#might rb with some quotes if i remember

[glitteringpoet1685]

My fellow Daniil enjoyers, I have just finished reading A Country Doctor's Notebook/A Young Doctors Notebook by Mikhail Bulgakov, and the protagonist is so Daniil it's baffling. This city boy doctor in his 20s is dropped into a middle of nowhere town in autumn and is given perhaps way too much responsibility over the lives of the people there and oh how he struggles™. He's also just a teeny tiny bit rude (sometimes people deserve it) but also well-meaning and just trying to do his goddamn job.

The whole time I was reading I was almost imagining the mc as a younger Daniil, perhaps before he started his quest against death, somehow finding his way to the town and starting that hospital he always complained about the town not having, and this book being how he would have fared in the absence of the plague.

Anyway, It's very good and I very much recommend if you like patho but especially Daniil as a character. It's very short, ~150 pages (depending on what stories are included in the translation you read).

[f0point5]

You know, I love Seb (he’s the person who got me into F1) and I respect Lewis and his accomplishments but one thing I’ll never forgive them (and a lot of the older drivers, most already retired now) for is how they treated Max when he came into F1.

Yes, he might have been their rival but he was also a teenager, a literal child and gosh… I know Max probably doesn’t really care anymore but I still hurt for him sometimes.

Especially when you consider that he was the one paving the way for his generation. When Charles and Lando and George and everyone else came up a few years later they were welcomed as the youth, the future of the sport. Older drivers talking about their talent and how great it is to see them come up.

Max didn’t get that. He got shouts of “too young”, “too reckless”, “too… too much”.

So no, to me the only real grid dad (or maybe grid uncle is more fitting, idk) will be Fernando Alonso who said that some people are simply ready earlier than others and that Max should be judged on his performance in the races, not his age (paraphrased).

Fernando who has been an idol a lot of the younger generation growing up but also exchanged helmets with Oscar and Zhou, joked with Lando on instagram, talks Le Mans with Max and probably many more moments I’m forgetting about rn.

THIS.

Honestly, I don’t really get the Seb hype. He just has never given me good vibes. I didn’t watch during the RB days so maybe if I’d seen his golden era I’d have gotten attached but he has just always seemed…not likeable. Clearly a very driven, straightforward, intelligent guy, but something about him doesn’t sit well with me. Anyway rant over.

I’m not even going to talk about LH because…par for the course.

Yes, they were all mean to him. As grown men, too, how are you not absolutely embarrassed?! I get that he’s a kid and maybe you don’t want to hang out with him or confront the fact that you’re not the hotshots anymore but omg it’s a CHILD. (And Seb who made a bit of a meal out of being a bullying victim as a kid…I see you.)

No one else of Max’s generation would have survived the way they treated him, I stand by that. They all needed the support they got, and Max had none of it from his peers. I can’t see Max being the type who cared per se, because he was probably already used to being…not ostracised, but like…observed? And also because of how he grew up I don’t think anyone’s words could rattle him. But even if he didn’t care the grown men should have known better.

If I were Max I’d still be laughing about how bitter I made men in their 30s. Like “I couldn’t grow facial hair and y’all were running scared”. But I still think it must have been a pretty lonely few years until others his age started catching up.

I think Max was really lucky to have such a tight team (Christian, Helmut, Jos, Ray, GP) around him to insulate him a bit and stop him getting pushed around but the way these men tried it. (Toto I’m looking at your for the Jos phonecall.)

Yeah Fernando is the only one who I think was ready to embrace the new frontier as it were. But he is just kind of like that. I feel like he doesn’t feel his age is the disadvantage that most do, and that’s why he’s not so afraid of younger drivers. Like, his relationship with Max, Carlos, lando, George (nye buddies lol) and Zhou (literally just today saw a quote of him talking about how nice Alonso was to him, even Lance, he treats them as much as peers as he does his own generation, it’s cute.

Also, this is kinda random but I swear Nico and Max were kind of friendly in the early years? Max has known Nico a long time, despite the age difference (he said he remembered glasses Nico used to wear at like 7, and Nico once went out with his mum?), Nico was on the jet with Max on his birthday in…2017? And I think there’s a picture of Max having flown with some guys (including both Nicos in 2016) and for some reason I’ve always had the idea that Hulkenberg was his link to that whole crew? (Idk if this whole friendship is a headcanon but for some reason I feel like these two are/were kinda connected)

But yeah, agree. Grown men acting like little bitches. That generation I think was the last generation with real bitterness between the drivers, though. Idk you wouldn’t catch me being a jerk to a kid but I’ve never been terrified of a kid before so 🤷‍♀️

[exuvianen]

misc. stationery hcs [housewardens]

short stationery + penmanship hcs with the housewardens!

cw: n/a

notes: another old piece... just some silly hc's don't take them too seriously. i tried writing the same amount for everyone but it’s kinda clear who i’m biased towards… feel free to drop an ask or to add on! likes + rbs are appreciated <3

wc: ~1100 words?? wow. that's more than i expected.

riddle rosehearts ; housewarden of heartslabyul

has everything you need for school. pencils, pens, erasers, notebooks, binders, glue, tape, scissors,  you name it, riddle has it.

sorts each subject by color, and color codes all his notes/subjects. do NOT mess up his order! 

has extremely neat handwriting - it’s a bit on the smaller side, but it’s easy to read.

riddle shares his notes with others when they ask him for help, so he makes sure it’s legible and easy on the eyes.

as for stationery in general, he probably doesn’t go too wild. standard neon highlighters, blue and black pens, plain covered notebooks, etc. it’s simple, but it’s good enough for riddle.

overall pretty good taste, a little basic, but everything is of good quality.

leona kingscholar ; housewarden of savanaclaw

literally does not care about stationery. he’s the idgaf king.

he’s that kid who never brings a pencil or pen to class. he barely remembers to bring his notebook too. and he only has one (1) notebook that he uses for everything (he probs doesn’t even take notes in class, he alr knows everything lol).

constantly borrows stuff from ruggie or sends him to buy stuff from sam’s shop. he’s lucky he has ruggie.

has a fancy pen from farena that he never uses, but keeps at the bottom of his drawer. 

does the bare minimum, probably “borrows” other people’s pens/pencils when he loses his. has borrowed at least 20 pens, but was too lazy to give it back. they sit on top of his desk. 

he literally doesn't care about aesthetics, he just gets random stationery to get the job done. has the most mismatched items.

azul ashengrotto ; housewarden of octavinelle

definitely invests in some quality paper and pens. also a stationery nerd who has everything in his office.

probably has those notebooks/folders with the corny motivational quotes like “the grind never stops” or “no pain no gain”. kinda cringe but he likes them b/c they motivate him.

he’s the type to take notes in class, then rewrite them later. he sells the rewritten notes to other students for a steep price.

jots down ideas or gossip he hears in the margins of his notebooks. he rarely doodles, but sometimes he might draw things from the coral sea if he’s feeling particularly homesick.

color codes all his notes, but uses more neutral colors as opposed to the standard bright/neons. he also has sea-themed folders or notebooks. 

he's fascinated by what land-dwellers use, as paper/ink typically doesn't last in the sea. he really tries a variety of products and enjoys it a lot! and takes notes for his future businesses

kalim al-asim ; housewarden of scarabia

the guy who has an excessive amount of stationery. probably buys 20 of the same pen because he likes it so much.

he gets those notebooks/folders that have cute animals or wild patterns on them. i feel like he’d also get a lot of stuff with floral designs.

doesn’t care much about the quality/brand of the things he’s buying - rather, he’s more interested in how cool or fun the item looks. 

def owns funky-colored pens, erasers that smell like food, and sticky notes shaped like animals. probs decorates everything with stickers (he loves scratch-n-sniff ones).

the margins of kalim’s notebooks are filled with doodles. some things he draws often are his favorite dishes and animals, and his family members. he probably uses his notebook to plan parties/parades instead of taking notes. jamil has a stroke

his handwriting is very expressive. it's loopy and wide when he's excited, small and sloppy when he's dozing off, and extremely messy when he's scribbling frantically.

vil schoenheit ; housewarden of pomefiore

owns sets of matching stationery. coordinates his pencil case with his notebooks and folders. probably a fan of minimalism and deep, rich colors. 

has high-quality pens and uses fancy highlighters to annotate his notes (i’m thinking those midliner highlighters and muji pens). he spares no expense for his tools.

color codes all his notes/different subjects, and has a specific color scheme for each subject. he is VERY particular about his color sorting. do NOT mess his categories up.

his handwriting is elegant and beautiful. he probably practiced and experimented with his handwriting a lot due to his fame (he signs autographs and he wants his penmanship to look pretty for his fans!)

he has pinterest worthy notes. he posts them on his magicam stories occasionally to show them off, and to encourage his fans to study hard too.

his fashionista side bleeds into his stationery choices, so he only buys items that are 1) of the best quality and 2) suited for his image. he does NOT cut corners.

idia shroud ; housewarden of ignihyde. 

does not use stationery LOL (or avoids it. technology is just more convenient for him).

everything is done on digitally, on his computer, tablet, or phone. he’d decorate his laptop or tablet with stickers though, like of his fave idol group “premo” and such. 

if he does own stationery, they are game or anime themed. also limited edition. he def collects merch, like pins and badges as well. i feel like he’d make itabags and stuff but he’d never go out in public with them. he’s too socially awkward just like me fr

he has those cool multifunctional pens, the ones with like 10 different colors, and can also double as a screwdriver or some kind of tool. 

he’d also have a lot of cute cat-themed items. they're just too cute, and he can't resist buying them! he's rich so it's fine...

he's probably designed super multifunctional pens before. he definitely has the brains and resources to do so.

malleus draconia ; housewarden of diasomnia

archaic stationery. still dips his pen in ink and writes with a feather /hj

he’s fine with the basics though. he just rolls with pen, paper, and ink. it’s good enough for him. 

has beautiful, fancy cursive handwriting, but it’s hard for people to read, especially for his schoolmates b/c the younger generation doesn’t really learn cursive anymore. think like... the penmanship of historical treaties or declarations. it's charming and still legible, but you just need a bit of time to be able to read it. 

probably owns and uses enchanted quills passed down from his family. it reminds him of home and he treasures them greatly. when he’s homesick he’ll twirl them between his fingers. 

he used to break a lot of pencils/pens with his sheer magical fae grip. he’s learned how to control his strength a lot better now, but he still prefers his enchanted writing tools. 

he's not used to modern technology, so he gets a kick out of trying novel stationary items as well. this pencil is also a pen, a highlighter, and a flashlight? wowie!

[emmedoesntdomath]

favorite non-newsies fanfic list? (holds hands out for marvel/rw&rb crumbs)

FAVORITE NON-NEWSIES LIST LMAOOO

guys, if you want content for other fandoms besides incorrect quotes, all you got to do is ask. I just get a shit ton newsies asks.

okay, so I have a lot of favorite fics (I dare you to look at my bookmarks on ao3), but my favorites and my favorite recommendations are two VERY different things. so I’ll give you a little of both.

ALSO- I NEVER RECOMMEND WIPS. NOT BECAUSE I DON’T LIKE THEM, NOT BECAUSE SOME OF THEM AREN’T THE GREATEST THING TO GRACE THIS EARTH SINCE CHOCOLATE, BUT BECAUSE I WOULD HATE IF SOMEONE DID THAT TO ME. SORRY NOT SORRY.

WHAT I WOULD RECOMMEND OF MY FAVORITES (marvel and rw&rb edition):

it’ll be over (and I’ll still be asking when) by JBS_Forever- a literal masterpiece retelling of the typical irondad and spiderson relationship, honestly. tony’s a little ooc, but the way they wrote peter??? genius. inspired. would definitely recommend. 

it’s the thing we’re missing most by lavenade- one of my favorite depictions of parkner in the history of ever, it beautifully showcases both the friendship and the relationship. perfect for a feel-good moment. 

The Guiding of Death by RayShippouUchila- even if you’re not a winteriron fan (like, at all), it’s still very much a must-read. I make ALL of the exceptions for this one. 

you’re stuck in my head (stuck on my heart, stuck on my body) by notcaycepollard- this was my first introduction to sam/bucky, and I have no regrets. their relationship is so gorgeous in this story. an easy favorite. 

art of the game by volantium- perfection. harley is glorious, peter is anxious, and they’re perfect for each other. also, natasha. 

