#despite the lack of them actually appearing in constellations

[cloud-somersault]

I just saw tour post about the elements and not having a picture of Little Star. If you wanted to, I'd absolutely love to do a (free) comission of them! I've been dying to know what the little one looks like!

THAT'S SO NICE!!!! Omg, you do NOT need my permission to draw your take on Little Star! 2 people have sent me concepts and ideas on their own take on the little scamp, but of course, it is up to the artist to share 😊

I am ALWAYS here for fanart of any kind of anything ever, i'm so honored and shocked anytime I get any!! And so grateful!! And I'm grateful for this ask!!! And the offer of a free commission, omgg,,that's so nice.

I was going to get a commission of LS done, but...I actually like seeing what other people think! If you do decide to draw something, please tag me or message me! I'd love to scream at you about it (positively).

And here's the reference ask for Little Star's appearance that I did once. They're just a little rascal, idk what else to say.

[hematomes]

You know,as someone who played Genshin,hsr,zzz and hi3 (not at the same time , I dropped hi3 after a while and I might drop zzz cuz combat wise it's also a hack n slash) ,maybe I'm biased but it feels like Genshin gets the worst ideas ,Like if you put the aspects of each game on a spectrum I feel like most of Genshin's aspects end up on the lower half.

It kinda makes me sad because zzz has some cool stuff, hsr too, HI3 has the excuse of being hoyos golden child so to say I guess, regardless of how well it does financially that game is still a big deal you know, but Genshin feels like it's being weirdly left out of all this cool stuff.

Character kits? Been getting worse tbh, animation probably not,I don't think Genshin's animation has ever went anywhere but up, story wise it's fine, and design wise it depends on the character I guess.

Idk ,maybe I'm talking nonsense but it feels like somewhere a few higher ups decided that Genshin would some sort of scapegoat somehow, but then again why would they do that when they could just as well just rake in the money from all of thier IPs, my thought process feels a bit conspiracy theory like

I'm probably just making a big deal out of nothing though.

i agree that genshin has been getting the short end of the stick in v5. rant incoming but i genuinely can't believe how bad it has become lmao

natlan as a nation is... extremely underwhelming. the archon quest has its moments (the war bit was actually very intense imo), but the characters lack depth for the most part, or at least it's explored in different parts that are mostly hidden.

mavuika is the worst archon by a long shot, because she's not flawed like the rest of them. it still feels uncanny that capitano agreed with her plan in a matter of minutes. she feels very... mary sue-esque? like everyone even outside of her nation blindly trusts her, even the traveler. it negates the traveler's character development from nations like fontaine and inazuma, and makes mavuika boring as hell.

mualani is the classic bubbly girl. cool. xilonen exists as a justification for the modern tech. cool. chasca is supposed to be constantly battling demons and was supposedly raised by literal beasts but it's barely addressed/isn't reflected in her character both design and personality wise, and both of her npc sisters were more interesting than her. citlali was cool until she turned into yet another aether simp (they even gave her a specific romantic moment if you play aether, which never happened with playable characters so far). ororon is the saving grace but also turned into a matchmaker for aether and citlali, which is also boring as fuck, and to top it off he's a 4* despite his importance and involvement in the quest (same thing can be said about kachina, the other interesting character). kinich has potential, but appears for a total of 4 frames to have a funny moment with ajaw and then dips. iansan seems really fun but she's yet another chibi with an ambiguous age (professional trainer? how.).

gameplay wise... mavuika is a let down. the nth pyro main dps, HEAVILY reliant on natlan mechanics and characters, fundamentally unplayable without at least xilonen or citlali. the fact that they're rerunning arlecchino in the same patch when arlecchino is 1k better and more powerful is kind of laughable. it is believed that they're surprisingly running both mavuika and citlali in p1 to damage control their revenue, idk how accurate that could be but im inclined to believe it.

xilonen is a cool addition, and a great buff to some teams. she's the only saving grace of natlan so far imo- citlali has a lame ass shield that layla surpasses with a few constellations, kinich is burn reliant so without emilie he's a bit difficult (clinky gameplay as well in my experience), mualani is HORRID to play but she is in fact neuvi-level, chasca is just.. erm. idk. i miss fontaine and sumeru.

even disregarding the glaring issue of gender ratio (a matter so big that even streamers and casual "waifu" pullers are also complaining about it lmao), natlan is ass. like, genuinely. it is ass. i have been playing genshin for 4 years. i stopped buying the battle pass and the login blessing for the first time in these 4 years.

genshin, imo, is the money maker- they've built their empire on it with how big it became, so now they're comfortable enough to neglect it. it's sad and i hate it bc it was one of my favorite games, but i don't really hold out any hope for snezhnaya anymore.

[just-some-brainrot]

headcanon time: freckles!!

wind - no freckles, actually. he gets horribly burned from the sun but luckily avoided the freckle genes (though he sometimes wished he had freckles too, because his grandma used to describe wind’s mom for him when he was younger and she always described his mother as having lots of freckles)

warriors - on his face, especially around his forehead. they’re not very noticeable and they’re only really on his face because of how much armor he wears when going out, but he covers it anyway. less out of insecurity and more just keeping with the time — nobility spent much less time doing labor outside than the poor folk, and their lack of freckled or marked skin became a sign of class

time - freckle free, but obsessed with malon’s when he was younger because none of the kokiri ever had freckles. he described the seeing them like looking through a telescope at the stars for the first time when malon asked about his fascination. in times when he was in a panic or woke from a night terror, malon would have him trace them until he found constellations he knew. she’d ask him to explain their name and where following them would lead until he calmed back down again.

legend - everywhere. literally everywhere. his face, his hands, his shoulders, his legs, especially, since he doesn’t wear pants or any kind of sunblock either. most times he wears an extra charm or two to cover it up while travelling in case there are social expectations that come with freckles (like warrior’s noble class), and the entire chain is floored when legend takes off the charm for the first time in order to clean it.

twilight - he doesn’t freckle a bit despite all the time he spends out in the sun helping out with work around town. the most emotional he’s gotten about the topic was fending off a group of kids trying to poke fun at another kid in his hometown with freckles. after that he makes a point not to tease anyone about their freckles.

four - had lots of freckles as a kid, but they somehow faded as he got older. some people told him it was just part of growing up, his body changing and all that, but four thinks it might’ve been because of all the strange magic he’s been exposed to over the years.

wild - freckles. everywhere (that isn’t covered in scars at least). wasn’t too noticeable before the calamity and, like warriors, he covered up those that showed, but they became much more prominent afterwards, to the point purah checked him for illness. zelda says the shrine could’ve biologically altered his body, but wild thinks it’s just him travelling out a lot more. he still covers the ones on his face, but how does it to try and make his appearance less shocking for people he meet, who are usually disoriented enough by his abundance of scars.

hyrule - tons of freckles! similar to wild, his freckles are more apparent thanks to the sheer amount of outdoor travelling he does, but unlike wild, hyrule doesn’t try to hide his. covering up? using elixirs? wearing a charm?? no thanks. if he comes across someone wanting any of that for their freckles, sure he’ll do it, but hyrule‘s actually pretty fond of his freckles — which his princesses call sun kisses — and doesn’t see the point of using that himself.

sky - contrary to time’s experience, he’s actually more surprised when he sees people who don’t freckle in the sun for the first time. living in skyloft, above any cloud protection, meant anyone with even the slightest possibility of getting freckles from the sun definitely would. his community calls summer “freckle season” since that’s when everyone, no matter how much they stay inside or use sunblock, is bound to freckle a bit. so, of course, he’s absolutely floored when they stumble scrips a small farming town in the middle of summer, where not even the farmhands had freckles.

[englass]

You know what I want (that I don’t think has been done but please correct me if it has)–

Genshin Impact, but School– like a Twisted Wonderland AU sort of school thing.

Now, I’ve not played TW (*cries in EU*) but from what I know I don’t think it would actually affect potential story stuff too much; it’d be a relatively clean merger. I’m literally more just thinking in terms of: the elements or countries are different houses, the Archons are their respective Head of House and MC/Reader has been Isekai’d here via wishing means despite lacking a vision (means of enrolment?).

Now just some random brainstorming thoughts because the idea consumed me–:

As a general thing, either GI is already a TW sort of game in MC’s world or it’s not changed from how it already is and this is just an alternate world to the one MC and we know and remember. Maybe they play both games and this world is a weird merger of the two (not that MC is imagining this or has any influence over it; it’s just a weird coincidence, but that would probably muddy the waters so likely not)?

Because of Zhongli being a hidden/retired Archon I could see the dorm being more so run democratically, maybe having Ningguang being voted/recommended for the position by her fellow classmates while Zhongli chills out (read: slacks off) in the local gardens (boi still probably gets straight A’s in everything except Business & Personal Finance/Economics).

In regards to the Fatui and how they’d fit into this… I think it’d depend on how the Houses are set up. If the Houses were represented via Country then they could just be fellow students, but aged down where appropriate. If the Houses were represented via Element then I’d be tempted to make them teachers, or students from a rival school. The problem with the Element option is the Tsaritsa; I wouldn’t know how to keep their connection with her while keeping her as the Head of House. Something to think about maybe.

Aether and Lumine could be transfer students? Or just not in the story at all? Or maybe from a different school? Up for debate; depends on how much you’d want them there I guess so it’d be up to the writer. Paimon could literally just take Grim’s spot regardless lol, but again that’d be up to the writer.

Acts/Chapters wouldn’t change much, both games are similar in that each Chapter and Act is set in or revolves around a different Country/House (to my limited understanding of TW at least). So A/C1 (not constellations) is to do with Mondstadt, A/C2 is Liyue and so on and so forth. How you’d transfer the actual story to this world’s format though is… ehhhhhhhh—

- For Mondstadt, the idea of Dvalin being a little chibi version of himself is too adorable to pass up and so maybe the stuff with him still happens, being corrupted and saving him before he goes on a massive rampage (either the stuff with the Abyss/Khaenri’ah isn’t a thing here, or it’s one of two options: 1. Rival school that dabbles in the “darkness” element or 2. Is the old school that the current school was built on top of (what the story would be here though I don’t know; I’d need to brush up/know more about the lore)) and by the end he continues to be a sort of cute familiar to Venti that occasionally makes an appearance. Should note that he’s still normal sized/a big boi when corrupted, but after MC frees him he takes on a smaller and more approachable form (please don’t ask me how that works in this world, I don’t know—)

- Liyue would be… not too different from the original? Actually, maybe this is how Ningguang becomes the new Head of House? The whole of Act 2 was orchestrated by Zhongli wanting to see if Liyue could continue without him in canon, so maybe this is the same? Maybe the identity of this Head of House is a secret that only other HoH know about (as well as Childe; he and Zhongli are maybe surprisingly good friends and so the latter gets Childe to help him “step down”). So they do something really stupid and summon Osial— which could be an obnoxious rival of Zhongli’s from another school that’s come to ruin the House’s reputation or something, or is straight up some sea monster they’ve summoned to up that stakes. I kinda like the first idea, especially if you did a twist of him owing Zhongli for whatever reason so he’s only here to help in order to remove Zhongli from his long-standing position (I’m thinking just keep the fact that Zhongli is actually a dragon a thing and that he’s only still here because he can be, likely because of ageing differences or because despite him being a great student he deliberately flunks the important exams to get held back; fully up for debate though)

- For Inazuma… I don’t know dude, it’s just a dictatorship? Maybe something happened with Makoto and she either left or sadly passed and Ei has no idea how to run her House so just straight up takes full control of it in a negative way? And MC shows her the power of friendship or something— I don’t know, I really don’t know. All I do know is that Yae Miko would be a menace; personal space? What’s that, she’s never heard of it. Girl be overtly flirting with MC every step of the way regardless of gender; fingertips trailing across their shoulders as she circles behind them, tipping their head back with a gentle pressure against their skin, leaning way too close to their ears and space as she talks to them… yeah, other students would not be too happy about that (tbh Yae got me bad lol; not my favourite character, but she’s fun and I’d definitely give her the waifu title– anyway!)

Is it too late to mention this is intended to be a “romance game”?

And considering my love of yandere’s— fuck it, throw a load of them in here too if you want; take your pick.

- Sumeru— I don’t know, going through these is kinda exhausting. All I will say is that this is the tech House and that Dottore has to be involved with whatever happens here. Maybe it’s still an experiment he’s running and has roped the kids into (if he’s a teacher, though I doubt it’d be much different if it was a student either) or something else, but he has to be there. My bias for him is really showing lol, but he has to be; he needs to be the villain of this Act/Chapter. Plus it’d be kinda funny to see him the next time MC went to class and have them freak out as to why he’s still here when he should probably be in jail (man totally either has some sort of dirt on the headmaster (Heavenly Principles?) to keep him in the school or he’s kept as a teacher to better monitor him and his movements).

Naturally we can’t talk about Fontaine at the moment, so I won’t go into it (—except for the fact that I am weak for Neuvillette; what is it with tall, sophisticated dragon (alleged/theorised) men that completely knock me off my feet 😭 urg, I want him and Zhongli to passively-aggressively battle for the right to court me, is that too much for a girl to ask??)

Anyway, I don’t think there’s anything else I want to add right now. Just throwing thoughts out into the aether, so to speak--

[astro-photographer18]

This astronomy picture of the day is very aesthetically pleasing. The star cluster shown is IC 348, a part of the constellation Perseus. Colors most noted within this picture are purple, pink hues, brown hues, black, and hints of green. Most obviously defined are the pink and purple hues that surround the middle and upper right sections of the picture. 

Purple hues overlap with the black background to make a dark purple color. The dust is shaped in a stringy, ribbon-like appearance that is tied and overlapping. The pink color is actually "energized hydrogen, which is typically as hot as around 10,000 °C (approximately 18,000 °F) or more, while the more orange gas represents dense, molecular hydrogen, which is much colder at around -200 °C or less (approximately -300 °F), and associated dust" (NASA's Webb Uncovers Star Formation in Cluster's Dusty Ribbons). Rather than orange, the gas in this photo is a dark brown color.

Swirls of dust surround what appear to be stars, and as mentioned by APOD, a young brown dwarf. Brown dwarfs, “cross the line between star and planet, requiring an exciting re-thinking of the universe��� (Dwarfing the Giants, Webb). While having a title involving dwarfs, a brown dwarf is not necessarily small. They can be humongous. Brown dwarfs are birthed similar to stars, but lack the mass necessary to emit starlight. They do emit infrared light, but the visible light from their creation decreases with time, making them difficult to detect. 

How do stars shine, you may ask? Stars are giant balls of hot gas in which hydrogen atoms collide, forming helium. This process causes nuclear fusion. This nuclear fusion is the shining light that stars emit. The larger the star, the more luminous it is. Stars are important because they are "factories for elements, proving them useful from birth until death (American Museum of Natural History).

This picture overall is gorgeous and well edited.

Source: What Makes Brown Dwarfs

Source #2: NASA

Source #3: Stars

2024 January 15

Star Cluster IC 348 from Webb Image Credit: NASA, ESA, CSA, STScI, and K. Luhman (Penn State U.) and C. Alves de Oliveira (ESA)

Explanation: Sometimes, it’s the stars that are the hardest to see that are the most interesting. IC 348 is a young star cluster that illuminates surrounding filamentary dust. The stringy and winding dust appears pink in this recently released infrared image from the Webb Space Telescope. In visible light, this dust reflects mostly blue light, giving the surrounding material the familiar blue hue of a reflection nebula. Besides bright stars, several cool objects have been located in IC 348, visible because they glow brighter in infrared light. These objects are hypothesized to be low mass brown dwarfs. Evidence for this includes the detection of an unidentified atmospheric chemical, likely a hydrocarbon, seen previously in the atmosphere of Saturn. These objects appear to have masses slightly greater than known planets, only a few times greater than Jupiter. Together, these indicate that this young star cluster contains something noteworthy – young planet-mass brown dwarfs that float free, not orbiting any other star.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap240115.html

[shannonlynnin]

Adlerians view...

“Adlerians view most human problems as social in nature, they emphasize relationships within the family as our earliest and, perhaps, our most influential social system.”  

Parents are a direct example to their children. Children grow up observing and believing that the values, beliefs and goals that their parents instill, are the right ones, moral ones and will help them grow into productive, superior and stable adults. 

However, when a child grows up with a psychopathic parent, can the child prosper and become a valuable member of society? 

According to an article by Scott Bonn, Ph.D. in Psychology Today, “psychopaths are unable to form emotional attachments… tend to be aggressive and predatory… view others as objects for their amusement… they lack empathy… often have disarming or even charming personalities. They are manipulative and can easily gain people’s trust. They learn to mimic emotions, despite their inability to actually feel them and will appear normal to unsuspecting people. Psychopaths are often well-educated and hold steady jobs.”

My father was all of these things, smart, charming and seductive, yet aggressive and mean. He appeared normal to the outside world, but behind closed doors, he was emotionally detached and demeaning towards my mother and siblings. He was always putting them down, calling them fat. He would laugh and say “Just kidding, I love you,” and buy a gift to make up for the hurt. Any friend he had was screwed over. He would lie, cheat and steal to get what he wanted by manipulating the system and defrauding his friends and the government. 

As a young, naive, child, I looked up to my dad, he was my hero, he could never do wrong or let me down. He loved me, I was Daddy’s little girl. One day all of that changed. I was 10 years old, and my mother and I were watching my older sister play tennis at her high school, I remember it vividly. She took me for a walk and we were next to railroad tracks when she finally spoke. “Shannon, I need to tell you something and you cannot tell your baby brother, can you promise me?... Your father got into trouble and he will have to go away. He walked into a bank and saw a pile of money that wasn’t his and he took it. That was wrong and he got caught. Now daddy has to go away for a bit, but everything will be ok.” I was shocked, caught off guard, my father was going to jail, only bad people go to jail! 

Many years later, I would bring this memory up to my mother and she would deny the conversation ever happened, calling me a liar and saying I make stories up. It was very confusing and frustrating, however, I learned in therapy that children can make up stories to understand and interpret a stressful situation. So, did it really happen, who knows… but my father did spend time in jail. 

As I matured into my teenage years, I became distant and did not trust people. I found it difficult to make new friends and have real emotional connections. I was shallow and chose a lifestyle that was immoral and chaotic. My behavior and attitude reflected what I observed and perceived growing up,I actually believed that I was supposed to act like this because I was superior. 

I started therapy in college when I began getting into trouble and having turmoil with my friends and in my relationships. I felt lost and wanted to have real friendships and be a valuable addition to society. I spent years focusing on my subjective experiences, dissecting the emotional and cognitive impact my father had on me and my resulting choices. I explored the dynamics between my siblings and my place in my family constellation. It took a lot of psychoanalyzing and maturity but I CHOSE to change, I chose to act differently. I altered my perspective and re-trained my thoughts. I practiced empathy and kindness. I learned to face my inferiority complex by raising my energy level and becoming strong-minded. 

It was painful to recognize as an adult my father is not a hero. He is not kind and his thinking is abnormal. The things he says are not funny, they are abusive and racist, he is toxic. To be successful in life, a person must surround themselves with the kind of people that they would like to be. Being around good, ethical, honest and sincere people rubs off on a person by helping to influence their behavior.  Having relationships and real friendships gives meaning to one’s life. 

Corey Gerald. (2015). Theory and Practice of Counseling and  Psychotherapy.Cengage Learning.

Bonn, S. (2018, January 18). How to tell a sociopath from a psychopath | Psychology Today. Psychology Today. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/wicked-deeds/201801/how-tell-sociopath-psychopath 

[jaeminzie]

warm | l.dh

↳ lee donghyuck x gender neutral!reader

synopsis: the sunshine remains warm even in the cold, dark night.

genre: comfort flufff *cries*

word count: 1,433

taglist: @leoveandlust

a/n: this was super self indulgent omg... idk man... seeing hyuck drive in that teaser got me acting some type of way, why must he be so fine,, all seriousness, i’m proud of this ! go listen to the song below bc it’s v cute and matches w/ the fic !

‘warm (feat. mia)’ by dre’es

pink and orange hues paint the sky above you and your boyfriend in the moving vehicle. one of his hands on steering the wheel while the other is intertwined with yours, resting on your lap. it’s a beautiful day out. cruising in donghyuck’s red convertible that he boasts over almost as much as he brags about you to his friends.

the cool breeze of the beach hits your faces causing the exposure of your foreheads and squinting of your eyes. salt tinted smells fill your nostrils.

your boyfriend reaches over to raise the volume, the vibrations now intensifying. donghyuck squeezes your hand before rubbing his thumb against the skin softly, while his other hand taps against the wheel to the beat of the music. your feet tap to the music as well.

the view surrounding you is serene. calm waves that glisten underneath the sunset’s glow to your right. the love of your life enjoying the ride, smiling and singing along to the music with crinkles forming around his eyes, to your left. the lack of stars in the polluted sky are all found in donghyuck’s pure eyes.

“enjoying the view?” the boy yells over the loud music.

“sure am,” you yell back. “you always look good.”

donghyuck drops his head briefly as he laughs at your comment. “you don’t have to remind me, sweetheart.” he squeezes your hand again and sends you a wink.

you fail to bite a smile back so instead, you turn your direction to the ocean, paying close attention to the way waves crash against each other softly and sparkle as they reach farther up on the sand. your ears listen to the music closely, fully savoring it and the emotions it makes you feel.

complete tranquility is achieved in this moment. actually, any moment with donghyuck helps you feel peace despite his usual antics that he pulls (though, you secretly enjoy them).

“are we almost there?” you whine, dragging out the last word.

“yes,” donghyuck mocks your tone, tilting his head toward your direction. “gosh, always so impatient.” you only respond with a chuckle to his statement — he isn’t wrong but you wouldn’t dare to admit it.

you begin to frown since the sight of the water becomes smaller as donghyuck drives up a hill. it wasn’t long until he parked the car near the edge. he lowers down the music, “stay here.”

donghyuck quickly gets out of the car, shuffling his way around to your side and opens the door for you. the act makes your cheeks heat up profusely. he reaches over to undo your seatbelt, the scent of his vanilla body wash replaces the hint of salt water in the air. donghyuck stays put even after he’s done unbuckling your seat belt, keeping his face at a close proximity to yours.

so close that his warm breath reaches your lips; you have a clear view of his moles that form star constellations that are almost as beautiful as his love; you can see the way his eyes glisten the same way as did the waves. the boy’s hands grab a hold of your waist. softly, he placed a small kiss on your cheek before pulling you out the car with him.

a small gasp leaves you when you're met with a better view of the ocean. “like it?” donghyuck inquires behind you, leaning against the hood of his car while his hands caress every part of your body he could reach — your back, shoulders, waist, hips, and stomach — before slithering his arms around your waist and pulling you closer.

“it’s gorgeous,” you speak softly.

he giggles into your neck, breath tickling you but you don’t move away. “not as gorgeous as y-“

“oh my god, don’t say stuff like that!” you smack his hands that are resting on your stomach, laughing.

donghyuck’s spine straightens, complaining, “and why not?”

you shake your head, “so cheesy.”

laughter erupts out of him, he comes back to resting his chin on your right shoulder. “you don’t love me,” he pouts against your neck while simultaneously poking your sides. “all i do and say are ‘cheesy’ stuff.”

you hum, “i guess you’re lucky i love you so much that i let it slide. most of the time.”

“let’s try to aim for all of the time,” he shoots you a wide smile and wiggles his eyebrows when you turn your head to look at him in ‘annoyance’ (but truly, it was truly out of fondness).

silence takes over between you both after your soft giggles and bickering come to a halt. the distant sounds of the waves and insects cricketing fill your ears. the night becomes near, the sun slowly disappears as the bright moon begins to rise into appearance.

your boyfriend begins to hum melodies, causing vibrations to rumble against your neck, and placing soft kisses on your skin in between different melodies. he mumbles sweet nothings into your ear as you two sway left to right, still attached to each other and seeming not to let go any time soon as donghyuck’s hold on you hasn’t loosened nor do you want it to.

donghyuck turns you around to face him. he smiles at the sight of you and how stunning you look standing in front of him with stars in your eyes and a soft smile he loves to see you wear. your arms reach up to wrap around his neck.

silently, you move closer to his face to kiss the mole on his right cheek, and the other near his nose, and the other sitting on his cheekbone, and lowering down to reach another mole, and even lower as your reach the ones just below his prominent jawline, then kissing the one on his adam’s apple which bobs up and down slightly. you move your head up and press your cheek against his to turn his face to the side so you can reach the last mole you need to kiss which is placed right on his jaw.

you pull away and he faces you again, still with the same smile he’s been wearing since you’ve started the drive here. he pecks your lips. “i’m so in love with you.” he mumbles against them, lips brushing against each other and your different flavors of chapstick combining.

“and as am i.” you lean closer to enclose the tiny gap between you two, finally taking in the fullness and velvet feeling of his heart-shaped lips.

the kiss remains smooth and slow. donghyuck’s fingers play with the waistband of your pants before slipping his hand underneath your shirt to cop a feel of your back that he loves to kiss right before bed and seconds after waking up in an effort to get you out of your slumber before he feels lonely. his hands remain on your mid-back, thumbs covered in cold metal rings move up and down causing shivers to run down your spine.

heads move side to side to deepen the blissful kiss. donghyuck kisses you harder and stays put to prolong the sensation before barely pulling away as your lips still touch each other.

words don’t need to be exchanged to know how much you both appreciate and love one another. the looks on your faces say it all. how donghyuck’s eyes have never left you since you’ve got here and the way they admire you and only you as if there isn’t a beautiful sea behind you. how you take your time focusing on every crevice and mark on each feature on the boy’s face as if you don’t see him enough already.

how painfully obvious you two are. you wouldn’t be able to hide the admiration you have toward the boy staring at you even if you tried your hardest to.

being in love with donghyuck gave ‘warmth’ a new feeling. it’s defined with how safe and secure you are with just his presence in the same room as you, how he manages to make every negative feeling dissipate with one stupid joke, how he can make you forget about your problems and worries the second he pulls you in for a cuddle, and so much more.

you move your head to rest on his shoulder, snuggling into his neck, and he tightens his hold around you. he continues his humming as he begins to sway your bodies softly again. donghyuck’s hand still rubbing your back, making you feel absolute serenity in his arms — feeling drowsier as time passes. the sunshine remains warm even in the cold, dark night.

[dailyadventureprompts]

I am currently in the process of designing my universes cosmology. It is currently similar to some of the stuff you have put out, with big emphasis on an all encompassing realm called the Dreaming (formed from the consciousness of all living things and connection to it is the source of magic). But unfortunately I am struggling to find a natural home for the gods, I want them to be present in the material world but at the same time have a separate realm from which they draw divine power.

Hi friend, I hope you don’t mind if I don’t to a full writeup on this, as there’s actually some preexisting d&d adjacent lore that fits what you’re looking for PERFECTLY. 

So in the Greek myth Based Theros setting ( as featured in Mythic Odysseys of Theros), the gods dwell in a realm known as Nyx, which manifest as a flowing landscape of nebula matter, constellations, and starstuff. Nyx is a realm apart from and “overlooking” the mortal realm, allowing the gods to view the world of their followers as if they were looking through a multifaceted jewel. 

Nyx is a plane of belief and legends, morphing overtime in accordance with the mythos of mortals and affecting that collective psyche itself in turn.  

As an example of this process: 

Say a hero earns great renown that people tell their story for generations, entering the collective canon of tales and legends, becoming a thing that is simultaneously mythic, and commonly accepted to be a thing that happened as the “reality” of the tale gets strained out with each new telling.

The starstuff of nyx would rearrange itself, creating space for that hero and their deeds to be immortalized in the infinite cosmic tapestry, living out their great deeds over and over again in the great dance of the heavens. 

Since that legend dwells in Nyx, it happened, and any mythic qualities or deeds accrued by the hero over various retellings become retroactively true, such as their sword acquiring magical powers, or the appearance of a particular type of monster at a particular location in their journey, descendants of that beast still haunting that location to this day despite never living there in the first place. 

If the gods so wish, they can reweave the fabric of Nyx to their liking, immortalizing events or reworking history as they see fit. Events stripped from the mythic tapestry fade from common knowledge over generations, the evidence of their greatness crumbling away to ruin with only the slightest scrap of starlight remaining at their edges.

