you.

Lucien: *lovingly* | know.

Or

Alphonse: *stroking Boo’s hair* you're so tiny.

Boo: *sleepily* I could beat the shit out of you.

Alphonse: *lovingly* | know.

(It’s funny cuz my OC for Boo is 6’0, meanwhile, my OC for Angel is 5’3)

~~

Charlie: My boyfriend is too tall for me to kiss him on the lips. What should I do?

Boo: Punch him in the stomach. Then, when he doubles over in pain, kiss him.

Angel: Tackle him.

Star: Dump him.

Rook: Kick him in the shin.

Casper: NO TO ALL OF THOSE. JUST ASK ME TO LEAN DOWN.

(my Casper OC is 6’4 lol)

~~

Boo, making chicken and dumpling soup, dropping a dumpling on the floor: This is sadder than the time I almost died in College

Alphonse or Seth, choking on his coffee: Excuse me?

(rewrote this one a little bit)

~~ ⚠️ Slight NSFW ⚠️

Boo: I can’t eat this, its far too hot

Alphonse: You're far too hot yet I still manage

Room: Um-

Auron: WE'RE ON A DOUBLE DATE, I'M RIGHT HERE

~~ ⚠️ NSFW Again ⚠️

Boo: oh fuck me

Seth: yes please

Boo: what?

Seth: what?

Alphonse from the other room: HE SAID YES PLEASE!

~~

Alphonse: BOO! WHERE'S MY-

Sugarboo: By the door

Seth: Sugar! Do you know where the-

Sugarboo: In the kitchen

Charlie: Hey Sal (OC name), have you seen my stack of-

Sugarboo: On Seth's nightstand

Sugarboo: Independent my ass. You guys would fall apart without me

(Sal is my OC for Sugarboo)

~~ ⚠️ Slight NSFW ⚠️

Charlie: bro-

Casper: No, no, hold up, rewind.

Charlie: ...

Casper: My tongue was down your throat just a second ago, and now you're calling me bro??

~~ ⚠️you guessed it, NSFW ⚠️

Seth: What exactly do you think of me?

Sugarboo: Somewhere between "fuck you" and "I'd fuck you."

~~

Alphonse: I don't think | can mansplain, manipulate, or malewife our way out of it this time.

Boo: *cracks knuckles* Manslaughter it is.

Alphonse: What- no!

~~

Star: When Faust was born, the gods said, "He's too perfect for this world."

Auron: Please. When he was born, the devil said, "Oh, competition."

~~

Boo: I don't need to go to bed. I'm not tired, I'll be fine.

Alphonse: But, darling, I'll be so lonely without you. Come curl up in my arms so l can feel whole again.

Boo: O-oh. Well... Wait. Are you trying to seduce me into healthy sleeping patterns??

Alphonse: Is it working?

(this one could be vise versa)

~~

Alphonse, at some point: You speak RUSSIAN ?? Say something !!!

Boo: Ты самый красивый мужчина в мире, любовь моя (You're the most beautiful man in the world, my love.)

Alphonse: What does it mean ?

Boo: It means don't give me orders you fucking bastard

(Another little thing, my OC for Sugarboo is half Russian and half British)

~~

Seth, after learning Sugarboo also speaks Russian: Does Sugar think in English or Russian?

Alphonse: Bold of you to assume Boo thinks.

~~

Rook: Ugh, life can be difficult sometimes.

Sal (Sugarboo): But death, on the other hand...

Rook, squirting Sal with a water sprayer: No, Sal

~~

Boo: I don't think Faust is very happy about you dating his brother.

Rook: What makes you say that?

Boo, reading a text aloud: Rachel (Rook). I hope this message finds you before I do.

~~

That’s all for now! Hope you enjoyed!

[alluringnectar]

Timeless

abby anderson x fem!reader

a/n: srry ts might b a lil short lol, kinda rushed

summary: you go on a patrol with abby

warnings: sfw, slow burn, js kinda angst, not rlly tho

pt. 1 , pt. 2, pt. 3

it’s 5:45 in the morning.

the sky is still dark, you can hear the hums of cicadas and the hoots of owls.

you’re in the back of a W.L.F. truck, holding double barreled shot gun. infront of your view is alice and abby. even though its pitch black out, her features illuminate like the moon; at that point moths would even be attracted.

you didn’t realize you were even bouncing your leg until abby held your leg.

“nervous?” she asked, chuckling. “yeah, it’s my first patrol since i ever got promoted” you shyly admitted, “i’m scared im gonna fuck things up.” abby listened to you intently, finding comfort in your pure honesty. “everyone fucks up once in every while, it doesn’t get easier, just easier to handle.” you smiled, full of teeth, thanking her.

how could this even be the same girl Mel was talking about?

the truck comes to an abrupt halt, signaling it’s time to hop off. Abby, Alice, & you jump off, thanking the W.L.F. driver. “good luck girls!”

as you walk into the abandoned ruins of what was once a beauty thriving city, abby pulls out a map. “there should be a hospital around here somewhere. orders are to clear it and get all supplies.” you nod, following her as she walks to the abandoned hospital.

as you walk in, you feel shivers. you turn to look at abby, but she has a sad look on her eyes, like a sad puppy dog.

you hear barks, that takes you out of your thoughts. both abby and you flinched.

alice is barking at this door, abby and you budge it open.

then out of no where, a stalker jumps you. before you can take out your pistol, abby grabs a shiv and stabs it in the throat.

it lays there, blood seeping out.

“are you okay?” abby asks you, “yes, im fine thank you.” abby offers her hand and you take her in.

both you and abby look around the room.

its a chapel.

“ it’s pretty, isn’t it?” you say to abby as you admire the alter, the benches that once had many families praying for patients to get better. abby hums, and she asks, “do you believe in God?” you tell her, “I believe in God, i just dont know if he believes in me.” abby looks at you, “what do you mean?” “i believe he is real when i see fawns and their mothers taking care of eachother. i believe he is real when i see the sun taking care of the plants as the sunrays reach them. i feel like God doesn’t believe me when i see the sufferings of this world, when i lose the people i love, or i see the once humans so alive, laughing, crying, and other emotions trapped in all the fungus.” abby looks at you, intently staring and picking up at every feature.

“do you?” you ask, snapping abby out of her trance. “do i what?” abby asks. “believe in God?” abby sighs , “if God was real, maybe he wouldn’t have taken away my farther.” your heart hurts for her, and you embrace her, letting her know shes not alone. she returns it, holding you tight

you feel a sharp pain the back of your shin, causing you to hiss. “whats wrong?” abby asks you worryingly. you pull up your pants and replied “glass must’ve cut me with that stalker was on me.” “i don’t know how i didn’t feel it, must’ve been the adrenaline” you joke, causing abby to laugh.

“sit down, ill get you treated” abby says.

she wraps your leg and puts anti infection cream all over as she cleaned the wound.

“how do you know how to do all this?”

“my dad was a doctor, i only learned from the best.”

“your father was blessed to have you.”

“he would’ve liked you.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“let’s report back to base, we have supplies now anyways.”

you learned her farther name was Jerry.

as abby, alice, and you go back to base, alice is put into her kennel.

“see you soon alice!!” you both yell.

abby and you report your findings to other W.L.F. members then abby takes you to the infirmary because she swears it’s necessary.

and she isn’t wrong because Nora is telling you with an injury that severe you need to stay home and supervised.

abby volunteers, and now she’s next to you on the couch, with you falling asleep on her shoulder.

she could get used to this view.

[mulletmitsuya]

Tokyo Revengers Groupchat

Warnings: swearing, suggestiveish,

Desc: a series of different dm's consisting of different pairs in tokrev more or less relating to the same event. also it's the last timeline where everything is jolly (ass description, my bad)

Draken + Mikey

Draken: man i'm so fucking tired of you

Draken: if you aren't here in the next 5 minutes i'm trashing your fucking bike

Mikey: no you won't lol

Mikey: you made it, you're not gonna hurt your precious creation are you?😙

Draken: ...