Words May Fail (The Body Remains) by ladyflowdi- I know this isn’t really a common ship at this point, but you HAVE to read this. non-negotiable. I will find you. you can vent to me about it afterwards. 

told you i’m on the way, i’m like an exit away by quidhitch- this might as well be canon, okay? it’s sweet, it’s angst-less, will make you grin so hard your cheeks hurt. I want to give the author a hug of gratitude. 

~~~

Faster, Higher, Stronger by everwitch- basically follows the actual plot, but make it olympics. also, it’s nice and long. I have no criticisms to give. 

Rule Number Nine by clottedcreamfudge- okay, honest moment here- I will unflinchingly recommend literally everything this author has written ever, but this is by far and away my favorite of their works. I’ve read it at least ten times. 

We’ll Invite Something In by smc_27- so good. so sweet. also, it’s a little bit fluffier than most rw&rb fics, so if you’re looking for that, this one’s your guy. 

and nowwwwww

MY FAVORITES OF ALL TIME THAT ARE JUST A LIL TOO UNHINGED TO MAKE THE FIRST REC LIST

Text Me Quarantine by ProsperDemeter- honestly, I don’t remember reading this one for the first time. it’s just a haze of pure euphoria. 

a primer for the small weird loves by babyloveparkner- feature me SOBBING my heart out in the corner. I love this fic so much. honestly, top three of all of my favorites for any fandom. (warning: your heart will hurt)

The (Not So) Great Pretender by RayShippouUchila- I’m actually not willing to apologize for putting this author on here twice. this one is hilarious. also, fluffy avengers. 

For the First Time, Eye to Eye by Sarah_Sandwich- I have never been so mad at harley keener than when I read this for the first time. one of the author’s greatest works, and so angst-ridden you’ll start seeing it in your sleep. 

Catch Your Voice by lavvyan- this one’s for after you read the first non-negotiable fic. trust me. 

~~~

A Sporting Chance by clottedcreamfudge- again, I will loudly proclaim this author’s greatness. their works make me really happy. alex is just so alex. 

Made the Right Selection by clottedcreamfudge- alex is a cheerleader. henry’s learning all about football. that’s it. 

Clue Me In by bleedingballroomfloor- you KNOW I’m here for the june/nora content. I shall never stop screaming about them. 

okay, thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[kwondotcom]

(1) haven't we met? is heavily inspired by kimi no nawa, in every possible way. the title and the general plot flow comes from the film + personally, i feel like i could've spent more words expanding on the lore of my own fic, but i was working on a time crunch lol. here's the scene in the movie that the fic is named after.

(2) minor detail, but this was very telling of minghao being in denial. in the first body swap, he refers to the reader's mother with quotes because he's still in denial/detached from her. this is dropped when minghao realizes it's a body swap.

(2.5) first hint of foreshadowing to the weather! <- note: this is only 2.5 because i made a numbering mistake and i'm too lazy to correct everything atp. oh, well. lol.

(3) a hint that reader/minghao aren't from the same time. since reader was in a time pre-pandemic, 'work from home' was yet to be normalized.

(4) a common comment i get, either in the rbs or not, is asking what reader could have done to mingyu while in minghao's body. i really think it was as simple as mingyu & soonyoung blowing up minghao's phone, and reader— panicked at this foreign situation— tells them both off. mingyu gets sulky because minghao rarely yells at him. :(

(5) it's admittedly been a while since i touched haven't we met (over a month), but i recall this little part being something i liked. i was really soft to the idea of minghao still thinking of taking care of you while he's in your body, both in the sense of what he can do as you vs. what you can do as him. it's somewhat convoluted to unpack, but it just goes to show how his care extends.

(6) enjoyed the idea of this, because i really like the line the body remembers. (more on that later.) even though it's minghao's consciousness, minghao's mind, it's still your body. and meditation is as much of a bodily act as it is a mental one; it would make sense that your body rebels against it, even though minghao knows the technicalities of meditation.

(7) another foreshadowing that you came from different timelines. minghao recognizes them as 'older' novels, but they're in 'pristine condition' because they're new to your era.

(8) time to admit something: a point that i toyed with was making yue lao the tanghulu vendor (lol)! i think this is something that can still exist implicitly, but i certainly thought of making it more abundantly clear and pervasive throughout the fic. it might be one of my real regrets: not being able to work that mechanic in, and instead having yue lao just kind of exist as a plot device. i hope it still somewhat works out, in the sense that the eventual conclusion is justifiable.

(9) i wrote this line first, and then i wrote the rest of the scene backwards. my writing process can be such a mess, really, because i tend to write endings-beginnings-and then work my way through the middle. all i knew is that this 'day' would end with minghao and the tanghulu, just so i could work in this line.

(10) i think this is the last, dated hint that reader and minghao are not from the same timeline. the reveal hits a couple of paragraphs later, and so i wanted to squeeze in a last ounce of foreshadowing. reader isn't a 'second gen fan', but simply a fan of the biggest k-pop group of her era.

(11) this isn't so much of a hint, but there's certainly some undertones here that's meant to give away the fact that reader and minghao don't exist in the same time. ultimately, reader doesn't think they've been to his part of the city because of the industrialization, because it's completely different from the seoul that they recognize.

(12) one of my favorite passages in this body of work. minghao's moment of realization is harrowing, and i'm the first to admit that i abuse em-dashes far too much. i enjoyed playing with the imagery of the ringing in his ear, the bomb drop, and the repetitiveness of it, as if coming to terms with the fact.

(13) the original version of the second passage is written far more bluntly. if i can recall, it goes something like "Nine years ago, Minghao had been 18. Just about to debut. Nine years ago, you had died." it felt too on the nose, and the succeeding sentence loses its weight, so i switched it out.

(14) i get a bit blurry, here, as i try to reconcile with the reader's mother reacting to you vs. reacting to minghao. it's another one of those things that are difficult to explain, but it manifests in the way that minghao starts to acknowledge that the reader's mother isn't reacting to him. the mother is reacting to you, which shows here.

(15) in an ideal world, one where i might've fleshed this fic out more, this is another thing i would have wanted so, so badly to make right. i feel like this is something i could've expanded so much more to make this eventual payoff worth it/impactful. as it is, it's... alright, i suppose, but there's definitely a way i could've executed this better.

(16) lots of simple stuff in one go, but the cruxes here are a) the prevention of the tragedy, which is what the vendor calls it earlier in the story and b) the reiteration of the earlier 'i want to live'.

(17) i think it was about four a.m. my time when i started writing this scene, but i am somewhat pleased to say that i am happy with how it all still turned out. this is one of my favorite lines to come out of it. the imagery of old gods, of a plea/prayer, exists until the very end. one of the other things i liked in this passage was being able to draw the parallels of how differently minghao was in your body, with your voice, and how jarring it must be, to be face to face with it later on.

(18) i pulled a little call-a-friend, here, because initially, i think i was just supposed to close this scene with "'I prayed for this,' he repeats. He had prayed for you." or something like that? but i feel like the "... he supposes you're right." adds just a nice little layer. i also subscribed to the traditional way of how a red string of fate is supposedly tied: the man's thumb, the woman's pinky.

(19) direct parallel to the beginning of "Odd. His ceiling is supposed to be beige."

(20) terrible kimi no nawa visual for driving my point home (lol), but even after saying this fic is one big, explicit ode/reference/draw from the film, this is the one that i feel pulls the most.

(21) the body remembers. :)

(22) the ear-ringing is a recurring theme, just for the sake of epiphany moments. and because, of course, it's a matter of gods, it feels right to end on the concept of prayer. honestly, i'm glad to have started with haven't we met? and lost in translation for this birthday series, both of which i consider to be some of my favorite work despite their differences/parallels. but a part of me adores haven't we met? so much more, if only because i enjoyed playing around with it. my regrets are that i feel like i could've fleshed it out for at least 3-4k more words, though, as it stands, it's a fic i'm happy to have written for minghao.

haven't we met? ♾️ minghao x reader.

“wherever you are in the world, i swear i'll find you again.” # day one of (the)8 days of minghao.

☆ includes: mentions of death/calamities. soulmates, body swapping, time travel, delayed ripple effect, references to chinese mythology, light angst. this is inspired by & heavily references makoto shinkai's film kimi no nawa/your name, but it's not required to have seen the film to understand the plot. word count: 9,000+

It’s a Wednesday when Minghao wakes up in a room that isn’t his.

He doesn’t immediately register it. His senses come to him slowly; the sun is warm on his face, supposedly streaking through the windows. 

But then an alarm blares, and it’s an alarm that’s decisively not his. It’s loud and oppressive. The complete opposite of the gentle tinkling of bells that he sets for his mornings. Minghao peels his eyes open before blinking blearily up at a ceiling that’s in a shade of dark green. 

Odd. His ceiling is supposed to be beige. 

Minghao finally manages to sit up, to glance around. The room he’s in is not his. It’s much more disorganized and the furniture’s a bit more old-fashioned. He lets out a slight exhale. 

A dream, he thinks wearily. I’m dreaming. 

Minghao can’t help but think that it’s a particularly realistic dream as he unsteadily gets to feet. As he pulls aside the sheets that had covered him, he notices snatches of a body that isn’t his, either. Lithe legs, painted toenails. 

I’m dreaming I’m someone else, he thinks. It happened, didn’t it? One might sometimes dream from the perspective of a stranger, a friend. 

Minghao’s attention is drawn to a half-full water carafe on the bedside table. Without much thought, he reaches for it— before smashing it onto the floor. Free will, baby. 

Except—

He feels it. The wetness lapping up at his feet. The shards of broken glass flying in all directions. Something closes up in his throat. Did he usually feel things in his dreams? Had he eaten something weird, drank something the night before, to have him dreaming like this? 

The door to the room swings open. 

A silver-haired woman stands in front of him, now, her face pinched with worry. She says a name— a name that isn’t Minghao’s— and asks, panicked, “What happened?” 

Minghao doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. He just stares and stares as this wrinkled woman chides him in a motherly way until he realizes, ah. This must be his mother. Not his mother, but his dream self’s mother. 

He can work with that. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. His voice is different. Not his, not his. He tries again— softer, this time— like it might change things. Like he might be able to coax his old voice to break through whatever sleepy haze he’s in. “I’m sorry. I knocked it over by accident.” 

“You’re so clumsy,” his ‘mother’ chides, but she’s already getting to her knees to wipe at the puddle of water with her apron. That snaps Minghao into action; he stumbles across the room in search of a towel. 

What a crazy dream, he thinks as he delicately gathers up the shards, as he wipes up the spilled water. I’ve never had a dream like this. 

As his ‘mother’ heads back downstairs, Minghao figures he might as well play the part. 

He follows her down for breakfast. He’s struck by how visceral, how tactile everything feels. The creeks of the old staircase. The smell of seaweed egg drop soup. The crick in Minghao’s neck.

Am I going insane? Minghao briefly wonders as he settles into the dining table, where there’s already a spread of food waiting for him. He notes that it’s a rather small table, made for only two people. It’s a stark contrast to the long tables he usually shares with twelve other boys, to the family tables he reserves with his own family.

“Why are you being so quiet?” his ‘mother’ asks as she sits across from him. “We’ll just get you a new carafe, kiddo.”

Right. That’s definitely why he was being quiet. Minghao picks up the chopsticks in front of him and goes to try some of the braised potatoes. 

He can even taste it. This was probably the most detailed dream he’s ever had.

“Aren’t I always quiet, though?” Minghao manages to ask in the voice-that-is-not-his. It’s a higher pitched voice, one that has a distinct Seoul accent. 

His ‘mother’ lets out a snort of laughter. “Yah, in what universe are you quiet?” she says with a snicker, reaching over to flick Minghao’s forehead. 

He lets out a small sound of protest. 

“That’s more like it,” his ‘mother’ notes. “Now, eat up. You’ll be late for work.”    

Work. Something like unease begins to pool at the pit of his stomach at the thought of it. Not because he hates his job, no. Minghao loved being a dancer, an idol, an artist. But— he had a feeling that wasn’t the job he should be expecting this time around.

“I— I’m not really feeling well,” he mumbles, pushing around some seaweed at the bottom of his soup. When his ‘mother’ shoots him a scrutinizing glare, he forces out a cough to sell the act. “I’m not sure if I can go in today.” 

His ‘mother’ goes from looking skeptical to concerned. She sets her own utensils down. “Do you need me to take care of you? I can take off, too—” 

“It’s okay,” Minghao says hastily. “I think I just need to stay in bed.” 

The woman across from him doesn’t look convinced, and so he presses on, “How is work, anyway?” 

It’s a polite question, one meant to wheedle out more information. His ‘mother’ takes the bait, though, and goes on to rant about bad co-workers, about impatient patrons. She’s a grocery store bagger, Minghao gleams. And when she complains about other small things— the weather making it difficult to hang laundry, the lack of delivery shifts— Minghao realizes that his ‘mother’ has an array of other side hustles. 

He listens intently. He nods in all the right places. He thinks he’s doing the right thing, but his ‘mother’ falters mid-sentence to fix him a worried look. 

“You really are so quiet today,” she repeats, reaching over to put the back of her hand against Minghao’s forehead. He feels the touch, feels the warmth of concern wash over his skin, and it makes him shiver. “You really must not be feeling well, huh?” 

Minghao thinks he’s only about to feel so much worse.

He heads back to ‘his’ bedroom, and it’s only then that he catches a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror. It’s… the face of someone he’s never met before. 

Minghao once heard that the people you see in your dreams are never strangers. They’re all faces you’ve seen at least once or twice, and in Minghao’s line of work— well, he’s seen a lot of faces. He raises a hand to pinch at his cheek, to pat at his hair. 

It all feels so real. He doesn’t dwell on that. 

Instead, he starts to explore. Walking around the cramped bedroom feels both like a museum visit and an intrusion. There’s posters peeling off the wall, shelves groaning under the weight of books, clothes that look a little worse for wear. It’s honestly such a mess that Minghao ends up killing a couple of hours just cleaning.

He lets out a snort of laughter as he does. Even in his dreams, he’s picking up over someone. 