This last fact is why the gods are so protective over the ways into their domain, and keep most secret portals and ascension points shut or heavily guarded. They wish sole control over the mythic history of the mortal realm, and should a mortal find their way in with the right help or the wrong kind of magic, they may do irrevocable damage to the cosmic weave in attempting to change things to their liking. 

The gods are also cable of creating things wholecloth out of their cosmic realm, manifesting these “nyx-born” or “star-wrought” creations in the waking world as befits their will. Often they will do this when mortals have earned their attention or ire, creating wonderous boons to reward the favored or great beasts to punish the hubristic. These creations are “less real” than the more gradual changes wrought by the mythic realm, as they lack the generations of belief needed to shore them up into something enduring, the starstuff from which they were made peeking through  the edges.  To countermand this fragility, the gods seek to work their creations into existing or currently ongoing stories, framing these creations as the accessories of great heroes or of heroes yet to be.  

if you’d like another example of what all this looks like, please refer to the absolute MASTERPIECE that is Sinbad, Legend of the Seven Seas

I hope that helps friend, honestly WOTC never explains all of this in one place, and I’ve wanted to get my thoughts down on the matter for some time. 

Art

[wincore]

act iii, incomplete | ten

pairing: ten x reader

summary: it’s the same vivid dream every time — you, a feline constellation that keeps smiling at you and a boy who won’t ever forgive you. autumn, spring and everything in between come to save part of that but the truth is this: no amount of time spent at your small town theatre with your once best friend is going to speak the words for you.

alternatively, 

best friends aren’t meant to be lovers and ten, despite the millions of roles he’s played, keeps trying for the one role he won’t ever get.

genre: childhood best friends to lovers, slight theatre au, reincarnation themes, fluff, angst

warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of injuries, mentions of death

words: 23.9k

a/n: hello i’m so glad i actually completed this !!!!! i’ve never written something like this before !!! also longest fic let’s gooo ahaha special thank you to miss cat for reading this and making it at least infinity times better i am in indebted to u <3. playlist here.

part of the almost collab by @hyucksie !! (thank you for hosting this, it was lovely to be a part!!)

ACT I: HOMESICK

act i scene i. 

For the first time in years, you hold your breath at the local theatre, the walls more and more debilitated each year. It’s the only place, perhaps, that is so vibrant in its dull shades. The key is memories. Memories keep you alive in a way death and life and sickness cannot interfere. 

A single drum beat resounds through the theatre. A second one follows before a tune from a flute sets the mood. A voice speaks out, that of a woman, and it strikes you as somewhat sad. In that moment, you believe Ten would have pointed out to you that she is meant to do that, she is meant to play the part of someone sad. The curtains stare at you as undulating as a calm sea of red and you hold your breath. 

This is a modern play and you’ve only kept up with them for the sake of watching Ten play a part in them. As for other plays, high school Shakespeare was the most formidable text you’ve ever read and you’d rather not fight for your life again.

“Has the world ever seen a woman’s love unrivalled?”

A projector displays a flower, peonies, on the curtains.

“She once fell sick, dreaming of a lover; and once sick, she grew worse. Love is not love at its fullest if one is not willing to die for it.”

You don’t think that’s quite right. The curtains are drawn right then, their velvet sheen accentuated under the bright theatre lights and two characters appear on stage. 

Your first thought is that he’s grown far too much. The second is that he hasn’t changed much. Ten stands in the character of a play you haven’t finished reading yet, in clothes that accentuate his dancer’s figure and with the look of someone that isn’t him. You had tried to read  the play earlier but you might have gotten a little too excited to complete it. 

You bounce your legs in anticipation, the music and his voice fading out—it’s not like you can focus much with the high school kids giggling and making out in the seats right behind yours. You could always make a scene but it’s not like you to steal the spotlight away from your dearest friend. Besides, you need to reiterate through the list of things you have to help him catch up on since he’s been gone. Ten wouldn’t want to miss out on some spicy gossip. You chuckle to yourself, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool yourself. 

Ten likes overwhelming responses. You like to be overwhelming. You’re the perfect pair. 

The play ends in a way you can’t tell if it was a tragedy or a comedy. You could have if you paid more attention but this isn’t literature class. You can do whatever you want now and you’re a little preoccupied with your own thoughts. Ten. Your best friend is back from Broadway after a year of barely talking. You can’t wait to hear the stories.

You get up as soon as the lights are on but when no one else does, you sit back down. The curtains part now and the cast comes on for their final bow. You shift around to see if Ten is looking at you, the older people beside you grunting in annoyance and muttering something about the youth. He’s not but Sicheng is and when you send a wink his way, he shakes his head.

You pout at the lack of attention but it’s time to make your way backstage now. The crowd is exiting and you need to get there before Ten leaves. 

Once outside, you make a beeline to the back of the theatre building and mess up Sicheng’s hair as he leaves for home. 

“He’s inside,” he informs curtly and makes as much distance possible between the two of you.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Sicheng,” you coo to annoy him. “You performed so well. Not as good as Ten though.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “Were you even paying attention?”

You cross your arms and push him onto his track. He shrugs and you watch his figure disappear behind the corner before taking a deep breath. With anticipation, comes a little unrestrained droplet of anxiety. You shouldn’t be worried, you tell yourself. This is Ten, after all.

The crows sing a song to themselves under the purple evening sun and you feel annoyed at the sound. It’s a song for ghosts. You hate the sound of it. 

You rub your temples, trying to hush away the headache. You can’t wait to see Ten.

You swing the door open in an attempt to sneak up on him. However, you take a few moments to see him barefaced, the stage makeup washed off and a red undertone running through his nose and cheeks. That dark mop of hair sticks out every which way, and no attempt has been made to rectify it. It was once your job, actually. He rubs at his sleepy eyes, a yawn escaping his lips as he stuff his belongings into a worn-out satchel bag. You gave it to him when you skipped prom night. You smile. 

“Ten!” you yell at the top of your lungs. You’ve missed him so much—an old greeting should warm him up. This town started feeling more like home once you heard the news Ten’s back.

He looks at you so cold that you stop dead in your tracks. You freeze up, the words suddenly collapsing into themselves like wilting flowers. You don’t recognize Ten all of a sudden. He wears a deep frown and empty eyes, something you cannot understand no matter what angle you look from. Everything’s changed now, hasn’t it? You truly understand what that means when you meet his eyes.

“Ten,” you repeat at a more respectable volume. “Hey. I… I missed—”

“Hey,” he responds a little too quickly. Eyes less sharp than usual, he averts his gaze. “I- I need to get home early.”

Ten grabs his bag and leaves the room, his shoulder brushing against yours. You stand there for a few extra moments, breaths shallow and quiet. When you regain the sound of your heartbeat, you leave the practice room, throat dry and a frustrated sigh on your lips. Consequences, every time it’s the consequences biting back.

The crows’ song goes unheard.

act i scene ii.

“So… you want me to get Ten to talk to you?” 

Sicheng looks at you in disbelief, the ice cream in his hand starting to melt. You’ve never met anyone who enjoys ice cream in mid-autumn as much as he does. Sore throats are foreign to him.

You nod, crossing your arms. “I don’t know why he’s avoiding me.”

Sicheng scoffs, choking on the ice cream and taking a few moments to regain his composure. 

“Thanks,” he says when you rub his back in pity. “But… you really don’t know why he’s avoiding you?”

You shake your head. It’s a lie. But the only thing you can think of is the summer he left, when he confessed his feelings and you rejected him after a few seconds of contemplation. You had good reason. You just can’t tell him that. You’re still young and there’s so much to look forward to.

"You obviously have feelings for him!"

"Yeah, anger! Why would he just ignore me like that? We've been friends for, uh…"

"Stop counting, you suck at math."

You punch his shoulder and his ice cream almost falls off. He looks at you with a glare so strong, you have to take a step back.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I thought we were like any other pair of best friends.”

Sicheng snorts. “Yeah, best friends in love with each other. Didn't you suggest getting married once?”

“As a joke,” you interject, feeling heat on your cheeks. “Actually, do you know how useful a marriage of convenience is? It's got convenience in the name. Think of all the tax benefits.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “The way you looked at each other wasn’t a joke—you know what? I’m not going to be the supporting act to your whole romance charade. You figure this out.”

You pout. “So you’re saying you won’t help?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. You won’t know if I did.”

You furrow your eyebrows, groaning in exasperation. This was supposed to be a happy reunion and yet, you’re here moping to a theatre kid, hoping he helps you. You expected Ten to not take it well but right now, you wish you weren’t so blunt. You could have said it nicer.

You’re joking, right? Haha, nice one. Best friends don't fall in love.

Oh, this is all your fault. You knew him better than anyone else. You should’ve known the consequences too—you could scream right now. In your defense, you thought college made him lose a few brain cells. You still have to make it right. 

“Fine. Whatever you might do, better do it soon.”

Sicheng shrugs, turning back to his ice cream and browsing lazily through one of the magazines. He’s supposed to be watching the store—he gets paid for it but he couldn’t care less about this place. Sicheng is something of a theatrical actor too, traveling around and performing with his theatre group. He never cared for Broadway as much as Ten did.

However, you’re all here now. This autumn is going to be spent with your best friends no matter the cost. You smile as you think of the time you and Ten surprised Sicheng with a whole bag of ice cream and he cried although most of it ended up melting. Sicheng raises an eyebrow at your expression but doesn't question.

“There’s a reunion party by the woods,” he announces. “Next week. Saturday. You have to make up before that. You know they’re going to be brutal.”

You shudder. Your classmates certainly won’t let go of the idea of your relationship with Ten. Teasing aside, they’re going to be making either one of you uncomfortable. All your excitement drains itself. Your shoulders slump and you think that perhaps, asking for forgiveness would be a better out. You recover quickly though. This has to work out, Ten has to be your best friend again—what choice do you have? You missed him and you’re going to let him know.

//

The first attempt begins right in the evening. Sicheng texts Ten after his shift, asking him to get some snacks. Lucky for you, you work at the local snack store, also called the convenience store. There’s nowhere better to get snacks. There’s also nowhere else to get snacks.

You stand behind the counter, fiddling with the drawstrings of your hoodie while your eyes trail to the hands of the clock on the wall. Sicheng texted him half an hour ago. Ten might not be the most punctual but you know he listens to Sicheng, even if it’s reluctantly.

Your impatience gets the better of you and you leave the counter to peer out the glass door. Unfortunately, someone pushes open the door right then and you clutch your nose, eyes watering at the painful impact. 

Ten looks petrified for a moment before turning around and leaving. You furrow your eyebrows, tears brimming from the pain in your nose and mixing into the exasperation from getting so bluntly ignored. Come on, Ten. You curse on your way back to the lonely counter. There goes the only thing you were looking forward to this evening. Sicheng walks in a while later, a sour look on his face.

“He actually gave me a mouthful,” he mutters angrily. “Can you believe that? Me. Who’s listened to all his lovesick ramblings about y—theatre.” 

You slump onto the counter further, the bright orange background of the store more headache-inducing than optimistic. 

“God, this is so much more difficult than I expected.”

“What happened between the two of you anyway? I thought you promised to call him every day.”

“I tried, okay? He wouldn’t pick up.”

Sicheng raises an eyebrow. “Woah. Haven’t heard about that one.”

He places the single pack of Lays onto the counter. You get up to pull the chocolate ice cream from the cooler.

“Don’t bother. It’s so depressing getting shut out like this.”

Sicheng mutters something under his breath you don’t quite catch. It’s his complaining voice though, so you don’t question him. 

“He’s going to be at the Bridge tomorrow,” Sicheng notifies. “Something about getting fresh early morning air. Now, there’s no way you can run into him and call it coincidence. So don’t do that.”

You cross your arms. “So what do you suggest I do?”

“I mean, if you’re accompanying Mr. Yang to the dahlia fields for flower shop business… that’s a different story.”

Your eyes brighten and you sit up. “You’re a genius!”

“I’ve been telling you guys since—”

You hug him and he chokes, almost dropping the Lays pack. The door opens and you hurriedly wave at Yangyang, who’s here for the next shift before running out the door in a hurricane of bad decisions and good intentions.

“I hate being the middleman,” Sicheng mutters to Yangyang who offers him a pitiful look. The evening returns to its pink skies and you race your feelings to your destination.

//

“Mr. Yang,” you whine. “You don’t need a single dahlia? I’m offering to help.”

The older man scratches his spotless white beard and looks at you in confusion. “I gathered a whole cartload just three days ago. There’s no way I need more. You know this place—no one buys flowers anymore.”

“I’ll buy them! A whole cartload.”

“And where will you get the money, child?”

“Uh.”

Mr. Yang shakes his head at your immaturity. “If you’re so eager, get me some chrysanthemums from Mrs. Leong’s sh—”

“No. It has to be from the other side of the Bridge,” you interject. 

Mr. Yang is further perplexed but you’re glad he doesn’t ask further. Having to explain your love and friendship troubles to a senior citizen has never been an ideal situation. You make a face at the thought.

“Alright,” he says and takes a few moments to ponder. “You want an errand to run, right? Could you get me some sunflower seeds from Goodwin Park?”

“That far?”

He sighs. “Do you want to go or not?”

You nod reluctantly, checking your phone to see the time. It’s early as fuck and the only person you’d wake up this early for doesn’t even know you’re doing all this.

“It’s to feed the birds, isn’t it?” You raise an eyebrow. 

Mr Yang nods.

“You know, you don’t have to do all that to get Mrs. Leong to notice you.” You offer him a cheeky grin.

“I’m assuming it’s also a person you’re doing all of this for,” he hums in reply.  

You drop your grin and take the errand money, heat rising in your cheeks. Exiting quickly, you check the time again. Ten better not have left early.

Shortcuts are better when there’s someone with you, you decide. You have gained around five long scratches at five different places on your body trying to best the hill beside Maple Street in order to get to the Bridge faster. If Ten were here, he'd laugh at you for being so graceless. 

The Bridge is empty when you arrive and you sigh deeply. You’re not sure if you’re early or he’s late or you’re astronomically late. The grass is still a golden green in colour, for autumn never truly comes in when you’re expecting it. The little stream below the Bridge is almost dried up but the wooden structure stays. You remember Sicheng broke his leg once, trying to catch Ten’s family cat pawing at fish in the stream when it used to be fuller.

You greet Mr. Santello at his garden and buy the sunflower seeds. Your errand is complete but the rising agitation in your chest makes you kick a rock on the way back to the Bridge. This side of the town is bleak except for the garden and the only fun you’ve had here is when a beehive dropped on Yukhei’s head (he poked at it himself with no provocation from your side whatsoever). The scenery is much prettier with someone to appreciate it. You, on the other hand, cannot wait to leave this town. You walk back with certain memories playing in your head, the smell of nostalgia rising with the sun. You’ve always hated early mornings; but you did have fun in them when you had to wake up for school trips. You hold your breath, stopping right before the beginning of the Bridge.

Ten leans against the wooden rails of the Bridge, Starmill Bridge, with eyes gently closed and white earphones plugged in. You smile to yourself. When the sunlight draws across his cheeks, he seems brighter than golden skies and softer than late afternoon clouds. You see the boy from your childhood, messy unbrushed hair and his favourite grey sweater. He’s so full of colour. You wouldn’t mind staring at him for as long as you can.

You take a step and your hoodie catches onto a stray nail, making you stumble onto the wooden floor of the Bridge. You look at your scattered boxes of sunflower seeds with horror but not before finding Ten plucking out his earphone to look at you. He’s so pretty even in a daze.

“Hi?” you offer. “I was on an errand, promise. Not stalking you and trying to get you to talk to me or anything. Hah.”

Ten shakes his head at you and quietly stares for a few more moments.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” he answers finally. “Stop trying.”

You look at him with a flickering guilt though you’re not sure why. He sighs and walks toward you, frowning. He takes out the cloth of your hoodie stuck in the nail with tentative care. Gathering the boxes of sunflower seeds scattered on the floor, he glances at you once before getting up.

You grab his hand before he can walk away again. 

“Ten,” you say, your voice coming off more pitiful than you would like. 

He turns back at you with lips pursed and a sorrowful look in his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I need to work some things out.”

Ten leaves you hanging for a third time in your life and you pull yourself together enough to stand up. You can’t imagine—you don’t want to imagine how much longer this’ll go on. Ten used to be an amenable boy; it shouldn’t be taking this long.

Somewhere the wind comes tumbling in, whispering the words that everything has changed and everything is still changing.

//

The third and last attempt is outside his house. Ten’s mother is bound to notice you at some point, right? Considering you’re camping out like a homeless man from the nearby gas station, that is. You hope she’s out for grocery shopping and you can just pretend you were on your way home and ‘accidentally’ bumped into her. Being the kind soul she is, she’s going to invite you to dinner since it’s late already. And where else can you spend your time while she cooks but in Ten’s room? It’s perfect and there’s no way he can avoid this.

“(name)!” Ten’s sister yells in glee. 

“Tern!” You smile at her.

“Mom’s sending me for grocery shopping. Do you wanna come help?”

You want to go inside the house but patience is quite possibly a virtue. You haven’t tried it out yet. 

“Sure.” You grin. “I’ve got time to kill.”

So, you are aware that Ten’s sister tends to shoot off at the mouth with the right person but you somehow cannot get her to talk about Ten. Apart from his life in New York, that is, which you had hoped to hear from him. 

“So… how come you’re not in our house already? No offense, it’s just you and Ten… you know.” She looks at you with an inquisitive quirk of her eyebrow. 

Ten must be a really good actor. Not like you ever doubted him but for his sister to be so blissfully unaware, he must have put on quite the show. Either that, or he really has forgotten you. You try not to feed fire to that thought.

“Uh, you know, been busy with the snack shack. We’re redecorating. Mr. Kim is going to boil me alive if I slack off.”

She giggles at your expression. “I heard it from Yangyang. He said the redecorations are ugly though.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Ten let you talk to Yangyang? A boy?”

She crosses her arms with a disbelieving laugh. “He can’t tell me how to live. Besides, he doesn’t care.”

You laugh. “Right. You have no idea how overprotective he can actually be. Older brother instincts or whatever.”

She suppresses a laugh. “And you must be facing the boyfriend instincts.”

You stammer out a response but it doesn’t make any sense. It’s alright to get laughed at, you suppose, if Tern is in fits beside you.

The rest of the conversation is about things less important. It would be rude to not engage though so you talk with enthusiasm all the way back. Part of you sees Ten in his sister. How terrible of you to see someone else in a person right beside you.

“(name)!” 

Ten’s mother looks pleasantly surprised. 

“Good evening, ma’am!” You curtsy in an exaggerated manner, and she laughs, patting your arm. 

“How come it took you so long to visit? You hardly ever came over these few years, and I’m a little upset about that by the way, but I thought for sure, you’d be in the house the day Ten came back.”

You scratch the back of your head sheepishly. “You know. Work and stuff. Mr Kim is redecorating the store.”

She exhales in annoyance. “Is that man exploiting you children again?”

“I’m—uh… I’m an adult—”

“Hush,” she instructs, voice strict and you zip your mouth immediately. Never question a mother’s statement.

“Ten’s in his room, by the way. Should I call him?” she asks, after a minute of complaining about Mr. Kim, which you would have loved to join but there are other matters at hand. She has all the gossip in town and yet, she’s somehow blissfully unaware of the silence between her son and his best friend. Are you not as important? It makes you pout but you quickly neutralize your expression.

“Ten!” she shouts when you don’t respond, a little lost in your own thoughts.

“Uh��oh no, you don’t have to do that!” you say quickly. “I’ll just go to his room.”

You hurry up the stairs, just in time for Ten to open his bedroom door and jump back in fright.

“Oh my fucking god,” he mutters, like the soul has been kicked straight out of his body. In any other situation, you would’ve loved to give him a scare.

You walk into the bedroom and lock the door behind you. 

“Ten. We need to talk.”

“I don’t wanna talk,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. You notice the change in his features—his hair has grown out, his face is more chiseled and he has an angry quirk to his brows. “I told you I need some space. You never know how to listen, fuck.”

His voice is a low whisper, in the short space between you. You don’t move from your spot, with your back against the wall and feet nervous. You shift from foot to foot and look him in the eye before looking away. You’ve never felt this way around him. You’ve never actually pissed him off this bad. You don’t know what to do.

“Just leave. God. I can’t believe you think you can just walk in!”

You frown at his words. “Ten. I just wanted to talk to you again. We’re friends—”

“How does it matter if we are? Everything’s changed. This whole place has changed. I’ve changed.” 

“But… that doesn’t mean we have to pretend we’re strangers—”

“Leave. Please.”

His voice is so low and odd that you don’t recognize it anymore. You sigh. You can’t convince him when he’s so defensive. You open the door to his bedroom to find Ten’s mom and sister in the hallway trying very hard to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping. You offer them a sad smile and thank his mother for the dinner before taking your leave. You feel too ridiculous to cry.

How do people put in all that effort in romantic comedies? You don't even know where to start. Maybe you should follow the King's advice from Alice in Wonderland. 

Begin at the beginning and go on until you come to the end; then stop.

No. No, you can't be thinking of ending scenes right now. There's a much bigger problem at hand. Saturday. You better brace yourself for the unpredictability of former prom queens and class presidents, and the predictability of this small town that never changes. 

act i scene iii.

High school reunion parties here aren’t exactly mawkish affairs. There’s alcohol, people who are meant to be adults but haven’t quite grown into it yet, the looming woods, and more alcohol. There's no room for sentimentalism when your former classmates, seniors and juniors—those who could be here, at least—are back together and it feels like nothing has changed at all. However, college-age boys always pose problems. 

“Look, if Johnny can do it, so can I,” Yukhei tells you. 

Johnny smacks his shoulder encouragingly, and a few of your friends giggle at the two lanky men, looking like they’ve discovered something priceless beside the campfire light.

“This beer tastes like crap,” you mutter before returning to a regular volume. “But go ahead and try chugging two bottles in under a minute if you want.”

Your backhanded statement backfires almost immediately because he does exactly as you said. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try not to peek at Ten, sitting beside Johnny and looking rather sleepy. It’s the bedhead, you think to yourself. It’s cute.

“Alright, who’s next?” Yukhei asks, voice booming enthusiastically. 

Yeri sighs beside you, tired from the late night and not so much from the alcohol. Speaking of which, the alcohol table is somehow still stocked and Sicheng stands beside it, looking sour from being forced into guard duty. 

“Tell him to pipe down,” Yeri mutters, pressing her forehead against your shoulder and you look at her apologetically. 

“(name) hasn’t answered anything yet!” Sooyoung pipes up and you shoot her a look she ignores. “Neither has Ten, by the way.”

A bunch of “ooh”s pass through the crowd of roughly twenty people, and you would bury your face in your hands were it not for that stubborn pride of yours. 

Truth or dare is quite possibly the worst game in the history of mankind. Ten looks somewhat flustered under the attention but he just sighs. 

“Get it over with.” He looks at Yukhei expectantly.

“Kiss (name)!”

Your heart drops and you glare at Yukhei. You should have expected it. There is no one more unimaginative than drunk boys. His cheeks are flushed when he grins at you, encouraging you with a thumbs up gesture. 

“He doesn’t have to do that.” You cross your arms. “Consent is important even in fun and games.”

The sentence is so didactic of you but you hope the seriousness in your voice makes him back off.

“But you guys are, like, in love with each other,” Yangyang blurts before covering mouth as if he said something scandalous.

A bunch of chuckles follow, though Johnny shows some concern towards Ten. You remember why you hate high school reunions now. Apart from the fact that almost everyone gets to tell their stories of big cities and big dreams they get to live in, everyone turns into a child again when at a reunion. Perhaps it’s the burst of memories or the vivid glow of old connections returning but you can’t stand childishness. Even if you’re the one to act like a child sometimes.

“I’m gonna go drink,” you say. “That’s the punishment, right? I’m not playing anymore.”

Yukhei groans. “Come on, (name). You wouldn’t be such a bore.”

“I would,” you snap and get up from your seat, Yeri muttering in annoyance before leaning onto Sooyoung’s shoulder.

Ten is glowing in the cheeks, you find when you look at him. He meets your eyes once and looks away, playing with his fingers. 

You pour yourself some beer into a cup and lift it up to show to Yukhei before striding off to a place farther than the warmth of people and the campfire. The giant log is a nice enough seat by the edge of the woods. It is cold and mossy though, and you hug yourself, sticking your hands into the pockets of your cardigan.

The sound of footsteps over dried leaves catch your attention and you look up. Ten takes a seat beside you in silence. You move the cup of beer so that it doesn’t spill from any sudden movement. It’s quiet for even longer, your pulse the only rhythm to follow.

"Ten." You smile, looking away from him and into the ceaseless stretch of woods. He hums in response, as though a habit yet to get rid of. It makes you bite down your lip to prevent the smile from turning into something sadder.

You miss him. You miss the years you spent with him. You're drawn into him, into something old, familiar and safe. 

No one can save you when you’re homesick. 

However, you do not give up easily. What is broken can be mended with enough love and care.

Ten sighs, taking the cup from you right before it touches your lips. "Don't drink that. You hate the taste and it makes you go crazy."

You pout, but can't really find something snarky enough to say. Not when he looks like that—with dry, still-red lips and tired, apologetic eyes.

“Your forehead is so oily,” you mutter.

Ten looks at you, furrowing his eyebrows. He proceeds to hesitantly wipe at his forehead with the sleeve of his sweatshirt before shaking himself out of it. Instead he just glares at you.

“It’s not oilier than your nose,” he shoots, annoyed. 

“At least my nose isn’t titan-sized.”

“My nose is perfect. Do you- do you know how many people fall in love with my perfect nose every day?”

You laugh, covering your face. His features soften and he returns his gaze to the comfort of the endless forest. It does have an end, at the fences by the railway tracks but in believing that something can be infinite, you find comfort. 

"New York treated you well. Too well. But then again, you were always a narcissist."

You smile smugly at him and he gives you an unamused look.

"I'm… I'm glad we're talking," you offer after a few moments of unacknowledged silence.

He tenses ever so slightly, running a hand through his already messy hair and looks at you. He looks away again as if in an internal debate.

“You rejected me, (name),” he says, exasperated. “How do I recover from that? Don’t answer. It was so embarrassing.”

You close your mouth. If only you could tell him the truth. You had to reject him or your sentimental boy would never leave for acting opportunities. He doesn’t have to know that. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly.

But the truth is, it’s too scary to think about. You’ve been refusing to look at your feelings for a long time now. It’s only a cliche; it doesn't happen in real life. You’re too good of friends to be in love. Isn’t that right? It certainly couldn't have been you to fall in love with Ten. There were a million other people to do that in your stead. You feel shy all of a sudden.

“That was pretty embarrassing,” you mumble, pressing down your smile and he rolls his eyes.

After a few moments in silence, a sigh escapes his lips. “I’ve had enough time for closure though. I can’t believe I actually said that. Oh, the over-sentimentalism. Yikes.”

He makes a disgusted face.

You giggle. “I can’t believe it either. You do look cute blushing, by the way. You find any lover in the big, scary city? Any rebound?” 

Ten rolls his eyes. “Too busy. And are you going to tease me forever about this thing?”

You laugh. “That’s the Ten I know. You’re always working. Sometimes you should have fun.” 

“I have plenty of fun. You’re the one that used to cry at birthday parties.”

“I was six years old and it was one time, holy shit.”

The two of you break into laughter. The cold makes you draw nearer to him.

“Hey, wanna go to the mall this weekend?” you suggest.

“Wait, it’s still there? Wasn’t it supposed to get knocked down?”

“Yeah but the townsfolk didn’t want that so they delayed it. There’s, like, barely any employees though. It’s like a ghost mansion at night.”

Ten makes a face. “The afternoons there were so bright, like, there was so much sunlight, remember? I remember you always drinking my banana milk at the food plaza.”

You laugh. “I miss skipping class to go there. Now there aren’t any classes to skip.”

“Oh my god, remember when Mr. Wilson actually caught us?”

You laugh louder. “We had to pretend we weren’t his students. Which was futile acting because he knows every student.” 

Ten sighs. 

“I missed you. God, I’m so fucking sorry—I was in over my head. I thought I ruined everything.”

“Hey.” You scoot closer, wrapping your arms around him. “I missed you too. Besides, it’s not you if you’re not being a bit of a drama queen.”