Draken: we won't name the baby after you

Mikey: you weren't going to anyway 😒

Draken: can't you just listen to me then???

Draken: YOU HAVE A RACE IN 10 MINUTES DICKWEED

Mikey: bro chill i was taking a piss

Draken: ITS BEEN 30 MINUTES

Draken: and YOU'RE LYING

Draken: YOU ARE FLIRTING WITH A MARRIED MAN

Draken: LEAVE MITCHY ALONE FOR CHRISTS SAKE

Mikey: no i'm literally in the bathroom

Draken: motherfucker i can see you 😐

Mikey: ok fine geez i'm coming down

Draken: i don't want you to be my client anymore

Mikey: you're married to my sister so you can't get rid of me

Mikey: brother in law😋

Inupi + Shin

Shin: yo Inupi! Mikey's gonna come over after the race and chill with me for a while

Shin: so you don't have to close up i'll take care of that

Inupi: i thought we were gonna hang out lol

Inupi: but ig you don't care about me

Shin: wha-

Shin: that's not true 😞✊

Shin: i mean, we work together so we always hang out😅

Shin: and i feel pretty weird drinking with you since i've known you since you were a kid😂

Inupi: i'm 30

Inupi: did you know that i also have sex sometimes

Inupi: i'm a grown adult Shinichiro

Shin: WOAH THERE BUDDY🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Shin: 😆

Shin: i get that you're grown but idk you're just lil Inupi to me

Inupi: 😐

Shin: just hang out with me and Mikey okay?

Inupi: no

Shin: bro why?

Inupi: i don't like him, at all

Shin: Mikey??? what's there not to like?

Inupi: 😑

Shin: :(

Inupi: fine

Shin: :)

Shin: i'll ask him to invite a few friends so it's not awkward and maybe you can invite Koko?

Inupi: k

Shin: 😁

Inupi: ...

Inupi: 🙂

Koko + Kisaki

Kisaki: you need to stop gambling Kokonoi

Kisaki: evertime you lose, a strand of your hair turns grey

Kisaki: and well... you lose a lot

Koko: my hair is white because i dyed it that way

Koko: no other reason

Kisaki: ...sure

Koko: and i'm not that bad, i just need a little more practice is all🙂

Kisaki: you have lost millions of yen due to this practice

Kisaki: enough is enough😕

Kisaki: anyway, i need a drink and there's a new restaurant that opened up yesterday, will you be joining me?

Koko: i'm meeting up with my friend Seishu today so i'll have to pass

Kisaki: oh yes, your friend

Kisaki: the pretty boy, correct?

Koko: yes

Koko: i mean you could call him that, i wouldn't know

Kisaki: ...

Kisaki: are you guys...

Kisaki: nevermind

Koko: are we what?

Kisaki: you know...

Kisaki: gay

Kisaki: are guys gay together? as in homosexual. as in attracted to each other as men? together?

Kisaki: like a couple of sorts

Kisaki: i usually don't like gay people but i'll make an exception for you and still be your colleague and even your friend

Koko: ...

Koko: Seishu is my friend

Koko: 😐

Kisaki: your secret is safe with me

Koko: there is no secret

Kisaki: alright 😏

Kisaki: i regret sending that emoji, i apologize

Koko: what about you and the hand tattoo man?? hm? what about that? Hanma was it?

Kisaki: Hanma??

Kisaki: i've called the police on Hanma 4 times already, you know that😐

Koko: he makes breakfast in your kitchen fully nude

Kisaki: we were friends in our teenage years and then he confessed his love to me and made it weird

Koko: and here he is still in your life

Kisaki: arguing with him is futile, even with the police. what do you want me to do?

Koko: just remember that when you point at someone there are three fingers pointing back at you

Koko: i'm leaving😐

Kisaki: not very slay of you

Pah + Peh

Peh: wife angry again

Peh: not talking to me

Pah: haha bozo

Pah: try rubbing her feet

Peh: they smell bad

Pah: try rubbing her back

Pah: massage

Peh: won't let me touch her 😕

Pah: her loss 👎

Pah: show off your abs

Peh: been eating more lately she cooks good no more abs

Pah: lmao

Pah: cry

Peh: already doing that 😐

Pah: sorry

Pah: don't know what you want me to do

Peh: i'll figure it out

Pah: why is she mad?

Peh: we were watching E.T and she said she liked him and i told her that i would kill him with hammers brutally

Pah: fair reaction

Peh: women r so hard to understand

Pah: word

[maladaptiv3]

i have found what you are like

I mean...how could I not?

Content: A nice lazy, rainy Sunday morning reading on the couch.

Warning: age gap, a little possessive, it’s kind of cheesy but I don’t really care! lol 

I started this piece a long time ago and I am just hitting a wall...so here is what I have so far. I don’t know if I will finish it. 

Word Count: 1174

*original content by maladaptiv3* please do not repost my work

(new screen name hey)

The soft patter of the rain on the roof was the only sound that filled the house for most of the day. The back door was open slightly and there was a now damp towel near the opening that had been placed to catch the bouncing raindrops from the patio outside.

Your Sundays were a ritual—his eyelashes on your cheek beckoning you to wake up, eyes still heavy with sleep as you lift your cup of coffee to your lips, arranging farmers market flowers as he finishes carrying in the rest of your treasures—but it was raining today. The rain was a welcomed distraction, it shifted your routine in a way that you had been craving. It had been a long while since you had enjoyed each other's silence. Silence seemed to be rare in his world. You only experienced pockets of it, stolen away from everyone's eyes. He woke you up that morning, pulling you into him, and melting into you, "It's raining, love." You hummed, "My favorite." The rain made the morning move in slow motion. There was no early morning coffee or having to find parking at the already getting crowded farmers market. "Let's have coffee in bed. I'll go make it," his smile was sweet. You scrunched up your nose, "I wanna watch the rain." He was amused, "Of course you do." 

Your mind wandered back to the current moment. Your back was against the arm of the couch and your legs were bent at the knee. A warm blanket was in your lap, covering one-half of you. You had a book in one hand and the other was running its fingers through his hair. He was settled between your thighs, slightly propped up on a throw pillow. His fingers were tracing lines on your shin as he turned the page of his book with the other. You mused, wondering how you had the privilege to live in this perfect moment. If you could bottle it, you would. His hand would occasionally ghost up your leg and settle on your thigh, his arm stretching slightly so he could grip it. You would slightly tug on his hair, playfully of course, "Shh...I'm reading." He would squeeze your thigh once more before going back to the words on his page, "I didn't say anything." He didn't have to say anything. This was a game you knew all too well. The rain was still falling outside and you wanted to bask in this feeling for as long as you could. The comfort of just merely touching each other was enough to keep you going for days. 

After a while, you heard him sigh. You put the business card posing as your bookmark back into your book, "Something on your mind?" He laid his book down flat on his chest, "You've been reading that book for years, you think you would have finished it by now." You rolled your eyes, "I've been finished. I just like to revisit it. It's one of my favorites." He sat up to face you, his legs crossed in front of him, "Well, what about it makes you revisit it?" You were astonished, "You're telling me that Mr. Booksnob himself has never read Jane Eyre? It's a classic." "Hey! I am not a book snob." "You kind of are." He took the book from your hands and examined the cover, "So, what is it about?" You took a minute to think, "It's about a homely governess who falls in love with the older man she's working for." His fingers were drumming against the book, "What's with you and older men?" You snatched the book back from him, "That's just what's on the surface. It's a story of painful love, independence, and feminism." He nodded, "Now, that makes more sense. Read me some." "Like what?" "Read me something that reminds you of me." You had it highlighted. It was a new quote you liked. The spine was not yet used to the continuous flipping to the page every time you pulled out your beloved copy. You licked your lips and cleared your throat a bit, "All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever." He blinked a few times and seemed to be entranced by the words you just spoke, "You belong to me?" You swallowed hard, "This book isn't about us." Your breathing was shallow as you waited for him to say something. His eyes were fixed on yours, "Do you belong to me?" You were quick to nod your head up and down, "Yes." He ghosted his lips over yours, "Good answer. Kind of anti-feminist, though?" You pressed your lips against his, "Is it?"