He doesn’t know how long he spends gathering hangers and sweeping the floor, but, at one point, the silence is broken by a high-pitched ringtone. He fumbles for the shabby cellphone on the bedside table. 

It had been password-protected, which is why he couldn’t open it. Now, though, there’s an option to answer the incoming call. 

BOSS MAN 👿, it says, and Minghao nearly cracks a smile. Yeah, he can relate to that, at least. 

When he answers the call, though, any and all humor dissipates at the yelling that assaults Minghao’s ear. “WHERE ARE YOU?” ‘Boss Man’ screams on the other end. “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO CALL YOU ALL DAY! YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE, PUNK—” 

Minghao definitely sees now why the devil emoji was warranted. He has the urge to cut into the other man’s tirade, partly because it’s a dream where there’ll surely be little to no consequences. Something holds him back, though, as he puts some distance between his ear and the phone. 

Once the other man pauses to breathe, Minghao manages to get a word in. “I… wasn’t feeling well,” he says lamely. “Could I maybe work from home or something?” 

“WORK FROM HOME? ARE YOU CRAZY?! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT—”

At that point, Minghao just hangs up. When ‘Boss Man’ tries to call again, Minghao turns off the cellphone’s ringer and goes back to cleaning. 

He cleans until there’s not a speck of dust in the bedroom. And when that’s done, he goes to work on the grout in the bathroom, the oil stains in the kitchen. He’s not really sure what he’s doing. Occasionally, he’ll stop in the middle of a chore, wondering if it’s finally time for him to be shaken out of this mundane, long-winded dream. 

Night falls. His ‘mother’ texts about taking on an extra shift. She says something about food in the refrigerator, but Minghao can’t be bothered; he’s so exhausted that he blacks out the moment his head hits his pillow.

He doesn’t even have the energy to contemplate the mechanics of falling asleep in what’s supposed to be a dream. 

On Thursday, Minghao wakes up back in his dorm. 

When he hears the familiar chime of his morning alarm, when he opens his eyes and sees beige, he feels a wave of relief. It really had all been a dream. A very realistic one, sure. But a dream all the same. He was awake now, and he was ready to go about his Wednesday schedule— 

Except, when he checks his phone, it says that it’s already Thursday. 

Minghao blinks. How long was he out? Surely one of the boys would’ve dragged him out of bed if he’d been out of commission for twenty-four hours. 

He unlocks his phone to a dozen unread messages. Eyebrows furrowed, he decides to first go with Seungcheol’s texts. 

🍒: myungho  🍒: are you feeling better?  🐸: Hyung, hi. I think I just overslept a bit but I’m feeling ok. 

Despite the early morning, the three dots indicating that Seungcheol is typing pop up. 

🍒: are you sure???  🍒: you had us worried 🐸: Did I really sleep that long?  🍒: i mean, i don’t know how long you slept 🍒: was that the problem? were you hysterical yesterday because of lack of sleep? ㅋㅋㅋ

Suddenly, Minghao’s room feels a lot colder than earlier. Hysterical. That was the word Seungcheol had used. And yesterday— Tuesday? Nothing out of the ordinary had happened to Minghao. It was all the usual; he had practiced, eaten dinner out with Soonyoung, then went home. 

The dream had been the only unusual thing about the day prior. Minghao is jolted when Seungcheol sends another slew of texts. 

🍒: seriously 🍒: i was worried i might have to bring you to the hospital or something 🍒: but you say you’re ok now? 

Minghao can’t help it anymore. He dials Seungcheol’s number and puts the phone to his ear, his heart pounding in his chest all the while. 

Seungcheol answers on the first ring. In lieu of a greeting, Minghao jumps straight into “Was I really— hysterical, yesterday?” 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When Seungcheol speaks, he still sounds a touch gruff, like he’s only half-awake. “I mean, kind of. What, are you worried about it? Do you need help apologizing to Mingyu?” 

Apologizing to Mingyu? “What— is Mingyu mad at me?” 

“Uh.” There’s some sounds of shuffling on the other end, as if Seungcheol is sitting up. It’s a pretty clear giveaway of his growing concern. “You might have to ask him that. But, Hao— you sure you’re better?”

Minghao swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know where to start without sounding insane.

“I think I’m still feeling a bit off,” Minghao says weakly. “Must be the flu or something.” 

“I can come over.” 

“No, no. I think I just need some rest.” 

Seungcheol lets out a contemplative hum. “Alright,” he says, though he doesn’t sound all too convinced. “I’ll keep the boys off your back for the day. Text me if you need anything, and maybe text Mingyu when you can.” 

“Text Mingyu,” Minghao repeats absentmindedly. “Yeah, got it.” 

The call ends without anything more. Minghao stays seated in his bed for a long moment, just staring at the call log. 

Seungcheol had called him hysterical. Mingyu was upset with him. 

Something was definitely not right. 

Minghao’s suspicion is only confirmed when he goes to check the texts he’d gotten from other members.

🐯: need to call u about choreo but preferably u dont yell at me this time 😒 let me know when’s a good time  🐱: Are u ok? Or did u actually ditch me for our dinner (bec if then, wtf)  🦖: i’ve been in the practice room for an hour now!!!!!! Where are you!!!

If Minghao wasn’t already sitting down, he might’ve collapsed. 

He yelled at Soonyoung. He ditched Jun and Chan. 

He had no memory of any of that. 

But he remembers the shattered carafe, the seaweed soup, the shrill shrieks of ‘Boss Man’ in his ear. 

For a moment, he’s convinced he’s just in another version of the same dream— except, this time, it looks a lot more like a nightmare. As Minghao finally musters up the energy to get to his feet, he notices something at the foot of his bed. 

He unfurls the folded piece of paper. The handwriting isn’t anything he’s seen before. His eyes inadvertently skip to the very bottom, and his heart nearly stops in his damn chest. Minghao drops the paper like it had physically burnt him. 

“What the fuck,” he mumbles to himself as he scrambles to his feet, as he puts distance between himself and the now-discarded paper. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.” 

At the very end of the handwritten letter had been a name. 

The name that had been uttered by his dreamself’s mother. The name that ‘Boss Man’ had shrieked. A name he hadn’t heard before yesterday, before his dream— 

Minghao is finding it increasingly hard to believe that it had been a dream in the first place. Hell, he doesn’t even know what ‘yesterday’ is anymore. 

He paces his room. He does breathing exercises. He brews half a pot of tea. 

None of it helps. Hours later— with all his texts still unanswered and his tea depleted— Minghao stumbles back to the letter. 

I don’t know who you are, it starts. But I can tell you who I am. 

I’m from Umyeon-deong in Seocho. I live with my mother; my father hasn’t been in the picture for a long time. I work as an editorial assistant for a local newspaper. (It’s not exactly what I want to be doing, although that’s a story for another day.) 

For a big part of today, I thought I was dreaming. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back in my bedroom, but the hours have ticked by and I’m still here. Your friends keep contacting you. It’s driving me insane. I accidentally yelled at two of them because they wouldn’t stop calling. The Mingyu one got really upset about it, I think. Sorry. 

I’m writing this because I don’t know what else to do. If this is nothing but a dream, then this shouldn’t matter. But in the 0.000000001% chance that something truly insane has happened to me and you? Well, at least now you know. 

I’m going to try and go to sleep now, although I must admit: You have some pretty nice stuff. I ate some of your tea and snacks (sorry, again). This is crazy. None of this makes sense. 

The letter unceremoniously ends there. Minghao’s eyes flick again to the signoff, to the name at the very bottom. 

Your name. 

His head is reeling. He feels like he’s going to be sick. 

This is no coincidence, no practical joke. It’s— as you’ve said— truly something insane happening. 

Minghao is struck with the realization that it just might happen again, and this time, he actually does get sick. He ends up hurling into a trash can. 

After brushing his teeth, chugging some water, and running through one too many of the chips in his pantry, Minghao gets back to the letter. 

It’s still there, in his hands. The stationary that was locked away in his drawer, bearing handwriting that is not his. 

None of the boys would pull off a prank as elaborate as this. Minghao is fairly certain he would’ve noticed if any of them snuck in, too. So, now, the only logical explanation was the one that was left. 

And Minghao really didn’t like that explanation. 

For what feels like forever, he contemplates what to do. He considers calling up Seungcheol again. He debates the merits of apologizing to Mingyu and Soonyoung; he decides against it when he realizes he wouldn’t even know what he’s apologizing for. He knows what to say to Jun and Chan at least, but that doesn’t make it any easier. How would Minghao even begin to justify himself? Hey, sorry for ditching you; I think I body swapped with a complete stranger. Let’s grab dinner tonight instead? 

There’s a headache blossoming behind Minghao’s eyes at the mere thought of putting the words out into existence. 

In the end, he does what he deems to be the easiest thing to do. He picks up a pen and writes on the other side of your letter. 

Hello, he begins. I’m The8 Myungho Minghao. 

I’m an idol who’s part of a group called SEVENTEEN. They’re the friends who keep contacting me. Mingyu is a fellow member and good friend of mine. I’ll talk to him. 

My family is in a different country. 

As Minghao goes on to write the next parts, he feels a bit foolish. He doesn’t really know what to say, though he feels like he should say something. You had given him something to work with, after all. Slivers of context. He should be able to do the same for you. 

I met your mother. She’s nice. 

I talked to your boss. He wasn’t happy. He yelled at you (me?), and I may or may not have put down the phone. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what your work was so I ended up not going at all. 

I hope you liked the tea. Feel free to have all the snacks you want. 

And you’re right. This is crazy. 

If I’m lucky, you’ll never need this letter. 

Minghao wakes up on Friday to the realization that he is decidedly unlucky.

The loud alarm is back, and the ceiling is dark green again, and Minghao once again leans over to throw up. Luckily, there’s a bedside garbage bin that comes to the rescue. 

There’s no sun this time. It’s fairly gloomy outside, the overcast skies peeking through the windows. 

Minghao immediately notices that there’s a folded piece of paper on the pillow next to him. He unfurls it so fast that he almost tears it in half. 

This is a precaution, you start. Maybe, come tomorrow, I can just chuck this out and chalk it all up to a one-off freak incident. 

The thought of this phenomenon not being a one-off nearly has bile rising up in Minghao’s throat all over again, but he forces himself to read the rest of your words. 

First off, I guess I should thank you. My room has never been this clean in my life! And you should have seen the look on my mother’s face when she saw that ‘I’ cleaned the entire apartment. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was possessed, for the lack of better term, by someone who is a much better person than me. 

That almost makes Minghao smile. Almost, because the next part sends a pang of guilt through him. 

Secondly, though, you almost cost me my job. I can’t believe you hung up on my boss, Donghyuk. I had to do some serious damage control. I managed to get today off, just in case. 

Minghao is struck by your foresight and, adversely, his absolute lack of it. The most he had to do was appease a sulky Mingyu and message back the rest of the boys. His brain races to figure out if he has any schedules for— Friday, was it? A practice, maybe. Or a recording. 

Either way, he’s screwed. You’re screwed. 

Minghao his face in one hand and quietly prays that you know how to dance. 

He skims over the rest of your letter. 

I don’t know why this is a thing. I don’t know if it is meant to be a thing. I’m going to try and look for some answers, whether or not I wake up as you/myself. 

Wish me luck. 

A small part of Minghao feels a tug at the thought of both of you ending your letters with the concept of luck. That feeling is quickly replaced by something akin to dread, because he’s fairly convinced that this is no longer a dream. 

Minghao has woken up in a body that isn’t his. Minghao has woken up in your body— the body of a person he’s sure he’s never met.

He has to live a day in your life with nothing to go by but the notes you’ve left and a handful of context clues. 

For a moment, Minghao contemplates just going back to sleep. Maybe if the both of you just slept right now, the switch would trigger. Maybe he could just spend the whole day in bed until you have to swap again.

The latter seems like the best idea until knuckles rap against the bedroom door. 

Your mother pops her head through the crack in the door. “I’m going to leave early today. The rain isn’t looking so good,” she says with a slight grimace. 

Minghao glances out the window. It’s all he can do, really, to keep himself from not going insane then and there. 

“Take care,” he says. 

He’s suddenly acutely aware of your voice— the cadence and timbre of it. He knows what you sound like, how you write, and he wonders how the two might combine. What might be the right thing to say in this situation. 

Because your mother has that look again, that openly dubious expression. 

“Are you alright?” she asks cautiously, not quite stepping into the bedroom just yet. 

A flash of panic rises up in Minghao. What would you say? What would you do? 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His tone’s just a little haughty now. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Minghao nearly winces, but he persists. “Go on, don’t get caught in the rain.” 

Your mother lets out a huff of a laugh, mumbling something like ‘ungrateful kid’ as she retreats. Despite that, it seems to work; she takes her leave without another protest. Minghao lets out a shaky breath.  

His— your stomach, really— lets out a low grumble. A part of him wonders if you’ve been just on edge as he’s been. Unable to eat properly, losing sleep over this whole thing. 

Regardless, the least he can do is take care of you. He pads over to the kitchen and rummages through the refrigerator for some leftovers. All the while, he’s thinking of what he has in his own kitchen. 

Will you be hungry? You did say you liked his snacks. Would that be enough? 

The questions rattling in his head turn into considerably more stressful ones. 