Ten elbows you in the side at the comment and you yelp, moving away and glaring at him in response. 

“Just because I’m in theatre doesn’t mean I’m a drama queen.” He mocks the tone of your voice and you giggle.

“So any special Broadway stories you have in mind? I wanna hear something funny.” You rest your head on his shoulder comfortably.

"Well, one time this actress' dress caught on fire—"

"That's not funny, that's horrifying."

Ten purses his lips. “Okay. Uh… I got told to fuck off by an eighty year old man in drag after I threw raw steak at his window?”

You snort, eyes widening and Ten throws up his hands in exasperation. "How is that remotely funny?"

"I'm pretty sure that's as funny as it gets with you."

"I can't believe you're pretending I didn't carry our sense of humour on my back for all of middle school and high school."

“I missed you," you say quietly, and he flusters, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"Really? You're not just saying that?"

You sigh, inching closer. "Yes. I did miss you, you know? I called."

"And I didn't pick up. I know. I'm sorry."

"I think you've apologized to me more times now than you have in our first twenty years of friendship."

Ten rolls his eyes. "And I mean it. It's not the 'sorry I ate your cookies' apology."

"I fucking knew you were the one eating stuff from my bag back in high school."

Ten presses his lips, making a zipping motion and you push him in exasperation. The two of you laugh, loud and clear, before Johnny's voice comes in, telling the two of you to "stop fooling around near the woods" and that it's "unhygienic".

Seasons change but people don't. You walk home with Ten for the first time in a year and suddenly, you’re in love with the idea that things can just lie in complete peace once they fall back into what was always meant to be. Perhaps it’s the writer’s utopia, but you think it’s much more meaningful this way. Ten's hoodie smells just like home.

prologue.

It was a sunlit morning when you first met Ten, but it was only a sunlit morning. There were no birds chirping or faceless adults on that sidewalk or even your friends because you don’t recall them. You recall a child with two very important teeth missing and your sudden urge to run to his side. You’d pulled his cheek with a huge grin on your face because, and you still stand by this, they were too cute and plump and red to resist.

You were three and a half years old when you met Ten and you parted when you were twenty. One year later, you're back to linking arms, joking about each other and talking about life as though it's a passing stream. 

You were six years old when you cried at Ten's birthday party because no one was talking to him. It gave you an evening's worth of attention and a huge smile on Ten's face. You still think kids are mean as hell but they care for things like they have never cared before. 

You were eleven years old when you started to lose a little bit of touch with yourself. You talked less, you looked at people more. Ten's face was still the most comforting out of all. He said he liked to listen no matter how annoying you sound. Somehow, by the time sixth grade was over, when you were almost twelve—you talked at least twice as much. 

You were fourteen years old when you dated a boy out of curiosity and left on an awkward note when he moved away. You weren't sad for some reason. The idea of life passing meaninglessly by was engraved into you, like the waves that carve the beach. Ten was distant the whole time, with a scowl and more sarcastic remarks than usual, only warming up when you showed up at his door with a homemade cake. It tasted horrible and had the texture of a mossy pebble but you laughed over it anyway. Suddenly, life wasn't meandering but a river full of vigor in spring, beside a garden of fresh crested irises. 

You were sixteen when you were pushed to audition in a play by your best friend. The play was about life and death and love, and it didn’t make sense to you the way it did to him. You had good fun backstage with the costumes and the makeup, and it was all that mattered to you. However, some part of you didn't like it, hated it even when he kissed the female lead of the play with eyes full of adoration. You looked on as Villager B and you hated every part of it.

When you were eighteen turning nineteen, you decided to save up for college. It would take time—years perhaps but you would get there. You would get an apartment with Ten in New York City or any city full of bustling, busy life and you would tend to your rooftop garden. Small town dreams, however, die and they die and they’re buried in unloved, unplanted soil. 

You finally understood what your tenth grade English teacher meant when she said everything is theatre. 

The night he left, you had a nightmare. It was a play and you were the protagonist. You couldn’t make it in time for the night of the performance, anxious and afraid as you arrived. You’d been replaced. You hated to see him on stage with someone else. You hated it. You hated it. You hated it so much. 

Of course, you knew it would be a showstopper the moment that fight broke out between you and your replacement. You were cruel in that dream—almost as if you were someone else. But you felt comfortable in that skin, like you were meant to play that part after all. As if you were the villain all along and not the sweetheart of the show. You felt comfortable and it scared you so much that you woke in cold sweat and cried for an hour straight.

It hurt how lonely you felt. It hurt without Ten and you hate that you let him go. Something took shape inside the cavity of your chest, the shape of a weed sprouting in the pulsing garden of life—you won’t make the same mistake again. You’re going to hold on with all your might, till your hands ache and till your heart has had enough. 

ACT II: YOUTH 

 act ii scene i.

“Have you ever actually shoplifted in your life?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Ten tries to suppress his smile and fails, moving so that his back covers you from view instead. A conversation about New York subways led to a conversation about anarchy which led to… this. You’ve been trying to swipe the butterfly pin from the display for the past half an hour. You weren’t actually going to steal it—you just need to prove you can.

The mall is always eerily empty. It shouldn’t be this big of a hassle. Ah yes, apart from the fact that the souvenir shop has stationed the most number of employees for some goddamn reason. You’re not even sure why it’s there; a souvenir shop for your town might as well be a forgotten relic.

“What? No,” he says quickly. “I’m not doing that. Causing trouble is your thing.”

You snort. “Right. Because everything we got into trouble for was done completely by me.”

“That’s actually true.”

You elbow him, giving him your most offended look.

“You can’t be serious about never causing trouble. You broke Mrs. Leung’s famous ruler, remember? And you always stole your mom’s Halloween cupcakes. Those were for all of the theatre crew, by the way.”

“That doesn’t sound right, darling.”

When you look up at him with eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, you find him smiling in somewhat tranquil thought. It has been rather long. 

“Yeah, I helped you way too much,” you respond, distastefully. 

The two of you straighten at the cashier’s call. Responding that everything’s fine, Ten turns to you with a pointed look.

“If you’re going to do it, better do it before she gets suspicious.”

The hint in his eyes reminds you that he is indeed the devil you know, and you quickly pocket the little butterfly hairpin. This is not ethical in any way and even so, you feel the childish exhilaration. This is to prove a point to your dear friend.

“See?” you whisper to him, exiting the shop. “I could totally pull this off.”

“Not if I start screaming ‘thief!’”

“Did you ever get to play a villain at Broadway? It’s closest to your personality,” you jab.

He sends you a sardonic smile before sticking his tongue out. You should always beware a childish man and his childish smile. You never know if he’ll take you seriously. Ten is the absolute worst and you love him all the more for it.

“Are you actually not gonna pay for it?” he asks, tilting his head. 

“And let all those proceeds go to our corrupt overlord mayor? Nuh-uh.”

Ten laughs. “We should go vandalize his campaign posters again.”

The mayor has had, you don’t know how many, little scandals accusing him of embezzlement and every time, he’s escaped easy as pie. All the things you can do with money and you decide to hoard more money; you will never understand people like him. Besides, you won’t have to worry about that any time soon.

“See? You’re the troublemaker. I can’t even vandalize good enough.”

“It’s not my fault you have zero artistic talent.”

You place your hands on your hips. “I’m sorry? I’m pretty sure I taught you how to paint.”

Ten rolls his eyes, a sneaky smile on his lips. “Yeah. You taught the whole class how to paint when you smacked Mr. Cheng with that paintbrush.”

You can’t help the laugh that comes to you, despite trying your best to hold a serious expression.

“You’re a disaster,” he adds, staring incredulously at your fit of laughter. 

You look at him and start laughing again.

“Oh my god, what’s so funny? I wasn’t even trying to be funny.”

“Okay, emo boy,” you say, finally straightening and messing his hair.

“I was going to get a haircut.”

“Don’t. You look pretty.”

Ten hums, raising an eyebrow. “But I wanna look hot.”

“That’s going to take a lot of effort.”

Ten grabs you in a chokehold, messing your hair with his hands in the most obnoxious way possible. Finally able to loosen his grip on you, you look at him with your most fearsome glare. He has to stop treating you so gracelessly.

It’s not unusual for him to behave this way; in fact, you welcome it when he’s warm and much lovelier than the usual. But something feels amiss, something dangerous like the passage of time. 

“Ten?”

“Yes?”

“I thought you’d be talking much more about New York instead of our boring old town.”

He hums, eyes scanning the vicinity of the mall’s first floor. There’s an ice cream shop opposite to the souvenir shop, unvisited due its lack of variety in flavours, and a spacious marble floor with most of the shops closed for renovation. The other two floors are closed off completely but you’re sure that with enough effort, you could sneak in. The glass ceiling at the centre allows for sunlight to wash in as gentle waves, settling on your heads like golden crowns. There are little potted plants lining the walls to make the mall space look less dilapidated but it gives off the same effect as that of something abandoned, left alone and waiting. 

“You want me to brag about it?” He addresses you with a slightly cocky grin.

You roll your eyes. “Never mind.”

The mayor wanted to turn this place into some sort of religious campus but you detest the idea of that man getting his way. He’s the very same man to reprimand little girls for their outfits and to say “dancing is not manly” so you do owe his nauseating sexism for your distaste for him. That, and he has absolutely no sense of aesthetics. You would die before you let him remove the gardens or the livelier buildings blessed with the only colours you can bear to look at. 

“Hey, (name)?”

“Yeah?”

“I think Angry Cashier is making her way towards you.”

You snap your head to the souvenir shop and the cashier is indeed eyeing you suspiciously. You reach to pat your pocket but you’re stopped by Ten.

“You are, by far, the stupidest thief I’ve ever known.”

You puff your cheeks in annoyance, crossing your arms instead. Just when you think the cashier is going to call you out, the two of you sprint over to the mall exit with a plausible enough speed.

“We didn’t have to run, you know?” Ten complains as soon as you’re out and a street or two away. 

“What’s the fun in committing a crime if we don’t get to run?”

“I don’t know, it could be a brain exercise—oh wait. You don’t have one.”

You stick your tongue out at him, walking faster to get away from him.

“Hey!”

He jogs up to you, eyebrows furrowed and ready to spit some sass at you, no doubt.

“I thought you’d be more athletic. Dancing and all.”

“Yeah, no.”

You fix the hair in front of his eyes as he leans over on his knees, a look in his eyes as though caught off guard. They’re a lovely shade of honey, his eyes. They look at you with emotions you can't quite fathom and with the innocence of a love borne between friends who have been forced to endure the mediocrity of this town together. It’s a good reason, you believe, to be friends. Friends are meant to help each other, to save each other and to be there at the lowest. You can check all the boxes. It might have been a while but you’re friends and friends that grow up together stay together. The idea is naive but you cannot possibly look into a future without Ten. There must be a reason behind everything that is given to you. Even right now, as the silence starts to nip at you, you believe you were meant to make full circle. Fate is a funny thing and you wouldn’t believe in it ever, even for a surprise twenty dollar bill vending machine miracle, but it’s comforting enough to let settle on the two of you. 

The lead actors go hand in hand.

“Are you going to keep staring at me? I know I’m tragically beautiful—”

“No, you’re beautifully tragic. Your face, that is.”

“I stopped listening after beautiful, so I believe you agreed with me there.”

You roll your eyes. 

“You and your unyielding confidence can go fuck itself. I’ve seen you cry over a cat movie.”

Ten sputters out a response. “But- but Garfield saved that dog despite every fiber of his being telling him not to. He could’ve lived a happy, peaceful life but he saved him. How is that not incredibly touching?”

“You’re weird. Garfield’s cute though.”

“Like me.”

You wrinkle your nose. “What are we, twelve?”

“I was having my rebellious punk phase then, so no. I would never have said that when I was twelve.”

You laugh. “God, you looked so funny back then.”

“I thought we agreed to not bring up stuff from our teenage years.”

You press your lips together in an attempt to stop the laugh but a tiny giggle comes out anyway. The sun is going to set in an hour. You better make use of your time.

“Ready to go vandalize some posters?” you ask, grinning.

“You know what? I have a better idea. We should go pick some flowers.”

You blink at him. “That’s not remotely punk or rebellious.”

“Shh. You like picking flowers. Remember how we used to joke you should be hired at weddings instead of the flower girls?”

You make a face. “Why on earth would I fling flowers in the air at weddings? That’s not even a respectable job.”

“It suits you.”

“We should be kinder to our arboreal friends.” You cross your arms. “I’d rather tend to a garden than pick flowers for stupid occasions.”

“Tree-hugger.”

You pull up your middle finger and he laughs, fixing his hair right back into the messy waves.

“Why do you hate weddings?” he asks all of a sudden.

“Oh, you know. Icky stuff.”

“No one’s having sex at the wedding.”

“That’s not what I meant by icky stuff. It’s that gross feeling in the air. What’s it called?”

“Love?”

“Please, there’s hardly any love at weddings. It’s all pretend.”

Ten rolls his eyes, chuckling. “You think all the brides and bridegrooms in the world are pretending at their own weddings?”

“If you say it like that…” You grumble. “I don’t believe you need to celebrate love, that’s all. It’s always there, you know?”

You look up to see Ten pressing his fist to his mouth to keep himself from laughing and scoff in disbelief.

“What’s so funny? Seriously, stop laughing—oh for fuck’s sake.”

Soon enough, Ten is crouching by the sidewalk in a fit of laughter which causes a hot flush rising over your neck. You weren’t trying to be cheesy. Now, your best friend is hellbent on making you feel embarrassed. 

“It wasn’t that cringe. Come on. Get up, asshole.”

“You were- you were just so—” He takes a moment to catch his breath, a few short laughs erupting from him nonetheless. “You looked so serious when you said that.”

Your face is hot enough for you to look away now. “Whatever,” you mumble.

“It was cute. You looked really cute,” he continues, somewhat sobered up. “And brave. You always say things with so much confidence that it’s brave. I’m glad you are the way you are.”

You look at him, slightly dazed before your cheeks puff up to prevent yourself from laughing.

“I regret saying that. You are the big, hideous regret of my life.”

“I thought I was cute?” Your snickers turn into laughter again.

“Fuck off.”

“Thanks, Ten. You’re really good to me.”

Ten shakes his head before walking away, leaving you to call after him in phrases of ‘wait up!’ and ‘when did you get so fast?’ as you try to catch up. You sometimes wonder if he likes being chased. You reach the busiest crossing in this town, with about four cars waiting at the stop sign. You’re not sure why anyone follows the traffic rules if there isn’t even any traffic.

Looking up, you gasp at the moon peeking over a still young sky. You're suddenly reminded of those afternoon naps you had in Ten’s room, the both of you fascinated by the idea of waking up and seeing the sky a whole different colour. The idea that time changes everything was still fresh in your minds then, the impact gentle if not loving. It’s quite late you found that time can steal just as much as it gives.

“Remember when we dyed your hair red?”

“I will, and I shit you not, physically assault you for saying anything about that.”

You laugh at the memory of his awkward hairdo. “No, the other time. When we were seventeen.”

“Oh yeah, I received like eight love letters for that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He did look pretty, and just in time for Valentine’s day’s theme of red roses and nauseating pink hearts.

“I have proof.” Ten leans his elbow against the street lamp, missing it completely and stumbling backwards till he regains his balance. He gives you an impish smile, running a hand through his hair and breathing out. 

You roll your eyes, ignoring his words. “I think we never took pictures of that.”

“So… what are you suggesting?”

“One good picture,” you answer, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of him off guard. Looking at it, you pout. It’s so unfair that he gets to look nice even in a hazy evening picture. 

Ten rolls his eyes, snatching your phone. “Let me show you how to take good pictures. Not whatever crap you have going on.”

You cross your arms, huffing but agree nonetheless when he forces you to pose by the street light. He blabbers on something about composition and colours that goes straight over your head but you can’t deny that the picture came out ridiculously well. You might have to change all your socials with a new profile picture.

“See? You can thank me with a kiss,” he says, a cheeky smile across his face.

You press your lips to his cheek in a swift motion, a smack sound resounding from it. It was uncalled for, you think, because Ten freezes for a few seconds in an uncharacteristic manner. He shakes his head, a scream dying in his throat before turning to you with the most scandalized look.

“Oh my god, what did you do that for?” he says, rubbing at his cheek in a teasing manner.

You wrap your arms around him, furthering his protests although he ends up smiling wide. “You asked for it, honey.”

“Nicknames are my thing. Stop trying to copy me, it’s embarrassing.”

"Okay, now let's take a picture together," you suggest pulling him closer.

He clicks his tongue and takes the phone from you, and when his hand rests upon the small of your back, you try to freeze up. His face is near yours, not unlike the usual but you feel your heartbeat hike up. It's a strange feeling.

"Now, can we go home?" Ten asks, handing you your phone. "I can't believe your background is rilakkuma."

"I'll change it," you respond, voice strangely quiet. You're only half smiling but Ten's smile is full and bright, eyes honey-pure. "To us."

Ten hums in satisfaction and offers his hand like a gentleman from another century, something you tend to exaggerate and you take it with a laugh. The two of you walk with entangled arms and playful skips over the pavement, getting the same old looks from passersby as you did as children and teenagers. The traffic lights glow a gentle hue below the mature blue evening sky, fading easily. You realize as gently as waves lapping at the shore that you missed Ten so bad it still hurts in the hole he left. 

act ii scene ii.

Any weekend in a boring little town of flowers starts with the news of parties. It used to be Johnny sending invites but now it’s mostly just Yukhei calling people for impromptu college parties. Now, you are aware that college parties are horrendous in every shape and form; you are also aware that the two hour car ride to the city college isn’t safe. But it’s easy to ignore hackneyed advice to stay away from parties and alcohol and weed when you’re young and have a ridiculously large group of friends.

The drive isn’t the worst part. At least the drive to the party isn’t; the drive back is usually too hazed to be memorable. Sicheng’s driving this time and with a lot of grumbling but he gets enough pitiful pats to the back and cheek to stop it. Ten has his feet up on the dashboard, having called shotgun before you by one fucking second. You’re stuck with Sooyoung and Johnny in the backseat, sandwiched uncomfortably at that, but you lean forward enough to nag Ten the whole time.

“(name),” Sooyoung calls in a sing-song voice. “Your overly affectionate looks for Ten are showing and it’s not even eleven yet.”

You furrow your eyebrows, stammering out a response and regretting it immediately. “You’re- You’ve been teasing me about this forever.”

“No, she’s right,” Johnny joins in. “Come on, there isn’t even alcohol involved. Yet.”

You roll your eyes, shrinking into yourself as the two of them laugh on either side of you. Sicheng says something along the lines of ‘nauseating’ and ‘idiotic’ but he gets an elbow jab from Ten.

“I’m driving,” he hisses.

“Into every sidewalk we come across?” Ten shoots back.

Another bout of laughter rings through, and this time you can smile too. It’s not that you’re particularly bothered by the teasing; it’s just uncharted territories you have no desire to chart. You always thought you’d meet Prince Charming on a balcony in a summer evening, and this is optional, but it should happen with ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift playing in the background. It’s quite inane to assume it would be your best friend, whom you have spent countless summer evenings listening to old Taylor Swift songs with.

Before you were aware of college house parties, you thought things like these would be more of a less-people-more-booze sort of situation. Turns out, the alcohol to people ratio is nearly the same. Stumbling out of the entrance to the frat house, Yukhei greets the lot of you with a dazed smile before promptly throwing up into the bushes. Rolling your eyes, you pat his back while Sooyoung gets some water from her purse.

“How many drinks was it this time, Yukhei?” Ten teases. “Half? Three-quarters? No wait, that’s a stretch.”

“Very funny,” Yukhei mutters, somehow still upbeat despite his continuous retching. “I bet you’d be drunk after a shot of whatever the hell I had too.”

Adjusting his jacket, Ten narrows his eyes at Yukhei with an incredulous look. “Okay, you’re on. Let’s go.”

Sicheng raises his hands alarmed, but Ten has disappeared into the swarms of people before any sound can leave him.

“He was supposed to drive on the way back,” Sicheng complains. He opens his mouth in sudden realization and then turns to you. You look from him to Johnny and Sooyoung who share a look and walk briskly into the party with a thumbs-up gesture.

“Oh. Oh no,” you say.

“No, yes,” Sicheng responds.

You shake your head and laugh before sprinting inside, Sicheng’s yells of protest fading out.

Yukhei wasn’t kidding when he said his frat hosts the craziest parties. There’s far too many people here, at least far too many for Ten to have fun. You like the energy of the crowd though, all in their own zones and dancing to old party pop songs. The smell of alcohol hits you so strong at first that you have to take a breather in the little garden space they have. It’s more of an overgrown shrubbery instead of a garden but any green will do. Walking back in, you feel much more comfortable when you take a shot of vodka from a girl passed out on the couch. Laughing, you look around for familiar faces. Parties, however, are not the place to look for faces at all. You think you just spotted a fur neck warmer tied around a dude’s waist while he performs some Neanderthal variant of belly dancing.

You bump into a guy of fairly tall stature, a polite apology tumbling from his lips.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you chuckle in amusement. “You’re not a party kind of guy, are you?”

He stares at you with a placid expression, intrigued. “And how would you know?”

“First, you’re not drunk. Two, you look grossed out by those dudes on the bar table. Three, you’re making conversation with me instead of dancing.”

“So you’re saying I can’t make conversation and dance at the same time.”

“I’m sorry, Mister, but you look like you’d rather not dance at all.”

He laughs. “That’s your way of saying I have a stick up my ass, isn’t it?”

You shrug, giving him your friendliest smile. “I prefer talking to drinking too. What’s your name? I need to know the name of the only sober guy in here.”

“Doyoung,” he answers. “Something tells me you’re not going to give me the same pleasure of knowing your name.”

You smile, pressing your index finger to your lips. “Names at parties are better left unknown.”

Something about him is inherently attractive, and you find yourself drawing nearer. Perhaps you could have a more fun night this way. “It’s much more fun to guess. Now, I’m guessing your party-loving best friend dragged you in here so you could get laid.”

He sighs, smiling at you. “I’m actually part of the frat.”

You gasp, hand covering your mouth. “No way.”

“Someone sober has to oversee whatever the hell’s going on here.” He shrugs. “Now, and this isn’t a guess, but you’re not from our college.”

“Nope. I’m from that little flower town nearby.” 

“Ah, I heard there’s a lovely dahlia field there.”

You nod. “And me. Just as lovely.”

You bite your tongue. That was certainly not sexy enough flirting. Ten has been rubbing off on you with his lame comebacks. Doyoung, however, laughs really loud at that. He must have a worse sense of humour than you thought.

You turn sharply at the sound of your name. Ten seems to be waving at you from a table of beer pong, looking rather distressed. You wave back with a bothered look on your face, aggressively signaling for him to handle his shit alone. He pouts and signals more desperately for you to come. Sighing, you turn to Doyoung.

“Sorry,” you say. “My friend seems to be in a pinch. Either that or he’s attention starved again in a record time of eight minutes.”

Doyoung laughs. “I liked talking to you.”

“I liked talking to you too, plot twist.”

“Is that what you’re calling me now?” Doyoung smiles at you. "Ah, I tend to forget but someone always comes along and shows me how friendships are made."

With one last smile, you leave him and walk halfway through to Ten before realizing you forgot to ask for Doyoung’s number. It’s too late to turn back now for the crowd blocks your version and you begrudgingly make your way to Ten. So much for your fun night.

“What was so important that you had to pull me away from the only attractive dude in this party?” you say, crossing your arms.

“Who, Doyoung?” he asks. “I’m at least six times hotter. And anyway, help me win this.”

You roll your eyes. If Ten knows Doyoung, you can somehow finagle your way into getting his number.

“I suck at this game,” Ten mutters. “How the hell is it supposed to hit its mark when the cup is so far away?”

“You have shitty aim,” you say, taking the ping pong ball and throwing it right into the cup. Smirking at the dude who’s already wasted on the other side, you turn back to Ten.

“That’s how you play.”

“Maybe you just have magic hands. Kiss my balls for good luck—wait, fuck, I didn’t mean that.”

You throw your head back and laugh at the disgusted look on his face. Sometimes Ten forgets to think before he opens his mouth and it might be surprising, but he does think before most things he says. He’s always been careful in the subtlest ways.

“I hate this game,” Ten says after missing the cup again. 

“Let me teach you,” you say, moving behind him and taking his hand holding the ball. He stiffens before letting you guide the angle of projection as you throw. It lands right in despite the wobbly beginning and you grin at him.

“I’m so done with this party,” he whispers, hands on his hips and stretching much like a cat after a nap.

You giggle. “I didn’t drink enough to forget everything that’s ever hurt me though.”

“You’re hurt?” he asks, before clearing his throat. “If you wanna stay, I’ll stay too.”

“I’m not a child, you know?” you say, smiling incredulously. “I don’t need you babysitting me.”

“I don’t need you talking to any more Doyoungs. You know his body count?”

“That guy?” you ask, jaw dropping.

“It’s not that much actually,” Ten continues, smiling deviously. “More than what you expect from a guy in law though. You can shut your jaw.”

You huff. “How do you know though? Did you sleep with him?”

Ten wrinkles his nose. “I would rather eat your baking than sleep with him.”

“Hey.”

Right then, the two of you are approached by a now-sober Yukhei. He must have vomited enough alcohol out of his system by now. Johnny stays beside him with mild worry across his features. Sicheng on the other hand looks like his social battery has drained out already.

“It’s time for a drinking game!” Yukhei tells the two of you. “With the… uh… not so drunk people.”

“So just the five of us? Where’s Sooyoung?”

“Doting over Yeri,” Johnny answers.

“Ah.”

“Let’s play something if you guys actually want me to stay and not die of boredom,” Sicheng mumbles in annoyance.

"Truth or drink?" Yukhei suggests. 

"Hell no," you mutter. "I've had enough of that."

"What, no dare this time," he insists with a wide smile and arms outstretched.

You hum. "What are you curious about anyway? I know you wanna know something."

Yukhei scratches the back of his head before glancing at Ten. "Well… have you two ever… I don't know, experimented with each other? Like you're best friends, right, so no hard feelings."

Ten furrows his brows, a gaze that's somewhere between a glare and a confused look.

"Experiment…?" He asks, almost afraid to.

"In bed," says Yukhei bluntly.

Ten turns a few shades darker in the face, noticeable even under the multi-colored party lights. You, on the other hand, pray your stunned expression isn't mistaken for the embarrassment you feel. You're not sure why the feeling arises.

"(Name) wishes," Ten jokes, playing it off.

You roll your eyes. "You wish, asshole."

Yukhei pulls a face and raises a hand to interrupt. "Please don't start another lover's quarrel."

Sicheng snickers at the side, although you thought he wasn't listening. How on earth does this joke not get old to them?

"Anyway, my question is answered," Yukhei says. "Best friends who are in love with each other cannot sleep together but friends who are not… they can right?"

Sicheng hums in response, a teasing smile already on his lips. Ten groans and places his hand to the back of Sicheng's neck, almost threatening.

"What would you know about sex, Sicheng?" He bickers. "You're like virgin supreme."

You narrow your eyes. "And what would you know?"

Ten opens his mouth then closes it promptly. Sicheng and Yukhei on the other hand break into laughter, mentioning something about digging graves before taking their leave from the two of you. You really don't think either of them should be drinking—considering Yukhei's a lightweight and Sicheng is supposed to drive.

Ten smacks the back of your head and you yelp, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can.

"I was trying to help us there," he complains. "You're so unfun."

You mimic his statement and he tries to pinch you in the cheeks, which you expertly avoid.

"So tell me," you say. "Have you or have you not had sex?"

Ten sighs. "Okay, yeah fine. Guilty. Whatever."

"What happened to no flings in New York?"

"Didn't feel like telling you."

"Oh, I'm so hurt."

The two of you look at each other and burst into laughter, easy to forget the scores of people around you in the moment. 

“So you definitely had a few flings in New York,” you say, crossing your arms with a smug smile.

“Like three, yeah,” he answers, shaking his head. “What does it matter?”

Some part of you is satisfied with the way he doesn’t look too interested. It’s the ridiculous part of you. The clementine light over his features make them seem even gentler than usual and you smile, pressing the back of your hand to his cheek.

“Wha—”

“Mhm. Your cheeks are so warm.”

“Oh, so now I’m your personal heater.”