You pulled back, "Your turn to share. What are you reading?" He took his book from its place on the coffee table, "Poetry." You wiggle the thin green book out of his grip, "I've never really been a fan." His jaw dropped, "You? Miss I Buy A Book every time I leave the house, doesn't enjoy poetry?" "I guess not." He took his book back, "Well, it's only fair I read you something." You reached out trying to take the book from him, "Can I choose?" He clutched onto it, "Absolutely not." He began to flip through the pages, "You at least know who E.E. Cummings is, right?" You shook your head, almost offended, "Obviously." He found the page he was looking for, "I think you'll enjoy this one."

You pulled back, "Your turn to share. What are you reading?" He took his book from its place on the coffee table, "Poetry." You wiggle the thin green book out of his grip, "I've never really been a fan." His jaw dropped, "You? Miss I Buy A Book every time I leave the house, doesn't enjoy poetry?" "I guess not." He took his book back, "Well, it's only fair I read you something." You reached out trying to take the book from him, "Can I choose?" He clutched onto it, "Absolutely not." He began to flip through the pages, "You at least know who E.E. Cummings is, right?" You shook your head, almost offended, "Obviously." He found the page he was looking for, "I think you'll enjoy this one."

His lips parted and he set down the book:

i have found what you are like the rain,

      (Who feathers frightened fields with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light                               with thinned newfragile yellows

                  lurch and.press

-in the woods              which                stutter                      and

                           sing

And the coolness of your smile is stirringofbirds between my arms;but i should rather than anything have(almost when hugeness will shut quietly)almost,                your kiss

You guys just stared at each other for a second. 

Your chest was tight and tears started to well in your eyes, "That was beautiful." He look worried and cupped your face with his hands, "No, no, no -- why are you crying?" 

Your chest was tight as you tried to keep the tears from welling in your eyes, "You memorized that?" He nodded and took your hands in his, "I find myself searching for it when I'm thinking of you. Sometimes I get asked what it's like to love you and I always tell them to read this poem. I never understood what Cummings meant when he wrote about someone being like rain until I fell in love with you." You just looked at him, your thumb brushing his, "I wouldn't believe that coming from anyone else, but for some reason, I believe it from you. I also think you kind of want to get laid, but I still believe it." 

[skyflyinginaction]

Shin Megami Tensei IV FINAL Official Setting + Shinwa Sekai he no Tabi translations 

I don’t own the raw scans or the translations in this post all credit for the translation belongs to Miel who did a wonderful job on it. The Nanashi bio was already translated by Dijeh and the rest are translated by them.

Asahi

In the early scenarios, she was supposed to be a tomboyish character who often used foul language. As you can see, she ended up the complete opposite (lol). Asahi was designed as a child whose parents had lovingly raised, and had her life planned out for her to survive in this destroyed world. They were hoping that she would one day be able to see the light of dawn, hence she was named Asahi. We based her design off themes of the sky, hence the goggles, hat and the blue color scheme to make a pure, orthodox heroine.

Navarre

A harmonious, all-green presence… Actually I just came up with that after (lol). But I think the meaning of Navarre's scarf color was shown pretty well in the game. His ghost form and the fact that he would be a partner was decided from the very beginning. I wanted him to be able to run around the map following the MC, so I suggested a mascot-like design that could float alongside the MC. I'm glad he was able to re-appear as a likeable character (lol).

Nozomi

In the previous game, she was an event character with only pixel art, but in this game, we decided from the very beginning that she would be a partner along with Navarre. We tried to keep the same imagery she had from the previous game but designed elements unique to this game. After she became one with Danu, I wanted a change in both mind and body. Her hair and eye color, as well as her physique are all mixed with Western features, and when compared to the main characters who are all children, she looks like a mature adult lady.

Hallelujah

We had planned to create a mixed-race child who would show what kind of world setting it was in this game. His brown-colored skin was the only thing that still remained of his initial draft; every thing else about him was totally changed from the initial planned scenario. We gave him a Ashura-kai styled outfit, as well as a school jersey to make him look like a child delinquent. The pointy ears and black nails were to give him a demonic feel. When he transforms, he changes color, and I think it perfectly represents the devs’ ideal image of him.

Chironnupu

When Chironnupu was created as a demon, I was requested to make him a mascot-like character. They did not want a standard cutesy character, but rather something that had a “Megami Tensei" type of cuteness. There are very few legends about the Chironnupu, so I got ideas from keywords such as Ainu, fox, divine spirits, and hunting, and instead of simply drawing a fox, I made him a young spirit that wears a carved wooden mask.

Gaston

When I first heard that Navarre’s younger brother was going to be in the game, I laughed… and I was very surprised. Of course they must have the same hairstyle and facial expressions to live up to the family name (lol). Since he is an elite member of the newly established Samurai group, I put his Samurai uniform over his inner wear, so that he looked like a medieval musketeer but set in modern day. The cross symbol represents God and the four archangels. Michael's spear was originally meant to defeat Lucifer, so I based its design off Lucifer’s motif.

Toki

Out of all the characters, this character had the most changes and was the most difficult to design. In the early designs, she was made to look like a miko (TN: shrine maiden) who served Lilith, so I wanted her design to emphasize her young age when compared to Asahi and Nozomi. That design later evolved into a tall, ephemeral type of girl, and then later, finally settled into the design of an assassin. She’s designed as a member of the Ring of Gaea, and her unmasked face has the cuteness of a Japanese doll but also a beauty that exudes an exoticism. 

Nikkari

This is a character that appears right at the beginning of the game, but we did not originally plan to have an illustration for him. However, there was a request for a illustration to show the worldview of this hunter from Tokyo, and how the world and the people he cared for were being overrun by demons. Thus we created illustrations for the 3 of them: Nikkari, Manabu, and Master. The name Nikkari is based off a famous sword, but you’ll just have to find out whether or not his sword is the real deal by playing the game.

Manabu

As a more senior hunter, he has become a unique character. Like Nikkari, we had initially only planned to have pixel art for him, so we made sure to exaggerate that reggae-like feel to convey his love for reggae, even if it's a tiny pixel art. Compared to veteran hunters, he didn't have much experience yet, so we designed him to still look a little naive. Having designs for the sub-characters was not initially planned, so I only had a short amount of time to design them, but I was able to take a breather and had fun while drawing them.

Master

When I was making drafts of his design, I borrowed the design of the adult form of the protagonist (lol). Since the character is a former hunter of an inhabitable society and a master of the company, I gave him unshaven stubble and thick arm hair to give him that rugged feel, but also gave him the outfit of a bar waiter to give him a sense of tidiness. Anyway, it feels like a strange coincidence that the pilot-style outfit worn by the original adult protagonist ended up being worn by Asahi instead. I wanted to see how well he would do.

Swordsman Hunter

During the idea stage, there were many variations for a non-human hunter. This is a lightly armored female hunter whose main weapon is a sword. Her personality also seems outgoing.

Professor Matsuda

This was the initial idea draft for Matsuda. Back then he was planned to be a NPC that you can speak to but didn’t have a character portrait. His facial expressions can’t be seen clearly from the small portrait, but you can see his hunched-back posture.

Elite Hunter

An elite hunter who has a high rank and is well-dressed. It's the type you don't see very often in the underground world of Tokyo, but it seems there’s actually some hunters who are living a privileged life out there.

Punk Hunter

A female hunter that catches the eye with her standing hair and studded clothes. Strong female hunters who live by fighting with demons are all cool-looking. The same goes for Nozomi. It’s no wonder Asahi admires them.

Child Hunter

The boy with the spear is an NPC you can talk to. During the designing stage he was made to be a little child hunter but the final version of the NPC seems to be older in appearance.