Is this going to happen forever? Will he have to spend the rest of his life swapping bodies with you on a day-to-day basis?

He thinks of the group, thinks of your mother. Thinks of his demanding job and your terrible boss. 

Minghao nearly panics again. He manages to keep it together enough to make a sandwich and sip some coffee. 

He tries to meditate, even, but it’s like your body knows that it’s not a practice that you frequent. Your hands twitch in the stillness; your heart only slams harder instead of calming. You need to catch a goddamn break, Minghao thinks as he grits his teeth and tries to relax. 

Something good comes out of his attempt, at least. It comes as an epiphany of some sorts— how he suddenly remembers a portion of your letter. 

I’m going to try and look for some answers, you had written. 

He might as well do the same. 

Once he’s changed into outerwear that’s slightly more acceptable for the rainy weather, he spends a good amount of time searching for your wallet. When he goes to check it, he inadvertently lets out a grumbled “damn.”

Your wallet has nothing but a couple of loose bills. 

Minghao can’t blame you, not really, but you’re certainly giving him very little to work with. A part of him even feels kind of bad for you. Not only did you have a demon for a boss; you were also severely underpaid. He makes a mental note to bring that up in his next letter to you. 

He can’t go far with the lack of funds, though that’s not the only thing hindering his quest for answers. It’s pouring outside, the rain coming in heavy droplets. 

Minghao braves it with a raincoat and an umbrella, hoping against hope to find something. Anything. 

As luck would have it, your neighborhood has a local library. 

When he steps in, the librarian doesn’t pay him much heed. Minghao is momentarily amused by the thought. Did you not come here often? 

It’s a quaint place with a scarce collection. A lot of the novels are on the older end— published nearly a decade ago— but they remain in pristine condition. Minghao skips over the best-sellers and the manga serieses, instead opting to sift through the psychology textbooks. 

He’s not surprised when he doesn’t find anything of use there, when he spends nearly four hours reading and reading to no avail. The lack of non-fiction about a body swapping phenomenon is to be expected. This wasn’t something that just happened, after all. 

And yet it’s happening to me, Minghao thinks with frustration as he grabs at his sixth book of the afternoon. The unexpected force knocks some of the surrounding books onto the floor. 

The librarian gives him a vicious side eye. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Minghao mumbles as he immediately gets to his knees. 

His hands close around one of the books he knocked over. It’s a heavy hardbound with a gorgeous deep red cover and metallic gold lettering. There’s a dragon featured on the front and the familiar iconography of it nearly bowls Minghao over. 

While still crouched down on the floor, Minghao flips through the pages. The images that go flashing by are not strangers to him, but there’s one in particular that he’s looking for. 

He finds it on the thirtieth page. Almost out of instinct, his fingers trace over the characters. 

月老. Yue Lao. 

Suddenly, Minghao is a child again, listening to his mother’s stories. He had been young and wide-eyed, sprawled on her lap as she talked soothingly about the god who presented himself as an old man under the moon.  

The god of marriage and love. He’s the reason why your bàba and I met, his mother would say amusedly. Yue Lao made it possible. 

How? His younger self had demanded. How did he make sure? 

His mother had laughed, then. Had stroked Minghao’s hair out of his face as she told him about the myth. The magical cord may stretch or tangle, but it will never break. 

And, oh, how Minghao had prayed back then. He prayed to Yue Lao the hardest— his eyes squeezed shut, his hands clasped to his chest. 

I hope I find love. 

It doesn’t matter when, or where, or how. 

Qǐng, Yue Lao. Please, please, please. 

“Are you going to check that out or what?” 

Minghao is dragged out of his memories at the sound of the librarian’s sharp tone. “I—” 

The words stick in his throat. Eventually, he manages a meek, “I’ll put it back.”

It’s still pouring as he leaves the library and makes the short walk back to your apartment. The rainwater pooling in the gutters has muck and grime sticking to the bottom of his— technically your— rain boots. Another thing to apologize for, Minghao thinks wryly. 

He seeks temporary shelter underneath the corner store near your apartment block. The vendor looks up expectantly. 

“The usual?” the woman croaks, and it takes a moment for Minghao to register that he’s being addressed.  

“Not today,” he responds with a tight smile. 

The vendor lets out a bark of laughter. “When have you ever said ‘no’ to me?” she says with a tut of disapproval. Before Minghao can protest, the stranger is already shuffling over to her cooking station. 

Minghao watches in silence when he realizes what’s being made. Some fruit is speared onto a bamboo skewer, then dipped into a simmering syrup. It emerges coated like a clear gemstone before it’s shoved into a bowl of ice. 

Tanghulu, Minghao thinks dazedly as he accepts the snack. “Thank you,” he says softly.

The vendor smiles. She’s already missing a couple of teeth. 

Minghao takes a tentative bite. Tanghulu was a familiar enough delicacy, but the fruit he'd been given— your ‘usual’— is something he hasn't seen in quite some time. 

The date-plum persimmon is soft and glutinous, wrapped in a thin layer of crisp sweetness. Minghao can't remember the last time he had black jujube this way. 

“You’re still the only one who likes that stuff.” There’s an edge of fondness to the vendor’s tone. A clear indicator that you have some sort of camaraderie with her, something that Minghao isn’t entirely privy to. “Do you know how hard it is to find stock of that darn fruit?” 

It seems like a rhetorical question, like something that you’d probably take in stride. But Minghao can’t bring himself to joke. His free hand is already fishing for your wallet, where he’s prepared to blow the last of your money on this dessert. 

The vendor shakes her head. “Not today,” she chirps, echoing Minghao’s words from earlier. Her gaze is fixed over his shoulder, where the downpour is relentless. 

Minghao is not quite sure what the norm is supposed to be. Do the two of you talk? Do you leave right after you’ve made your purchase? 

He doesn’t want to be rude, so he mumbles his gratitude and decides to stick around for a moment. The vendor thankfully chooses not to make conversation. 

Minghao spends a long time just standing there, making slow work of the sticky date-plum. He watches the rain that never lets up. He watches the lights of your apartment building flicker on as night falls. He watches, and he tries to commit it to memory as he finishes off his tanghulu. 

For what it’s worth, he’s glad to ‘share’ this with you— something sweet to get the both of you by. 

Come Saturday, Minghao wakes up with more questions than answers.

Your letter is within reach, resting atop his bedside table. He goes to read it despite the fact that he’s barely lucid. 

It’s shorter this time. If he strained, he could almost hear the words in your voice. A distant echo. 

I can’t believe you’re actually an idol. Have you met BIGBANG? 

That draws a surprised laugh out of him. It’s been years since he last heard of his industry seniors. The thought of you being a second gen fan is a little endearing to him. 

Anyway, I told everyone who contacted you that you were really sick. Like, throwing up levels of sick. ‘Coups-hyung’ said he would send a manager, but I assured him that you already had one on the way. You might want to corroborate that lie. 

I know I said I would look for answers, but I couldn’t really go far. I was scared of getting lost. And, man, your neighborhood is overwhelming. I’ve lived in Seoul my whole life and I don’t think I’ve ever been in this part of the city. 

I ended up spending most of my day just reading your books. Good taste. 

The compliment puts the smallest grin on his face.   

I promise to do better research when I’m back in my own body. ‘Till then. 

As curt as your letter is, it gives him an idea he probably wouldn’t have had otherwise. Better research. Back in his own body.

He fishes for your first letter, which he had kept tucked in his drawer. It’s still there, which means the past couple of days have not been a bout of psychosis. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or horrified. 

Minghao focuses instead on scanning your introduction, where you had mentioned your neighborhood. Umyeon-deong. 

While he’s in the back of the cab, Minghao texts back his members. He’s vague, still, but it’s not anything particularly new. Feeling a little better. Getting a check-up, just in case. Stop worrying. I’ll let you know how it goes. 

The heat is oppressive for July, almost beating down on Minghao’s back as he finally makes it to the district. It’s a full 180 from yesterday’s rain. He regrets the baseball cap and the hoodie, but both are necessary evils. 

He’s not entirely sure where to drop off, so he settles for one of the corners at the mouth of the neighborhood. Once he’s there, he just— begins to walk in a general direction.

Later, he realizes he probably could have pulled up Google Maps. He would have benefited from asking around, would have cut his time in half if he deigned to admit that he was lost. But, at the moment, he’s just taking it all in. 

The apartment complexes. The children’s park. The liquor store. 

Briefly, he wonders if he’ll run into you. Would you recognize him? 

Would he even want you to? 

Minghao is so busy mulling it over that he almost misses it. The streetside food stand advertising fresh tanghulu. It feels like yesterday— well, it was yesterday. His mouth is already watering at the thought of the candied date-plums as he wanders over to the stand. 

A rasping voice addresses him. He looks up from scanning the selection, realizing with a jolt that it’s the same vendor.

But it’s also— not. 

Something is off. 

Something he can’t quite place.

It almost steals the breath out of Minghao. He probably looks dumbstruck, looks stupid with his mouth hanging slightly agape, but the vendor asks again, “What do you want?”

Minghao forces an answer out of his chest. “Do you have— black jujube?”

A myriad of micro expressions flash across the seller’s face. It starts with recognition, but ends with something closer to tightness. She gives a labored grunt in response before going to make the snack. 

When she hands it over to Minghao, there’s a slight quiver in her fingers. She nearly drops it, even, but Minghao catches it just in time. 

“Sorry,” she grouses. “It’s an order that a regular of mine used to have.” 

There’s a low ringing in Minghao’s ears as he says “ah,” as he hands over his payment. The vendor busies herself with cleaning her workstation, and Minghao tries to enjoy the date-plums, but it’s not as good as he remembers it. 

Was it perhaps a difference in taste buds? 

No, he thinks. It’s the lump in his throat. It’s the seller’s words nagging at the back of his mind. 

An order that a regular of mine used to have. Used to. 

He saw her yesterday. You were supposed to have seen her yesterday. 

As he munches on the fruit, he asks almost too casually, “Is it your first time selling in this area?” 

The vendor shoots him a suspicious glare. Minghao knows he’s being a little odd with the line of his small talk so he fields his question, tries to make it come out more naturally. “I remember you used to have a spot somewhere else,” he offers. “In front of an apartment building.”

This time, it’s the seller’s turn to mumble “ah.” 

“That’s why you had that order,” she says with a humorless laugh. “You knew them, huh?” 

“Them?” 

The vendor says your name. The ringing in Minghao’s ear gets louder; his fingers, tightening around the skewer of his tanghulu. It’s the first time he’s hearing your name in his own body and it sends a shiver down his spine. 

The question is even harder to answer. Does he know you? Was he allowed to say that?—

No. No, wait. The vendor had said knew. 

The ringing reaches an almost feverish pitch. It’s a miracle that Minghao hears anything else, that he picks up the murmured words that the seller says next.  

“It’s a real shame,” she says with a voice so soft, so solemn, so small. “It’s been nine years, hasn’t it?” 

Nine years.

Nine years. 

Nine years. 

Since what? Since you? 

A lot of things haven’t made sense to Minghao in the past couple of days, but this— this is the one that baffles him the most. He saw you— he was you— yesterday. 

When Minghao finally finds his voice, it’s to ask for a favor. 

The vendor complies, albeit skeptically. She hangs a ‘be right back’ sign over her stall. It’s a short walk, not more than seven minutes. 

If Minghao’s ears had been ringing earlier, now, it’s just dead silence. A dreadful sort of quiet as he stares at the ruins of the apartment building he was staring at just the day before. 

The seller is watching his face carefully. “You didn’t know?” she prompts gently. 

Minghao realizes he has to come up with something. “We were friends. Me and—” He chokes around your name. When he finally says it out loud for the first time, he feels guilty. It feels so wrong to be saying it in this context. To have it be part of a lie. “But then—” 

He trails off. The vendor supplies, “You lost touch?” 

Sure. Minghao gives a jerky nod in response. That’s one way to put it. 

He’s not even looking for an explanation, but the seller gives him one. “The typhoon was so bad that it triggered landslides,” she says gruffly. She nods towards the direction of the mountain towering over the neighborhood. “I think the death toll was around eighteen people.” 

Minghao resists the urge to scream. If he were a lesser man, he might have fainted. Instead, he quietly says, “Nine years ago.” 

“Nine years ago,” the vendor confirms. She pauses before adding, her voice just a little sadder, “A tragedy.” 

“Tragedy,” Minghao repeats. That doesn’t even begin to cover it, he thinks. 

Neither of them say anything for a long time. He can feel the pity rolling off the seller in waves; still, he can’t bring himself to turn away. He stares, and he stares, and he stares at the rubble, at the derelict building. At the mere echo of what had been so loud and alive to him just yesterday.

After what feels like forever, he asks another question. “Is— is the library still around?” 

The vendor leads the way. At the door of the library, she attempts to give Minghao a reassuring smile. It’s all just gums, now. No teeth. There’s an endless refrain of nine years, nine years, nine years screeching through Minghao’s head as the seller bids him goodbye with “I’m sorry you lost your friend.” 

“I’m sorry, too,” he responds with a solemnity that doesn’t need to be feigned. 

The librarian isn’t the same one. 

This one has a calmer demeanor, a more restrained smile. Somehow, that only makes Minghao feel much worse. He knows what he’s looking for this time; he goes straight to the neighborhood records and scrolls all the way back to nine years ago. 2015. 