Ten places his hand over yours and your heartbeat hikes, and so easily too when he looks at you with his honey eyes.

“You know what, you’re right. This party’s getting boring.” You look around, as though pretending will help you any better. But then again if Shakespeare was onto something and all the world's a stage, then you never stop pretending, right?

Ten looks at you for a suggestion and the moment pauses, contemplation on both of your faces. 

“Let’s just get Sicheng to drive us back,” you say finally. It’s not like you can stray too far for fear of Sicheng leaving behind the two of you (he’s done that before).

Sicheng jumps at the idea of going back and all of you have to participate in dragging drunk Sooyoung into the car and away from a slightly worn out Yeri. Thanking you and fixing her disheveled hair, she walks back into her own corner to what seems to be aggressively coding on her laptop and flipping the finger to any dude who approaches her. When work calls, you simply cannot hang up.

You and Ten are forced to sit together in the backseat now for Johnny sits shotgun, massaging his forehead from whatever hellsent concoction he made for himself and his friends. The drive is mostly quiet and you lay your head on Ten’s shoulder while Sooyoung snores beside you. It’s quiet like the laps of water between ripples. It feels so secure to stay like this, like the world cannot interrupt. You’ve missed your best friend. You’ve missed him so much.

You and Ten part ways with the others at the crossing and you don’t skip over the path as you used to, with the jovial youth you contained then. No, your steps are slower and perhaps more mature but still in pace with Ten’s just as ever. A cat waits by the entrance to your door, the same calico that has won over your mother’s heart and now waits patiently for treats. In a way, you kept feeding it because you thought of Ten whenever you did.

It seems these days, the only way to get kisses from Ten is to be a cat. He pets the cat with tender strokes and presses his face to its forehead with no fear of cat-borne diseases. 

“Hey, Ten. What about me?” You pucker your lips at him and he presses his palm to your lips instead, snickering.

In these short moments, moments that barely last, do you feel the three years he’s been gone. It’s funny how people change and never realize they do. It’s funny how you’re in awe of every person he becomes.

“I missed your rooftop the most in New York,” Ten says. 

You chuckle. “You hid there when your mom was mad at you.”

“Do you know how many slippers your rooftop has saved me from? I think your rooftop is more of a best friend to me than you are.”

You place your hand over your heart in mock hurt and he shakes his head, grinning.

“Well, let’s prove I’m more worthy of the best friend title then,” you say, grabbing his hand, the skin so soft to you, and dragging him into your house in quiet tiptoes. You remember coming up here back when you pretended to be pirates, when you acted out Shakespeare and when you wanted to forget the world, the terrible, cruel world you found yourself hating often. This is your hiding spot, a safe place. Ten makes it more so. 

Lying down against the rooftop, you trace the sky from star to star. The good thing about small, dimly lit towns is the clear view of the stars. So far from troubles, it must be easy to play the audience. 

“That looks a little like Felis,” Ten says, taking your hand and tracing a particular arrangement of the stars.

“Is that a… cat?”

“Yeah. It’s not a constellation anymore,” he tells you. “But I like to think it is.”

“I wish things never end too,” you mumble. “Like Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Or that new Taylor Swift song. I wish some things went on forever.”

Ten laughs airily. “I wish too.”

You turn to look at him. The curve of his nose is pretty as ever, eyelashes hanging close to the skin of his cheeks as he breathes with eyes closed. There’s a significant number of words you haven’t exchanged yet. There’s so many words you’re holding back.

“You seem tired,” you note.

He hums in response.

“Was New York that hard?”

He opens his eyes to look at you. “A little… tiring, yes.”

“Well, I’m glad you can rest now.” You smile and he returns it. 

“I’ve been running for so long and telling myself I’m still dancing,” he says, a sigh escaping afterwards. “I don’t even know where I am anymore.”

“You’re with me,” you respond. “Right here. On my rooftop.”

“Watching the stars again,” he completes, laughing aloud. “God, I wish we were kids again. All I cared about were the flavour of my cereal and how many constellations I could memorize.”

“The stars don’t give a shit about you, Ten,” you tease, repeating the line you used to tell him.

“The stars might not give a shit about us,” he agrees, “But that’s why I’d like to watch them a little longer.” 

“Me too,” you say softly.

You take a deep breath and let it out. These are the moments between the bloom of a flower and when it is picked. These moments are serene and warm and gentle, however ephemeral they may be. These are the moments between the flapping of a butterfly's wings—times when you and Ten fell asleep in detention in fifth grade for something that was very much your fault, or when he pets your head with the biggest grin after pissing you off on purpose or the proximity of the baby blue sky after your latest shopping mall mischief. But the flower will be picked someday. To live is to live in fear, and no matter how you try to buzz out the idea of it, it will come and it will prove itself.

“Sometimes I wish I were an angrier person,” you say quietly.

“What for?”

“They just seem so much more driven.”

“You’re driven enough. I think you do everything right already.”

“Working at plant nurseries, maybe. I’m not even a good enough cashier.”

“Flowers suit you.”

“You know, I could spend my life picking flowers and arranging them if I could,” you say, sitting up. “Everything moves so fast that the garden’s gone by the time I get to smell the flowers. You get me?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I wish time could stop. Sometimes it does. When I’m on stage.”

“What’s that like?”

“It’s very beautiful,” he whispers, eyes fixed on you.

It's quiet, the sounds of the night filling the space between you and him.

"You know, in dance," he starts, "the most powerful thing you can be is still. It's also the most difficult."

You hum in response. "I find it easy to be still with you though. It's like I don't have to perform anymore, you know?"

Ten laughs. "I know. I wish I could say that about my ambitions."

You place your palms against his cheeks, holding his face gently. You're not sure if it's because you're a little tipsy or Ten's lips that are driving you crazy, but you smile wide.

"You are like a flower," you begin rather wisely. "And spring hasn't arrived yet."

Ten blinks before snorting and then laughing like you just said the stupidest thing ever. 

The downside to getting along like a house on fire is that the house is still on fire and you don’t know what to do about it. Your heart is burning and you want to tell him the words you’re holding back. But if they escape your mouth, the wind might carry it away and leave you with a heavy response. You can’t say anything yet. Not until you’ve mustered enough courage to leave this town behind with him. Not until you have enough financial confidence to fall in love.

“Hey, Ten.”

“Hm? Don’t ask me something stupid and ruin the night.”

You giggle. “Will you stay with me wherever I am?”

“A little overdue but yes, until death do us part.” 

The two of you laugh, shoulders shaking and eyes brimming with an unsaid emotion. This is how you fall in love. You fall in love like flowers blossoming and withering, like you have only each other to withstand the test of time. 

“Should we dance?” Ten offers. “This time, maybe you’ll finally learn to not step on my feet.”

“That just makes me want to step on your feet more.”

It's so easy to fall in love that you fall asleep to the feeling—like the nights after you watched cartoons well past bedtime and thought that Ten was the prettiest boy you'd ever seen, after reading illicit internet horror stories in seventh grade that only made you huddle closer, after creating a pillow fort in the name of memories the night of your graduation when you couldn't say out loud that Ten really is the prettiest boy you know. The feeling slips in like you slip on your night clothes and you forget they were ever off at all. Comfort is a fleeting thing but in that moment, it felt forever.

act ii scene iii.

Halloween is undoubtedly the greatest time to spend with friends. There’s spooky stories shared, an abundance of favourite candies and if you happen to be friends with theatre kids, there’s most certainly a fun play going on. The crisp autumn air is vaguely nostalgic, brimming with memories in this town. 

Evening creeps in and once you’re done with the day’s chores, you get dressed with such speed that your mother has to convince you to slow down. It’s like you’re a kid again, and you'd like to enjoy this morsel of your childhood before you're forced to grow up.

Greeting Ten’s mother as you rush into the house, you run up the stairs and into Ten’s room, opening the door with a loud bang. Somehow, Ten’s scream is louder than that. He’s wearing a towel around his waist (only a towel), hands covering his chest with a horrified look on his face.

"Stop screaming," you say, hands on your hips. "We've seen each other naked, what's the big deal? Actually, do that pitch again, you sound like Meryl Streep from Mamma Mia."

Ten chokes, covering his mouth with his knuckles while he coughs.

"We were like four and a half! How does that count?"

You giggle, turning around. "Change. Quick."

"I mean, you can see if you like, darling," he calls, liltingly. "I know you can't resist me. Ugh. Can't stand all this pining from a friend."

You make a gagging sound and he laughs. It seems like he’s gotten over the initial shock of you barging in. The sound of the wardrobe opening and Ten shuffling through clothes follows. You are glad, however, that he can't see the look on your face. You must be looking ridiculous. You wonder if he can see how tense your shoulders and torso are. This is not the way you wanted to start the evening. Can he tell apart the distinct nervousness in your voice? It's suddenly difficult to play it cool. And isn't playing it cool something you do in front of a crush?

You catch a glimpse of his naked back and it makes you shake your head violently to get rid of the thought. How ridiculous. You can’t be lovers yet.

“Alright, you can turn around. What the fuck are you even supposed to be?”

"Say hello to the wicked witch of the West!" You exclaim, grinning ear to ear when you jump around.

"Oh, you don't have to dress up for that."

Your smile turns into a pout and you pull hard at his still-soft cheeks. He lets out a pained whine, grabbing your wrists and gently tugging them off. His skin turns red easily, however, and you're left with an image of rosy-cheeked Ten just like when you first met.

“You’re a demon spawn,” he hisses, rubbing his sore cheek. 

“No, that’s definitely your thing. Can’t borrow that,” you say, crossing your arms and smiling smugly. “Why aren’t you dressed as one? Actually, why aren’t you dressed as anything?”

Ten shrugs. “I have to wear some ridiculous ghost outfit for the play so I decided I’d rather play the part of a sexy pirate ghost.”

You snort, looking at the half-buttoned white shirt tucked neatly into black trousers. “You? A ghost? A poltergeist is the word you’re looking for.”

Ten rolls his eyes. “If I were a ghost, I’d definitely haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“Okay, ghost boy, let’s get going.” You loop your arms through his and pull him out, leaving in just as much a whirlwind as you walked in. You do walk back in though—to stuff a few of the cookies Ten’s mom baked in your mouth and walk right out with a muffled ‘thank you’ and your hand still around Ten’s wrist.

Arriving at the theatre, Ten catches his breath though he tries to not look worn out before squinting and making a show of searching for something.

“What are you looking for?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“The train you thought we were going to miss.”

You stick your tongue out and finally let go of his hand. He pulls it to himself, rubbing at his wrist with an exaggerated look of pain. 

“Oh, it’s still intact. Thought I’d have to bid farewell to my dreams of being a professional calligrapher.”

“Eat ink, Ten.”

“Ooh, it’s the rare PG-13 (name). Nice.”

A loud bang emanates from the back entrance, Sicheng looking like a rather mortified Count Dracula (which is strange because Dracula is immortal, right?) with fake blood splattered across his jaw and two little fangs poking out. Ten no wastes no time in complimenting them, making Sicheng rather flustered.

“It was bad enough having to listen to your flirting through the door,” Sicheng mutters. “Get in. Quick. Sooyoung pulled out and we need someone to fill in.”

Your eyes light up and Sicheng is about to deny your wishes when Ten intervenes.

“(name). You get to play a slightly deranged witch with a most definitely existing bloodlust. You in?”

“You bet I am! I was born ready. Except in sixth grade when I had that meh phase and I wasn’t born ready. Then I was born ready again!”

Sicheng makes a face. “Yeah sure, just get in.”

“Aren’t you glad I’m dressed for the occasion?”

“Not really, no.”

Ten whistles when he walks in. “How much fake blood did you guys get?”

“Enough to re-enact Red Wedding from Game of Thrones,” Johnny answers from a corner, in a costume which you can’t tell if it’s a werewolf or just a fursuit. You can never seem to guess when it comes to Johnny.

Ten laughs before turning to you, the sound tuning out. “I have never watched Game of Thrones.”

You pat his shoulder, laughing. In the next moment, Sicheng pushes a script towards you, expecting you to actually read.

“Sicheng, you know I’m going to improvise.”

Sicheng groans. “Shakespeare was right. Hell is empty and all the demons are here.”

Throwing a pointed glare at you when he says the word ‘demons’, he crosses his arms. It’s easy to convince him though—he’s quite amenable when he’s stressed out about details and both you and Ten know he just needs some reassurance and good, gentle shove.

You and Ten sit on either side of him on a really, really worn out couch that you’re not sure can hold the weight of the three of you.

Sicheng holds up his hands in both of your faces before you can open your mouth.

“I feel like the child of a really immature couple who is forced to grow up at a tender age because his parents are so immature.”

“Uh,” Ten starts. “That’s very specific.”

“The character I’m playing has daddy issues,” Sicheng responds casually, and a little out of it. “Actually he’s got mommy issues too. Why am I playing an eight year old?”

“Because children are crap at acting,” Ten answers and you reach your arm to smack the back of his head.

“What? Ow, that hurt.”

“Sicheng, it’s our stupid Halloween play. We do it to have fun,” you say, placing your hand 

“You going all motherly is freaking me out,” Sicheng says, wide eyes staring at you.

“You’re right,” you say, dramatically sighing. “Motherhood changed me. I can’t do evil black magic anymore. Aha! That’s a good dialogue, isn’t it?”

“Harrowing, actually, but I guess that’s what you’re going for.”

You and Ten share a fond smile, laughing to yourselves till Joohyun calls you and gives you basic stage direction. She’s almost never home except for Halloween and it makes the holiday even more exceptional.

“Ready, Wicked Witch of the West?” Ten nudges you before he has to go on stage. 

“Wait, is that actually my character?”

“No. No, it isn’t. For the love of cats—the animal, not the musical—please just keep speaking and make it worse on stage. I need a recording to laugh at.”

You roll your eyes and push him on. He looks so at peace there, the conversation from that night coursing in remembrance. It’s like everything is still, the lack of motion driving him to move. 

You never understand it yourself, however, when you’re on stage. You blabber like an idiot, as Ten says, and the audience laughs and that is it. You don’t experience what he does and it sometimes drives you a little crazy. Of course, you adding a pregnancy narrative to your witch does throw the rest of the cast for a loop but they handle it well. You just have to make sure you run as fast as you can from Joohyun after the play is done.

“Good job there,” Ten snickers after you duck behind a curtain as Joohyun passes by with furrowed brows and a frown. 

“I know right? I’m literally Oscar-worthy,” you whisper-yell and Ten shakes his head.

“Come on.” This time his hand grips your wrist. “I know the best way to sneak out of this theatre.”

Taking a flight of stairs that you were previously unaware of, you plunge into the darkness of what seems to be an attic. Ten turns on the flashlight of his phone and you yelp, the lighting not helping his already spooky makeup. He laughs before navigating through a bunch of boxes. 

“I heard they used to use this room as an execution chamber,” Ten whispers.

“They did not. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Okay fine. I did cry here though after reading an internet article about ill-fated lovers in ancient Asia.”

“Ugh. Truly horrifying.”

“Yeah, yeah. Emotions terrify you.”

“They do not.”

Ten stops walking.

“Oh yeah? Got any proof?”

You stop yourself before you can do something embarrassing. The first thought that came to you was to kiss the smug look off his face and it does terrify you. The bastard is right. 

“I… cried at your birthday party.”

“You were six. Everyone cries when they’re six.”

“Alright, fine. I cried after you left.”

The silence makes you look up and for once, you don’t really want Ten to be so speechless. You punch his shoulder lightly.

“I missed you a lot,” you say quietly. “Is that so surprising?”

He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. 

“Hello? Anyone inside?” You knock at his forehead before holding his face between your face. “You’re shivering. It’s pretty cold here.”

“I’m not cold,” he says quickly, the red rising in his face.

“Of course, you’re cold. Your cheeks are aflame, that’s how cold it is.”

Ten shuts off the flashlight and you scream at the abrupt darkness.

“It’s not from the cold,” he mumbles.

Now left with only Ten’s warm hand around your wrist, you let him guide through wherever the hell it is you are before emerging onto the second floor of 1075 Building. 

“What the hell?” You gasp. “Why wasn’t I aware there was a secret passage here? Is this what archaeologists feel like? ”

Ten smiles, in some sort of victory. “You don’t know a lot of things.”

You walk into the empty room, or rather wiggle in through the window—this building used to be some sort of housing apartment before being torn down halfway for renovation. Some ghost stories spooked the workers too much to continue. However, having been here long enough, you know that the only thing haunting this place is the abundance of cats. In fact, you can see a few eyeing the two of you from the other windowsills. The room is fairly well-lit and maintained so you guess the renovation will start again soon.

“You got us pizza?” you exclaim at the pizza boxes and cans of cola resting over a little picnic blanket.

“Yes, I did. Wait, crap, I forgot the candy.”

“Nah, that’s okay.” You show him the Reese’s peanut butter cups and Snickers you had pocketed from some unsuspecting children. They get way too many anyway. This is completely morally justified—you’re doing this to save them from cavities and poor health.

“I can’t believe you’d ever want to escape a theatre,” you say before humming at how good the pizza tastes. Pizza is always better when you’re having it someplace you’re not supposed to be in.

“Sometimes, it’s suffocating.” He finally bites into his pizza, an unreadable look over him. You don’t like it. Shifting closer so that your knees touch, you lean in a little.

“Oh, really? After all that talk about how beautiful it is.”

“It is. It just wears me out sometimes. Like you.”

Ten flushes red immediately. “I didn’t mean it—I, I… uh.”

“Aw, you think I’m beautiful.”

“Gah, I knew you’d say that.”

There’s a pause. 

“I got kicked out, actually,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“I had some disagreements with the writers and… and here I am.”

You look at him in stunned silence. “They did fucking what? I’m going to kill them.”

“No, (name). I was at fault. I overstepped. I guess city air made me a little greedy.”

“You were always greedy though.”

“If that’s your example of sympathy, you are horrible at it. Never try again.”

“Well.” You smile reassuringly. “You’re quite beautiful on stage. Too. Like me, as you said.”

“I’m a performer,” he says, a hint of satisfaction in his voice when he leans in. “You can’t beat me at that.” 

“Then put on a show for me, darling.” You raise an eyebrow, a cocky smile over your lips.

Ten’s cheeks colour. It’s silent for a few moments and you take notice of the lack of distance between your noses, your lips. He seems to lose touch with reality when he gently cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. A soft gasp escapes you, not quite ready for the contact.

Ten pulls apart immediately, a look of horror in his eyes.

“I- I’m sorry… I got caught in the—I’m sorry.”

He gets up abruptly and you still sit there in shock. When your senses are back, the room is empty and you hug yourself, feeling colder. God, you’re an idiot. For the first time in your life, you’ve come to your senses and you decide to let the only person you’ve loved walk out the door.

Your texts to him that night aren’t even left on read but you know he’s read the notifications. He always does when he’s avoiding someone. You feel the weight slithering in, pinning you down and making it hard to sleep that night. You have so many things you want to say to him and this time, you’re ready. Even if fate doesn’t let you, you will speak the lines you should have chosen much earlier.

act ii scene iv.

You don’t have anyone to show it to but the news broke you.

The idea of him keeping it all to himself, bearing burdens that are better shared makes your heart collapse its walls into itself. You’re supposed to be there. You were supposed to be there from every pitfall to the top of the world. You were supposed to be at every stage, at every afterparty and for every bout of performance high. You didn’t mean to leave the seat empty.

You were supposed to be there at every rejection and every failure, making fun of all the troubles. 

You get a text from Ten two mornings later to meet up at the new cafe everyone’s been talking about. It takes you the rest of the morning to practise what you’ll say, what you won’t and how you’ll say it. You’ve never done this much for actual plays. But you’re not acting—you just need the words to come out right.

The wall of the cafe is covered in ivy, but you cannot waste time admiring it. Your nerves have the best of you. You stop at the entrance, backtracking to say your entire speech in your head once again. The most important friendship of your life depends on this stupid monologue you came up with a night before in front of the mirror.

“(name).” 

You jump, finding Ten behind you. His nose is a little red from the cold but he looks fine apart from that. You can’t believe you’re early. This might be the first time in your life and you breathe out, slightly more confident.

“Can you… uh, not block the door?”

“Right. Sorry.”

The two of you walk in, a nervous tremble over your fingers but you clasp your hands together tight. He still remembers your favourite drink and you take a moment to try and understand why it’s surprising at all. You wish he never left.

“Ten,” you begin. “If you want to talk about that kiss—”

“Stop. I’m sorry. That was so out of line.” He lets out a distressed sigh, leaning back in the chair. 

“It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” you say quickly. That was not in the speech.

He sits up. “I… Am I taking things too seriously? You’ve been my longest friend, (name). You should tell me.”

You frown. “I didn’t mean it in a harsh way. You just think it’s bad because you kissed your best friend and—”

“No. What do you think?”

You gulp.

“See, (name)? I lied because it fucking hurts right now. I don’t want to play this part.”

“No, Ten. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you so many things but there’s the city, your job—oh. I- I don’t mean to bring it up if the wound is still fresh. Ten—”

“You don’t understand,” he cuts. “You’ve always been happy here. You’re happy wherever.  I’m not… like… that.”

There’s a pause. You pull your jacket closer, the temperature dropping despite the smell of warm baked goods and hit coffee.

“I thought you knew me,” you whisper coldly. 

Ten looks away. “I don’t. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know anything about anything.” 

You breathe sharply. “Ten, I know the city was tough but it’s all you ever wanted.”

“I don’t know what I want,” he whispers. “I don’t know where I belong and- and it just keeps getting harder.”

Your eyes soften. “At least, you were there at Broadway. You took the first step and maybe… maybe you can make a priority list, you know? Work things out.”

“(name), stop. You keep trying to cheer me up in the wrong way.” He dips his face into his palms, rubbing at it and sighing.

You purse your lips. This conversation is going nowhere and you’re holding onto the last shred of your empathy. You just want him back with you.

“You got to go out there, Ten. You went to college, you went to New York. You got to go out there and live your dreams, for whatever it was worth, while I’m stuck in this nothing town. Forever.”

“That’s… that’s not true,” he says, voice breaking. “You were saving up for college. We would live in the same city, in the same apartment with the cats and the hot pink curtains and a coffee maker—oh god, I’ve ruined it.”

It’s painful. You don’t know what to say. If this were a movie, the beautiful, romantic kind, you’d be confessing your long-kept feelings. But you don’t know. You don’t know anything about anything. It’s been a year and he’s changed in a way you don’t know and you can’t throw it onto him like this. This isn’t a movie, and you don’t have a script. Your practised words are forgotten as soon as they reach the tip of your tongue. 

People change, and you’re holding onto someone he’s already buried. He’s not in love with you; teenage love is shaky, wobbly at the foundation. He misses the years, not you. You’ve known him your whole life and yet a year’s difference makes you see things differently. You were lonely without him. You were lonely when you had to keep yourself from calling him, when you finally decided to stop sending daily texts, when you couldn’t find the same comfort in any of your other friends. You hurt him and now, you have to face it.

You pick wilting flowers at an overgrown garden. 

No, even if it isn’t you, you want him. You want him and him only, the years be damned. The past pales in comparison to what is now.

“I’m in love with you,” you blurt. “I was just shocked last night because I didn’t think you were in love with me.”

“You’re not in love with me,” he counters. “You’ve been in love with so many people but none of them were me.”

“You. It’s you—oh my god, it was always you.”

Ten glances at his untouched cup, yet undecided on what to do with his fingers when they stop tapping against the bright red plastic table abruptly.

“So what? So what if it was me? I don’t know what it’s like to play that part.”

You breathe out. There’s a silence between the two of you, one which you remember hanging stars upon. Now it's quiet in a way that has nothing to do with astronomy, or art, or music or anything, really. It’s empty. Like every other silence.

“I loved you,” you whisper in an attempt that is more delirious than for closure. “Do you really not know what that’s like?”

Ten shakes his head. “I… I don’t.”

The memories of him smiling under the sun, only memories keep your tears from brimming up. There was meant to be closure. There was meant to be an explanation. You were supposed to be closing that door you opened into each other. Ten looks at your shaking hands and for a moment, you think he might even reach out and warm them up with his sunlit ones. You press them to your face and breathe into them.

“You brought me all the way here to lie to me?”

Ten furrows his eyebrows.

“I’m not lying—I can’t care about you. You know that, right? I’ll ruin your life. Like I’ve ruined mine.”

You laugh, partly in exasperation and partly as an attempt to alleviate the pain in your chest. 

“You’re my boy. I know you better than anything else I know.”

“Don’t- Don’t do that. Don’t make me want something more.”

"Why would you kiss me?" You bite down your lip to stop yourself from crying.

Ten seems at a loss for words, looking at you with parted lips and guilty eyes. 

"I love you. I'm sorry."

With your eyes downcast, you take a shaky breath. It's now or never. Never, never, never. The word chimes like wedding bells and you think for a moment, to lie. If you pretend, if you act, you'll live it out. He cannot stay and you cannot leave. What a ridiculous pair you are.

You squeeze your eyes shut, get up and lean over the table to place a kiss against Ten's mouth. You pull away with reluctance, looking at the quiet surprise in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I got… I got caught in the moment."

Ten stares at you soundlessly, mouth moving and yet no words come out. Instead, he runs his fingers through your hair before placing his hand on your cheek and leans in again. There's a red flush over his cheeks and it makes you feel at ease.

"I didn't want to hold you back," you say after parting. "Or at least, that's what I told myself. But this year without you has been so painful."

Ten doesn't say anything.

"I… I didn't know what I felt and- and I was so scared… I didn't mean to hurt you. I hate that I did."

“I was afraid,” he says, breathing out like he was holding it in. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t care if I came back.” 

Time treats everything poorly. This time, you’ll try your best to win against it. Ten breaks into a wide, relieved smile and you laugh, rubbing at the tears that collected. God, you were so afraid you wouldn't ever be able to talk to each other anymore. Every room you’ve been in without Ten has been so empty that you had stopped opening doors at all. The coffee is hot and tastes better than ever.

//

You dream of something as ridiculous as the love you feel for Ten. 

There's a cat in the sky, made of stars and with a booming, deep voice—and you, you are little and insignificant on a forgotten rooftop. It is serene, in quiet contemplation, and you are looking at it like a neglected child at its mother. You ask something without words and it responds without words. 

All of sudden, the image disappears and you find yourself in a garden, picking flowers. The clothes you wear are not yours, the face you wear is not yours. But Ten, you'd recognise him anywhere, any time, in another lifetime.

You could see the clear distinction between the two of you however. You wore robes of royalty, the auspicious gold embroidery glistening, and he, that of a performing artist in quiet sage green. The blue irises that grew around you paid no heed to your colours and you had the thought that you should be like them. Vivid, smiling and never alone.

Ten greets you with a smile first and then stretches out his arms. You run to him, with enough force to knock the two of you onto the soft, grassy ground. No one will find the two of you here, in this flower bed. You remember thinking that royalty puts on just as much a show as theatre actors.

You didn't have to remember all of it to know that the story was a tragedy, carefully crafted by divine writers and painters. It was cruel, as is every writer's hand. You see him last under a beautiful sunset before an execution, the words ‘please’ on his lips and no hint of resentment in his smile. It was unlike him. It was so unlike him. 

You hug yourself. He shouldn’t have forgiven you so easily. It takes you a few moments to come back to your senses; this is not you. That person in your dreams wasn’t you—why did you have to feel all that pain? That person in your dream watched their lover die—no, let their lover die as though discarding a messed up sketch. Cruel. It was so cruel. 

The burning idea sprouts in your mind that it was the original script. That perhaps you were cruel and he was not and it’s been that way since forever. That if you don’t do something about it, you’ll be the villain once more. It's as scary to be young as it is lively—and not for once, did you ever think that villains were children too.

ACT III: HAPPINESS 

 act iii scene i.

If the world were to end tomorrow, Ten would spend tonight dancing with you. He says it so easily that you forget to tease him about it.

“Not like that,” he instructs, eyebrows furrowed. “Do this.”

“I am doing this.” You huff, crossing your arms.

“No, you’re not—holy shit, your arms are made of lead.”

You punch him in the shoulder and he stumbles, losing his balance. He sits down on his bed, leaning back on his arms and laughs. You join him and sit down on the fuzzy rug. He gets off immediately to sit beside you.

“I mean, you’re not that bad,” he says with a shrug.