Gaea Elder

An old man who was created as a member of the Gaea. Compared to the fierce male members and cold-looking female members, he’s more of a good-natured old man character.

Asurakai Member

Most of the Ashurakai members were thugs in suits, so we had the idea for a man who actually looked dangerous because he had a drawn knife in his hand. Might’ve been a change after Tayama’s death.

[randomnameless]

Localization discourse has started to rear its head again because of some Funimation localizer defending a line from Dragon Maid but it really got me thinking, I feel like so many people are so quick on demonizing anyone who doesn't like localization changes as pro-GG when it's much more simpler. People don't hate localization changes because of the message itself but rather because it's not what the character is saying 9/10 and it comes off as calculated and cynical. I feel like it's kind of a direct consequence of transformative fandom, with the whole "I'm going to write the story the way I want it to be and fill up the spaces" but instead of a fanfic it's with the original source material.

Pro GG?

What is GG? AI?

I remember this argument of the "it's not what the character is saying" and people being pissed because they couldn't get the "right" script - and tbh, after reading some arguments here and there, localisation always comes with necessary changes/adaptation to the text, let it be grammatically or to convey ideas from a language to another, so if you want a 100% faithful script then... better start to learn the language lol

With Funimation though...

The Shinchan earlier post was telling enough of my opinion about drastic changes that aren't used to transcribe a meaning or convey an idea to a foreign audience, it's just... erasing the source material and swapping your own ideas on them.

Like, uhhh

Funimation acquired the Shin-chan US license in 2005. Funimation's dub takes many liberties with the source material and was heavily Americanized. Many sexual references, dark humor, and references to then-current popular American culture were added, including many jokes about subjects such as Jews, terrorism, and Viagra. Characters were given significantly different personalities and new, previously non-existent backstories. For instance, Shin is refused an allowance, on he basis that he could use it to buy drugs (crystal meth), his schoolmate Kazama ('Georgie Herbert Walker Prescott III' in this dub) was an absurdly hawkish ultra-conservative Republican, the unseen father of Nene (known in the dub as "Penny") was suggested to be physically abusive towards both his wife and daughter, Principal Enchou was rewritten as a half Romani, half Peruvian man with a complicated, checkered backstory that includes a stint as an accident-prone magician, The kids' teacher: Yoshinaga-sensei (known in the dub as "Miss Polly"), was rewritten as a kinky and often domineering nymphomaniac,

The earlier Vitello and Phuuz dub also edited some jokes and/or what was considered indecent exposure like shin's buttocks and tried to "occidentalise" a few references, but it wasn't like straight up changing what a character is or their personality!

No doubts funimation was "authorised" by whoever had the rights of the franchise to lolcalise and edit it as they did but it just comes out as a "why did they rewrite that stuff like they did", to make more money, to make another "mature cartoon" like Family Guy expy, idk.

And to be honest... I don't really care, because I grew up with the Vitello Dub and read some manga chapters of Shin-chan, so I know what the manga/anime (sure, the dog wasn't named lucky but shiro!) is supposed to say and/or be about.

I don't agree when you say those "lololcalisations" are a consequence of the transformative fandom in general, transformative works have existed since... forever lol (some dude wrote in the early middle ages (grégoire de Tours?) how Franks are descendans of Achilles or something to explain how kickass his king and his people are like, at this point, he's writing a self-insert OC story, right?)

But in modern times, there used to be a clear (?) divide between what was transformative work and what was canon - 50 Shades of Grey sort of started as a Twilight fanfic, but it became its own thing and no calls it a Twilight adaptation or "Twilight" anymore.

The Aeneid? Despite what devoted fans wants the world to believe, is "just" a fanfiction, aka someone writing about the characters he """loves""" no matter how OOC they are. It's a Fodlan fanfic and treated as such. Or should lol.

Still, if in a fanfic, Flayn can apologise for being born as a lizard because having lizard blood means she's automatically evil and oppresses humanity due to the fact she exists, it's only a fanfic. It's not something I like, OOC as fuck, but okay, moving on. Rhea eating ketchup is my own hc, also OOC since we don't see her eating any in the games, same thing - but fanfics are OOC by essence because they're a transformative work !

As I said, okay, moving on.

But when what is supposed to be as close as "canon", albeit translated, dips in the same "OOC" territory?

Sure, Eng!Raphael will say "I" instead of "ore" to refer to himself - and yet, imo, if professional localisers (at least the people picked by the company to bring games to an international audience!) have some sort of leeway with canon, their work is inherently transformative - since they're localising -they are still bound by some rules, unlike a fanfic author, because the aim of their work is not the same.

When you write a fanfic, you write it for yourself, to tell the story you want.

Of course it depends, like the funi shin chan dub showed, but usually, I think, when you are a professional localising something (a manga, anime, book, tv series, myth, story, anything!) you are supposed to only bring "necessary" changes to the source material to bring this source material to the "targeted audience".

And it's kind of hard to determine at what point is a "change" necessary or not - back in the 2000, "Jonouchi" had to be changed in "Joey" because, supposedly, non japanese children wouldn't be able to understand/connect/watch/idk a show with a foreign name (even here in France, we got "Petit Coeur" aka Small/Little Heart for... Piccolo in the early 90s!) - but now in the 2020s Midorima isn't dubbed "Mike".

(even if 2013 saw a localised Fates edit "Suzukaze" to "Kaze" for reasons as foggy as Fodlan's 10k years of lore)

And we of course have the notion of "targeted audience" - here in France, in the 90s, basically any "animated cartoon" was supposed to be targeted for children, like 3 to 10 years old. Which is the reason why we got lunar dubs for Hokuto no Ken and City Hunter (no "brothels", but instead, "vegetarian restaurants"!).

Yugioh was dubbed for a younger audience than, I guess, what was the targeted audience for the manga (even the original anime, regardless of the dub or not, feels like it was made for younger "children" than the ones who would read the manga!).

And this is where I wanted to come with the modern "transform the source material!" lolcalisations - are they "heavily" edited because they target a specific audience?

Like... the funimation Shinchan dub was obviously not aimed at children the manga, or even the original anime, hell even the Vitello dub, were targeting.

It's almost as if we're not talking about "bringing this definite thing to random people", but "finding/tweaking random things to definite people".

Take Fodlan's lolcalisation, especially Treehouse/Pat's.

NoA was the only regional branch to have, on the official website, something like "the Church controls Fodlan".

Through the 4 (already 4!) years of coverage, some people are still finding dub exclusive lines that portray the CoS as "BaD" or in a more negative light than the original text. Pat completely missed (or was it on purpose?) Rhea's character, so Leigh had to dub Rhage, when Supreme Leader was scrubbed off her most, uh, dubious personality traits (tfw no information campaign anymore :( or calling Rhea a Nabatean as an insult :()

Why? Why those changes? Is it because Pat/Treehouse didn't want to bring the game to the US, but wanted to bring this game to the "Dany revolution yas slay kween" crowd + the "organised religion especially catholicism BaD" crowd? Or because they thought bringing "a game" to this crowd would bring more money than to bring "Fire Emblem Three Houses" to the general US crowd? So they "reworked" FE16 to have messages that would attract this certain crowd ?

(and apparently it worked, iirc the US sales made up for 50% of FE16's sales, so it was very popular (and profitable!!))

The Pat/Treehouse changes weren't "necessary" to understand the source material, or try to find similar references (a trip to a hot spring in Shinchan was replaced with a trip to Paris, because children who might not be familiar with japan might not know what is a hot spring, or what a "trip to the hot spring" is supposed to be), so why were they made?

Is it like the Funimation dub? To reach specific people, even if the meaning and essence of the original material is lost?

In a nutshell, I don't think localisation companies (Treehouse or Funi) work in a vaccum, if they can lolcalise so much, it obviously means they got the authorisation of whoever has the rights to the original source material (maybe even the creator themselves!) to "edit" the content...