It’s a lot of information to digest all at once. There’s the newspaper clippings about the heavy rainfall. The flash floods, the landslides. Class action lawsuits. Landmine threats. Government incompetence. 

Minghao feels like he’s drowning in news, but it’s still not what he’s looking for. 

He finds it in a directory. There’s two people with the same last name and Minghao nearly loses it then and there, at the thought of your mother, too— 

He focuses on you for now. His quivering finger traces the cell that contains your name, your date of birth. 1997. The same year as him. A couple of months younger, though. 

Nine years ago, Minghao had been 18. Just about to debut. 

Nine years ago, you had been an editorial assistant. Not exactly what I want to be doing, you had written in your first letter to him. There was no way for you to know that you would never have the chance to be anything more.  

Minghao’s eyes fall on the date of death. 

Except— 

It’s not nine years ago yesterday, not nine years ago today. It’s tomorrow. 

In that very moment, he understands what he’s meant to do. 

When Minghao wakes up in your body on Sunday, he knows he has only one chance. 

He had read up all about it the ‘day’ prior but the details were vague. None of the news reports mentioned when exactly the landslide would happen. The most he gleamed was that it would be due to an unstable slope from the nearby Mount Umyeon. 

A wall of mud three storeys high hit the building, one article had said. It’s the only information that Minghao has to go by as he drags himself out of bed, ignoring the blare of your obnoxious alarm. 

He goes straight for your mother’s room. She’s already awake, standing by the window. 

Outside, the storm rages on. Your mother turns to face Minghao. “It’s not looking good out there,” she says disapprovingly. “The news said it’s the heaviest rainfall in nearly a century.” 

Back in his body, Minghao had contemplated how he would go about this. He thought he might try to coax your mother, might be logical and rational in urging her to evacuate. 

In that very moment, though, he instead finds himself blurting out, “We’re going to die.” 

A beat. Your mother looks unfazed. 

“You’re always so dramatic.” 

The panic simmers in the pit of Minghao’s stomach. “We’re going to die,” he repeats, his tone on the shriller end now. 

It wasn’t like him to give in to hysteria; he was you, though, and your mother seemed nonchalant enough about it. He’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. “It’s just a little bit of rain,” your mother says dismissively as she squeezes past Minghao and heads towards the kitchen. 

Minghao is on her heels, his hands wringing together. “We can’t stay here,” he pleads. “We have to leave.” 

Your mother shoots Minghao— you— an exasperated look. “Where are we going to go in this weather?” 

“No. No, no. We have to go somewhere safe.” 

“We’re safe here—” 

“We’re not—”

It’s almost like a crack of thunder, the way your mother says your name. The sound shuts Minghao up immediately. It’s a familiar warning, an intonation that all mothers seem to wield over their children.

“What’s going on with you, really?” your mother questions, her hands at her hips. She’s eyeing Minghao with mild annoyance but he sees it for what it is. Concern. “You’ve been so odd these past few days. Is there something you’re not telling me?” 

And how is Minghao supposed to answer that? 

I’m not actually your child. I’ve swapped bodies with a man who lives nine years in the future. Our survival hinges on whether or not you’ll hear me out. 

When Minghao stays silent for a little too long, your mother shakes her head. “Get it together,” she says sternly. 

Maybe it’s that. Maybe that’s what finally gets Minghao to say—

“Please.” 

Your mother pauses in the middle of rifling through the refrigerator. For a long, terrible moment, the only sound is the rain. 

Minghao’s hands are shaking at his side. “Please,” he repeats. He knows he sounds more like himself than you. He knows he’s being out of character, being obvious. 

But he needs your mother to understand. She’s looking at him now like he’s a stranger. 

Like you’re a stranger. And you are— at least in that moment. 

The words tumble out of Minghao before he can contain them. “I want to live.”

He doesn’t know where it’s all coming from, this rush of emotion. Your voice wavers; he pushes on. “I want to live,” he gasps out. “I want to move us to an apartment that’s not next to a damn mountain. I want to not work in this damn job. I want to live until I’m your age, until I’m even older than that, dammit—” 

Your mother crosses the room, the refrigerator long forgotten. When she raises a hand to Minghao’s face, he doesn’t even realize that some tears had escaped. 

These are all things he wants for you, he realizes.

He wants you to have a good job. He wants you and your mother to be out of harm’s way. He wants you to live a long, full life. 

“Please,” Minghao says a third time, his voice cracking around the word.

There’s a softness to your mother’s gaze; this time, her worry is undeniable. She holds Minghao’s face— no, he thinks. She’s holding your face. Her child’s face. Her child, who’s crying, who’s begging. 

That’s likely the reason why she acquiesces. “Alright,” she exhales, using her thumb to wipe away some of Minghao’s tears. “We’ll leave. We’ll go.”

That’s only half the battle, though. 

Minghao mutters something below his breath. Your mother raises her eyebrows in a silent question, and so he clears his throat before speaking louder. 

“We have to evacuate the entire building,” he mumbles. 

It takes time to convince your mother, which stresses Minghao out beyond belief. Time isn’t a luxury that he has. Not when he has no idea when the landslide will hit. Not when the rain is only worsening, making it less likely to persuade people to leave the comfort of their homes.

By some grace, he manages to get your mother on board. Sure, he had to spew odd specifics and statistics about the dangers of landslides, but it works. The two go door to door. 

They’re met with initial resistance. Minghao doesn’t care. 

He badgers the elderly. He negotiates with the children. He almost gets to his knees when a family with a baby refuses to budge. 

The entire apartment complex is bewildered. 

But when somebody is batting so hard for safety, when somebody is so desperate in what seems to be just a little more than paranoia— you listen. 

The landslide hits just as Minghao is helping the last resident out of the building. 

He’s never felt anything quite like it. He’s experienced earthquakes and their aftershocks. He’s been in stadiums that have shook with the sheer amount of people, the pulse of their music. 

This one starts with a rumble. Low and deep, like it’s coming from the very ground. He hears the trees crack, the boulders knock together. And then— 

Your mother is grabbing him by the arm. She’s screaming, screaming, screaming, the sound drowned out by the storm, by the shrieks of all the other evacuated residents, by the mud that suddenly crashes down on the complex in one fell swoop. It’s everything, everywhere, all at once. 

Minghao is soaked from head to toe. Some of the mud flies and sticks to his hair, his clothes. He can almost taste it, too. The earth. The rain. He feels the chill to his very bones.

Despite that, he laughs. Your mother is dragging him, you, away from the calamity, the tragedy, and all that Minghao can do is laugh. 

Because he made sure that no one was left in the building. 

Because he’s alive. 

You’re alive. 

Later, when everyone is gathered in an evacuation center— shivering underneath blankets, talking about how it was all such a close call— Minghao falls asleep at your mother’s side. He feels like a kid again, with his hair being stroked, with soft words being uttered to him. 

He drifts off and dreams. 

Minghao is sure that this is a dream because his surroundings take on the hazy quality of one. 

It’s just a little too bright to be real, the setting bathed in a light that feels almost like a bulb had exploded. Minghao has to put one hand over his eyes— 

It’s his hand, he realizes. He’s dreaming as himself.

His sight adjusts. He’s at a dining table. It’s a two-person dining table. Much smaller than he’s used to.

“It’s you.”

He drops his hand and braces it against the edge of the table, because your voice— he should be used to it, shouldn’t he? He had used it for a bit, formed words like sorry and thank you with a lilting tone. 

When he responds, his own words are imperceptibly soft. 

“It’s me,” he confirms. 

You’re seated across from him. He had caught glimpses of your features in reflections, in photographs, but it’s something entirely new. To be taking you in from an outsider’s perspective. He sees how you would control your body, how you were inclined to react. It makes him dizzy, just how much he had gotten wrong about your mannerisms. 

The first proper words you speak are, “You have some good friends, you know?” 

A corner of Minghao’s lip twitches upward. The thought of the boys constantly checking in on him seems about right. 

“And you have a good mother.” Minghao pauses. He did say he would mention the next part. “Terrible job, though. You should quit.” 

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Idol,” you shoot right back. 

He winces; you laugh. The sound has the edges of his vision growing fuzzy. A sepia of the past, the present, and whatever this moment is, all blurring into one. Minghao doesn’t want to wake up. 

“What happens now?” you ask, your own fingers tap, tap, tapping on the table between you two. 

“I’m not sure.” 

“Why—?” 

“— Did this happen in the first place?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ve wondered the same thing.” 

The edges are closing in a little more now. Minghao can feel it— the familiar warmth of his bed at home, the tug of his own time. He’s already asked so much from his mother’s old gods but he lets his eyes flutter close so he can make a final plea. 

Just one more minute. Give me one more minute, please. 

“I think…” he starts slowly. His voice already sounds so distant. “It’s my fault.” 

“Your fault.” Skepticism undercuts your tone, enough to prompt Minghao to open his eyes again. 

He looks down at his hands, the ones that had folded atop the table. “I prayed for you,” he admits quietly. “Every day, back when I was a kid.” 

Confusion drips from your every word. “For me specifically?” 

He laughs. “Okay, maybe not you specifically,” he amends. “But—” 

It’s getting unbearably bright now, so much that he can only really make out the silhouette of your form. He itches to reach, to touch, just to see if you’re real. He doesn’t want to push it, though. 

Minghao settles with holding up his hand. If you squinted, if you really, really tried, you might see it, too. 

The faint glimmer of a red cord— looped around his thumb, tied to your pinky. 

Every day, back when I was a kid. 

“I prayed for this,” he repeats.

And so, in some way, he supposes you’re right. 

He had prayed for you. 

The chime of bells. 

The beige ceiling. 

Minghao is fairly sure he had dreamt, but it’s the kind of dream you forget the moment you wake up.

He blinks once, then twice. Odd. It felt like a good dream, too. 

There’s a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoming in his chest, though it fades just as quickly as it blooms. 

Minghao never wakes up as you again. 

The universe takes, and takes, and takes. It takes away Minghao’s memory. He’s not entirely sure what happened to him those couple of days. Seungcheol says he went to the hospital. Mingyu laments that they fought. 

Minghao borrows one of Soonyoung’s favorite words. Funk. He had been in a funk, probably. An off couple of days.

He’s back to regular programming so seamlessly that the others are forced to believe him. 

Still—

Minghao goes about the next couple of weeks feeling like something is missing. 

It annoys him to no end. It’s not any of his valuables, he’s sure. He double, triple checked everything. He turns his entire apartment upside down and puts it back together again. He goes for meals with all of his members, hoping to find the answers there. 

Nothing.

He falls into dreamless sleep every night, and wakes up every morning with that empty feeling in his chest.

It’s an unassuming Wednesday evening— one that he spends driving around with Vernon and Wonwoo— when it hits him. 

“Hey,” he says, throwing them a glance through the rearview mirror. “I could go for some dessert.”  

Vernon perks up at that. “Should we head to Myeongdeong?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Vernon throws out directions. Wonwoo queues the music. 

Minghao keeps his eyes on the road ahead.

The night market is an assault on the senses but it’s also a good cover for the three idols. They set out with their matching hoodies and half-face masks, in search of something to fulfill their cravings. 

Vernon goes to get some dragon’s beard candy. 

Wonwoo wanders off to purchase some hotteok. 

Minghao… He isn’t sure, really, which is a bit ironic. He had been the one to make the call, after all. He weaves through the crowds, his hands in his jacket pockets, as he scrutinizes the stalls. 

Kkwabaegi. Bungeoppang. Tanghulu. Dalgona. Bing—

He backs up a bit. 

“Hi,” he greets the seller. “This is a bit weird, but do you have black jujube?” 

The tanghulu vendor lets out a grunt of approval. “I think I’ve got one more stick,” she notes as he ducks to check her stock. 

What a weird craving, Minghao thinks to himself. But it’s the first thing that came to mind. 

A voice at his side addresses the seller by name.

“Got my date-plum persimmon, ajumma?” 

It’s not a voice that Minghao has heard before, and yet—

Frantically, he tries to sort through the hundreds of fansigns and fan meetings he’s had in the past decade. Could it be that? Could that be the reason why the lilt was so damn familiar? 

As he turns to look at the source, he knows in his heart of hearts that it’s not the case.

You’re already turning away, though, grumbling about the lack of the tanghulu that you want. Minghao hadn’t even heard the vendor respond.

There’s a ringing in his ears. 

“Excuse me,” he manages.

You falter in your steps. When you look up at him, he sees the same flash of confusion. One that’s borne out of recognition. 

The ringing has gotten louder. Despite that, he pushes out three words. 

He thinks he’s yelling them; in reality, they’re barely audible over the din of the night market. 

“Haven’t we met?” he breathes. 

For one dreadful, dragging moment, he’s convinced he’ll die if you say no, even though his mind is being terribly uncooperative. He can’t place when, or where, or how he met you. He can’t say if you’re familiar because he knows you or someone like you. 

All he knows is that he can’t, won’t let you walk away.

Your response makes everything in Minghao’s head go quiet. 

“I thought so, too,” you say, and something in his chest thrums. 

It feels a lot like an answered prayer. 

[pins-junkyard]

So recently I've discovered someone I've befriended on the Foamstars discord had a Tumblr which I followed but they lost access to it and it was a Cortex blog.