You mimic his statement, rolling your eyes and he attacks your side with an unannounced bout of tickling. The last time you did this, you were a foot shorter and no high school dating rumours were flying around. The last time you did this, you didn’t end up kissing, limbs entangled with each other. December feels like June.

Ten pulls away from you, hovering over to kiss you once again before kissing turns into giggling which turns into laughter.

“I like this," you say quietly.

"Kissing me?" He asks with a sly grin.

"It's actually a little disappointing. Thought you'd be a ten at kissing."

"Atrocious. Disgusting. Vile. Never say that to me again."

You stick your tongue out at him and he does the same, the afternoon torpor settling in heavy as you cuddle into each other. It’s nostalgic almost but at the same time, so very new. You want to talk to him for hours and hours but when the hours end, it never feels enough. An ending is what you despise. Your thoughts meander.

“I had a nightmare,” you confess suddenly.

There’s a very brief pause. Before Ten even says anything, his arms reach out, pulling you into him. It’s warm and you smile.

“Was it your own face you saw?”

“Fuck you. You ruined the moment.”

“We were having a moment?”

You elbow him in the gut and he lets out a grunt of pain, the two of you moving away from each other just to glare. Ten caves first, sliding closer to you and placing his palm against your cheek.

“Can we resume our moment?” he asks, eyes crinkling when he smiles.

You press your forehead to his, your breathing in perfect coordination. This feels easy. This feels right. You pull away and look at him, the silence encasing your moment with him.

“I saw you in it. I… I lost you in it.” You bite your lower lip, avoiding his gaze.

“Hey. It was just a bad dream. I’m right here.” Ten draws closer, his breath mingling with yours and the warmth seeps into you just enough to forget the cold night. 

“You know what would cheer me up from a nightmare?” You nudge him.

“If you say visiting the graveyard—god, fuck, you’re gonna say visiting the graveyard. My suggestion is that you see a therapist.”

“I would if I had the money,” you retort.

Ten shrugs before furrowing his eyebrows. “Are we actually going to the graveyard? You know there are like graves there.”

“That’s… why it’s called a graveyard.”

“Don’t get smart with me, you failed seventh grade English.”

“You failed sixth grade math, Ten. Sixth grade. They teach you like fractions and shit then.”

“Do I look like I need to add three-fourths and one-eighths ever in my life?”

You shake your head before getting up with a burst of energy, and pick up your jacket from his bed. 

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” You start to chant at Ten until he reluctantly gets up. The sun is quite far from setting down yet and everyone knows the perfect time to visit a grave is twilight. Maybe the stone will give your life enough perspective to ease your anxious thoughts.

//

The town cemetery is located by the bed of dahlias which have withered in the seasonal cycle of life and death. There’s a light breeze and your jacket is just enough to withstand it. The sky is orange and pink and the graveyard doesn’t seem as looming as it does in the dead of night (which you know because you’ve visited at two in the morning on a stupid bet with Johnny and somehow Ten was the one scared shitless). You’ve heard stories of the soldiers who were buried here, the women who led the first revolution and everyone else who never got to grace history books. You’ve never enjoyed history much but you can’t gainsay that it puts everything into perspective.

Nothing else matters at the wedding altar and at the grave. 

Ten makes a face at the iron gates of the cemetery. “Okay. We’ve had our adventure. Can we please go get our evening snacks?”

“I love it when you’re antsy, Ten.”

He gives you a sardonic smile. “And I like it better when we’re in my bedroom.”

You gasp dramatically, placing your hand in front of your mouth lightly. “That’s quite scandalous of you, good sir.”

He smiles, eyes crinkling. “I consider myself something of a modern man, you see?”

You skip over the steps to the gates and do a curtsy before gesturing to the entrance. He complies with a sigh of reluctance and lets you take his hand as you pull him in. 

A loud voice startles the two of you and Ten smacks his mouth before he can scream and embarrass himself.

“What business do you have here, trespassers?” The voice echoes through the graveyard.

You look around at the trees and squint at what seems to be some children wearing masks and giggling to themselves. You roll your eyes. Johnny told you some of the town kids were mucking about near the graveyard to spook passersby. 

“You really should get back home for dinner, kids,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Silence, trespasser! You will answer our questions to pass.”

Ten bites back a laugh. “Alright, kids. Shoot.”

“Are the two of you criminals married?”

Ten wrinkles his nose. “Do we look that old?”

“Okay! Next question. Did the two of you ever… do it?”

“What?” you ask, tilting your head. 

Ten groans. “You can say sex, you know? Don’t be pussies.”

You elbow him in the side and he yelps. 

“Those are kids,” you whisper.

“I think they’re old enough if they’re asking,” he whispers back.

“No,” you answer the same time he answers “Yes”.

“What?” You look at him in surprise. 

He shrugs, somewhat guilty. “New York,” he responds in a meek voice. “You know?”

You snicker before it turns to laughter. “Why do you look like that? It’s not a crime to have sex—how the fuck did you even get some though?”

“It’s called having sex appeal. Ever heard of it?”

You roll your eyes, opening your mouth to say something when one of the kids clears his throat.

“Okay! You may pass.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “You really just the wanted to ask us about sex, didn’t you?”

“Let’s go, boys!” The kid declares before stopping abruptly. “And girl.”

A group of kids emerges from behind the trees and flock to a hole in the stone wall, laughing amongst themselves as they run out.

“Wow. Kids these days, huh?” Ten says.

“When we were their age, we convinced Yukhei to poke a beehive.”

“Okay, we were asshole kids but no one ever really told us bees were deadly.”

You walk further into the graveyard, beelining towards the same graves you visit often. They’re unnamed but they died sometime in the nineteenth century. Time passes in a way that is hard to comprehend—all these people and stories are never remembered and time is the only witness. Perspective is a luxury to those who have the time to look.

“Why do you like coming here?” Ten asks quietly, eyeing the gravestones with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“For perspective,” you answer truthfully.

He hums, a somewhat understanding note in his voice.

“They only lived for twenty-four years,” you note.

“The world ends too soon sometimes.”

“Kind of sucks.”

“Really sucks.”

The wind is cold when it passes the two of you by. Ten shivers and zips his jacket before checking up on you, fixing your jacket to cover you better.

“When I leave this place, I hope I have a nice farewell,” you whisper.

Ten raises his eyebrow. “Don’t you want it to be an awful, everyone’s-crying sort of affair?”

“No,” you respond, giving him a confused look.

“I want at least one person to be crying,” he replies, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“That’s kind of—wait a minute.” You glare at him. “You don’t have to use that against me. I wasn’t crying crying.”

“I’m not! I mean it. Like, I want to mean something to someone.”

You draw near enough to link your arms, sighing at the warmth emanating.

“And you’re lying. I know you sobbed right into the pillow like a dramatic ass Disney princess.”

“You’re the one with a flair for drama.” You chuckle.

Ten makes a reluctant sound of agreement, crossing his arms. As he looks at the graves, there’s an expression on his face you can’t quite fathom. It could be mourning—but the graves are nameless, or it could be pity—but he believes that pity is not a positive emotion to feel. You want to ask but something keeps you from it. Something tells you that the answer won’t be pleasant for either of you.

“I hope I cry too,” he whispers. “When I leave and the curtain falls and the world ends.”

You look at him, pondering.

“When I leave,” he begins again, “I want it to hurt. When everything changes, I want it to hurt bad. Then I know it meant something.”

You slip your hand into his and squeeze. “If it means anything, you know I’ll cry if you leave.”

Ten laughs. “Yeah. So when you cried, was it the ugly snot cry or the silently sobbing kind of cry?”

“Fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to retort but gets a full kiss on the mouth instead, good enough to make him forget it. It’s a nice thing to get used to. If time permits, you could do everything together forever.

You return at twilight, grabbing some snacks and arguing whose Netflix account to use and the sun sets before you come to an agreement but it’s not winter anymore inside his room. In fact, it doesn’t feel like winter at all till you look outside and see the naked trees and darker skies, and you remember when you decided last year that you don’t like winter. 

Before you can have a change of heart, you turn to him with sparkling eyes.

He smiles before you even say anything, reading your face as easily as the back of his hand. “You have good news? Or, like, a gift?” Chuckling in breaks, he runs his fingers through your hair.

“I just wanted to talk about our future.”

“Hm?” He seems a little surprised.

“I’m sure we’ll work something out for the both of us. I have faith in you. And in us.”

Ten’s smile falters but he doesn’t let it fall. “I’m glad you do.”

His ringtone startles the two of you just as you lean in, Ten muttering curses at the device. Pausing for a bit when he takes out his phone, he signals you that he needs a minute and leaves you alone in his room. 

Nothing much has changed. There's his cluttered ash wood desk with sketchbooks of varying sizes and colours, shelves with small plushies and, you notice carefully, the butterfly pin you stole. Beside it is the panda soft toy you had found at the side of the road walking back from school and felt so bad, you had "adopted" it. You let out a chuckle.

“Ten?” you call, holding the little panda soft toy.

Ten paces outside his room, speaking in a hush. His features are tense, shoulders stiff and eyes focused when he talks to the caller. Noticing you, his eyes soften for a bit and he makes his way towards you.

“I’ll- I’ll talk to you later,” he speaks sharply into the phone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, walking up to him.

“Sicheng,” he replies briskly.

“Oh.” You remember the doll in your hand and pick it up to show him. “Remember how we got this?”

He smiles but something is amiss in his eyes. “Of course I remember.”

Whatever it is, it must not be important. After all, he’s your best friend and best friends tell each other everything. Morning will come and everything will be alright.

//

The night is cold and the moon is missing. The clothes you wear are not your own once again. This dream begins when the sun has just set and you can taste bitter defeat, but of what battle you don’t know yet. 

All you know is that there is a war and you are caught in the crossfire. It hurts; you can’t feel your limbs anymore and another injury won’t matter anymore. Maybe this is the only life you won in.

No one dies in a way that matters. No one dies for anything at all. It just happens and that is a truth lying within the reach of the universe. Yet then again, when you find your last breath escaping you as you hold hands with the love of your life, you think there must be some meaning to it. You’re only twenty-four and you will be buried in a nameless grave for a war that was the fault of neither of you. 

It dawns on you the moment you wake up, brushing away the tears on your cheeks. The universe is forgetting you, and the universe is being forgotten, until there is nothing left to be remembered.

All you can think then is that you will miss Ten in the next life, and in the next and the next. 

act iii scene ii.

Ten has to tell you. He knows. He knows how the story ends. 

But he’s afraid. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking facing forward till he’d turned around just to find you gone. New York was fun and he made new friends but it’s difficult to be anywhere without you. You’ve been attached at the hip for so long, it’s become strange to be apart.

Ten thinks about the call. The director was very particular about his role and chances come by as rare as diamonds. Ten breathes out heavy in annoyance, covering his eyes with his forearm. He loves sunny winter mornings and this is the worst one he’s ever experienced. He can hear his mom cooking downstairs, the sound soothing and he groans, running his fingers through his hair. 

He should tell you. He knows he should tell you. But fear never walks in on stage with full gusto, it creeps in, slithers in till he feels a shadow behind him on stage and suddenly, he can’t see the lights anymore. Ten is afraid. He is afraid of losing his sense of self to the millions of people he’s played, and to your vibrant world of flowers and colours. You are always front stage centre. You are at the bottom of everything and he can’t let himself fall deep enough. He’s not enough.

Ten turns to face the collection of DVDs on his shelf, untouched since he'd left. What did he start performing for again? Was it the time you and him pretended to be pirates in his room, his bed your gallant ship, or the time he watched his first movie on a sweltering hot summer day, or the time he sang to you the first time (it was a birthday song remix, made by Ten himself). Surely, it was for something beautiful and not for something like greed. At that time, he thought that maybe if he stole enough lives and stuffed it into the gaping hole, it would sate his envy of the people around him. The bright vibrant colours, he made his own and yet still, he feels like a thief with his nimble feet and a stash of paint bottles in his arms. He's not satisfied at all.

It was a sunlit morning and Ten thought to himself, wouldn’t it be nice if he could paint with all the colours of the rainbow? You, who are so full of vibrance, couldn’t understand this epiphany of his.

"You keep getting on my nerves," he mutters in this empty room of his. "Everything you do gets on my nerves."

Ten decides that he’ll tell you this evening. After all, best friends tell each other everything. The theatre means the world to him but the whole world is out there, ready to be his stage. Eventually, this loneliness will turn into a performance and he’ll be grasping at identities trying to find familiarity. He will take his masks off over and over again, and he knows he’ll still be wearing one. He wants to greet you with his real face.

The world spins at the rate of a thousand miles an hour. It never stops, and that must mean everyone on it can’t stop either. 

//

The crows are singing a song, or talking amongst themselves. You can never know. The song is dyed red as the evening, and with a splash of purple. It’s the season to miss flowers and warm hands and the sweet taste of ice cream. You don't know why but the "let's go to the gardens" text from Ten gave you the most awful feeling, much like the morning after your nightmares.

“I have to go back to New York.”

You look up at Ten from the park bench beside the dahlia fields. The flowers are asleep, not in bloom until next autumn. 

“What?”

“I got a call… from someone I know.”

Your first reaction is to smile wide and jump up. “That’s great! You’re not jobless anymore.” You laugh.

But then the corner of your lips twitch and your smile drops. The word ‘goodbye’ hangs at the tip of your tongue and you look at him, slightly perplexed. Ten, who looks at you with so much kindness, will never understand this envy of yours.

“When… when do you come back?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. It depends on how well I do.”

You laugh despite the heavy feeling settling in your chest. “That- Let’s hope your acting is shitty then, hm?”

Ten frowns. “This isn't a joke. For once in your life, can you look at me with sincerity?”

You grit your teeth at his words. 

“I’m trying to lighten the mood, god dammit,” you murmur bitterly.

“And I’m saying you don’t have to.”

There’s something looming over the top of your heads, something eerie like a clock that never stops ticking or a clock that never ticks.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, surrender in your voice already. 

If you kiss him where you hurt him, will everything be alright? Can you grow the flowers he likes over his scars? Flowers… flowers—which were his favourite again? Irises or daisies? It must have been the prior; you’ve glanced over a hundred times at the endless fields of sleeping blue irises in his sketchbook. And yet, you doubt. Were those flowers chrysanthemums? You’re grasping onto memories and your knuckles are starting to hurt.

Ten looks at you with a gaze that is of the past. He looks at you like he’s mourning, like he’s keeping something grave from you. So you lean in, your lips brushing against his before you can kiss him fully. You want to feel him and for him to feel you, the idea of a relationship foreign and close to you as ever. Even so, you feel like a ghost as you run your fingertips over his skin and through his hair. He knows how to kiss you, how to hold you—and he’s known you for years.

Ten pulls apart for a few moments, breaths weaving into each other. It’s only five centimeters between your lips but it’s still five centimetres. You don’t know if you were meant to be apart or if you were not. The show must go on.

You brush the hair from his face, a lingering smile on your face from the kiss and the way his features align so perfectly. It’s easier to avoid his gaze that way. 

“I’m tired,” he whispers. “I’m so tired. I feel like my skin is losing its grip on my bones. Everything’s falling apart.”

You hum, choking up at the sound of his voice. Soft and yet, so heavy.

He takes a sharp, shaky breath. “I don’t want to go.” 

Forever is the sweetest lie you’ve told each other. 

“You’re going to go,” you pronounce the words into realization. “You’re going to go away again. And I’m going to be right here.”

Your broken heart is making it much more difficult than it should be.

“Don’t go,” you whisper hoarsely. Maybe if this time you didn’t lie. Maybe you’ll be his number one, his lead finally. 

His breathing gets erratic, and he takes a step back to cover his face with his flushed hands. It’s painful to watch him this way and you want to take your words back. But you knew. You knew what the words would result in, what the words would grow into. You feel cruel.

“I… I can’t give up,” he says finally, “I can’t- I can’t. I’m sorry, oh god. Why can’t you come with me? Why do I have to go back alone?”

You swallow, your eyes downcast. 

“I’m not going to wait,” you say finally. “We should… we should stop now. It’s been long enough for us to go our own ways.”

Ten doesn’t move, at a loss for words.

“You… I'm sorry,” he says, choking on his own words. 

Your lips tremble and you wipe at your eyes. He cups your face, thumbs swiping away the tears before you can muster enough strength to push him away. You’re a complete mess, in a way you haven’t been before. Even now, he’s the only one you can face.

“We’re not,” you say, regaining some control over your tongue, “We’re not supposed to be like this. Do you think we would even be friends if we didn’t grow up here together?”

“What- What does that matter?” He furrows his eyebrows, drawing nearer.

“I’m saying that everything could just be a coincidence and maybe… maybe things should just end sometimes.”

You just want to kiss him, in the way a romantic story ends in a sweet kiss and it’s a happy ending.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers. “But if you want distance, I’m giving you thousands of miles of it.”

You clench your jaw. “Don’t blame me for pushing you away.”

Ten throws up his arms in exasperation. “I’m not blaming—why are you so defensive all of a sudden?”

“You made me that way,” you answer, pitch low. Your throat hurts. 

Ten looks at you with disappointment in his eyes, baby pink lips in a frown you hate. "I'm sorry. I have to leave."

You nod and let the words 'see you tomorrow' slip the same time 'goodbye' slips his. He turns his back and walks forwards as he always has, and you look in from the same place as you always have. 

Eventually, you get the energy to go home. You greet your colourful room with the same look you always have before something catches your eye. The colour of your room mostly comes from the polaroids stuck to your wall—you and Ten at your high school graduation dancing to Nicki Minaj, Yukhei and you looking done holding the caricatures Ten painted of you, Sicheng and Ten and you after your first theatre performance together. There are so many smiles that you end laughing, a little crazy with the sound. Perhaps spring isn't as far as you think it is. Perhaps you will be okay.

Everything has an end. You know that. It hurts so fucking bad.

Ten was right. Because it hurts this bad, you know it meant something now. It meant the whole world to you. Winter tumbles upon you at full force even as you hold autumn dearly in your arms.

//

This time, you close your eyes to find yourself in a field of dahlias. The dream is meandering with colours and sounds so quiet that you feel like you’re stuck in time. Then a loud vibration resounds throughout the field; it is not a field at all. 

You are sitting atop a bed of stars, in the belly of something much larger than you are. There is a place in the universe for everyone but you cannot find yourself in it. 

So you sit at the places you’ve always known, at gardens and children’s parks, waiting till your hair turns grey and your skin starts to wrinkle. Time flows around you, faster with each second but you sit so still that you're not breathing anymore. You're so jealous of those who move, dance and play. Does it have to be this painful? You don't want to be all these people in your dreams. You want to paint your own mask.

The world is so busy and you are completely still. You think of sunshine in New York and how he must be loving it and for a moment, your plastered lips quirk upward. 

When you wake up, Ten is on a flight to New York with a text that reads: "I'll come back. I promise." The sunset after a farewell—even you understand the beauty of it and so, you watch him chase his dreams into the sunset.

act iii scene iii.

You know an ending scene when you see one. It’s the only scene you didn’t end up sleeping through. But this doesn’t feel like one, no matter how deep the despair runs through you. This third act love was never supposed to work out and yet, something is amiss.

Ten doesn’t come back even when the billboards proudly show his face and he’s the star of the show. In your opinion, he always has been. But people get comfortable in the present, sink their feet into it, and when they do, they forget the past. 

The world spins at a thousand miles per hour but nothing seems to move for you. Everything stops and life goes on.

epilogue.

Your youth starts to run out.

Sorrow grows into anger, then into resentment. You’re not sure what you hate so desperately but you hate it nonetheless. You’re pissed and you don’t know what to do with yourself except wake up shaking and wanting to shout and cry at the world. You were supposed to have Ten by your side even then. Even when you’re against the world, he was supposed to be there. Now you’re all alone in a world that’s crashing and burning, in a world of your own making and in a world that is no longer in the palm of your hand.

You wish you were an angrier person, you wish you could curse and scream and fight as easily as they do in movies. At least he didn't make a villain out of you when he left first. 

You don’t really have nightmares anymore though. When you have nothing to lose, you start to fear less. You tend to a little garden of your own making after Mr. Yang passes away. There’s a quiet funeral and a will written with your name on it. You did spend most of your time there after Ten left. It’s your flower shop now and you can tend to whichever flowers you want to keep alive.

Sometime in your late twenties, you get a call from an old friend. You meet Doyoung at a coffee shop near the college he went to, and he tells you he got your number from Yukhei that night you met. He says he’s glad your number hasn’t changed in all these years—he found it going through his contacts. You find it cute the way he becomes flustered when trying to explain himself. He’s a lawyer now, finished all those tough years to complete his dreams.

It makes you smile. You think that dreams shouldn’t be kept in a bottle but your shelves are full.

You go on dates at the cutest new cafes and the most ambient restaurants, sometimes to amusement parks so you can laugh at his fear of scary rides. It feels like having a friend once again and you cheer up for the better. 

But Doyoung doesn’t understand history the way you do. He doesn’t understand a lot of things—but it’s not something you expect anyway. He’s rich and he doesn’t know what small towns are like. You think you can be in love again. He proposes to you on a yacht and you nod, paralyzed from your fear of the ocean. Your parents are so happy for you that for a brief time, you feel happy too in the shadow of their joy.

You don’t visit your hometown anymore after the wedding. You don’t visit theatres at all.

Sometimes you remember the night at the rooftop after the party with Ten and smile. But it was one night, one thing you did in a lifetime of nights and things you did. It dawns on you just then that loneliness makes you fragile, fragile enough to push people away instead.

Every time you close your eyes, you’re still dancing with him on the rooftop below the stars that are yet to fade from your memory. You now pick wilting flowers at a wilted garden.

“A play?” you ask, confounded. Doyoung has never been one for theatre.

"Your mom said you liked theatre," Doyoung answers, eyes inquisitive.

"Did she now?"

He smiles. "If you've grown out of it—"

"No. No, I've always wanted to watch a show on Broadway."

"That's settled then."

You start to understand the meaning of this place to Ten. You haven't called him in years and you didn't keep in touch after the first year. Life was as busy for him as it was still for you and you understand some of it now. After all, who would ever want to leave this place?

Being a part of the audience runs a chill up your back, with certain memories drawing to the surface of your thoughts as you sink into the seat. It's a popular musical but you can't say you've ever heard of it. Time runs differently in your little bubble. 

It hurts just about as much as you expect it to. Watching Ten on stage hurts so bad you almost look away. The nostalgia scratches at your throat, filling your head with memories you shouldn't be entertaining anymore. You should've kept in touch. You should've done something. You were friends before everything else.

All you want from him now is forgiveness. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with—

You start to cry before you can do anything about it. Doyoung doesn’t notice beside you, dozed off already to the soft orchestral music.

You must seem delirious, mourning as though you’ve buried a loved one. With a shaky breath, you force yourself to look. It is the tombstone of your childhood love that stands on stage. You were rash. You were so, so young and rash. Your lips tremble again and you cry, chest rising and falling as you remember something so forgotten that it seems a dream, something so warm that’s now six feet under in the cold ground. You mourn.

But he seems happy—and that's all you ever really cared about. That's all you should have cared about.

The play ends on a wonderful musical note and you find yourself in better composure. Shaking Doyoung awake by the shoulder, you look at him expectantly. He seems partly embarrassed to have dozed off and partly apologetic.

"You want to meet Ten?" Doyoung asks quietly.

You blink in surprise.

"You grew up in the same town, right?"

"Yeah… Yeah, we did."

Doyoung smiles. "We went to college at the same place."

"Oh, I know. Most everyone from my town goes to college there actually."

Doyoung hums. 

"He invited me, actually," he says after a while.

"Oh."

It hurts only a little that he didn't invite you first. Did all those years mean nothing beyond a little romance? If you were years younger, you could be chiding him for it. If he were years younger, he would greet you with a Cheshire cat smile.

Backstage smells of sweat. A little perfume and powder but mostly sweat. You know that already. It's just that even the backstage here is grand. 

Ten looks as pretty as ever, even with half the makeup off his face. He looks as pretty as billboard posters, where he was meant to be, and in smiling Instagram posts and articles about how perfect his smile is. He's pretty but in a different sort of way.

Ten doesn't seem surprised. In fact, he greets the two of you with a poster smile. 

"Doyoung," he says first. "(Name). I hope, no wait. You guys better have liked that."

Doyoung laughs. "You'll bully me into liking it even if I didn't."

Ten rolls his eyes. "Law makes you so boring. Or maybe you were always boring."

Doyoung sighs, shaking his head. "Not everyone wants to be the life of the party. There's quite a bunch of wild stories about you on the internet."

Ten snorts. "I don't know why but you saying 'the internet' makes you sound thirty years older."

"There's no arguing with you, is there?"

"Learnt from the best."

You clear your throat. "If the two of you are done with your homoerotic banter…"

Doyoung chokes the same time Ten makes a gagging sound. What the two of them have in common is that they easily become flustered around you.

"I'm going to go wash my face." Doyoung excuses himself, exiting the backstage. 

In any other time or place, it would be fine being just the two of you.

"Ten," you acknowledge. "You look good."

"I always do."

You roll your eyes. "You don't have to mask everything with humour."

"Like you did?"

You fall silent.

“Does it hurt?” you ask.

“It does,” he whispers before raising his voice something more audible. “When I look at your—our old pictures, it does.”

"You've kept them?"

"Of course."

You look at your feet. The reality settles. You’re not going back to the way things were. You’re married to another man. Ten’s not in love with you anymore. If you had taken the step forward back then, if you had kissed him before he took that step back—would things have turned out differently? 

The stars will now gaze at lonely rooftops and empty flower gardens—an audience you never wished to entertain. But now, you're glad to have been part of his play, part of the play you made together.

“Are you happy these days?” he asks. There is no malice, no resentment in his voice.

“Almost,” you answer. “There’s just one thing missing.”

To ask for forgiveness does not mean erasure. You can't move on by letting it go and pretending it was never in the palm of your hand.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me,” you say quietly, rubbing your forearm.

Ten smiles. “We were a little confused, I think. We wanted to be loved, appreciated and found the easiest way.”

You smile back. “Yeah. It was always easiest with you.”

Ten pauses, looking around with a familiar feline look in his eyes before whispering, “So, Doyoung? Really?”

You straighten, crossing your arms. “He’s really nice. And he’s always asking me how I am, what I ate, and he buys me all the soft toys I want. And he’s a better kisser, by the way.”

Ten places a hand over his heart in mock indignation. “Now, we both know that’s not true.”

You roll your eyes before a short giggle turns into chuckling into laughter, and the two of you find yourself with smiling eyes, the look of childhood on your faces and memories unkempt. 

It is better to grieve than to never have loved anyone enough to. 

It doesn’t hurt anymore but maybe it stopped hurting a long time ago. But it meant something to you, meant so much to you and that's all that makes sense now.

notes.

the words to the play at the beginning of act i scene i is taken from tang xianzu’s preface to his own play, the peony pavilion, however they are not exact quotations. the graveyard scene and the “when everything is gone, i want it to hurt” dialogue are inspired by indie game night in the woods by infinite fall studio and i love that game pls check it out if you have the time and money!!

[smellsfaintlyofvanilla]

hewwo! Would it be okay to request historia x reader? I’m not sure if you’ve finished aot yet but the scenario in my head is set after historia became queen and the reader is a captain of the scout regiment. They’ve been secretly together since their trainees days and it becomes increasingly hard to find time to spend together. So like one day reader decide to dangle outside of historia’s window (how romantic than throwing rocks at her windows👀) and decides to make up for lost time. Lots of fluff and maybe Heheh I wouldn’t mind if it gets a bit (or maybe more) nsfw. Thankiess <33 sorry if it bothers you with this request

Stan Historia hours :) I love her sm

Also I didn’t proofread ‘cause I’m sleepy, so if there are typos... uh... whoops...

Missing You

(Historia Reiss x Reader)

AU: Canon

Warnings: None

Category: Fluff/smut

Summary: Ever since Historia became queen of Paradis, her s/o has been able to see her less and less. So, one day, they show up outside of her window for a surprise.

Words: 4.1K

Gusts of wind delicately brushed your hair behind your ears as you flew through the air effortlessly. You breathed in the cold evening air and gazed at the setting sun over the horizon tranquilly before firing the grapple of your ODM gear into the wall of a nearby brick building. Using the momentum it gave you, you rounded the corner swiftly and let your eyes settle of the sight in front of you--the Reiss castle.