But that's what I came to regret the time where localisation, even if they had westernised names and more westernised refs, wasn't that "free", as in, Funi and Pat/Treehouse write their fanfic of Shinchan/FE16 ? Sure, why not, I mean, everyone can write a fanfic. Can I get a peak at the original source - edited as necessary because i'm not reading in the original language and I might not catch all references - please? No, because the only thing available is either something I cannot understand, or a fanfiction that takes liberties, as fanfic do, with canon.

Take Shinchan.

OG : Shin is a preschooler who has a dog named Shiro - meaning white - because his dog is white.

Vitello dub : Shin is a preschooler who has a dog named Lucky.

Funi dub : Shin wants an allowance but his parents are afraid he will buy meth and he has a dog named Lucky.

Remove the "old school" Vitello dub, and either Shin is a preschooler who named his dog "white" because the dog is white, or Shin is... a young child who receives money but lives in an area where he could buy drugs.

I can't understand the OG material, and I know the Funi one is a fanfiction, so what should I do? Treat this fanfic as canon, or, learn the language/try to understand the material by myself using dubious tools like translating apps? Or am I cursed to forever miss on Shinchan, even in the 2000s, aka an era where people can translate and localise movies from one language to another, but apparently for this one manga/anime, it's not possible unless it's lolcalised? Snowhite was turned into "Blanche-Neige" but the story is mostly the same than the one told in the US, but for Shinchan, I can only get the "Family Guy" version that isn't told in Japan?

I remember there was a controversy about localisation (when the thing that sparked that controversy wasn't even localisation related!) where some people, annoyed with the "liberties" they have with their dub version, became intense and rude and want to see localisers as "mere" translators...

And it escalated to have some localisers basically saying a game they localised is "their take" on a story - which is true, because each translation/localisation works with the bias of the translator/localiser, even if they try to be as neutral as possible, they can't completely remove themselves from their work -

Still, in FE16, Pat'n'Treehouse removed the "Supreme Leader uses propaganda" mention. Why? Is it their bias talking, they don't want her to "look bad"? But the script, the game wants the player to know she uses "information campaigns". Pat's "take" is she doesn't use it, but as a player, can't I be offered the choice to make my own take after seeing the script that mentions it, or not? Is Pat the one who directed the script, and wrote it as the "main thread" that links everything in the game (regardless of Fodlan's consistency lol), or was it Kusakihara/someone else?

If pat arbitrarly "removes" this part of the script, but I see it because I play in Japanese/Chinese/Korean/heck maybe other languages whose dub wasn't overseen by Pat, can it be said I played the same game as the players who played with the Pat dub/script?

Pat's CF!Felix calls Dimitri a monster, OG CF!Felix calls him a man -> thankfully we can count on fans to find stuff like this out but, again, why this bias against Dimitri in CF - that comes here from the lolcalisation, and not from the original text?

Why is it there? What if someone wants to play, and hopefully, understand, not Pat's "take" on their relationship in CF, but the writers/developer's? Is that someone fucked, or kindly asked to learn japanese (aka to do Pat'n'Treehouse's job?).

I don't really have The Perfect Solution (tm) anon to the general localisation discourse, at one point I was on the "just translate" fence, but when you understand a pun or a reference, and how it connects to something else, the game/book/anime/movie you're watching takes another level and it's much more enjoyable!

And yet, growing up with 4Kids and seeing shit like Treehouse butchering stuff, or hearing about Funimation Shinchan is... disheartening.

The only thing I can say is I'll always be rooting for dual audio, let it be for preferences but also to get at least what is easily understandable to everyone (I mean intonations, shocks, laughs, etc etc) and a glimpse at what the game/moving/anime is supposed to be enjoyed, especially with story heavy scripts like the FE series - while reading subs, because even the script is translated/localised, at least with the audio, it's easier to spot "lolcalisations".

And let's not forget the most important lol

The Fandom itself!

Let it be for FE, Tales or anything else, what I find fascinating (on Tumblr but even on redshit and SF once upon a time!) is how fans will be able to compare scripts, people familiar/fluent/who know a language will be able to spot the changes, and inform anyone who wants to be informed in the community that, say, Xander and Marx are pretty different characters, just like Jp!Effie and "I love to eat"!Effie.

Of course sometimes there will be misinformation (remember the Dimitri is rude because he uses the omae pronoun?), but I still find fascinating how, faced with ridiculous lolcalisations, fandom itself - aka part of the people who were supposed to be the targets of said lolcalisation - tries to "correct" and remove the unecessary edits. There are still people who dgaf about what was lolcalised from what wasn't, but even if it's just a consequence of the lolcalisation growing more and more unrestrained/unchained to the source material - it makes fandom engagment all the more precious and fascinating.

Like, you have real people basically combing the script and/or providing a translation - for free! - to help other fans, when some lolcalisers are paid to... edit and "lolcalise" the script some fans want to see.

And so, we're back to square 1 : who is the targeted audience of Funi's Shinchan or FE Treehouse?

The players/watchers?

FE Fates was, I suppose, ultimately lolcalised for a """western"" audience", aka an US one because no one gives a fuck about the rest of the world - and yet, assuming a majority of fans are from the US, said lolcalisation was mocked/ridiculed and ultimateld decried by part of that audience from who the game was lolcalised.

Some people (I've seen a redshit post about it today!) claim the lolcalised changed aren't made for the audience, but, much like a fanfiction, those changed weren't made to be more palatable to an audience, but were made for themselves - aka to push some agenda (see redshit's theory about funi pushing a "woke" agenda in their dubs and subs when it doesn't exist in the og scripts).

And to be fair, with FE16's US exclusive "Church BaD and controls the world!!!" + "Dimtri is not a man but a monster!", idk what Treehouse was trying to do, push their "organised religions BaD" agenda and "Supreme Leader is right so let's make her opponents BaD to highlight how right she is" bias? - but I can't help but wonder if it was indeed the case, and given how Pat sucked as a voice director, if the localised!version wasn't just some sort of trolley Treehouse used to convey their ideas, regardless of what the game wanted to say.

I mean, it's still fascinating, to this day, nearly 5 years after the release of the game, that we still find "Treehouse exclusive" lines, or how FEH who's still running, also has "Treehouse exclusive" lines for Fodlan characters that absolutely don't match the non global, aka, jp lines, let them be written or spoken - putting on the tinfoil hat, I wonder if Treehouse or whoever oversees the localisation isn't deadly afraid that if they don't pay extreme attention and/or rewrite anything related to Fodlan, global!players will realise that they were fed "Pat's Fire Emblem Treehouse", instead of FE16, thus takes extra care to comb and/or rewritte every line/dialogue that could make a global player think twice and note that this thing they're reading/hearing of in FEH (or even Engage!! See Dimitri's lolcalised line about people of different races living together!) is completely different from "Pat's Fire Emblem Treehouse".

Tl;Dr because I ranted and disgressed and idk where am I anymore with this post lol :

I think there's a difference between fandom's transformative works - done for fun, as a hobby! - and some lolcaliser's transformative works - they're paid for that and aren't supposed to bring a fanfiction to the audience, at least not as localisers ; so I wouldn't blame "fandom" for the fuckery that happened (Funi's shinchan is more than 17 years old!) and is sadly still happening.

On the contrary, given how fandom (at least some part of it) actively refuses to accept the lolcalised "fanfiction" - to the point of doing translation work! - I think fandom is the reason why this discourse is happening.

[upgradewater]

daima time-ah

blabbering about ep 1!

spoilers obv

btw I blabbered a lot on twxtter about it a lot, so I'm likely gonna repeat myself here.

First of all.

NEW DRAGON BALL SET

NEW STINKY OP NAMEKIAN GRANDPA HACKING EARTH'S DBS LIKE IT'S NOTHING

DESIGNATED DB GUARDIANS NO ONE DARES TO FUCK WITH

NAMEKIANS "OTHER WORLD" ORIGIN LORE DROP FROM THE SUPER MANGA HAD PAYOFF IN LINKING BACK TO THEM BEING FROM THE DEMON REALM, ALONG WITH THE LINK BETWEEN "DEMON KING" PICCOLO AAAAA

was this made for me??? this feels specifically made for me.