And recently I've checked cuz I remember seeing them in my notifs once

and they interacted with my meme I have here on pins-junkyard

Their quote-rb is still there

I'm actually so fucking glad it's them cuz. Oh lird.

[ Spencer don't read after this cuz it might trigger you ]

I'm always and still so scared to interact with the Crash Bandicoot community cuz I'm scared its one of the ppl that caused me n some of my old friends problems. I feel like half the community is my enemy and for past things everyone would block me on sight. Man I just wanna see my Cortex :(

Some ppl are gone and for GOOD I'm glad they block me first

[ollie-m-draws]

tagged by @buffyjackets , ty for the tag! :3

RULES: list 8 tv shows to get to know me better! but im going to break the rules and list 10, because i cannot help myself. btw, #1 truly is #1, but the rest are not ordered in any particular fashion

bojack horseman. this might come as a surprise because i hardly ever rb anything about it but this is probably the show that has had the biggest impact on me as a person. i could go on and on and on and on about how meaningful this show is to me

buffy the vampire slayer. i watched it first when i was a preteen, but now i'm rewatching it and it really has a chokehold on me lol.

the wilds. im devastated that it was cancelled. i love those girls. rip my silly little island show

orphan black. rachel duncan you will always be famous <3 also helena, mika, beth, sarah, and krystal

killing eve. simply pretend season 4 does not exist, and everything is fine. season 3's finale actually is a really good ending

doctor who. like btvs, i watched this first when i was a preteen. unlike btvs, it did not take me until several years later for it to rewire my brain.

la casa de papel. i just like seeing a fucked-up found family doing crimes together lol

yellowjackets. something that almost all of the shows on this list have in common is that they contain fucked-up women. this show has a high concentration of them, so it's an easy pick

the L word. i'll be honest that i have not rewatched this since i was like 13, but i DO remember bits and pieces very well, and it has so many iconic characters & quotes. jenny schecter is so unpalatable and i love that for her

dead like me. this is a bryan fuller show from like 2002 about a girl who becomes a grim reaper. fuller is more well-known for hannibal and pushing daisies, but this is the one i was obsessed with as a teen. (i think there's also an episode of hannibal that's like...a stealth crossover or a shoutout to dead like me? idk i haven't seen hannibal.) it definitely uses some...outdated language...but i think it still otherwise holds up decently well. it's funny and profound and i love love love daisy adair with my whole heart.

tagging: uhhh i am being called away to watch btvs w/ my sibling lol. so, anyone who wants to do this, consider yourself tagged! also note that i fully broke the rules and it was supposed to be 8 shows.

[smoosnoom]

moon moon moon moon moon!!

I can’t stop thinking abt that rb bait and your answer abt what character you associate w/ me. and while I can go on and on abt how I feel abt the Todd comparison (flattered and sobbing and shaking and-), what I’m actually referring to is “or maybe im just begging to be read idk”.

I have genuinely lost sleep just thinking abt that sentence. because maybe you are? maybe I am, and that’s why it feels so good to have it spelled out by someone else? im still not sure what the answer is, but I’ll take a fucking stab at it! (warning, this is being written after an 8 hour shift, on the back of 2 hours of sleep. vaguely incoherent rambling ahead)

let’s consider that we do make ourselves into books, pages splayed open in hopes that someone might take a second to read the scripture written there.

what’s the harm in that? that someone reads your book and doesn’t like it? that one day, someone will come along and read with fervor? delicately turning each page to get even the tiniest details of you tucked into the back of their mind?

to be read, it’s something good I think. if you choose it to be. if you do, in fact, want to be read.

and if you do, I think that’s great. I also think it’s a human trait. something we can all relate to at one point or another. whether you want to be deeply understood by one singular person, or understood by a group, to foster a sense of community. it’s so undeniably human to want connection and understanding and love.

something I think we have to acknowledge as well is the fact that you’re an artist. as an artist myself, I feel emboldened to say that all art is, is a means of connection. it’s saying, “yes, this is me. this is how I feel. this is how I love and how I hate. do you feel like this too? am I alone?” it’s a plea. “tell me I’m not alone”, and you aren’t. somewhere, at sometime, there will be someone who takes your art (be it a book, a painting, a song, etc.) and understands. understands the weight, the gravity, of your feelings so wholly that it takes them aback.

and hey, do you remember that photoset you rebloged abt Ethan Hawke? the one where he’s talking abt poetry? abt how art isn’t a luxury, but rather that it’s sustenance? these things we consume, that make you feel like we’re not so alone, that’s what makes us so, so human.

so do you want to be read? do I? probably. but who’s to say that’s a bad thing?

u know what elijah in those tags i also mentioned u are definitely the introspective thoughtful type and u HAVE COME TO PROVE ME RIGHT 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

"and that’s why it feels so good to have it spelled out by someone else" yes !!!!! that kind of thing where u just want to know how someone else sees u !!!!!! maybe in the fact that my sense of self is as firm standing as a boiled piece of spaghetti fluttering in the wind but . when people let me know their perception of me Oh a shot to the heart !

i think it maybe ties into that terrible human want to be seen and understood . sure its one thing to be noticed but another to be known, and i think taking the time to Read someone is all the more mortifying but i think its also because of that swinging pendulum of whether or not itll come to heal or haunt u, right ? yes yes i think so

also the mentioning of being an artist, ohh that reminds me so much of this one quote !!! i read it in passing and it goes along the lines of "shame is the opposite of art" and u know what . i think that somehow relates because sure theres this embarrassment at being seen but also the hope that someone else sees what u've made and goes Wow me too !

elijah of course i remember it i think about that photoset any time i open a book or reblog some art or share a poem !!!!!!!! of course i do

thank u for dropping this entire ordeal onto me, it gave me lots to think about :) i was very inspired !

[jimmyandthegiraffes]

me experiencing an emotion

[fiymywings]

ahh if youre able to, would you mind sharing some tls of hollow? there’s so little content of him? 😭

absolutely! i'll make a few proper posts with translations once i get the time and energy to (very mentally burnt out right now so basically anything i've already done/am working on at the moment are the most i can muster), but this is sort of an assortment of summaries/from-memory translations for the time being

it's a bit long so it's under a read more but hopefully these can suffice until i get on that

from ch. 2 of his beginning of a dream meister story:

hollow and emma run into someone injured in a back alley, and rush to aid him only for a bystander to mistake hollow as the perpetrator behind several similar attacks, insisting it was him on the basis of him being caught literally red handed. hollow doesn't reply and just dismantles a nearby wheel barrel to become a makeshift . i forgot what they're called but they transport hospital patients and tells him to take the injured guy to help which clears the air up pretty fast. the resulting conversation happens:

Emma: By the way... when that guy said your hands were stained red, what was up with that?

Hollow: ... fufu~

Emma: ?

Hollow: Efufufufu~

Emma: ?????

Hollow: I was enjoying a particularly good drink of pomegranate juice that day. Though, I appear to have been a bit clumsy with disposal.

(i think about this exchange so much. yes she did use ??? in actual dialogue if im remember correctly)

Moon route Ch. 3

after having essentially put down a mechanical hound, he approaches emma and asks for her hand before putting a handmade metal bracelet on her. she asks about the details, and he confirms it was made with some scrap parts from the hound, having wanted to carry the memory of the hound around before she realized he had a matching bracelet (this made me start absolutely losing it btw. absolutely broke the hinges off my metal door)

he also said a REALLY nice quote about hardships and relying on each other but i cant for the life of me remember the baseline of it so i'll rb and tack it onto it

guild home interaction

i don't have the exact tls and because it was a random event it might take a bit for me to get it again to tl but essentially hollow was flipping through a book/magazine, saw an illustration of a mouse, and yelled. emma went to check up on him and tried to calm him down but iirc he ended up bolting despite it just being an illustration

train of remembrance ch 5

hollow sits down next to emma after effese (i dont know how to spell his name sorry if i got it wrong hgfdjb) is settled down by her and they take a moment to look out the window (this one i had written down because i was gushing to someone over discord)

Hollow: Would it be alright if I rested here as well? Emma: Of course! Go ahead. Hollow: Nfu~ Then, please excuse me a moment. If you take your time gazing out there… it's as if just outside the window is but a sky full of stars. Though of course we have our current situation, it begins to feel like we're merely on a journey. Just a bit. Emma: Fufu, looks like it. Hollow: Everyone back at Niji no Kanata too, they're all working very hard, so… Someday, with you invited along as well, I'd like to go on a nice relaxing journey together. Certainly Lagoon will prepare the finest transport available. Emma: Wah, I'm looking forward to it! [ Idling chatting with Hollow, the tension from prior had abruptly relaxed.] Emma: (Such a nice feeling, it's like my shoulders have finally untensed. Hollow… he pretty much controlled the energy in the room, huh?) Hollow: Efesse too, shall we get you sat down somewhere so you may talk too?

he later dropped the bomb he had basically picture perfect memory and could remember stuff even back when he was just a lil baby which is pretty in line with his natural talent of not just dismantling at stupid speed but 1. rapid assembly 2. part recognition (i.e. recalling what part in a machine is what series, what number, what alloy, etc)

some uncategorized stuff:

hollows date lines, i dont remember if its 10+ or 20+ since i have him at 26 but hes talking to the player and says smth along the lines of "we look like lovers? ... ah, that makes me happy"

it's confirmed in his sun route he sort of mentally blacks out upon hearing a clock and has to stop everything in order to dismantle it right away assumedly because of a noise trigger. it's played off for giggles in the main story but it seems outright painful for him in the meister story so i have no idea what's going on there but i believe in ch. 3 emma actually asks about that and he essentially goes "although i'm not sure, i'm sure i'll figure it out eventually!" nonchalantly and emma goes YOURE SO CHILL ABOUT IT?!

i'm not sure how well i would translate it, but he speaks pretty politely/formally! i kinda translate it as the type of speech "OH GOOD HEAVENS!" would come from as a result but you're welcome to interpret it as you'd like

[bullshitdeadgirlfriend]

It’s NONA SPECULATION TIME forgive my formatting I apologize

*this is informed by tommy arnold’s patreon post about illustrating the Nona the Ninth cover; quotes are noted, the rest is my speculation! highly recommend becoming a patron for his full post and all the artistic stuff that i appreciate even though i don’t understand. ok on to my guesswork*

first thing to notice is the number of redactions!!! I think in context these can potentially tell us a lot; i’ll get to those as we go.

[first brief]

“she has long, plaited black hair”

this could point to Harrow, because of Ianthe’s petty little finagling (so now her hair is long), but the black hair could really refer to anyone Ninth. or lots of other non-Ninth people. but imo top contenders are Harrow, Anastasia, or Alecto. (which narrows it down not at all.)

I don’t even know how to speculate on the planet appearance, with the red dunes and skeletons and blue sky. but the bright blue light, as people have mentioned on here before, could be an RB. it could also be the Mithraeum, I think. or a comet. or a weird modified sun. others have also speculated about the River. I’m leaning Mithraeum for no reason other than I think the characters will come together over NTN/ATN.

NOODLE!

“Nona spends a lot of the book at a school.”

This made me think 4th house for some reason, maybe only because teens go to school, but 4th teens actually go to war, so I think that’s a no-go. the HTN epilogue made me think they’re on some version of our Earth, sort of. like if the survivors of the mass killing that caused necromancy went to another planet, and did basically all the things they were already doing (making fried food, polluting the atmosphere, building high-rise apartment buildings). i have no clue what this school would be unless this is one of tamsyn muir’s comments that in retrospect makes sense (e.g., HTN being about church camp). maybe school is just a reference to Cam, SexPal, and Pyrrha attempting to teach Nona to wield a sword and raise bones. ??

in the next section of explanation, he redacts something about her skin. more later.

[feedback]

“bring a bit more of the gothiness back in”

I think this is a reference more to continuity in the series than anything else.

“the editor would prefer if the character had covered arms, legs, and torso because [REDACTED]”

then another [REDACTED] that seems to be about the arm coverings

something is redacted also about the cloak/duster

SOMETHING is significant about her skin. it might be about how much she’s showing — in which case, I lean nunlet because of the references in GTN and HTN about Harrow being extremely modest about showing her skin. even the “amnesiac Harrow��� or “amnesiac Gideon in Harrow” could potentially hold here, since Gideon was even concerned about showering with Harrow’s clothes on while in Harrow’s body… though I’m not sure how amnesiac she’d be, if she remembers to be that conscientious about showing Harrow’s body. regardless, nun-like/modest behavior could still point to Anastasia, our first tomb cultist. it could also point to Alecto/the Body if she’s covering up marks from being chained in a freezer for 10,000 years. it could also just be a reference to skin tone, which I won’t get into because others have been more eloquent than I would be about perception of skin tone on the covers.

the redacted bit about the cloak/duster could refer to covering her arms, but in that case, idk why it’s redacted (unless it specifically said “covers her scars from the chains”).

(I have realized that my speculation is mostly about the redacted sections. there’s much more to tommy arnold’s post. plz read it. but this is what i’m focusing on rn.)

“The character’s stance looks a little too athletic. [Explanation REDACTED].”

to me this SCREAMS “Nona is a necromancer” or at least “Nona is in a necromancer’s body”. it’s well-established that necros have a smaller, somewhat unhealthily-skinny build (also see tamsyn muir’s interviews about necromancy having a high cost for more on this topic).