It was a grand sight, no doubt about it, as the pristine stone and marble was decorated with shiny golden accents that fit the grandeur aesthetic. A tall gate surrounded the estate, and guards lined the outside.

Luckily for you, as the commander of the Scouts, you had no trouble bypassing them all quietly. It’s not like you were in any real danger regardless--even if you were caught, the queen would undoubtedly have you pardoned immediately. The worst you’d get out of it was a harsh scolding from a displeased Levi or Erwin.

You were on a bit of a risky mission. Not one sanctioned by the Scouts, but rather, a personal mission. You knew your girlfriend, who was also the queen, resided inside the palace, and due to her newfound status as a monarch, and your duties as a soldier, you found yourself with less and less time to spend with her. Knowing her, she likely missed you as well, and wouldn’t be at all apprehensive about your sudden appearance.

Your fleeting shadow was all that any guard could make out as your body flew over the wall, landing quietly, albeit a little clumsily, in the hedges lining the outer walls. A glance up at a familiar balcony proved that you had hit your target perfectly--you were directly under Historia’s bedroom.

You sat up and brushed the dirt off of your cloak with a scoff. Security was clearing lacking here if someone like you was able to slip by undetected so easily. Still, you were pleased with it’s convenience in allowing you to visit your girlfriend. You shot the grapple of your gear right above her bedroom window, and quickly zipped up to peer inside, placing both of your feet against the wall and letting your arms hang limp as your weight was carried solely on the wire of your ODM gear.

The curtain was already opened, and you took a minute to admire her sleeping frame, which was hunched unceremoniously over her desk and on top of some incomplete paperwork. The messy golden hair, which was out of it’s usual style, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as her lips parted slightly. Despite her outward calmness, you didn’t fail to notice the light bags under her eyes, and the scowl that painted her usually cheery face.

You decided to cut your creepy staring short, as you balled up one of your hands into a fist and started gently knocking on the glass window. You stopped as soon as you noticed her stir, but you quickly realized she was still asleep. It was probably gonna take a little more than light knocking to wake her up.

You crouched your legs further into the wall, before jumping away and aiming your feet at the window. As your body swung back and into the window, the cheap wooden frame gave way silently, pushing the window wide open. You silently thanked whatever deity was up there that the glass didn’t shatter when you collided with it, because if it did, a rush of guards would undoubtedly storm in to investigate the threat, and you really wanted this little visit to stay a secret between you and Historia.

You gently closed the window behind you, not wanting to let any more of the chilly night air inside, and walked up to your girlfriend’s desk. You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and shook her lightly.

“Historia...” You whispered into her ear, but the short girl only tightened her lips into a line and furrowed her brows, accompanied by a short, incoherent mumble. You cursed her for being so cute before you gave her a quicker, more forceful shake. “Historia...!” You whisper-shouted, and you felt her body jump at the sudden call of her name.

She yanked her head off of her desk abruptly and turned her body to face you with a slightly panicked expression on her face, but it lightened immediately into a small smile when her gaze met yours.

“Y/n...” She yawned out, covering her mouth and shutting her eyes peacefully.

“Hello, darling.” You smiled, stepping back a few paces to give her space to stretch her arms out above her head.

“What are you doing here?” She muttered, before perking her head up in confusion and continuing. “Actually, how did you get past security?”

You laughed softly before sliding your cloak off of your shoulders and throwing it carelessly onto her elegant, oversized bed. “Well, I missed you, and it’s been ages, so I decided to drop by for a visit. Getting past security was no big issue, either.” You laughed dryly, before continuing, walking over to stand by Historia’s desk chair. “Don’t tell me you didn’t wan to see me?” You smiled.

“No,” She mumbled sleepily, standing up and burying her head in your chest affectionately, wrapping her arms around you tightly. “I’m glad you’re here...”

You smiled at her bashfully and started to run your fingers through her loose blonde hair. She’s always so cute when she’s sleepy...

“So...” She pulled back after a moment, looking up to face you as the tiredness slowly left her eyes. “Did you have anything specific planned?” She smiled, “Or did you visit just for the sake of it?”

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck with your free hand. “Nothing in particular, but I had an idea.” She raised her eyebrow, signaling you to continue, but you didn’t speak, and instead, you walked back to her window and opened it wide, the gentle winds causing the curtains to flutter. You waved your hand in the ‘come here’ motion, beckoning her to follow you to the window.

“I’ll show you,” You smiled, “But you have to hold on tight.”

She nodded wordlessly, walking over to you and wrapping her small body around your torso. You pet her head affectionately for a moment, before speaking.

“You ready?”

“Mhm.”

And with that, you climbed onto the windowsill and shot off your ODM gear outside of the palace walls.

As you flew through the air, you made sure to be quick and silent, trying not to make a scene, especially now that the queen was clinging to you like a koala. To an outsider’s perspective, it may have appeared like the calmest kidnapping to ever occur, but in reality, Historia couldn’t have been any happier to be so close to you for the first time in months, even if no word’s were spoken.

She finally pulled her head out of your chest when she felt you stop, hitting the ground and skidding along the dirt on your heels from the leftover momentum. You stumbled a little bit, before gaining your footing in the dirt and stopping in your tracks.

“We’re here.” You exhaled, and Historia reluctantly let go and stood up straight. She looked around curiously at the unfamiliar scenery. Tired oak trees towered over the sky, covering the view of the stars completely. Near her feet, green, unkept grass and shrubbery covered the ground, and the occasional patch of flowers gave a drop of color to the predominately brown and green scenery. She quickly concluded that the city was long behind them, and that this place had been free of human inhabitation for quite a long time.

“You dragged me out of my bedroom at 9PM,” Historia started, and you turned to face her curiously. “To show me some trees...?”

You laughed at this, finding her confusion quite adorable. “Not the trees, sweetie.” You grabbed her small hand in your own, and started to lead her down the closest thing to a path there was near here--an area of beaten down dirt and flattened grass. ‘I wonder how often she comes here...’ Historia thought to herself as you continued to lead her through the trees.

You finally slowed your jog to a stop once you found your destination, letting go over Historia’s hand and stretching out, breathing in the freeing night air. “Now, we’re here.”

She finally turned her gaze away from you, and glanced at the landscape ahead of her, mouth hanging slightly open at the sight of it.

The sky was composed of deep shades of purple and blue, mixing together elegantly like paint on a canvas. Shiny white stars freckled the sky, forming best and constellations. It was nothing compared to the view she got from her palace window.

She glanced down at her feet to see just where she was standing. The two of you were on the edge of the forest, which seemed to be the cliff that oversaw the beach that was at least 50 feet below her. It was a small outcrop of dirt and stone, a tiny little peninsula of cliff where trees and flowers ceased to grow, leaving only the small bits of grass and shrubbery.

“Pretty cool, huh?” You sighed happily, plopping down to sit on the short grass, and patting the space next to you.

She snapped out of her trance and settled down next to you, running her fingers through the soft grass, mesmerized.

You watched her with amusement before chuckling. “How long has it been since you’ve touched some grass??” Despite your playful tone, you were genuinely curious. After all, as nothing more than a soldier, you didn’t remotely understand what the life of royalty could be like.

She ignored the question for the most part, her gaze still fixed on the night’s sky.

“I haven’t gotten to see anything like this in a long time...” She trails off.

“I know,” You say confidently, “I go here all the time to look at the stars since the it’s so isolated, Plus, it has an amazing view. Levi always drags me out whenever he finds me here, but I caught him watching the sunrise here one time. I guess even a pessimist like him finds this place calming.” You chuckle, leaning you back against a dead tree stump and sighing. “But keep this quiet.” You smile. “It’s my little secret.”

She smiled back, a small blush creeping up on her cheeks at your laugh. It was so calming to her, so charming and unique to you. It made her happy to know you were happy.

A sudden gust of wind blew through the air, and Historia shivered, hugging herself in an attempt to conserve body heat. It was pretty here, no doubt, but she wished she had a chance to change out of her night clothes before you took her out.

You glanced at her for a moment, still clad in the standard Scout uniform (which, luckily for you, was very warm), and chuckled for a minute.

“Historia, darling,” You called out, bringing her attention towards you and patting your lap, “Come over here.”

She stood up quickly and made her way over to you, facing you before placing herself in your lap, her arms wrapped around your stomach and one leg splayed to either side of you.

You silently wished you had brought your Scout cloak with you so you could use it as a blanket, but instead, you just wrapped your arms around her in return and hoped that whatever body heat you were giving off would be enough.

It seemed to work, though, as she stopped shivering pretty quickly, and buried her head in your chest. You sighed in relief and started to run your hands through her hair absentmindedly.

“Y’know sweetie,” you start speaking, and although she shows no reaction at first, you know she’s listening intently, “I love you, and I love the cuddles too, but you won’t get a good view of the stars if you stay like this the whole time.” You giggled.

She let out a muffled hum into your chest, before speaking her response. “I don’t mind. You’re much better than some cool view of the sky. Warmer too.”

You laughed at her last statement, before settling down yourself, a hand making it’s way to rub small circles of Historia’s lower back soothingly. It seemed to have worked, as she only sighed and cuddled herself further into you.

The two of you sat like that in comfortable silence for what felt like ages, relaxing in each others’ presences for the first time in months. But, eventually the silence was broken as Historia quietly piped up.

“How has it been?” She asked, and you tilted your head to look at her, only to find her still relaxed against you. “Being commander of the Scouts must be tough work. They’ve been getting a lot of attention recently, both good and bad.”

You sighed and leaned back once again. Things had been tougher and more tiring recently, no doubt. Still, work was the last thing on your mind at this moment. You just wanted to spend time with Historia, free from stress.

“It’s been... okay.” You dodged the question subtly, and Historia elected not to prod you on it as you continued. “But I do miss spending time with my wonderful girlfriend.” You teased, and a smile spread across your features as she flustered up, and turned her head subconsciously to the side, allowing you to see her blushing face.

“And you know what else I miss?” You continued, grabbing her chin with your free hand, and lifting her head up to face you.

“What?” She stared back at you, bewildered and flustered.

“This.”

And before Historia even had the time to voice the words that formed in her mind, you pulled her face to yours quickly, quickly kissing her on the nose, then the forehead, then the cheek.

Historia giggled adorably as you continued to pepper her with chaste kisses against her face, and this time, she didn’t try to fight the blush that spread across her cheeks.

“Y/nnnnn...!” She continued to laugh as you kissed the corner of her lips all the way up to her ear, and her laughter started to infect you as well, as you let out soft snickers and laughs as well as you continued to shower her with affection.

You eventually stopped, and the two of you laughed together sweetly for a moment, before finally settling down against each other once again.

“You know what I missed?” Historia spoke teasingly.

“Hm?” You responded, interested in her response.

She gave no verbal response, much like you, instead opting to show her feelings with actions rather than words as she closed the gap between both of your faces.

Her lips met yours, and you closed your eyes to accept the soft, tender kiss, as opposed to the playful and short ones from earlier.

You continued the kiss, leaning over her slightly, and moving your hands to her lower back, and her hands went to grip your shoulders for support.

You playfully licked her bottom lip, silently asking for permission, but she gave in right away, parting her lips slightly and allowing you to quickly slide your tongue over her teeth. She felt her blush darken at the bold action, but continued to deepen the kiss regardless.

She’d be a liar if she said that she didn’t miss this as well, the more... intimate parts of your relationships. Like how you two would quietly make out in the dorm rooms before meeting up with everyone for breakfast, and how you would quietly finger her behind the barracks after training, and even the cute little noises you made when she went down on you.

She couldn’t help it as these dirty thoughts started to cloud her mind, and she could already feel her underwear growing damp.

You continued to make out with her, asserting your dominance more as your tongue started to explore the inside of her mouth, and Historia couldn’t help but let out quiet whimpers, especially when the hands placed on her lower back started to slowly lift up the hem of her shirt.

Then, in what was most likely a subconscious action, you shifted in place a little bit, and it wasn’t until now that she was reminded that her core had been placed directly on your thigh, and the subtle grinding against her crotch caused her to let out a moan against your lips.

You didn’t realize what you had done for a second, but when you did, you immediately used it to your advantage, and you ground your thigh against her core excruciatingly slowly. At this point, Historia couldn’t help any of the quiet moans and whimpers that escaped her throat.

You pulled away to catch your breath, much to Historia’s dismay, but you at least kept the slow movements of your thigh against her as you spoke up between pants.

“How about we go home now baby?” You asked (though it wasn’t much of a question), wiping your mouth and breaking the thin trail of saliva that connected you two. “This isn’t a very good place for... y’know...”

Historia only blushed and nodded, wiping her mouth as well. “Y-Yeah...”

You stood up to lead her out, and Historia tried her best to ignore the throbbing sensation that lingered between her legs ever since you stopped giving her stimulation.

You wasted no time on your trip home—letting Historia cling to you while you zipped your way back to the palace.

Historia tried to be patient on the way there, but she couldn’t help it as she started to subtly grind her hips into yours as you continued to fly through the air.

You sucked in a little bit of air through your teeth—undoubtedly turned on yourself—but you were quick to reprimand her softly.

“Not here, Historia, just wait until we get back.”

After an excruciatingly long four minutes journey, you one again flew into Historia’s unlocked bedroom window, stumbling on the floor a little bit, before regaining your footing and setting Historia down. You turned to close the window, not wanting anyone but you to hear your girlfriend’s sweet moans but you.

Once you had done that, you removed your coat and tossed it aside aimlessly before pushing Historia down against the bed, continuing to make out with her hungrily. She clawed at your shirt clumsily, and ceased to stop the whine in her throat when you playfully bit her bottom lip.

Your hands roamed to the buttons of her night shirt, fumbling to undo them while keeping all of your attention on Historia. Eventually, you got the stubborn things off, and you threw the shirt to the side carelessly, before immediately abusing your new access.

Your hands roamed her breasts hungrily. They were on the smaller side, but, as you had learned not far into your relationship, they were very sensitive.

You toyed with her happily as she crumbled beneath you, and you relished in the way her breath hitched and back arched as you gently pinched one of the pink nipples.

She pulled away from the makeup session to bite her bottom lip, muting any noises she made as you continued your teasing ministrations.

“Shit... Y/n...” She muttered bashfully, causing you to laugh slyly.

You slowly moved your way up her body, before straddling her hips and sitting up, your crotch flush against hers. You slowly undid the buttons of your shirt, sliding it over your shoulders cleanly once it was loose enough, and you discarded along with the sports bra you were wearing.

Historia shamelessly scanned your body, all the way from your shoulders to your toned, somewhat muscled stomach, and she ran her fingers over it delicately, stopping at the button of your pants. You smiled before leaning down to continue kissing her, curious to see where she was leading with this.

She didn’t seem to lose any confidence when you resumed your dominance, as she unbuttoned the pants easily, and slipped her hand into your underwear. You tensed up and let out a small gasp as her fingers brushed teasingly over your clit, rubbing gentle circles on it.

You pulled away from her mouth and let out a small whine. “Historia...”

She smiled at your reaction, deciding to be just a little bolder as she pressed down on your clit, hard, causing a jolt of pleasure to shoot up your body. You let out a strangled moan before lust took over your mind. Enough foreplay, enough teasing. This is starting right now.

You sat back up again, causing her hand to fall out of your pants to avoid the uncomfortable angle, and you slid of your pants and underwear, throwing it off to the growing collection of neglected clothing that littered her floor. You did the same thing to Historia right after, sliding her skirt down her hips gently, talking her underwear with it.

Your hand instantly settled in between her legs, and you stuck a finger into her up to the knuckle experimentally, and smiling sadistically at the lewd noises that fell from her lips.

You pulled it out gently, causing her to call out your name in both pleasure and frustration.

You didn’t let her go long without stimulation, however, as you lifted one of her legs up to go over your shoulder, pressing your heat against hers, and causing you to close your eyes and let out a pleasured exhale.

Slowly, you started to rock your hips against hers, scissoring her at a slow pace, enjoying the soft sounds she made.

“Y-Y/n...” She muttered, covering her mouth with her hand to mute the noises that fell easily from her lips.

You glanced up at her and grabbed her wrist, displeased with her action. “Don’t cover your mouth.” You groaned, moving her hand away. “I want to hear you.”

Historia nodded hesitantly, blushing in embarrassment as lewd moans and whimpers left her lips.

“Fuck...” She exhaled in ecstasy, causing you to smile. It brought you a lot of joy to make your oh so innocent girlfriend curse as you fucked her like this.

Her dormant hands reached up to grasp at your waist, running her hands up and down it and feeling you up with need, causing you to let out a shuddered moan as you sped your pace.

The increase in speed jostled her for a moment, and a startled, but pleasured yelp left her lips. You sighed and tilted your head back, biting your lip in pleasure as you rocked against her with force.

Slowly, Historia felt a knot grow in the pit of her stomach. Intense, heated pleasure that threatened to burst with every thrust of your body against hers, and helpless whines filled the room, only increasing tenfold when one of your hands went down to grope her breast.

“F-Fuck...! Y/n... I’m getting... close...” She exhaled, causing a surge of arousal course through your body. You could feel your orgasm slowly building in your stomach as well.

“Y-Yeah... me too...” You panted out as your thrusts started to get irregular as you got closer and closer to your climax, and lust-filled moans fell from your lips. You reached your other hand down to rub at her clit, finally sending her over the edge.

The hot sensation in the pit of her stomach finally unraveled as she arched her back up and gripped the sheets, rolling her hips desperately against yours, needy moans of ecstasy spilled from her lips, along with the occasional curse and yelp of your name.

Evidence of her orgasm dripped down her thighs and onto you as you came against her as well, riding out your orgasm with her.

You let out a few, slow thrusts as your hips twitched and legs shook, finally coming down from your high. You thrusted one final time, before exhaling and collapsing next to her, still sweaty and panting from your activities just moments ago.

Historia looked just the same as you, sweat dripping down her red face, the aftereffects of ecstasy still evident on her face. You turned on your side to face her, putting your hands on your back and pulling her close.

She let out a long, contended sigh and wrapped her arms around your back, and pulling the silk covers over you with her free hand, kissing your collarbone gently as sleep started to overtake her.

“I missed this.” You sigh, closing your eyes and running your hands through her disheveled and messy hair. “I missed you.”

You heard her quietly hum in agreement, before muttering sleepily into your chest. “I love you...”

You smile as her breathing evened against you. You were sure she had already fallen asleep, but that didn’t stop you from responding.

“I love you too, Historia.”

THIS IS SO RUSHED BYE EVERYONE SEE YA

[angelsdemonsducks]

you don't like the ending (we'll find one that's yours)

“Logan,” Virgil says, softly, slowly, “you do know that you’re allowed to be a person, right?”

In the aftermath: Logan, Virgil, and things that have gone unsaid for far too long.

(ao3 link)

When all is said and done, Logan sits in his room for a little while, hands folded neatly in his lap, staring at the ceiling. It’s painted with a star map, charting the cosmos: Ursa Major by Ursa Minor, Perseus reaching for Andromeda, Canis Major ever lapping at Orion’s heels. They glow with a bright, otherworldly light against a black backdrop, and they change as the seasons turn, too, change and wheel overhead as the real night sky does. 

Though, of course, the night sky does not actually change. Just the human perspective of it. Stars are ever-constant; it is the Earth that is not, human perception that is flawed.

Roman helped him set it up, years ago. The remembrance lies bitter and heavy on his chest.

He is not hurt. He is not hurt, because he does not feel. There is a pounding in his head that refuses to abate and a stinging in his eyes that blurs his vision, but such physical reactions will stop eventually, if he ignores them for long enough. He is practiced in this, by now. He is not hurt. 

He firmly believes that there is nothing that cannot be solved with the application of the scientific method. This past hour is no different. As with all else, it can be analyzed through the lens of conducting an experiment.

He lays out the memories neatly in his mind for review.

Hypothesis: His physical presence and interaction with the other sides is not necessary for Thomas to maintain a healthily logical existence.

There are too many variables for this to be considered a controlled setting. All of the others have so many emotions, and as such, are prone to outbursts and unpredictability that may skew any data collected. He is accustomed to this, after all this time, and has learned to set his expectations accordingly. But there are two variables that can be defined with little difficulty: the independent and dependent variable. The variable that he manipulates, and the variable that changes due to this manipulation.

Independent variable: His presence in the discussion. Keeping in line with the video game theme the others seem to be holding to, he presents himself as an information-dispensing “NPC,” or “non-player character,” as he understands the definition to be, in an effort to be less intrusive in the conversation. Half the time, he does not bother to speak.

Dependent variable: How Thomas, Patton, and Roman react to this method of interaction.

It is difficult to collect data for this variable. There are no numbers to record, nothing that is quantifiable. He has to rely purely on qualitative data, collected based on observation and description. It is discomfiting, how much room for error and misinterpretation that leaves, but he is confident in his ability to be a passive, unbiased researcher. He records what he observes and nothing more.

Data: They seem tentatively interested in the beginning, curious about the novelty of his chosen method, if nothing else. Roman even takes the time to read the text box aloud. But the intrigue soon wanes. He is cut off both literally and figuratively, skipped, dismissed at every turn. When they allow him to speak, it is with begrudging toleration. When he offers silent information, they ignore him. When Deceit takes his place, they do not notice the difference.

His hands clench into fists, ever so briefly. He stares at the ceiling. At the shining stars that Roman helped him to paint so long ago as he grinned and chattered about nothing in particular, paint splattered on his clothes and all across his face. Roman is always so fussy about his appearance that Logan had thought that existing in such a disheveled state would irritate him, but when he pointed it out, Roman laughed, reached out, and swiped his paint-coated thumb across his cheek, loudly proclaiming that now, they matched. And Logan felt so warm, inside and out, despite the fact that he keeps his room at a cool twenty degrees Celsius.

This is a digression. Completely irrelevant to the experiment at hand. He pulls himself back to the pertinent memories.

From the data, results can be extrapolated. It is a simple matter of deciding whether the information gathered supports or refutes the hypothesis. He has collected more than enough observations to make a decision.

Conclusion: All data suggests

His mind stalls. He shakes his head. This should be easy. Data from experimentation, and conclusions from data. That is how the scientific method works.

Conclusion: All data suggests that the hypothesis is correct, and that his presence is neither necessary nor especially welcome amongst the others. His duty can be safely performed from a distance. Further experimentation will be needed to determine the best way in which to do so.

His eyes trace the patterns of the constellations, steadfast and sure, and he thinks about his failures. Thinks about how he attempted to be as unobtrusive as possible, how he ensured that if his input was unwanted, the others would be able to ignore him, to block him out. He gave them the option, so even if he were capable of feeling upset, he should not be. He should not care that they do not care, that they listen to him when it is convenient for them and discard him when it is not.

He doesn’t care. It was simply part of the experiment. It is simply one more hypothesis confirmed. Never mind that he was not actually attempting to conduct an experiment at the time. Approaching this issue in this manner imposes order on disordered, messy thoughts, forces him to think objectively.

Logan sits in his room, and he breathes.

Then, there is a knock at his door, rushed and urgent. He frowns. After how that disaster ended, he would have thought that Patton would be with Roman. And… he’s almost sure it wouldn’t be Deceit-- or should he be calling him by his name now? He is unsure; he was not present for the admission, which may imply a lack of permission, but Deceit confessed in front of Thomas, which may in fact imply blanket permission for all the occupants of his mindscape.

A dilemma to ponder later, perhaps. He stands, rolling his shoulders back, and crosses his room to the door. He opens it, and it’s not Patton, and it’s certainly not Deceit.

It’s Virgil.

He’s pale and hunched over, shoulders set defensively. His eyes are red, as if he’s been crying, and Logan opens his mouth to query as to whether there is something he can help him with. He did think it odd, that Virgil chose not to involve himself in the discussion at all, though clearly he has been affected by it to some degree. Of course, Patton is really the one to go to with issues of the emotional kind, but perhaps he tried and found Patton to be busy with Roman. Logan is a poor substitute, but if Virgil desires his help, then he will try his best.

“Virgil,” he says. “Is there something I can do for you?”

For a long moment, Virgil stares at him. Stares, and says nothing.

“Can I come in?” he asks at last.

Logan furrows his brow, but stands aside so that he is no longer blocking the door. “Of course,” he says, and Virgil slips past him and into his room. After a moment of hesitation, he closes the door behind him and turns to face Virgil, who stands in the center of the room, looking up at the ceiling. He looks small, somehow, and lost.

“How are you?” Logan tries. “I understand that there were some topics raised in that discussion that may have left you uncomfortable, assuming that you were listening to it, and I can’t imagine that you were particularly pleased with all aspects of the outcome. Is there anything that you would like to talk about?”

Virgil stares at the ceiling for a moment longer, and then looks to Logan. Logan is taken aback by the expression of devastation that flickers across his face, the sorrow in his eyes and downturned corners of his mouth.

He is expecting him to say something about Roman’s outburst, or about the perils of trusting Deceit as Thomas seems ready to do, but what comes out of his mouth instead is,

“Can I, um, hug you?”

Logan blinks. Plays back the memory in his mind to ascertain that no, he did not mishear. And then, uncertainly, he spreads his arms.

Virgil does not often ask for physical affection, though he is less shy about it now than he once was.

“Yes, certainly,” he says, “though, you know that Patton is--”

He is cut off by Virgil all but launching himself into his arms; all the breath escapes his lungs in a single gust. Virgil’s arms snake around his back, holding him tightly, and he buries his face in his shoulder. For a moment, Logan is completely at a loss; he does not seek out hugs because he does not need them, and typically, nobody asks him for one. In fact, he can’t quite recall the last time that he had such extended physical contact with someone.

It takes a few seconds for him to react, to bring his arms up to encircle Virgil in turn.

“I don’t want Patton,” Virgil mumbles into Logan’s shirt. “I want you.”

“I--” Logan blinks a few times, rapidly, in succession. Because surely, that does not make any sense. Patton is, objectively, the best at hugging out of all of them-- though, actually, now that he considers it, should Deceit be considered for the position, by virtue of having three pairs of arms? Would that make for a more efficient hug, if there were more arms to perform the action? How would one go about measuring such a thing?

Regardless, Patton is certainly the most practiced at giving comfort, and as the center of Thomas’ emotions, it can be assumed that he has the best mindset for it. Why, then, would Virgil claim to seek him for comfort rather than Patton?

“I’m not sure that I understand,” he admits softly, and Virgil pulls back a bit, enough so that they are face to face, though he doesn’t let go entirely. His hands are gripping Logan’s shirt so tightly that they are sure to leave wrinkles.

“I care about you,” Virgil says fiercely. “I care about you so goddamn much. And I want to spend time with you. I never, ever want you to spare me your company, or whatever the fuck that was all about in there.”

He feels a sudden, deep urge to adjust his glasses, to fiddle with his tie, to do something to place distance between himself and Virgil. But somehow, he can’t bring himself to let go of his grip on Virgil’s back. “I… see,” he says, a bit helplessly, even though he does not see, at all. “Is this about what I said to the others? That wasn’t--”

“That wasn’t what?” Virgil interrupts. “That wasn’t what you meant? Just because I wasn’t participating doesn't mean I wan’t listening. It was pretty obvious that you did mean it, Logan.”

Logan frowns. He is growing tired of being interrupted today. Logically, there is no difference between when the others did it and when Virgil does it, except for the fact that he is physically interacting with Virgil, so there is no reason for his sudden... exhaustion. That’s all it is. Exhaustion.

He’s not sure why he expected Virgil to let him finish his sentence.

“I was going to say that it wasn’t important,” he corrects. “I--”

“No,” Virgil cuts in again, and he must react visibly, because Virgil grimaces apologetically. “I’m sorry for talking over you,” he adds, voice a bit softer. “But I kinda don’t think you’re going to let me say what I need to say if I don’t, because you’re wrong, Logan. You are so, so important.”

“I was not attempting to imply otherwise,” Logan replies. “I never said that I wasn’t important. I am very aware that I am important. With an absence of Logic, Thomas’ life would surely devolve into chaos. I am well aware that my fulfillment of my duties is necessary for Thomas to live healthily and successfully.”

For some reason, this only seems to upset Virgil more. “No,” he repeats, frustrated. “I’m not talking about Logic. I’m talking about you, Logan, as a person. You are important.”