And then there's also:

White vs black magic, specifically talking about wishes and what Shenlong won't do

The new DB set is known as Porunga, so I'm really looking forward to the design!!! Porunga OG, the prequel!

Shenlong being hesitant and oddly specific about the age wish and what to do with ones who are already kids, but then deciding for himself who the wish effects. (You could say Chichi stood up to Buu, but 18? Bulma? You could really include everyone who contributed to the genkidama lol)

DEGESU AND GOMAH BEING SILLY and Degesu being related to Shin! And Arinsu is also their sister?!?

That's Kaioshin, Namekian, and DB lore lovers all being fed a feast in this one episode. Upcoming Majin lore with Pansy, I suppose too.

Arinsu potentially could be the first main Big Bad Lady???? And she's pulling the strings from the start???? Amazing.

I think the fact that there is already THIS much (even though it was a slightly longer premiere episode) to talk about just in story and new lore is... Just wow. Who would have thought when Super was at its end that we would be here a few years later with not only story content, but animation QUALITY. Soundtrack quality as well.

I'm so happy to be around for this period of DB. It's so fun. And bittersweet with the timing of Toriyama's sudden (?) death. But so magical.

I don't think I shared this sketch here? Here's my guess at a Super Porunga of sorts.

As a side note, here are some things I guessed correctly from the trailers:

Neva hacking the DBs via auto-summoning

New DB set/new Namekian grandpa (though I thought it might be Zalama) based on the spell in one of the later trailers. (Does this mean the dragon's name is part of the spell? Dorusie? Dorushiē? We'll see. He does say it twice though.)

Other stuff that remains to be seen:

What Arinsu's goals are

What wish does Degesu want? (Surely this will be a silly gag)

What will the other 2 wishes actually be used for?

What the fuck is that Eye item Gomah mentioned? Tenshinhan relevant???

Will they try to go to Namek first, but they'll all be affected too? Please show me tiny Porunga.

Alternatively, it would be funny if Gomah and Degesu hopped along to Namek to summon Porunga for more wishes, and Neva could probably push past the password part. Hence why our main team have no choice but to head to the Demon Realm. The first part likely won't happen as long as they don't find out about the planet though.

Gohan. I have seen discussion about him coming in clutch and having his powers as he's there only one that was in pretty good fighting shape at age 6/7. Please show our boy and tiny Videl.

Okay I'm gonna have to turn my brain off now. But anyway EP 1 stopped at such a great point. I'm so in love with this production and love how positive it has been received. We're so back. I can't wait for Friday.

[tarisilmarwen]

Ahsoka: "Master and Apprentice" & "Toil and Trouble" Liveblog

Let's GOOOOOOOOOOOO! :D

We've added Marrok and Hyuang and one of the mercenaries and Chopper and Sabine to the opening character swivels, nice.

Digging this drum cue.

And we get an opening crawl! Nice.

Hilariously this bridge sequence feels more Star Trek than Star Wars.

Good for this captain he's very suspicious.

Hi Baylan! Hi Shin!

Aaaaaaaand they all dead.

All right, well thus far I can say I definitely like Baylan's heavy forceful presence and Shin's near feral nimbleness and speed.

Also digging the general Black Knight feel of Baylan, when he calls her "Lady Morgan" here.

Definitely feeling Zeffo vibes off this temple here.

Aligning the pedestals to light up each of the map icons definitely feels like it'd be a perfect JFO minigame lol.

That... is a Treasure Planet map.

Love how these droids move.

Welp, they blew up quite a bit of the ruins.

HEEEEERRAAAAAAAAAA! :D

Oh and she does have the lekku markings, nice.

I'm sorry, lol, the height difference is gonna bug me, Ahsoka with her large montrals was like... one of the tallest characters on the show and LA!Hera's got inches on her here it's unintentionally hilarious.

Makes LA!Ahsoka look like a shrimp.

This is a call to improve the alien makeup Disney, I'm sorry I will never not be disappointed in it.

My heart. :(((( Hera came to believe that Thrawn (and most likely Ezra too) died in the Liberation of Lothal. The quiet fearful hope on her face as she's holding this map.

"If Thrawn survived, does that mean Ezra--?"

FRICK I WAS NOT PREPARED.

And Lothal looks beautiful. *sniffles*

Hi Ryder!

And Jai Kell got to be Lothal's senator! SWEET.

BEAAAAAAAAN!

The camera shot that introduces her. *chef kiss*

Sabine being A MESS because she misses Ezra so much and she can't stand being at the dedication ceremony honoring him. :((((

There she goes to the tower.

KITTY!

SKRUNKLES MY LOVE!

We don't ever learn its name do we? Then I'm calling it Skrunkles.

OHHHHH I heard Sabine's theme! With the pan down to her stored armor.

The cat is really too cute, they did a fantastic job on it.

Ezra's theme playing too aaaaaaaand frick I'm dead.

"Hey Sabine! Sorry for disappearing on you." YOU HAD BETTER BE SORRY YOU LITTLE SHIT.

Ha ha now I understand all the weird Sabezra related asks I got over the weekend, y'all were trying to warn me.

Like I've said before, canon validation isn't my be all end all, I love these two and that's not gonna stop.

SORRY DAVE, I'VE BEEN ON THE HELL TRAIN TOO LONG, YOU CAN'T GET ME OFF NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO.

Also? Eman is nailing this.

And there's the Nightsister reveal.

I'm slightly confused as to how and why Baylan knows that Ahsoka had Sabine as her apprentice.

Like, where to find Sabine, that's easy, obviously she's on Lothal, she's the local hero and protector.

But why does he know about Ahsoka's connection to her?

Anyway, Lothal still looks beautiful.

Bury me in Sabine having maybe prophetic nightmares and waking up gasping Ezra's name.

*weeps*

"Everyone was there." "Not everyone."

OW PAIN STABBING.

Natasha is killing it with this look like she's trying to hold back from crying.

They cut out the "It's been a while." line, huh. Interesting choice.

Oooooooo Sabine has doodles in one of the bunks on Ahsoka's ship!

This dialogue seems a bit redundant to the Hera-Ahsoka scene. Like, isn't this the same conversation she had with Hera?

I can't get over it, lol, it's literally a Treasure Planet map. Love it.

"The map stays here." You're going to turn around and Sabine's is gonna be GONE honey.

See, told ya. Lol.

Callbacks to Maul scenes from Phantom Menace, nice.

Skrunkles is adorable. I love him.

Ohhhhhh we are definitely exploring Ahsoka's lingering guilt over leaving the Order, leaving Anakin, before his Fall.

That design looks a bit like a Celtic knot. Maybe tying into the whole Authurian legend theme with some of the names and aesthetics?

WOAH OKAY HA HA EZRA GOT THRAWN WAAAAAAAAY MORE LOST THAN WE'D THOUGHT.

Sabine are you seriously planning to go off looking for Ezra by yourself?

You've got it baaaaaad girl.

Okay, glad they finally explained where the turbolift was in this thing lol.

Youuuuuuuu didn't need to lurk, Shin? Literally could have just taken the map and left?

Ho ho Shin grabbing the lightsaber in order to throw Sabine around.

Ooof that's gonna scar.

Soooooo was Shin just being Extra and wanting to fight another Jedi?

Bet that was it.

"For our friend, Ray" RIP good man. :(

Star charts credits nice!

These are gorgeous and I wanna study them so much more closely. I think there's a chimera? Some kind of worm thing.

PURRGIL!

The score is also excellent and I love Sabine's theme and Ezra's theme throughout.

Bet Sabine had to spend quite a while in a bacta tank. Good thing she got medical attention right away.

Corvus?

Seatos! Okay. And a "reflex point"? Color me intrigued.

Loth-kittes aww.

Ahsoka's looooong sigh when she sees that Sabine's been rewatching Ezra's holo, lol.