[feedback 2]

more about covering up her legs and arms, more about the colors (more muting, no pink - I’m thinking to stay in line with gothiness of other books).

“…make her look slightly more serious. Yes, she is [REDACTED].”

she is WHAT?? she is… depressed? a necromancer? a student? or is this just a comment on her personality/state of mind? “yes, she is having a better time than harrow or gideon or alecto, but she’s still in a dystopia and the world is ending”??? idk.

[correspondence]

so now he talks about Nona as a CHARACTER. love this bit. the brief describes her as “open, vulnerable, and happy” (he says that those “line up with my own reading of the book” which made me want to cry). but basically they end up going with “bittersweet” for the tone. and that she is “too ‘spunky’”. then they also mention that “keeping her covered up in some capacity is [a change] that we think helps with bringing the tone back into alignment.” but i don’t think that that’s the only reason to keep her covered up, because why would it be redacted earlier?

[ok last tidbits]

some of his descriptors: “more tentative expression”, “childish and wonderful” (referring to the wearing of the coat), “more subtly beseeching” (referring to wrist position)

i think these speak a lot to what we might see of Nona, how she’s approaching the world. which also doesn’t necessarily push us in a direction of “who is Nona” but is interesting because I would not really use those descriptors for a memory-intact Gideon or Harrow. except maybe Gideon being childish. of course. now I’m thinking of Gideon being “subtly beseeching” to Harrow and getting teary. but anyway! maybe those descriptors would fit better for someone who just woke up after a VERY LONG (maybe ten thousand year) sleep?

I think it’s time to be done with this post, so thank you to the literal single person who asked for it!!! so excited to hear all the other theories and speculation and little details I missed

[zontiky]

au where the apocalypse was never a threat or a concept to begin with

*cracks knuckles* now i could make this a decent upbringing au OR i could make it EXTREMELY COMPLICATED and you know me you know exactly what im about to do ;)

reginald THINKS he’s prepping them all for the apocalypse but reginald is a child-abusing FOOL and an alien BASTARD and there’s no apocalypse there never was there never will be. the world is safe and sound but the hargreeves children aren’t.

five runs away from home and gets thrown into april 1st, 2019. the world is thriving. he did it. he tries to get home but he can’t because he’s stuck and im now realizing that everyone reading this post has seen a million fics with this exact concept but FUCK YOU THIS IS MY CITY NOWWW

so he’s stuck in 2019 and he’s like ah fuck ah SHIT what now! and goes to the academy and it’s not like he was super far away from it in the first place. he didn’t even make it a mile away it’s like a 5 minute walk back home lmao

now because reggie thinks there IS an apocalypse he still killed himself and i hate him a lot so cough ahem anyway

five shows up on the mansion and expects dad to be sitting there in his office, doing his evil dad evil villain thing yk the drill

but instead he comes in to an empty house. mom is unresponsive. he cant find pogo (dont ask where pogo is. hes doing monkey butler things ok). and diego is climbing in through the window

five freaks out because WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU THIS IS MY HOUSE and jumps diego and diego goes down HARD because WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT MY DEAD BROTHER?? MY BROTHER WHO DISAPPEARED 17 YEARS AGO?? WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCKKKK

so they try to beat the shit out of each other for a second and by that i mean five tries to beat the shit out of diego whos gained his senses by now and is trying to convince his brother (his BROTHER) that technically he lives here too please stop punching me

luther comes downstairs.

“IS THAT FIVE???”

“SHUT UP AND HELP ME THIS LITTLE FUCKER CAN PUNCH”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

they manage to calm him down when five catches sight of diegos tattoo

WAIT I FORGOT THAT THE FUNERAL WAS BEFORE APRIL FUCK NEVERMIND SCRAP THE PAST 13 BULLETS ABORT MISSION

so five lands in april, goes to the house, and by then the hargreeves have cleared out and are back to doing their own thing more or less. he comes up to the door and grace (pogo has fixed her by now because i said so) welcomes her son back home like he never even left

she gives him a hug

reginald is gone and she hasnt seen her sun in years and dammit, he deserves that hug okay? she gives him a hug.

five pulls away. mom hasnt hugged him for years because he stopped letting her and he’s not about to change his mind now

“where’s everyone?” he asks. he doesn’t even consider that everybody is gone, because where would they go? or maybe it just hasn’t hit him exactly which time he jumped into, maybe he still hasn’t made the connection exactly what age his siblings are now, maybe he has but he still hopes he can deny it for a little while longer

grace wants to hug him again but she refrains. she calls his siblings

one by one, in the span of the next week, she gets ahold of them and calls them back to the academy. “important news,” she says. “you’ll want to -- you’ll need to be here,” she says. “your brother,” she says, and her children listen and come back home

luther is at the academy when five gets here. because, where would he go? he can’t go back to the moon, and dad is gone, and he’s never even been on a bus alone before, where would he go?

when five sees him for the first time he almost cries, because he’s so much bigger and taller and older and what happened to him??

this is his new reality. this is the new luther

but it isn’t, it can’t be, because five is going to get back home and he’s going to fix it, he’s going to fix this and he’s going to grow up just like his siblings did, and it won’t even be long before he’s back home almost two decades ago.

vanya is next to arrive, and five almost -- almost -- smiles at her and gives her a hug and teases her how she’s still shorter than him, but she has such a blank expression on her face and the way she looks between the portrait of him (he hated that portrait from the beginning, he wanted to burn it because hes back now, isnt he? and he’ll go back home and not leave again, but pogo didnt let him) stops him. it will only be a couple of days and he’ll be going home already, he tells grace, so maybe the others dont even have to come here. she nods and smiles and says nothing

diego comes a day or so later, dragging klaus along, and five is stunned by how they look once again. diego looks battle-hardened and angry like he never did just last week, five’s last week, but now he scowls and doesn’t stutter and dresses himself in black and he lives alone and diego looks so lonely but five doesnt think about it because its not his business and he knows better and its diegos own damn fault for cutting contact, isnt it? and even if it weren’t five will go back and fix it all

five knows klaus has been doing things for a good year or so know, but this -- living on the streets, giggling even as diego forces him inside, making lewd jokes with his eyes out of focus -- he couldn’t have even imagined. he stamps down the feeling of i should have been there to help stop him and doesn’t think how sad and angry at their father seeing klaus like this makes him feel, instead he forces thoughts of it’s his own fault he ended up this way and i’m going to get back and fix this (but that’s not a thought he has to force. he will. he has to. it won’t even be another week before he figures out how to get home)

allison gets there next. she took the first plane she could get on to get home and pushed off all her appointments but she had a family emergency just last week and it was hard to get away and she looks so sad even when she opens her arms for a hug and five cant help but relent and give her one. diego scoffs and allison lets loose a dig thats more of a barb thats more of a sharp sentence splitting the air and hitting her brother square in the chest. five doesnt say anything but his stomach twists. just a week or so and he’ll fix it because even as children they never said things like that to each other

he waits for ben to come last. he must be the most adjusted of them all, right? ben read a lot last five saw of him, and hes one of the smartest of them, and secretly five always thought that ben deserves to have friends that he doesnt live with

ben doesnt come

he asks mom and she smiles and he asks the others and they look away and he asks again and someone -- and it doesnt matter who because his ears are ringing and hes stumbling back and falling onto the couch -- says that ben died. ben died years ago.

ben died four years after five left

fives head is spinning and he needs to get back, he needs to stop it he needs to fix it he needs to make it all better because it was never supposed to be this way

(you thought this would be a happy au didnt you?? haha bitch think again)

(it is but they have to get there smhhh)

klaus laughs and elbows the air next to him and five asks, he doesnt beg, he asks him if he can summon ben

everyone scoffs. rolls their eyes. klaus is high as a kite and hes holding a bottle of whiskey and he looks like he hasnt been sober in days. weeks. years. and he’s a liar and ben is gone for real, im sorry, five. i know this must be hard for you

that can’t be right. five wasnt there for all of klaus’ lies and stealing and drunken sobbing. five remembers klaus rolling a joint at the breakfast table like it was last week -- and it was, it was, he’ll fix it still, but to five klaus is still just his brother. just klaus

he asks, not begs, five doesnt beg but he comes damn close in this moment, to tell him the truth

and klaus looks around and ben whispers please, klaus, just try and five is looking at him with wet eyes and he’s thirteen he’s so young and -- he can’t say innocent. none of them have ever been innocent, not since reginald hargreeves adopted them all those years ago. but five...

he tells the truth. and five believes him

so anyway five cant get back and then they decide well ok five while youre staying here we might as well buy you some clothes. ones that arent literally 20 years old. jesus these uniforms are ugly

my jaw is clenching so hard and im cold asdflksdh so im gonna end this here and maybe rb it and continue lated idk 😳😳

WHOOP this is getting away from me i know u didnt come here for quote poetic unquote bullshit but weihfsdkjdhskf THATS WHAT UR GETTING I GUESS XX <3

[cheylouwho]

Mind giving a brief summary of all of them, I'm just curious. (Wasn't here [for the fandom] until late 2017, but did catch some history for about half of these)

Ok so fandom/stream memes in that post plus a couple of extras i just remembered this morning:

Butters speedy run: I think it was s18 but there was two or three times during the season that butters would run TOP SPEED and slam cartman into the bathroom to yell at him and it was so goddamn funny a bunch of people made memes of it

Craigs knife: s20 craig brought a fucking knife in the scene when they destroy cartmans electronics, it was so funny bc everyone else had like bats and stuff but no he had a Knife ready to Kill. Lots of “et tu brute” memes in stream chat when he stabs cartman’s laptop

"Clyde is dead": pre s18, after SOT- Clyde falls off the castle tower at the end of sot and when he didnt show up in s18′s first couple of episodes everyone joked he was dead. A couple other notable “___ is dead” memes were s19 butters when he threw himself out the window and s17 world war zimmerman (i wasnt there for that but i joined fandom shortly after so i saw the residual memes) with token after cartman shot him

(NSFW) the word "tentadick" in relation to any character specifically Craig: 2014 fandom had a thriving nsfw community and we may have taken a page from the homestuck fandom’s book. (many artists were also hs fans so that made sense)

[Urinating]: Stream meme from s21 (or 22? i forget), closed captioning said [urinating] during the scene when sharon was peeing in the bathroom so we would just repeat it every week much to stream host’s dismay. Honorable mention is Spice22 which was the code that this sextoy shop ad would use as the promo code that we saw like every fucking stream night

Craigs on tumblr: s18 craig’s mom’s bush craig can be seen through the window with the drone on a computer looking at a blue website. Everyone then joked craig was on tumblr. I might have taken the joke too far and made an IC craig blog that some people thought was canon or run by the sp team oop

Cregg: craig egg

Yandere clyde: 2014 trend, lots of people were into yandere and its victim was clyde. like 3 separate askblogs with the premise it was wild but also very good

Long leg craig: my abomination after pointing out craig had long legs and tweek had long arms on his model. Memes ensued and it got out of hand. I have a whole tag dedicated to it

Quoting the I hate randy song, specifically the "stupid moustache man" line: someone wrote this beautiful song and everyone would rb it/quote it when randy did something fucking stupid 

Set em up knock em down: This post, sorry i misquoted it in my original post

Pc Carnival Conspiracy: oh my fucking god this was a mess and it needs to go here. s19, naughty ninjas episode original synopsis had a thing about there being a “PC Carnival” in town that everyone needed to stop the boys from ruining. Original synopsis is probably still on the official forums. Anyway, 4chan (yes why we listened to 4chan i dont know) had someone talk about how the removal of it was this big conspiracy and how it was actually going to come into play later and it was fucking WILD bc s19 had the most batshit theorizing sp fandom has ever had but it was super fun

Mpreg stan anon: Not to be confused with ric who currently goes around and asks for adult stan and wendy and their son (ric is also kinda a shitty person so best to ignore and block him), mpreg stan anon was an HONOR to receive. Like in a haha funny sort of way if you got asked to draw stan marsh 9 months pregnant you knew you had MADE IT in the fandom, and most people drew it ironically but it was still a funny little art meme and mpreg anon if youre still out there i love you

[goosebytrade]

hi there. by any chance did you once post / rb a post about best buy funding money into anti-blm campaigns in the us? does such a post exist, or did my brain invent it? thanks for your time, I appreciate the help in my odd little quest

Hey! I don't quite remember. It is possible I did reblog a post about Best Buy, but it isn't coming up in my search of my own blog.

I looked it up, and the results were confusing (I'm on mobile). I think the company did donate some money to BLM, but I also saw an individual store in LA told an employee not to wear a BLM mask to work (So was the location going against company policy, or was the donation hypocritical? Something I don't have time to research right now, but feel free to look it up!). A lot of companies donated because it was good publicity (Amazon among them), donations from billion dollar companies don't always mean much. Nothing in the top results mentioned anti-BLM donations, but that doesn't mean they didn't happen. You might have to dig around more in the tumblr tags or your preferred search engine.

https://hbr.org/2020/06/u-s-businesses-must-take-meaningful-action-against-racism

There was a quote from the CEO in here, but again you have to use a grain of salt. The article is FULL of business major takes, so be aware of that.