Is… he speaking circularly on purpose? What exactly is he trying to say? Usually, he finds Virgil to be refreshingly clear when compared to the other sides, so this interaction so far has been oddly frustrating.

“I’m not certain I understand what you’re attempting to convey.” He pauses. “What is the difference between me and Logic? I am Logic.”

“You’re Logic,” Virgil says, “but you’re Logan, too, and, and I just wanted to make sure that you were okay, because they kept talking over you and shutting you up and you didn’t even go and argue with them in person and then you said that, and I got--” He pauses-- “scared.”

Logan believes in the pursuit of knowledge, in enlightenment over ignorance. But somehow, some part of him dreads asking what Virgil means.

“Scared of what?”

For a moment, Virgil is silent, and something like panic flickers on his face. Then, he closes his eyes and breathes. Logan recognizes the pattern: in for four seconds, hold for seven, out for eight.

“I’m scared that you don’t know how much we love you,” Virgil says, opening his eyes. His voice is quiet and nervous and vulnerable. “How much I love you.”

For a moment, all he can register is Virgil’s arms around him: their weight, their warmth. That, and the silence in his room. 

Evidence shows that stars produce sounds, though not any that fall within the human range of hearing. The stars on his ceiling, however, are utterly mute.

“I don’t understand,” he says weakly. “I--”

“Logan--”

But no, he has had enough of being overridden. There is only so much he can take before something has to give, and he reached that limit over an hour ago, about when Roman slashed through his contribution like it meant nothing, when Patton pressed skip as if he meant nothing, when Deceit yanked him out of frame and replaced him, and he didn’t bother to put up a fight because no one was listening to him and if he couldn't accomplish anything by speaking, maybe he could by shutting up since that seemed to be what everyone wanted anyway--

And now Virgil is here, saying what? It doesn’t follow, logically, and if there is anything which Logan cannot abide, it is faulty logic.

“No,” he says, and Virgil, mercifully, allows him to talk. “No, that doesn’t make sense. If there is anything that has become glaringly apparent recently, it is that none of you want or care for my presence. No, I’m not done,” he adds, cutting off Virgil’s protest before it can begin. “I am not upset about it. I do not get upset. But logically speaking, the fact that I cannot impart even the most basic of facts before I am interrupted or overruled points to the conclusion that none of you particularly care about what I have to say. Which is, and I will reiterate this point, fine, as I do not need any of you to like me in order to perform my function adequately.”

Virgil stares at him, and then steps back, releasing Logan entirely.

“Oh my god,” he says. “That’s not fine.”

Logan sighs.

“Didn’t I just say that it is?” he asks. “There’s no need for you to be experiencing emotional distress over this matter, Virgil.”

“You just told me that you think none of us care about you, and you think I’m not going to experience some fucking emotional distress?” Virgil stops suddenly, shaking his head. “Wait, no, this isn’t about me. Logan, we’ve been treating you like shit. You’re… you can be upset about it. You know that, right? Because it’s not fine, it is so far past fine that we are in, like, Canada or some shit, and you don’t have to act like it’s fine.”

“I am not ‘acting like it’s fine,’” he says. “It is fine, and I’m not upset. I do not get upset. I’ve told you this. I don’t understand--”

“You do get upset, Logan, you are literally getting upset right now, and that’s okay, you can be upset, you have every right to be upset--”

It’s one interruption too many.

“I am not upset!”

The shout hangs in the air long after the words have left his lips. His chest is heaving, he notes dimly, and his hands are clenched. His ears are ringing, too, and his head pounds.

Oh.

Oh, no. He can’t do this. He can’t do this, and he especially can’t do this now, with Virgil in the room, because he is not supposed to be like this. He has tried so hard not to be like this, has tried so hard to be the cool, rational embodiment of logic that he is supposed to be, but somehow, he continually fails. But it is impossible to reverse time, impossible to erase the outburst now that it has been vocalized, so he stands there, shaking slightly, finding it harder and harder to meet Virgil’s eyes.

“I am not supposed to get upset,” he says eventually, to end the silence more than anything else. “I… apologize. That was unseemly of me.”

“Logan,” Virgil says, softly, slowly, “you do know that you’re allowed to be a person, right?”

He blanks.

“We’re not people,” he says weakly. “We are facets of the personality of a person. My job is to be logical. I’m just trying to do my job.”

Virgil closes his eyes and breathes in his pattern again. Then, he opens them and steps closer. He reaches for Logan’s hands, taking both of them in his own and worrying at the fingers until they begin to relax. Logan stares at them, at his hands in Virgil’s, at Virgil sweeping his thumb across his knuckles slowly and methodically.

“Then let’s look at it logically,” Virgil says. He speaks in that same low tone of voice. It reminds Logan of a nature documentary, one where the narrator uses a soothing, gentle cadence so as not to scare the animals. “Alright?”

Logan nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“If we’re all just supposed to do our jobs,” Virgil says, “our jobs and absolutely nothing else, then I would be anxious all the time, right? I mean, I already am, mostly, but that would mean that I would only be able to feel anxious. No positive emotions, no happiness. Everything that’s been so good about the past few years, with you guys, I wouldn’t be able to have that. Do you think that’s how it should be?”

His voice remains gentle, but for their impact, he may as well be shouting.

“Of course not!” Logan says. The very idea is incredibly displeasing. “But that’s different.”

“Okay, how is it different?”

“Your ability to feel positive emotions does not hamper your ability to perform your basic function. You can be both happy and anxious, at the same time or at different times. The two are not mutually exclusive.” He shakes his head. “I need to be logical, to be rational, and that is everything that emotions are not. If I allow myself to feel, then I allow my judgement to be clouded, and Thomas cannot afford to have a Logic with clouded judgement.”

Virgil frowns. “But that’s just it,” he says. “You have emotions. You’re not stopping yourself from having emotions. No one can do that. You’re just refusing to acknowledge that you have them. Doesn’t that kind of repression cloud your judgement more?”

His mouth goes very dry. He feels as though his heart has stopped, which is ridiculous, because he knows full well that his heart is functioning properly. It seems to be the rest of him that has stopped working. Drawing breath is becoming increasingly difficult, for some reason, which is frustrating because there is absolutely nothing physically wrong with him and thus, no reason for this reaction.

Virgil… has to be wrong. He’s not repressing anything. One cannot repress something that one does not possess. But then, the point of repression is to make oneself believe that one does not possess something, or that one has not done something, so if one is skilled enough at repression, one might not know that they are in the act of repressing. Which would make one an unreliable narrator, which is a disturbing concept to contemplate, because if one cannot rely on one’s own perception of reality, then what can one trust?

Human perception is so, so flawed. He cannot afford flawed perception.

“I’m not repressing anything,” he says. His voice is a reedy whisper even to his own ears. He can’t imagine he sounds very convincing. “That’s what Patton does.”

Virgil quirks a brow. “Yeah, Teach, I don’t think that’s a, uh. What did you say? Mutually exclusive? I don’t think that’s a mutually exclusive thing. Patton doesn’t have a monopoly on repression.”

“But I’m Logic,” he insists. “There’s nothing there to repress.”

Virgil pauses, and for a moment, Logan thinks that he is about to concede the argument. For some reason, it feels like a hollow victory. 

But then, Virgil draws him into another hug. He leans into it, unresisting, but his arms won’t move to return it.

“You’re Logan,” Virgil says softly. “You’re not just Logic, and you’re not a robot. You’ve gotta let yourself be human, buddy.”

“I’m not-- I can’t--” His voice catches, breaks, and he realizes with a rising horror that he has begun to cry. He has begun to cry, and it’s humiliating, because he doesn’t know why, because he’s not sad, not at all, because he doesn’t--

He doesn’t--

He doesn’t feel--

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh.

Oh, god.

He’s such a failure.

“No, no, shh, you’re not a failure,” Virgil says, and that’s just another figurative nail in the figurative coffin, isn’t it, that he’s speaking aloud without even realizing that he’s doing it. “You are the furthest thing from a failure that I know. You’re so good, Logan. Feeling things isn’t a failure. You have to let yourself feel.”

“I don’t know how,” Logan says, broken, almost gasping. He doesn’t want to be saying these things. He feels like he’s losing control, and he’s so terrified. “I’ve never known how. I have to be taken seriously, Virgil, I can’t afford not to be taken seriously--”

There. The admission is out there, out in the world, out in this world that is just the two of them, just him and Virgil locked in an embrace, just him and Virgil as his tears leak onto the fabric of Virgil’s hoodie. Once spoken, they cannot be unspoken, and Logan feels--

He feels--

Oh, how he feels, and how wrong it is--

“I promise, that’s not going to happen,” Virgil says. “You’re allowed to have emotions. No one will think any less of you.”

Is this what devastation is? Is this what a tsunami feels like as it sweeps across the land, washing civilization away? His chest is tight and hot and his eyes are burning and his ears are ringing, and he’s felt this way all along but he’s refused to acknowledge that it was happening because he is Logic and Logic is not feelings, is not listened to even when he’s not displaying unbecoming emotions, so how can he possibly think that letting himself feel would be a good idea?

He doesn’t want to feel like this.

He’s felt like this for so long.

“You already think less of me!” he says. “You, you all, you never listen to what I say, you always tell me to shut up or you ignore me or I can tell that I irritate you even when I’m specifically trying not to be irritating and I don’t know what to do because nothing I try ever works.”

Virgil makes a wounded noise deep in the back of his throat, and his grip on Logan tightens.

“We owe you so many apologies,” he says. “I am so, so sorry, Logan. I am so sorry that we made you feel like we didn’t care. I am so sorry that we haven’t been listening. I am so fucking sorry that we made you feel like you needed to not have emotions just to be heard. I am so sorry.”

And Logan lets go. His breath hitches and chokes on a sob, and he doesn’t hold it back, doesn’t swallow it down and try to forget the urge was ever there in the first place.

He buries his face in Virgil’s shoulder and lets himself cry.

“I’m trying,” he gasps between sobs, “I’m trying so hard but I can’t--”

“I know,” Virgil says. “I know. You’re doing so good. I know we’ve all been shit at showing it, but we love you, Logan, really, and we’re here for you. We’re gonna do better, I swear.”

In this moment, Logan allows himself to believe that Virgil cares. He believes in what his senses can absorb, and the evidence is undeniable; it is in Virgil’s arms around him, holding him safe, in Virgil’s low, emphatic words and the way he sounds as if he, too, is near tears, as if Logan is someone worth crying over.

It occurs to him, then, that Virgil did not come here seeking comfort. He came here to offer comfort to him. All he has to do is accept it. And he shouldn’t need it, shouldn’t want it, because he is Logic and Logic does not need comforting or reassurance, but he’s far past that point already, is already weeping into Virgil’s shoulder, so perhaps it is too late to go back. The thought frightens him.

He doesn’t know how to feel. Has never known how to feel, has always thought that it would be better for himself and everyone, better for Thomas if he just. Didn’t. But Virgil says that he can, and though Virgil can be wrong, he despises deception. Virgil wouldn’t lie to him.

Perhaps this can be a start.

His arms come up, and he hugs Virgil back. Presses up close to him and revels in the warmth even as he cries.

“The others,” he says, “they don’t, they don’t like me and they don’t listen--”

“We’ll talk to them,” Virgil says. “You and me, once you’re feeling better, okay? We’ll make this right. Your feelings are valid and your contributions are important, and we’re gonna remind them about that.” His grip tightens, and when he speaks again, it’s in a whisper, as if to himself. “You’re not alone. I know how shitty it feels to think you are, but you’re not. And you’re not ever going to be.”

And Logan, shivering and shaking in Virgil’s arms, tears still crawling down his cheeks, looks up at the ceiling. At the stars, bright and constant, like a promise.

“Okay,” he whispers, and he decides to believe, if only this one more time.

Hypothesis: They care. And I am allowed to care, too.

Conclusion: Pending.

[echodrops]

I’m obviously late to the tumble party... but I stumbled across your Notagami Essays posts and they are absolutely Fabulous! Love your writing and the amount of detail you go into :)

So I figured you may be a good person to ask - if you just had to guess (bc as far as I know it’s never been officially confirmed?) but if you had to take a guess or give a rough estimate, how old do you think Yato was when he first met Sakura? We know he’s estimated to be at least a thousand years old, we know he’s - from the start of the series to present - estimated to be somewhere between 18 and his early 20s (physically)... but I can’t find a single thing/discussion/post/stickynote/whatever where it talks about how old he might have been when he first met Sakura - let alone the emotional/psychological effects of Sakura coming into his life and introducing healthy mindset/morals/maternal-influence etc. etc. (obviously no mom and Father’s neglect played a big role in him not knowing how inappropriate it was for him to ‘accidentally touch’ and yell “boobs!” but you can also just say he was so young he didn’t know how inappropriate that was?) My point is: how old do you think Yato was (physically anyway) at the time of their meeting? and Do you know of any discussions or care to share your opinion on how being the no more than the age of blank affected his mental/emotional understanding of Sakura teaching him a new narrative?

Sorry this is a random out of the blue ask 😅😓 if I rambled on and you don’t feel like answering, I get it, just figured it was worth asking :)

I fell down a serious rabbit hole trying to see if I could figure out the answer to this question about Yato’s age but unfortunately I’m mostly coming up empty-handed.

The answer to this question actually depends on two different pieces of information which--as far as I can remember--we’ve never actually been given for certain.

1) We would need to know when Yato was actually born.

The manga has kind of hinted at a total (not physical) age for Yato in the flashbacks which showed him as a young child during the Heian era (putting him somewhere in the vicinity of a little over 1000 years old) and Father not making masks before ~1100 years ago, but the problem is we still don’t know how many years might have passed between this scene (the youngest we’ve ever seen Yato):

And the next flashback scene, where Yato meets Nora:

If gods age normally when they are children, these two scenes might be only a handful of years apart. But if gods don’t age normally, then these two scenes could be decades or centuries apart, which leads to the other missing piece of information (under the read more to save people’s dashes):

2) We would need to know the aging process for gods who are just born/reincarnate.

Up to this point in the manga, we’ve only seen two gods reincarnate--Ebisu (who reincarnated too recently to really help answer this question) and Takemikazuchi. The implication of Takemikazuchi’s backstory is that his shinki forced him to reincarnate and then hid his reincarnation from all of Heaven. The only way they could have kept other gods from noticing that Takemikazuchi had reincarnated would have been by not allowing him to go out at all until he had grown enough to match his previous reincarnation in appearance. This seems to suggest that gods probably do age normally when they are children--hiding Takemikazuchi away for ~20 years seems a lot more likely than being able to hide him away for centuries, after all... (I also feel like I have very vague recollection of some scene in the manga where someone comments on Takemikazuchi not having been around for a “few years,” but it’s been so long since I reread I can’t recall if this is a real moment from the manga or just me misremembering.) 

Overall, however, based on what we’ve seen in the manga, my guess would be that when they’re young, after just being born or being reincarnated, gods age pretty normally. This would suggest that, for the first few years at least, the physical and mental ages of reincarnated/newly born gods actually overlap; baby Ebisu acts like a little kid because he is, in fact, both mentally and physically a little kid.

That would mean that, for all intents and purposes, Yato’s physical and mental ages lined up when he was young and meeting Sakura, and he acted like a little kid because he really was just a little kid, god or not.

(Detour for a second though: 

This line always struck me as interesting in that it might, just might, give us a more specific timeframe for Yato’s “birth”: although the constellations, of course, are visible in the sky every single year, this particular combination of concepts (kanoto-tori, yin metal rooster) is known much more commonly as one of the sixty years on the cyclical Chinese calendar, also used in Japan. Counting back on the calendar, 961 A.D. was a yin metal rooster year and would align just about right for what we know about the timeframe in which Yato later met Sakura (~970ish). Just referencing constellations doesn’t mean Adachitoka was pointing to a specific year, but it might have been another hint as to the timeframe of the flashbacks.

Okay, detour over.)

Anyway, without 100% confirmation on either of those pieces of information--when Yato was born and whether gods age at the same rate as humans after reincarnating--I don’t think it’s really possible to pin down Yato’s “real” age (physically or mentally) at the time he met Sakura. We mostly just have to estimate. 

Personally, based on his size and behavior at the time, I’d put him somewhere between seven and maybe up to ten, but the way Adachitoka draws characters kind of makes it impossible to judge their ages by appearance; Yato is about the same size as Nora when he meets Sakura, implying that he and Nora were around the same physical “age” at that time; meanwhile, Nora is later portrayed as being roughly the same age as Yukine, suggesting she was maybe 12-13ish years old when she died. So, despite being drawn tiny, it’s possible Yato was meant to be anywhere from a little kiddo (6-7) to all the way up to Nora’s age by the time he met Sakura.

But all that said, I think what you were really asking about was more the mental state Yato would have been in when he met Sakura and how his young age would have impacted his ability to change his world views, right? The answer to that is... complicated and could be approached a lot of ways. Coming from a background of working with and educating social work students, there are several common psychological theories of child development that might apply here, for example. 

I’d recommend checking out Erik Erikson’s psychosocial stages of development, though. 

(Pulled from here.)

I don’t have time to explain the entire theory with the complexity it might deserve, but the basic idea is that, as children develop, they experience a series of crises or challenges that they must overcome. Successfully overcoming each challenge results in successful psychological and social development; failing to overcome a challenge in childhood will result in long-term negative impacts later in the child’s life. (There are plenty critiques of this theory too, so don’t take this as gospel or anything--just a theory worth thinking about!)  

Given Father’s lack of interest in teaching Yato basic concepts of humanity, I would put Yato at approximately the “Initiative vs. Guilt” stage when he met Sakura. At this level of Erikson’s theory, children struggle with asserting themselves and developing a healthy sense of how their personal desires might conflict with the expectations and rules set out by others. In this stage, giving a child positive feedback for their actions teaches the child that those actions are “right,” while giving negative feedback teaching the child that their actions are wrong. In order to overcome this particular challenge, children need to begin taking initiative and aligning their actions with social standards; the child acts, and the parental figure reacts--through this process, children learn “I can do X thing but I cannot do Y thing.” 

When you hear things like “Children are cruel,” most often what people are referring to is that it takes time for children to learn empathy and to experience guilt when they cause harm to others; children do not natively understand the repercussions of their actions. It’s only through a process of testing the boundaries, of receiving praise or punishment, that children define what is “right” versus “wrong,” and begin to feel bad when they do something deemed wrong.

And this is pretty much word-for-word what we see Sakura teaching Yato.

If they have healthy role models and caretakers during this phase, children develop successfully. Successful children in this phase get their first taste of personal responsibility; unsuccessful children are (supposedly) plagued for years afterward by a sense of guilt and shame when their actions produce disapproval from everyone around them.

Yato... doesn’t exactly make it through this development stage unscathed, because he receives conflicting definitions of right and wrong from his Father an Sakura:

Which ultimately results in, years later, the Yato we know and love who still does his Father’s bidding to kill humans even though it fills him with a horrific sense of guilt:

Through his time with Sakura, I think it could also be argued that Yato moves into the next stage of Erikson’s theory as well, getting into the “Industry versus Inferiority” crises. 

Meeting Sakura brings out Yato’s true, deep down desire as a god: to help people. (I think it’s important to note that this isn’t something Sakura teaches him--it’s a quality Yato already possessed; it was explicitly Yato’s desire to please people that led to him murdering in his father’s name.)

Once he learns what makes people happy, Yato immediately pursues that with intense focus:

The primary goal of this phase of psychosocial development is to experience a sense of confidence in one’s actions. When children practice their skills, pursue areas where they are praised, and gain new skills and aptitudes through mentoring from healthy role models, they gain confidence in their ability to excel, to fit in with peers their age, and to create meaningful things. By encouraging Yato to pursue positive behaviors--playing peacefully with other children, appreciating natural beauty, and creating useful things like boots for the needy--Sakura moved Yato toward successfully completing this phase and developing a sense of confidence in his actions and his ability to achieve positive things in the world. 

Of course, Father cannot have that (because confident children with a sense of self-worth are much more difficult to abuse), so he puts an immediate end to Sakura’s influence over Yato in the most insidious way possible: although he clearly manipulated the situation to achieve Sakura’s death, out loud, he blames Yato, implying that Sakura’s death was all Yato’s fault, the results of Yato taking unwanted action “industry” and yet failing--creating a sense of “inferiority” instead.

This, of course, haunts Yato all the way to the present, as he--again and again and again--blames himself for things outside his control or failing to live up to expectations that no one in his situation (still being manipulated) could possibly hope to get “right.” 

Finally, you could say that Sakura’s presence is Yato’s life is ultimately what sows the seeds of the manga’s main plot up to this point, with Yato’s quest to create an entirely new identity for himself as a god of fortune instead of a god of calamity. Personally, I would say that Yato is currently still in this phase of development, still working out how to define himself and who he will ultimately become once he is finally free to decide on his own path in life. It was Sakura’s gentle influence--his desire to become the kind of god who could make her smile--that eventually sparked his conflict and finally led Yato to the brink of catastrophe. If he wishes to become the god Sakura told him he could be, he can no longer suffer his father to live.

So, long story longer, I think it can be argued that Yato meeting Sakura at such a young age is EXACTLY what made it possible for him to change, and exactly what has led to his crisis in identifying himself and redefining his sense of right and wrong. 

Uhhhh... I hope that answers your question!

[ot3]

jay can you post your thoughts again without epilogue spoilers i haven't finished orv yet :(

YES i can the epilogue spoilers are pretty broad-strokes here so not too much will be lost so here is Literally The Same Post but with any epilogue mentions cut out. i believe almost anything i mention specifically here occurs prior to chapter 300, for reference.

okay normally in terms of making this kind of post i’d go pull quotes directly from the text and i honestly really want to but i’m supposed to be catching up on homework today and can’t justify taking the time. anyway. i’m just gonna they/them yjh here because i’m never sure what pronouns to use when talking about a character who i think Should Come Out in the Future.

first things first, everything about being a transcender is very gendery. prominent transcenders in ORV are

- kyrgios, an incredibly beautiful man who is self conscious of his small stature

- breaking the sky sword saint namgung minyoung, who is a woman of an unusually large stature, thought by some to be monstrous, who teaches a discipline of martial arts exclusively for women.

- jang hayoung, a trans girl, who is the king of transcenders

- yoo jonghyuk.

when they talk about transcendence in orv there are two very specific things that come up repeatedly: 1. being able to overcome the natural limitations of the body and 2. defying the structure opposed onto them by the star stream system. Specifically an interesting note about that last bit is that there’s this whole thing about how transcendence can only exist because the star stream exist - it exclusively exists in opposition to the rigorous hierarchy of the star stream, which is the dominant social narrative, and has no meaning or power on it’s own.

In a text like orv’s, i don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to see ‘characters who are social outcasts attempt to gain power by forging a sense of self outside of the dominant order and overcoming the limitations of their physical body’ and read it as a metaphor for being transgender. but then, on top of that, there’s all the stuff with the punisher

everything that’s in orv is there for a reason. there is an insanely little amount of wasted space in this novel. despite how much shit that happens it’s an incredibly tight narrative. SO WHY DO WE INTRODUCE THE CONCEPT THAT YOO JONGHYUK IS STRONGEST WHEN TRANSFORMED INTO A WOMAN? obviously it’s just incredibly fun hijinks in and of itself to have yoo jonghyuk’s gender get transed, but literally all of this begs the question of “why write it so that yoo jonghyuk’s primary martial art form is something that’s supposed to only be learned by women.”

the narrative doesn’t ever really address the in-universe reasoning behind why they can actually learn it. kim dokja gives us what boils down to ‘he manage to overcome that’ without no real elaboration. jang hayoung learns breaking the sky swordsmanship as well. whatever gender-based qualification is used to allow people to learn the skill, it’s not a biological gender-essentialist one.

the punisher introduction pays off when YJH uses that appearance to win the martial arts festival, but to me that mechanical, narratively-oriented reason for its inclusion doesn’t justify it’s presence in the story in and of itself.

What really stuck out to me on the read through later was this line, from the demon king selection arc, when yjh takes the punisher’s form to combat the constellations after kim dokja has passed out.

A dazzling aura burst from Yoo Jonghyuk’s body. Soft hair poured down like a waterfall while his large size became a smaller and sleeker body. He took the form that allowed him to practice the ultimate Breaking the Sky Swordsmanship. Yoo Sangah stared at the scene from behind and couldn’t help opening her mouth. “…Yoo Jonghyuk-ssi?”

Yoo Jonghyuk slowly turned back, his long hair cut off by the Black Demon Sword. The ines of the face had changed but it was clearly Yoo Jonghyuk. No, it was even more than before.

basically, after appearing to their companions as a woman, the narrative tells us yoo jonghyuk looks more like yoo jonghyuk than before.

this reading also makes even more sense when you interpret it through the lens of how power hierarchy actually works in orv’s narrative. incarnation, constellation, and transcenders alike all gain their truest power from their stories. the Story of yoo jonghyuk as a woman is one that is, quite literally, empowering.

although we know it’s not actually true, yjh himself and kdj’s understanding and interpretation of yjh, present yjh as a person whose only goal in life is to, by any means including the sacrificing of countless human lives, some of whom he is very personally close to, gain the power to overcome the star stream. but here we have a significant power boost yjh seems to actively avoid taking advantage of. which really suggests there’s some deeper emotional issues at play here.

which brings me to my last point: i think it would just be a very fitting end for the character.

yjh as a character is really defined by a lack of agency, from the way their sponsor keeps them trapped in a loop of endless suffering, to the fact that they are literally a fictional character. i think the most meaningful end for yjh is an end where they have to construct their own sense of self. once the story is over, the character gets to make their own choice about what kind of person to be. 

it’s kim dokja’s status as a ‘reader’ that allows him to have the greatest influence on the story. back before kim dokja seems to come to grips with jang hayoung’s gender identity, what people keep telling him is that there is ‘more than one interpretation of a story’. on a physical level, constellations and high level incarnations are composed of their stories. in orv canon the Self and the Story are for all intents and purposes, synonymous. 

yjh’s story has been told and read by quite literally anyone but themself up to this point. coming out as a trans woman would be a radical reclamation of his own story, both re-reading their past and re-writing their future, and i think it’s a reading the text explicitly goes out of its way to give some support to.

[shiny-procrastinates]

(re)Watching Magia Record S1 - part 3

part 2 here

Hello everyone and welcome back to our watch-through of the first season of Magia Record! Last time, we met a trio of Kamihama magical girls, Momoko, Rena and Kaede, and, after Rena and Kaede fighting, Kaede is kidnapped by the “chain monster”, a part of the rumor of the Staircase of Severance. Now, it’s up to Iroha, Momoko and Rena to find and take her back. Will they succeed, or will someone lose their heads? The only way to know is by watching, so let’s get right to it.

Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story: Magia Record Episode 3

Rather than going back to the plot right away, we are given a flashback of Iroha’s younger sister and two other girls. The brown haired girl has apparently created an eternal motion machine in the form of a toy train, saying something about how adults must be stupid if they never thought of that before, and that toy train proceeds to crash into a pile of books and set fire on them. Good job. 

I don’t want to hear this from a gacha game character. Your original work is even more fragile than this!

The megane girl, Nemu, compares the brown haired girl, Touka’s actions to the burning of the Library of Alexandria (dramatic much?) and the two start fighting, with Ui trying to stop them. They’re just like Momoko’s trio on the previous episode, breaking their friendship up and everything.

Once again, it was Iroha’s dream. You know the erasure really went in on it when even the rug is cut in half.

Iroha’s sister had friends at the hospital, so she could get some new clues if only she could find them.

Floof Momoko.

Before going looking for Kaede, Momoko and co. drop by Kamihama Mirena-za, aka. the Coordinator’s. I tried searching if Milena constellation was actually a thing, but the only thing I could find was that there’s a Galileo satellite named Milena. Huh.

The Coordinator had a client, but she’s done right away. We learn that the Coordinator’s name is Mitama Yakumo, but still have no idea what she actually does.

Besides not having a sense of personal space.

Momoko explains that Iroha’s not there to get adjusted, whatever that means, and asks if Yachiyo is there yet. Who’s this Yachiyo though?

Aaawkward.

To no one’s surprise, I guess, since I already said it, but this girl is Yachiyo. And she absolutely ignores Iroha. Rude.