IS THAT A USB CORD? LOLOL.

A lovely little moment between Hera and SAbine here.

Nightsister ichor!

I am loving the star map.

"Thrawn calls to me... across time and space." Okay lady sure take a cold shower before your crush gets too hot okay.

So there are a LOOOOOT of plot McGuffins in this story thus far lol.

I'm sorry, Shin's actress is so dead I need her to emote more in her quiet scenes, simply being vicious and feral in fights isn't working.

The Phantom II looks so beautiful.

CHOPPER! HELLO MUDERBOT I MISSED YOU.

Oh wow we're actually exploring the fact that rebuilding the New Republic is messy and complicated and you can't just fire and/or jail a bunch of low level civilian machiners just because they worked on Imperial ships.

And we're ALSO getting some hard-handed slapping Ahsoka in the face with the fact that she's a mess and needs to deal with her mess.

"I see you still have your lightsaber." "Ezra's lightsaber."

AW FRICK THE WAY THAT CORRECTION GOT ME.

Filoni I love the messy prickly falling out between Ahsoka and Sabine but I would really like... ONE paragraph of exposition about why Sabine went to Ahsoka and asked to be trained, or however that happened.

I mean I know I can inference that she was desperate to feel closer to Kanan and Ezra and mourning them and trying to be the hero Lothal needed and worked up in her feelings about, "If Ezra's not here to be Lothal's Jedi I have to be." but the general audience might need some help.

OH GOSH THAT LITTLE SWALLOW AS SHE TAKES HER SABER AGAIN AND LOOKS AT IT.

So I'm confused is it that the New Republic was lazy and/or too trusting/too willing to give ex-Imperials another chance just to keep some kind of order and peace and infrastructure in place or are they just that bad at uncovering spies?

Because there is a good point that not everyone who worked for the machine of the Empire has to be rooted out and displaced from their jobs and livelihoods, that just builds resentment, makes it easier for the Imperial Remnant to gain support.

At the same time though I feel like this is tying into the general New Canon "The New Republic is incompetent." trend that I'm not a fan of.

Next setpiece yay!

Love Ahsoka using the droid as a body shield.

LOL CHOPPER.

Oh, have we remembered we need to clear atmosphere BEFORE jumping? Thanks that's great. SW been slacking on that.

Oh what? Oh this is new, hang on the bulleted lists have a character limit.

Where were we?

The new Chopper model is so much more expressive than the one they build before, it looks great. Very much like the cartoon.

SKRUNKLES I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

And cue the Kanan parallel scene with Sabine.

OH FRICK THE SCENE AT THE MEMORIAL I'M NOT READY FOR THIS.

Gimme a minute.

Right so even if you don't ship them, their bond is hugely undeniable, they are in fact the Most Important People to each other, she misses him so much and she's been drowning in her grief about him.

Ngl the finger touch is still getting me.

"It's more me." Frick, how she's been hiding away from her true self, essentially cosplaying as Ezra because she thought that was what Lothal needed, and now she's struggling to understand who she is now.

MY GIRLS ARE MESSY AND EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED AND SO SO FLAWED AND I LOVE IT.

Oh what?

Are they building a hyperspace ring? A special one???

Oh OHHHHHH ARE THEY BUILDING A SUPER STARGATE EQUIVALENT?

(Reference, on the show Stargate SG-1 the plot revolves around a network of alien wormhole transportation devices called stargates, that connect to each other across the galaxy. But to connect to OTHER galaxies you either needed a plot device energy source called a ZPM or YOU HAD TO BUILD A REALLY REALLY BIG HUGE HONKING STARGATE.)

Ohhhhhhhhhhh they are MAKING A SHIP CAPABLE OF EXITING THE GALAXY I WAS RIGHT.

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE THAT WAS A RUSH.

I am very nicely happy with how things are unfolding, aside from a few nitpicks here and there about the worldbuilding and backstory that's been kept from us. (Ahsoka and Sabine's whole... everything.)

But it does not look like Sabine is Force Sensitive, which I'm glad about. I've seen a couple people salty about her being a Jedi and honestly between the two options of "Make her Sensitive and retcon large parts of Rebels" or "It's a new era, there are No More Rules, we can't be picky about who we take on as Jedi so sure let's have a non-Sensitive, Ahsoka maybe thought it was safer that way anyway", I know which one I'm picking.

The whole plot with the celestial navigation is fascinating. I need to study screencaps of the starmap and the end credits for clues because WOAH BOY DID I NOT EXPECT EXPANDING BEYOND THE GFFA.

Ezra baby come hoooooooooome. :(((( Your girl misses you.

Wew lad, I hope there are plenty of gifsets, 'cause Imma reblog 'em all.

[no1ryomafan]

As one of few people who’s mecha fixation has unironically just been stuff Jun Kawagoe directed and while I definitely can say you can tell it’s the same dude probably leading the project from just certain things alone I found something funny regarding the titles of threes tieing back to their mechs: New Getter Robo, Kosetsushin Jeeg and Mazinkaiser SKL dawned on me that people probably call the mechs in those shows by the title name when in the actual show context they never call the mechs any of those.

For the case of New it is called “Shin” in Japanese and calling a different getter Shin would likely cause confusion so they default it to just “Getter” even if this Getter never ends up having a actual name for its model. Of course confusion probably comes from referring to the series in Japanese given the manga arc shin and Armageddon subtitle has “Shin Getter Robo” in it but I won’t ponder how Japanese fandom gets around that lol.

In the case of Mazinkaiser SKL while it’s clear the mech seen IS a version of Mazinkaiser, they only ever call it “Kaiser” which doesn’t have a explanation but is a interesting differentiate approach even if this wouldn’t cause confusion like the former. SKL was probably add as a subtitle but not to reflect what this Mazinkaiser is called, despite having a Skull Plider.

But then we get to Kotetsushin Jeeg and this is where it gets the funniest. For starters, while some people refer to it as “Shin Jeeg” Shin is not used in the same context of new or any other mechas with the shin subtitle. (Which Shin tends to mean either New or True which I think we can imagine which one Getter used lol) Shin combined with Kotetsu-and probably how the kanji was written or whatever text they used-actually translates to “Steel God Jeeg” and not “Steel New/True Jeeg” as some might think. Which- Technically speaking in show, Jeeg DOES get called this but not until the end where **Spoilers** Kenji uses the power of two bronze bells + Balba to gain a greater form which is called the Steel God. But Kenjis base Jeeg is never referred to as Kotetsushin, it’s only ever Kotetsu so he would share the full title with Hiroshi. Of course it’s just easier to differentiate them to call the mech “Shin Jeeg” anyways or just say “Kenjis Jeeg”.

This is one giant autistic ramble and only the end title really held actual significance to its show but I found it funny how three times with a mecha Jun directed he never makes it abundantly clear what the robots in these iterations are actually called when using basic context clues you know it’s not the title names. Just thought this be a neat thought to type out.