I'm not sure what you needed it for, but if you have a gift card or they are having a sale on something or whatever I wouldn't feel too guilty about shopping there. At least on this topic, Best Buy doesn't seem more evil than any other major company. And it isn't Amazon or Walmart! I'm not vouching for Best Buy or anything, but from this quick research it doesn't look like a Chick-fil-A type "avoid at all costs" scenario.

My 10 minutes on Duck Duck Go could be completely wrong, however. If anyone has a concrete answer or knows I'm wrong here, please speak up!

Either way, I hope you have a great day! Sorry I wasn't more of a help.

[coto524]

hi after seeing one (1) quote post from @notquiteaghost i remembered heathers exists and i have instantly fallen back into my heathers bullshit. so here’s some things i love about it 

(obvious content warnings for death, homophobia, eating disorders, mental illness, suicide — this is a HEAVY film/show! also spoilers too)

please DO rb and add stuff or comment/critique i want to talk about this!

JD is a classic ‘bad boy’ and suave and mysterious and able to fight except. like. he actually is a bad guy. he is dangerous, he kills people and plans a mass murder disguised as a suicide pact. and veronica doesn’t like Get Out because she’s scared of what he might do, she runs because she’s seen what he’s done and she knows he will try to kill her, and then she confronts him because he is going to kill hundreds of people and she is the only one who can stop him

he’s fucked up and it’s kind of not his fault bc his mom died by suicide and his dad is neglectful and the adults in his life are USELESS (like. the way the teachers respond to suicides and mental illness is presented as comedic because it is so obviously exaggerated but the jokes work because there IS an element of truth to how adults don’t take teens seriously or make an effort to actually understand their issues). but also he is calculating and violent and convinced that the system is so broken that the only way to fix it is to blow up a fucking SCHOOL. and then when that doesn’t work he rigs himself up with explosives (film) or takes the bomb away from veronica sacrificing himself (musical) because he knows that there is no coming back from this, that this is the end for him

VERONICA. she is so so happy she climbed the social ladder and then she realises how fucked it is at the top too. then she finds JD and she’s excited because this is love and something novel and then she realises that the same things that attracted her to him are the same reasons she cannot, should not, should NEVER stay with him. and she is kinda complicit for the deaths too – in the musical it’s more as a bystander/passive participant, but in the film it is .... really ambiguous. so she has to confront the fact that maybe she is just as fucked up and dangerous as JD. and she chooses not to be. she decides that yes she hates the system and the people but she can’t just kill them because of some sense of justice. the world is broken but she can’t destroy it. (this is one reason i especially hate the paramount version of heathers, apart from the whole rich-white-kids-are-the-oppressed-minority thing. peathers veronica enjoys it. she experiences what that violence is like and she doesn’t decide it’s wrong, she thinks it’s still cool and leans into it. bruh)

THE HEATHERS!!!! they are vicious and ruthless and so so scared inside because they’ve got to the top of the pile and they’re terrified of falling off. but also they are privileged as fuck! they’re rich and powerful and they bully anybody who doesn’t fit in. so they’re simultaneously really sympathetic and really really not. 

@spiders-hth-is-an-outlier nailed this on the head with this incredible meta post but like. homophobia is really fuckin bad in the world of the film and the musical (80s usa, woo) but somehow it’s critiqued in a really earnest way even when it’s comedic and even when the characters realise the whole situation is really fucked up. and idk how they manage it. (although i will admit ‘my dead gay son’ is not one of my favourite songs in the musical.)

the aesthetics and slang, they put so much effort in the film into creating this whole distinct vibe because they wanted to make it more of a timeless story and it kinda worked and kinda didn’t (a lot of the stuff to do with gun violence and adult apathy is... VERY dated) but the end result still works because you end up with this bizarre microculture, and that really fits in the story. because originally part of the comedy is “these rich kids have it so good and they’re still killing each other” but now those aethetics and slang are a bubble, everchanging fashions, ways to mark the in crowd and out crowd in ways that Matter So Much to the teens but.... IT IS ONLY IN THIS SCHOOL. ONLY IN THIS TOWN. the world is so so much bigger than all of this! in a few years high school will be over! but in the here and now they are hurting each other and hurting themselves and there’s no light at the end of the tunnel

have you ever tried to explain this story to an unwitting friend and realised how goddamn atrocious it sounds out of context

[thethirdwheel404]

Med Rewatch Series (#5)

S3 e3: Trust Your Gut. From what I remember this is a big one. I just remember this episode title honestly but we’ll see what happens.

-look at that! ava’s just casually in this scene, minding her own business, doing her job! you would never guess that this is a character who would later have a psychotic break and commit suicide.

-that’s really the point i’m trying to make. I hate all those posts where they’re like ‘i hated ava before, but season 4 has finally shown her true colors’ like not even?? no??? we’re trying to prove that that was never even a thing. i want to eliminate the possibility of s4 happening from your minds. nothing from s3 should ever be used as foreshadowing. that’s what the rewrite is about, ava being a good character. ava was never going to commit suicide. she was never gonna go psychotic. that should be ingrained in everyone’s minds.

-anyways, back to the episode.

-connor takes everything like a personal attack. relax

- i never realized how fun stoll was. like obviously not in the story but as a character he’s hilarious. unattached by everyone else’s drama

-awww. this maggie interaction is amazing. tapping sarah on the shoulder (neck actually but whatever) just to say hi. adorable. and sarah is already super jumpy. come on. her anxiety is already setting in. they really gave sarah two huge storylines in the same season.

-maggie... no one else would ever slash sarah’s tires. i mean honestly

-WHY DOES CONNOR HAVE TO CONTROL OF EVERYTHING - honestly ava was just reading off the chart and he can’t even let her do that he has to take over just to say the same things.

-and the way ava just takes it with her smug smile

-she is such a strong character there is no reason she would have gone crazy over connor she literally needs nothing from him.he has not ever had anything that she needed. 

- SHE’S JUST ROLLING HER EYES, SMIRKING, AND SHAKING HER HEAD AT THIS INSECURE MAN ava I love you.

-okay there’s no way i can explain it but after rolling her eyes at connor Ava turns and looks at the patient and instantly her face changes and you can see such pure concern in her eyes?? s4 ava could never (can someone please rb with a picture of what i’m talking about? it’s uncanny and so so sincere.)

- she’s in control of her emotions. she cares so much for her patients so don’t even try to play that card. the only thing connor has done literally since she got here is get in her way.

-AND CONNOR LOOKS AT HER WITH SUCH DISTRUST AND CONTEMPT. TELL ME HOW. this is insane. exasperating.

-and the way she smiles and comforts the patient. i mean come on. she’s just so amazing. AND COMFORTING. if ava really was as heartless as people say, she wouldn’t take the effort to do that. connor didn’t even do that, he just scowls at ava.

-which just proves my point, ava is only ever mean to people who she thinks deserve it. and, the more that I think about it, she’s never really actually mean. sure, she’s blunt and rude, but never cutting. she’s nice to her patients (and I know what you’re going to say, it’s not because she has to be. she’s a doctor, she still wants to help people). but when her patients are dicks, she’s not nice to them. she’s as snarky with as she’s professionally allowed to be.

-like, take this guy. he seems nice enough. he’s funny, polite, comes across charming, so ava is nice and is polite back to him.

-let’s move on.

-why is connor always so suspicious of ava. come on. he’s the one who should be sus. she literally said ‘Don’t worry, Ray, we’ll take good care of you’ and he’s giving her this weird side eye.

-ethan and will being in this board meeting is really adorable to me. like, just, bros.

-oh godddd sarah please relax. sweetie. please.

-sarah fucking tranqed him oh my god

-oh my god noah asking people for help literally shut the fuck up

-straight people are gross. not to hate but how does anyone sit through manstead

-connor literally needs to chill. I know this bit (they’re arguing over menial things in surgery) plays more to them just picking on each other, pulling each other’s pigtails on the playground if you will (i didn’t like that analogy but I used it anyway), but if you look at it, ava was only trying to help connor (suggesting a wider possible target and an easier to handle stitch) and connor took it wayyy to personally. sure the second bit of advise is just poking at him, but she suggested a better spot on the base and he shut her down without any thought.

-and then latham points out that there is no point in arguing, to which ava defers, then connor snidely says ‘Thank you, Doctor, Now, how about from here on out we keep the background noise to a minimum’ and ava just shakes her head, scoffing.

-at this point ava just likes annoying connor because its fun. it’s entertaining. he gets so upset. everyone’s done that, just be annoying for fun (its bad to say but i mean come on everyones done it)

-another point, ava immediately deferring to latham might read to some as her being a suck up but that’s not what it is.

-ava really likes seeing how close to the line she can get. she goes right up to it, but she never crosses it. the same is true with her interactions with other people outside of surgery.

-I really like this story of the girl who passed out and hit her head, and her brother’s a wreck, and her parents obviously think the brother’s a disappointment. and it was finals week so of course she wasn’t taking care of herself. and the brother knew that, and you can tell he cares so much and feels so bad. it’s nice

-complication on the surgery they were working on. ava comes in with a solution (off of connor’s mistake during surgery after not following her advice) but I have a sneaking suspicion that by the end connor will be back on top

-the effort it took connor to say ‘it’s a good idea’ come on man just fucking let it go

-i’m glad we’ve all agreed that connor’s just a dick

-aw look at that she even held the door for him. connor would never

-i don’t want to overly push the ‘med is sexist’ thing but how is it that in a storyline between nat and ethan, characters who have never been romantically involved, they still pull the woman thinks one thing, man refuses to believe it and is right dynamic. i mean come on med seriously. what the fuck is wrong with you.

-the look of annoyance and disbelief on ava’s face that connor hadn’t actually messed up. comedic, but also i get your pain.

-glad that latham sides with ava, ava advocating for a riskier procedure so they could ensure the blockage is removed)

-(something could be said about ava’s high-risk, high-reward ideals. you could even draw the parallel to events in s4 and s5, even though I really don’t want to. it’s an interesting and notable character trait to say the least)

-YOOOO I FORGOT HOW METAL THE PSYCH STORY GETS

-dude straight up cuts his abdomen open and his intestines spill out

-the fear and shock and emotion on sarah’s face make me feel so bad for her

-WAIT IS THIS THE EPISODE WHERE SHE LOSES THE END OF THE INSTRUMENT? IS THAT WHAT THIS IS? i am not prepared to watch an ava bekker breakdown rn.

-the shock on ava’s face when connor said nice job.

-ava actually tried to apologize to connor. well, not apologize but she feels a little bit bad for just how abrasive she’s been to connor. (connor didn’t necessarily have to make it super competitive). Ava said “Look, I know i have the tendency to step on toes. it’s nothing personal”

-and now they’re not arguing and are this close to actually working like a team

-and i cannot believe connor’s big one-liner is ‘Murphy’s law’

-the emotion on april’s face when the girl’s parents won’t even let her brother grieve for her. I feel it. astounding. its so painful omg

-ava: “your optimism is enchanting.” when i was writing earlier I was worried I wasn’t being accurate with her dialogue and making it sound too overly formal but i guess I nailed it. also, this line reinforces how much I love her (so does every other line)

-connor just refusing to give ava anything, no credit, no nothing. doesn’t even give her credit for earning the surgery saying “you may have elbowed your way onto the case, but he is still my patient” (I JUST TRANSITIONED INTO A QUOTE SO SMOOTHLY WHY CANT I DO THAT IN MY LANG RHETORICAL ANALYSIS ESSAYS YOU’RE KIDDING)

-hey it’s joey!

- i can appreciate him so much more when he’s not chasing after reese

-do you remember their first meeting? bickering over who gets the last splenda? (real meet cute amirite)

-dr. charles remarking how all the scientific advances can’t beat human instinct, nice little tie in to the episode title

-ava just smiling while connor waits for her to apologize. she. takes. no. shit.

-i literally hate connor’s face so much. it fucking looks predatory like stop looking at her like that. it’s almost like you were planning her psychotic break

-ava’s cunning, saying ‘we’ instead of ‘i’ when talking about the decisions being made. she’s smart. she knows what to do. She knows how to present herself. (and yeah, a little hypocritical that she said to connor ‘when you fail, I will make sure that it is noted that it was your fault and not mine,’ but like I said, she just knows how to present herself)

-latham: “Dr. Bekker seems to enjoy this discordance.”

-rhodes’ face when changing his mind and saying ‘maybe I do’ when asked if he enjoyed it too - he literally makes the dumbest faces. please. stop. (is it a straight people thing?)

Alright. Another episode down. 17 to go. This was actually a pretty good episode all around. Ava took none of connor’s shit and you’d have to squint to find any sort of romantic subtext in their interactions, which is huge win in my book. reese’s storyline wasn’t too bad, she didn’t go through too much trauma, which, the bar for watching med is incredibly low i guess. This was a really good episode for ava. like I said before, very little romantic subtext, and she had a redeeming quality in the way she obviously cared for her patient at the beginning of the episode.

The main point is something I’ve been reiterating again and again. Ava cares about her patients. Ava is mean to connor because she knows someone needs to put him in his place, and she is glad that it is her.

All in all, this was a pretty good Ava episode. Very happy.

thanks for sticking with it.

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read the rest here:

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Extra