Yachiyo and Momoko start talking between themselves about Kaede’s case. (and MItama’s fixing Momoko’s hair. Cute). It seems Yachiyo is well aware of the rumor of the Staircase of Severance. She pulls out a notebook, and Momoko notes that she’s knowledgeable about these things.

Momoko asks Yachiyo to lend them her help, and Yachiyo agrees to do it, since Kaede is in danger, but adds that she won’t work with people who will only be a burden, looking at Iroha.

...not that she’s wrong, but still rude.

Well, I mean, that might make sense when you’re so op, but you don’t have to say it outright!

Still, Yachiyo has a point: it’d be too dangerous to bring along a weak magical girl to a fight with an unknown enemy. So Mitama offers a solution: why don’t they just adjust Iroha’s Soul Gem?

Mitama does a very short explanation of what “adjusting a Soul Gem” actually entails, and this one short screen tells us the rest. It’s basically what let Momoko and Rena do that joint attack earlier. I wonder if this was even long enough on the screen for the people who watched this on tv to read it. 

Momoko says that Yachiyo should have no complaints as long as they do that and Yachiyo is like “yeah, whatever”.

...now that I think about it, what is Mitama doing here?

Continue? Iroha hasn’t sacrificed anyone tho.

...oh, I forgot we don’t get to see Iroha getting adjusted.

So, our girls are now at the rumored stairs at Kamihama University Affiliated School. Leaving aside Momoko and Rena, since they are students there, one has to wonder how exactly did Iroha and Yachiyo manage to get up there without being found. This school’s security is lacking!

While the girls run up to the rumored Staircase of Severance (this is so annoying to write) we see some messages on screen of what I assume are Rena’s classmates, and get pushed some ideas of what friends should be like, all while Momoko tries to cheer Rena up.

Okay, that’s a really narrow staircase. Who decided to put this creepy thing here?

Momoko writes her and Yachiyo’s name on the staircase (and we sneakily learn Yachiyo’s surname is Nanami). The two are reenacting the rumor, so now they’ll make up to draw the Chain Witch out. That is, after they give us their transformation scenes!

While Yachiyo’s themes are water and stars(?), and she has gracious movements, Momoko’s literally burning up and kicking things. Their transformations parallel one another, and yet they are completely opposites. I love it! (but Momoko kicking the sword still takes the cake for me).

Now that I think about it, for all that fire theme she has going, Momoko's not that hot-blooded. Don’t judge a book by it’s cover, I guess.

Rena’s transformation focuses on her shapeshifting powers, throwing her through mirrors and with lots of expression changes. It’s not because she’s tsundere, the transformation seems to tell us Rena has lots of faces.

...I also like her DDR routine right at the start, it’s cute.

The theme of Iroha’s transformation is birbs. Rather than telling us something about who she is like the others, I see hers as basically about what she’s doing right now: much like she did by coming to Kamihama, Iroha takes the courage and jumps into the unknown, chasing after a mirage.

I’m always a little bothered with how she falls straight down despite taking impulse when she jumps, but hey, what can you do lol

One of the (many) cool things about this whole sequence is how the bgm is continuous throughout the transformations, only changing a bit to match each of the girls.

That’s not very convincing acting, Momoko. Yachiyo’s is not much better, either. They theorize it only works if they’re really fighting, and Rena says she’ll do it.

Rena starts apologizing, but nothing happens. Iroha says it might be because she’s not saying it from her heart and Rena’s gets upset.

Rena can’t just feel like making up right away, but it’s not like she doesn’t want Kaede to come back. These two seem to have a complicated relationship, but in the end, it’s clear that Rena does like her. Rena starts crying and apologizes for making Kaede be friends with someone like her all this time. Then, the Chain Witch appears.

We get a flashback to Rena flashbacking (confusing, I know) about all the times Kaede apologized to her, while watching an idol show.

Don’t we all?

So, yeah… Rena is a complicated character. (and a Sayuki stan)

Iroha wakes up in Rena’s room for some reason. Clearly-not-Momoko starts a monologue of how no one could ever like Rena.

Rena hates herself, so she wanted to change. She wanted to become someone else, so her wish gave her shapeshifting powers, but didn’t change her, so she still hates herself (considering the implications when this type of wish does work, see Oriko’s Kirika, she might have gotten the better end of the deal.

Kaede calls out to Rena and Iroha and Rena break out of the strange television-exposition-vision-thingy. So the first thing they start doing, naturally, is start bickering again. Great friends! 

Oh look, the weird Kyuubei is back! Like the nice mascot character he is, he’s showing Iroha the way to the main Witch.

Rena and Kaede start to have a heart-to-heart while fighting (the familiars now, not each other).

Familiar: hahaha, that tickles

Rena says their friendship is over once they get out of there, since they were never real friends to begin with, but Kaede doesn’t want that. Kaede says that if Rena’s problem is that she never apologizes, she just did earlier and Rena says that didn’t count, so Kaede replies that then they breaking up doesn’t count either. Nice, Kaede!

Kaede basically says that, yeah, Rena can be terrible, but she likes her that way anyway, so they can continue being friends.

Rena says that Kaede needs to listen to her, she needs to let her apologize too and tells her she’ll do it once they get out.

While they’re doing that, Yachiyo and Momoko climb to the top and knock down the witches’ main body. Momoko then calls for Kaede and Rena to finish it off. Nice VFX there btw.

Rena and Kaede join hands and using both their magic they pinball the witch into the air with Rena's mirrors. Rena launches plant-enchanted copy spears at it and the witch bursts into leaves and dries... Kaede's magic is kind of scary like this.

Oh, how adorable. Aaaand he's gone. 

The witch is defeated and Rena now has to make good on her promise to apologize. But, seems like honestly apologizing is still too much of a hurdle for her so after some struggle she swerves to another thing. Thankfully, Kaede knows Rena well enough and she's fine with this.

Look at them, so precious.

While Momoko and Iroha catch their breath, Yachiyo approaches them and informs them the Witch didn't drop a Grief Seed. In fact, she says that might've not even been a Witch at all. Yachiyo points out it's weird to have a Witch that comes out anywhere whenever the conditions of a rumor are met, in particular since they didn't even feel it's magic beforehand. She warns them that something weird is going on in Kamihama, then leaves in the most dramatic way possible.

Sometime later, our group is back at Satomi Medical Center. Seems Rena has given in and decided to help after all.

Going by the original plan, Rena transformed into a nurse and investigated the hospital. It's pretty cool how her voice is slightly distorted in this little sequence with her undoing her transformation.

No one in the hospital remembered Iroha's sister, but they did remember Touka and Nemu. That means Iroha's memories aren't entirely wrong.

With that, Iroha goes back to Takarazaki for the day, with some new friends and a very small but important step closer to finding her beloved younger sister.

"Sorry for making you my friend."

That's it folks, this was the third episode of Magia Record('s first season)! No one lost their heads... well except that not-witch if we count the bell as it's head, but I think that's just fine for this series, because--

OH WAIT THERE'S MORE

Talking about lost heads, look who's here! I totally forgot this episode had a stinger. My bad.

Kyuubei can't enter Kamihama now for some reason, so he needed someone to investigate the cause for him and contacted Mami as a strong veteran Magical Girl. There are rumors about that someone in Kamihama is gathering all the Witches around to monopolize Grief Seeds, which would explain why the city is infested with them and they being stronger than normal. Mami says she doesn't want trouble with the Magical Girls of another territory, but will investigate whether the current events are due to a Witch or Magical Girl. I like the short cut that shows her from beneath the grating, it's neat. Just have no idea what it's supposed to mean.

!--rant incoming--! (I say, as if this whole post isn't one)

Anyways, like I was saying... writing? Before the stinger disrupted my thoughts, I think it's just fine that Magia Record's ep3 doesn't have any big twists like Madoka. The original had that maybe for the shock factor, yes, but also because it needed it to make clear what kind of story they were actually going for, and that worked great for that show and the time when it came out. But Magia Record is more of a mystery. We don't need it to push the point of magical girl suffering because the original already did that, we need it to give us things to puzzle about, and that it already did with the weird witch of this episode. Could it have made that better? Maybe, but Magia Record also has the problem that it's cast is significantly bigger, so they have to fit those introductions somewhere. So while it introduces Momoko's trio and a bit Yachiyo, it also tries it's best to situate us (and Iroha by extension) as to how Kamihama's magical girl's world is like and what's going on there. It's a lot to juggle and the anime doesn't get the benefit like the game of being able to just put the character's backstory on a separate chapter. I really like character focused things, so I don't mind the anime trying to fit as much as it can in, but I can see how that might turn other people off. That's one of the things that's really a matter of taste I guess.

!--ok, you can come back now--!

One of the visual things I really like in this episode is the effect with the floating kana and kanji on the Labyrinth. I wonder how that was done. It's animated, so I don't think it's part of the background, but then I'm also not sure at which stage of production that'd be put in. It's really neat.

Well, with this, we are done with episode 3 of Magia Record! What will we do next? Who knows! It doesn't seem like Iroha noticed it, but just knowing that Touka and Nemu existed, not even getting their surnames, does not give her any new clues to go with. She barely started and already is at a dead-end, poor girl.

Before jumping off the building, Yachiyo also added another question to our already filled question bucket: what was up with that weird witch? What is this strange thing that is going on in Kamihama? Why are you looking like that at Momoko's team?

As viewers, however, there is only one way of answering all this: by watching. So I'll be looking forward to having you guys join me tomorrow for episode 4! Have a good morning/afternoon/evening!

PS.: The last two episodes had about 30 screenshots, this one has about 40, at this rate by the time I get to episode 13 I'll be taking screenshots of the whole episode...

[darkpoisonouslove]

Ranking the Winx Club Finales

I recently finished my rewatch (and first watch of a season and a half) of Winx Club and wrote out my thoughts on all of it. However, to send off a year that was in experience a lot like watching this series - meaning, generally frustrating and downright disappointing whenever I got excited over a thing with a few highlights that actually stuck the landing - and to get out any remaining feelings over the series, I have decided to rank the finales from least to most favorite. I just have a lot of rage to spare over season 8′s finale and needed an excuse to do so. Plus, I am being thematic here goddammit! Here we go:

8. Season 8

Yeah, I really spoiled that already. To sum it up:

But let me elaborate. Like I already said, this finale enraged the living fuck out of me. I just cannot comprehend whatever possessed them to write a finale so, so... excruciatingly devastating... to a season that started out with a lot of promise and had some extremely solid decisions (except for the art style, which is just NOT IT). This finale is an absolute disaster in every way. First, there is a new plot point introduced mere minutes before the finale and it is never tied into the overall narrative of the season which doesn’t do it any favors, especially after the two halves of the season already have trouble connecting together into one overarching story. The reason they brought in the creatures from the Dark Dimension was to distract Valtor while Winx make their attempt at stealing the stars which could have very well been a role filled by Arken confronting Valtor in an opportunity to clear up all the muddy details around their partnership and bring together the two halves of the season. The Winx’ plan had potential that was completely wasted by their own interruption instead of seeing each girl (provided Layla was playing Icy, Stella - Darcy and Musa/Tecna - Stormy) doing her best to pretend to be the Trix she’s posing as to give the Trix the due role they should have had in this finale. Instead, we get an Icy that is a complete opposite of the character we’ve known her to be for seven seasons all for the sake of a wish she doesn’t even get fulfilled despite her decision to help. Her motivation is a direct contradiction to the original plan of the Trix and disrespects her character from all previous instances of her being on the show for absolutely no reason as she is left with nothing in the end and the whole backstory they invented for her out of nowhere and couldn’t fit in any way with anything previously known about her was in vain because it was never resolved. Winx essentially manage to defeat Valtor once they wish for their own power-up and are gifted powers they haven’t really earned only to be pronounced great heroes who even get their own constellation in the sky. Come again? There was no narrative tension in this episode, no big climax to resolve what is supposedly the biggest threat in the universe at the moment, and no actual emotional conclusion to the season. It can’t even be called a messy wrap when so many threads were left hanging in there. A true disaster on every front.

7. Season 6

Even if you count both 6x25 and 6x26 as the finale of season 6, the structure is still lacking big time. Acheron who is the main drive of the entire season is defeated before the end of 6x25 and the Trix who are the other main villains were also more or less neutralized at that point to leave absolutely no stakes for the last episode so they had to pull some bullshit to fill it. The Winx are useless for the entire episode, including Bloom whose battle with the Trix is an absolute joke. Like, they can’t even think of syncing their attacks so that she can’t protect herself from all three of them with her ridiculously small shield and Bloom couldn’t even bother to actually buy herself enough time to leave the Legendarium. The only saving grace of that fight is the little emotional moment it causes for Bloom but that was also not really set up at any point of the season so it was just out of the blue. Selina changing her affiliations permanently even after the imminent threat for her life was neutralized made about as much sense as her turning evil in the first place and the fact that they needed her to lock the Legendarium made everything 1000% shittier because of how convenient it was that she just decided to turn good again without any justification for her course of actions. That coupled with the lack of consequences for any of her actions (she nearly killed Flora for heaven’s sake and no one even brought that up?) plus the dreadful info dump monologue they gave her just brought the whole thing down. The wrap-up of the season was also underwhelming after they had an entire episode that was mainly free of villains in order to close the other storylines... but, of course, there were no other storylines. Pretty disastrous.

6. Season 7

Just like in season 6, Winx were pretty useless here as they really didn’t do all that much for the plot. Luckily, the fact that the Trix were brought in allowed for the villains to have a battle that was more intriguing and provided some action as for a finale. The other key elements of the season (fairy animals, Trix, wild magic, Kalshara and Brafilius and the time travel) were actually woven together pretty well to make for a pretty satisfying finish to a season that really lacked any solid plot. The mini worlds and the Tynix transformation did not have use in the last episode but that wasn’t too catastrophic. There was actually a pretty emotional moment between the fairy animals and Winx that would have been even better if their relationships had been better developed throughout the season... You’d really think that since fairy animals were the main point of the season and there was no solid plot to account for, they would have taken the time to pay attention to Winx bonding with their fairy animals but nah. I am still impressed with how touching their goodbye was given the fact that they didn’t really have all that much time to actually become close so bonus points for that. The very last scene is a little generic but what else to expect from a season that has sung all its songs already (thank god that there were no musical numbers in this because I have a feeling it would have been even worse)?

5. Season 5

Season 5 could at least pat itself on the back for dealing with the main villain of the season even if there were a couple iffy things about the whole deal. I’m taking away consistency points for a) the fact that the Throne was supposed to be activated with the seals from the Pillars of the Infinite Ocean, yet suddenly stealing a random Sirenix would do, b) Tritannus being defeated by simply having his trident taken away even though he literally grew in body mass implying that the power of the Emperor’s Throne had seeped inside of him (also confirmed by Mystery of the Abyss) and c) the mutants inexplicably turning back into people once Tritannus lost his powers even though they never turned back during his times of relapsing back into a human thanks to running out of pollution. His defeat was just ridiculously easy and Bloom got to do it even though Layla was the one with the personal connection to Tritannus and the one most directly impacted by his actions as her family fell prey to him. Instead of getting to shine in a season that focused heavily not just on her home world but on the environment from which her powers come, she got benched in favor of Bloom getting to do everything again with only mild assist from Layla’s cousin. They should have kept it in the family and left Layla and Nereus deal with Tritannus. The Trix were blasted out of the narrative extremely conveniently and the rest of Winx were saved twice by the mutants just turning their back on them instead of destroying them right then and there and then being turned back into their original form as well. There wasn’t the usual teamwork of the whole Winx unit which I am still salty about despite being sick of all the time they reached for convergence in that season. Theredor fighting alongside Winx (different from his own daughter) was a nice touch but the king and queen of Andros coming off as so helpless (and apparently the only people in the castle unless you admit that everyone else drowned) was frustrating. Where was the Andros army? We only got Tressa, Roy, four of Winx and a handful of mermaids. Is that the whole population of the Heart of All Oceans? Additionally, the finale left no time for any emotional resolution of the season’s events, especially considering the big deal that Daphne’s revival was. Instead they opted for a musical number at the end. Not the best form.

4. Season 3

Season 3 had a finale and then another finale. Granted, better than season 6 that had a finale and then filler but there was not a lot of glory to the ending of a story with such a strong opening and emotional moments that send you bursting into tears. The spell of the four elements was pretty decent in its first appearance in 3x25 but the way Valtor lost it all was a real let down after the climatic confrontations between him and the Winx girls throughout the rest of the season. His return was more or less a desperate last attempt at personal revenge against Winx as his goal was mostly out of reach at this point. The spell of the elements was brought down in both its use to create clones of Winx’ boyfriends and in its power as it was much easier to undo in its reappearance. The saving graces of this season’s finale are the couple emotional moments sprinkled through both 3x25 and 3x26. Bloom’s willingness to sacrifice herself for her friends and the world was the thread that the finale hangs on as she is mostly the one resolving the whole conflict which was a bit dissatisfying after the emotional damage Valtor inflicted on all of them directly or indirectly. There is a few moments left to recover from the emotional intensity of their battles against Valtor but nothing that really addresses the seriousness of the trauma they had to survive because of him. The Trix didn’t even get to have a last stand of their own in either of the last two episodes despite the position in which they started the season but that was more or less unnecessary anyway since we’d already seen they can’t hold their ground against Enchantix Winx even with a boost from Valtor. Overall, the finale is pretty weak, especially as a follow-up of the dynamic and strong experiences that the season put them all through. It was the first finale that was confined to a single episode (or rather two separate battles spanning over an episode to end the season) and there wasn’t enough tension building in the confined storyline an episode told.

3. Season 4

The season 4 finale is overall a solid conclusion that delivers both a final battle with the Wizards and enough time left to address all the other storylines left unfinished. The final battle was pretty short but there was enough intensity in the previous couple episodes to have covered the action demand that the season had already set up and it also provided the opportunity to have Winx come back together as a team after Layla split up. Not only that, but Nebula and Roxy also get to play their part while the Wizards make their last desperate attempt to regain the upper hand. It’s pretty climatic for something that length that also left about 15 minutes of the episode still to fill. Everything that had to do with the closure of the Earth fairies storyline was emotional beyond belief and gave more depth to all of them and Layla’s decision to join them. Winx had to face all of the separate responsibilities they have on their shoulders and find a way to balance them all so that they can pursue their dreams. There was a plethora of emotional moments and a deserved spotlight shined on Layla’s situation and how she’s dealing with it, plus the others’ feelings. It was a really touching finale and also an inspiring one to see Winx stand behind their dreams while still balancing their responsibilities. It seemed to achieve the initial goal of the season to have them adapting to the adult life they were shifting into.

2. Season 2

I’m gonna be honest, I had a very hard time deciding whether this would be number one or two because the season 2 finale had a lot more character moments that were very moving. It really corresponds to the season since it was more character driven than the first one and the finale suited that. However, ultimately I decided that it would take silver because of a couple minor things that bring it down. To get that out of the way, the second portal to Realix that led Winx there was imo a copout that destroyed pretty much all of the tension that the entire season spent building around the search for the Codex. It just felt so wrong for there to be another way to enter that dimension and to me it was a big disappointment. Especially since the key to activating the copy of the Codex was the color riddle that was a ridiculous panicked attempt on the writers’ part to show that Stella isn’t useless and has what to give the team but it only made her look worse in my eyes. Also, minor gripe for the fact that there wasn’t that much of a final battle since everything ended with a single convergence. Of course, there were several battles across the episode between different sides that made for good action and tension and there was magic involved in more ways than simply the convergence in order to defeat Darkar but it was still a bit of a letdown to never truly see him put his everything in battle. And the fact that Griffin and Faragonda held him off for as long as they did on their own actually hurt his credibility as a threat as well. But hey, on the plus side, remember when the teachers actually helped and did not leave the fate of the whole universe in the hands of 16-year-olds? Good times! The MegaTrix and her? their? battle with Darkar was epic. 20/10 on that concept alone, plus it really brought a great feeling of vindication after the number Darkar did on them and felt so satisfying even if they were also part of the villain team of the season. They were portrayed as three-dimensional and weren’t cast out of the narrative without care just because they were villains and that was actually probably the most solid moment that the Trix have ever had on the show (just minor gripe for the fact that they were supposed to be trapped in Realix when the dimension was sealed forever but they were later somehow brought out of there which was never explained). Sky’s speech to Bloom was actually a pretty emotional moment and the payoff from it felt earned and allowed for Bloom’s victory against the darkness to feel natural and in place. It was probably one of their best moments as a couple. Plus, the cute little interactions that we got during the celebration party to send off the season on its merry way made for a great finale. (And a shoutout to the Musa x Riven scenes both in 2x25 and 2x26 because that was some good shit and some cute shit and it was exactly what we deserved).

1. Season 1

Season 1 reigns supreme with its finale. There is just no other finale that can rise to the level of the first one that was built for about one third of the season so that the last episode could dive right into the action without wasting time on setup. This is also the only place where we truly and fully get to see each of the Winx and the Trix (well, minus Layla who hasn’t been introduced yet) showcase their powers but especially Bloom and Icy. It is the longest battle we have seen and it builds a lot of tension on top of what was already there to leave you on the edge of your seat. The exploration of magic in this episode makes it so iconic and such a great watch even on the 300th time. There isn’t really much more to say than simply “It is epic”. What makes it even better though is the fact that there is enough time left in the episode to wrap up everything else and not in a rushed way. The battleground is extended to the locations that have already suffered the previous battles to show the full extension of the action and to setup the wrap-up that comes at the end. They even find the time to let some of the minor characters have distinct and touching moments as well and thus expand the universe of Winx further than just the main characters. Speaking off, they all get their moments, too, and the Specialists aren’t left out of that (you will never catch me not fangirling over Sky and Riven fighting back to back). The finale also doesn’t forget about the overarching story about Bloom’s origin which is commendable considering the constant lack of consistency the show suffers. This is really the only finale that isn’t lacking in any of the departments and manages to provide a truly fascinating story that keeps you entertained and in suspense while at the same time does not discard the emotional payoff or the logical continuation of events. It just excels in every way.

Well, this is my analysis on the finales of Winx Club. What started out as a bitch fest actually left on on a positive and uplifting note to make for a great ending to a harsh year. Let’s see what beginnings 2021 will bring! ;)

[scarletarosa]

Regarding Natal Astrology and the 15 Star Signs - Why 15 is more accurate than 12

You are called not to become similar to the star sign description, but to overcome it. Just as each “heaven” or planetary sphere has challenges that need to be overcome, similarly you must face your zodiac challenge, in other words to overcome the limitations imposed according to the star sign in which you were born, using the ascendant as a ladder for this reason.

The natal star signs are defined through most certainly Gaian (of the Earth) influences due to seasonality. Tropical Zodiac System examples may be useful for defining a typology of characters, but they are lacking any grounding in logic due to the well-known phenomenon of precession of equinoxes (and so moving of zodiac star signs, lunar mansions etc as a result) which the Sidereal Zodiac System would support.

Therefore the so-called star signs have nothing to do with reality due to the three factors: 

The precession of the equinoxes/ signs changes in fact the actual sign – in being the adjacent one position backwards. 

The Equal House System (for all signs to occupy 30ο ) is totally arbitrary since the constellations are in fact unequal. 

The constellations passing through the ecliptic are 13, not 12 (they tend to forget Ophiuchus).

Therefore whatever “truth” there is in natal astrology has mostly to do with matters on Earth, and not the skies.

However, if we intend to use the star signs for magick (any type, including talismans) we should take account of the sidereal system, astronomically defining the signs and not astrologically. So this is about constellations, not star signs. Even this is problematic of course, because the so-called constellations visible to the eye not only alter their shapes in the passing of millennia, but also arbitrarily each civilization connects with lines totally unrelated and irrelevant to each other stars. Also, some civilizations take into account more and some less stars.

The fact that they are unrelated is clearly shown when considering that the visual image we have for a constellation is its “projection” onto a plane (flat surface), as if all its stars belong to that plane. However the truth is that they are totally unrelated to one another, despite being connected for easy identification by the eye. For the sake of convenience, we tend to forget that the stars vary so much with regards to distance, that each “constellation” is in fact a totally arbitrary representation that lacks any kernel of objective truth. So it is wiser to take into account individual stars and not constellations when intending to use them in our magickal practice. Some of them can be useful indeed.

It is well known that each planet has its own planetary spirit which Watches over it, so each sun/star has a powerful solar Intelligence which also watches over it. Since stars are suns, we should approach their star spirits; in order to avoid confusion with the so-called “astral space” we will mention these entities as solar spirits, also known as Stellar Intelligences (SI).

It is also of great importance to see what is on the Zenith in the sky at the hour of birth (or in another important magickal work). We don’t take into account the astrological MS but what astronomically is on the Zenith on Azimuth. This can be found using an astronomy program (there are some free ones on the net which are just as good) and it is important. For example I located 26 constellations apparently passing over the sky through the Azimuth disc 70-75ο where I reside. Their hours change in the year bit by bit, so while these are very particular, they do not reach zenith each hour each day and over the same place.

Nevertheless, if you are certain to use some type of Zodiac system, let it be with Unequal Houses, and of 15 “signs”. These are the 13 already mentioned and also Orion and Cetus which interject only barely in the ecliptic. One may also wish to include Lunar Mansions in their system. It is of great interest to note the governors of the natal days, and this can be done using the Egyptian netjeru (deities), Angelic systems, etc. and can also be included to add even more precise guidance.

Circumpolar Constellations do not rise and do not set. Remember them because they are important. In the Northern Hemisphere, the main ones are six: Cepheus, Cassiopeia, Draco, Camelopardalis, Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. Take into account that depending on where you live, there can be more additions to the list, but also some changes too. This can easily be found online. Refrain from seeing them as animals or using specific mythological context, regardless how tempting it might be, to avoid being deceived. Focus on their main stars and what these do and how they matter for each hemisphere, if they are used as reference points.

Try to avoid believing as astrologically important whatever is unseen by the naked eye. Astrological systems that take into account distant objects too far away are lacking any sense. From a metaphysical standpoint, yes, we are connected to everything and everything is connected to us. Some very subtle influence may indeed exist. If, however, we think all the things we come in contact with, we should realize that these are all that we see and all that we sense with one or more of our senses. I even include intuition or extrasensory perception in this…

For occult use in natal astrology we should take into account the ancient celestial spheres and we should forget Uranus, Neptune, Pluto and all the small planetoids. With regards to actual influences on our daily lives and not during some delicate magickal experiment or working, we are not influenced by anything apart from the Sun and the Moon. The Sun is the defining factor and we should be interested as to which stars or planets the sun appears to “pass through” (Ascendant, conjunction with planets etc). The Moon exerts a significant gravitational pull upon us; one witnesses this through the tides. Since we are made up from 70% water, it is reasonable to assume we are affected enough as to the fluid micro-pressures in our brain systems inside our skull, and other parts of the body in general. The closer to earth its orbit brings it, the more we are affected. Also its luminosity seems to exert some influence upon us, which is why the full moon and the eclipses affect us so.

Resuming: 

Specific stars, not star signs: the brightest / most visible to the eye

Sun, Moon are the most significant celestial bodies. Venus, Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Saturn are of secondary importance. Celestial spheres which have symbolic meaning and major significance on the Tree of Life are not to be mixed with the gravitational and other planetary influences. 

Azimuth rather than classic astrology MS. 

Of secondary importance and only for specialized workings (for example manufacturing a talisman or doing a ritual that demands very specific things) are the Lunar Mansions and the Unequal House of the 15 “signs”. In general these can be ignored for most daily workings. The same goes for the detailed Planetary Hours’ tabulations that give advice as to what types of work/tasks are well-suited in that planetary hour of the day and night. 

Natal governors, yes, within reason. Take into account their aspects and influence but also their challenges.

In conclusion,

Experiment with the 15 signs of the Zodiac and the sign you are given from this more accurate chart. It may likely suit your energy/temperament better and perhaps even show things you must overcome. Additionally, this sign may fit in with your Egyptian and Celtic signs better than the “original” sign from the 12 Zodiacs Natal Chart. Though it is best to keep in mind that the descriptions of the Zodiac signs are based on typical divination meant for entertainment rather than an actual mystical science. Take the descriptions with a pinch of salt and do not use the Zodiac to judge others. 

(Additional credit to @melias-cimitiere​ for help with the research)

Read here for your sign/description from the 15 star signs chart