[galaxymagick]

@realvixx

[VIXX 11th Anniversary]

다시 돌아온 524 릴레이 라이브 순서 정하기 방식은⁉️

▶️ https://youtu.be/7Q_Bv00MUrc

5월 24일, VIXX 위버스 채널에서 만나요💙💛

본 영상은 실제 대화 내용으로 제작되었음을 알려드립니다.💫

#빅스 #VIXX #HAPPYVIXXDAY #VIXX11thAnniversary

524 relay live is back The order setting method is ⁉️

See you on VIXX's Weverse channel on May 24th💙💛

Please note that this video was made with actual conversations 💫

video translation and credit under the cut

Relay Live VIXX Convo 

trs cr: @binbingbong_

(only the imp parts because it's too long) 🤖: I'm trying to host a relay live this year, but before that lets under what essentials starlights need to attend a vixx event ?) k: its a mess lol lol N: ID, song download history, album, fanclub membership etc ken: but importantly, an unbroken heart n: unbroken.heart (it's a meme from some Korean TV) ken: hakyeonieee ofc you know what I'm sayin kekekekeej Leo: ah, sorry (just joined) N: jaehwan a~ it's hyung (bc he referred to hakyeon by name💀) ken: daeguniiiiiii~~~ N: daeguni Leo: kekekke n: what are you doing ken: daeguniii what are you doing /image/ our maknongieee where are youuu my lover Leo: hello rovix? k: my everything (referring to hyukie) L: rovix do your work properly ken: laughing N: robic is too slow L: get a grip rovix ken: please laughing Leo: aren't you gonna work (@ rovix) ken : laughing rovix: those are all important (items that hakyeon mentioned) but most important is fast hands! (quick speed) Leo: you're not in sane mind (still scolding rovix) ken: lol not doing work(not paying attention) ken: wdym hand speed (?) (hand power?) N: I think it's taking some time for rovix to process replies N: ahhh, power hands ! k: but why you slow rovix lol N: this jerk (affectionate) N: srsly u K: if it's quick hands it's me! [ t/n 순발력 means ability to make a quick judgement/react quick in an event]   I'm using speedy/power hands because I'm assuming they're talking about catching up to vixx that's why starlights need to have speedy hands but I'm not sure completely hyuk: enter// laughing N: still the same k: you'll be shocked to see my speed h: settle down (?) ken; laugh k: okay we need to have fast hands ... rovix: to test speed it's simple go to form link, answer the questions and submit are you ready for the text agents hyuk: let's do it fast I have lessons rovix: explains the method of submitting a form (what form) ken: rovix ssiiiiiii stop nowwww the youngest has to leave for a lessonnnnn n: seems like copy paste(?) ken: laugh hyuk; talking about how there's still 55 minutes left until form opens and why rovix is already preparing so ahead n and ken talk out of context rovix says they have to wait now ken talks about how he'll go read a book in the meantime hakyeon gets confused at this because hakyeon is in disbelief hakyeon tells him his hobby is reading hakyeon asks what he's been reading (note there is a lot of kekekke in between these I'll skip them) jaehwan says he's reading shin Chan's adventure rovix comes back to say the rule is that whoever submits the form as fast as possible and is the first to submit will be the first to start the relay live on 24 may 8 pm and they will go on order or the submission speed. jaehwan says then he'll surely be the first one to press submit. ken: oh no..I have an appointment on the 24

.....but it's in June lol lol lol hakyeon: jaehwana.... ken: yes hyungnim hakyeon: cute. ken: stickers "I'm stillll babyyyyyy" ken asks where did hyuk and Leo go and calls to Leo as daeguniiiiii

rovix says it'll be back before the form time and Hakyeon scolds him for running away so rovix replies with affirmative that it's running away everyone leaves until the submit time. hyuk asks what if he submits before the 11  time but rovix says it won't count

hyuk says he'll still be the winner hakyeon says something like he's not scared of anyone here he's the scariest around but this sounds so ooc I'm confused lol hyuk shares? croissants? pretzels? in the chat

hyuk says that since he received good energy today, he's already the winner today and hakyeon calls him cute . hyuk also went to Starbucks and hakyeon says that indeed he's the winner . it strikes 11 and then they submit. hakyeon is confident he's the first one and so is ken

the results are announced . because hakyeon submitted one before 11 am his entry is disqualified. hyuk wins first place. rovix announces the winner hakyeon is in disbelief why is he not the first one ken laughs at taekwoon asking if his real name is "Leo" because

Leo submitted it as Leo and not Jung taekwoon like the rest of them. Leo wants to resumits !! rovix says he can do that but he'll still be on last place. Leo resubmits.. rovix says he's in last place. rovix tells hyuk that's he can now decide the order of live. hyuk asks "is the order not the order of the form submission" rovix says no. the winner gets the right to decide the order so hyuk says that the order of form submission is acceptable. (order: Hyuk Ken N Leo)

[kaioshin-kai]

its so weird that shin is the only supreme kai without a canon name (well elder kai too). technically 'shin' was just an alias he made up for the tournament to hide his identity, and everybody calls him 'supreme kai', even other deities. the wiki has one of his alt names listed as 'Neptune' weirdly enough but theres no context.

Huh? You mean in 25th Budokai? I guess I have to rewatch stuff for more context. But, you know... this is Dragon Ball where everything gets constantly retconned to a point that it makes King Kai look line an insane bullshitter.

Anyway, U7's Supreme Kai did gradually got named Shin!!

Even official sources calls him Shin! (シン)

Before that Supreme Kais were all mysterious, I guess it was originally intended to keep him all mysterious but that just changed.

I used to call Shin just "Kaioshin" back then (oh god I'm getting old) because the fandom did. lol

No comment on Elder Kai... But it could be possible his name is Shin too since he's his ancestor. (This is also what I headcanon!)

I also like to add this:

Did you know that Kibito comes from Tsukibito which is Japanese for Attendant... Yeah. The naming wasn't very original to begin with.

Originally they were supposed to look like this too:

Blue Kibito feels so cursed for some reason....

Conclusion: The Dragon Ball series just being the Dragon Ball series.

[insomniac-jay]

MHA NG | Characters Pt.1

Korina Sato/Sweet Tooth: The eldest child of Rikido and Naomi Sato. She works as a sidekick for another hero named Candy Queen (no relation to our girl Candy Williams). Has a constant resting bitch face and is not easily fazed by things (like her mom lol), but unlike Naomi it's because she's quite shy.

Quirk: Sugar, Spice, & Everything Nice - Kori can access a different power based on what she consumes whether it be food or drink. Mixed consumption results in a fusion of two powers.

Daishin Sero/Hotwire: The eldest son of Hanta and Denki Sero. He's Gakudan's bestie and his partner in crime. Daishin's got a pretty smart and blunt mouth that gets him into a load of trouble without knowing. Him and Makoto are an item, they've been dating ever since their U.A. days.

Quirk: Livewire - Daishin can produce wires that are capable of delivering powerful electric shocks from his hands. These wires can also power electronic devices such as phones.

Shinpachi Ojiro/Hikage: The only son of Mashirao and Tooru Ojiro. Shin is an easygoing guy with a nerdy side when the topic of ninjas is brought up. Surprisingly, he's a very skilled hacker and the go-to guy for all things that require it. He seems to be the only guy that's not driven crazy by Himeka Shinso-- who eventually became his girlfriend.

Quirk: Hidden - Shinpachi can turn parts of his body invisible-- even his whole body. This makes him a master of stealth. But the true power of the Quirk lies in its ability to bend light off the invisible limb, transforming it into a prism.

Himeka Shinso/Ruler: Hitoshi and Neito Shinso's little princess. She's bratty, domineering, and spoiled as one thinks. Himeka has a consistent reputation as a mean girl but seems to be "calming" down on the act now that she's a Pro. She's drove almost every guy around her crazy, except for her eventual boyfriend Shinpachi.

Quirk: Simon Says - Himeka can make others either copy her or order them to do what she commands them to by making a command.

Carrie Kurakimichi/Bloody Carrie: Yureihiko and Reiko Kurakimichi's child. Known for not being very social and a bit of an outcast, she's actually very sweet and fun loving. They were outcast due to past bullying for their appearance and Quirk.

Quirk: Haunting Spirits - Carrie has the power to create purple ghost likes spirits that can possess anything within line of sight she directs them towards. After directing the wisps to their target, the user is able to telekinetically manipulate it as long as it is the weight of a person. With his being a mix of her father's Will O' Wisps and her mother's Poltergeist, this Quirk is very multipurpose as the user can possess multiple objects using the lights.

Bonus

Kai & Mako Shindo: The younger twin sons of Yo and Jade Shindo. Unlike their parents, the twins attend Shiketsu but only Kai is in Senpu's class. Mako is in general education since he wants to do something else other than heroics.

Quirk: Tidal Wave - Both brothers have the power to create tidal wave like vibrations.

@floof-ghostie @calciumcryptid @peachyblkdemonslayer @crqelsummer