#on a related note you all do not use the cheer one NEARLY enough: *\o/*

[televinita]

wait wait wait

I COULD HAVE BEEN CASUALLY USING EMOJIS FROM THIS WINDOWS DESKTOP THE WHOLE TIME?? (or at least since I switched to windows 10 last year)

ASLDLJSDFSDF why did WORK have to be the one to explain to me that you can “use emojis in any app by pressing the Windows key + .”  ?????

😂🤦‍♀️👀✨🌈 🎉👍

[dreamties]

Slashers x S/O W/ Red Angel Wings

A/n- Y’know, when I first got this request I thought it was awfully specific, but after watching Carrie it’s making a lot more sense lol 

Decided to add a few other characters just for the heck of it! :)

Let’s just ignore the fact that wings probably don’t work like this,, at all. 

Characters: Carrie White, Billy/Stu, Norman Bates, Michael Myers, and The Lost Boys.

T/W: None that I know of- just let me know if you’d like me to add any! :)

Carrie White

You know Carrie from around school. About her overtly Christian mother, and how shy and secluded she was. And how strange and weird other people saw her. You never bought into that schoolwide belief- you just thought no one took the time to get to know her. 

(part of you related to that- though most people would have thought you were cool to start out with...and then have less than kind reactions when they saw what you were hiding)

You’d interacted with Carrie only a handful of times throughout your high school career- mostly in group projects, or letting her know she had dropped something, or simply trying to spark conversation. She had always been very nervous around you though- almost more so than others. (You’d later come to find out it was because she liked you)

It’s the first time you see each other alone- outside of class. It’s after class and Carrie’s been held behind- by one of her teachers asking her about this and that. While you’re hanging out at the back of the school, there’s no sports that day, so you don’t have to worry about any onlookers. Except Carrie, who decides to head out the back way. Thinking there would be less people she’d run into- less of a hassle.

And she doesn’t know what to do. 

The way you're framed in the light, you look like you're glowing. You look unreal, and so holy and beautiful. You’re so beautiful. but then she spots your wings. They're fitted tightly on your back, flitting open, and spreading out so beautifully- you're standing centered as they flare out. And she's shocked and unsure.

 Oh, she'd be mighty frightened.

 She's shaking and crying, and she's got her mama's voice running through her head. This is what happens when you don't follow the rules exactly. When you come into this world so impure.

And oh, your wings! She let's out a gasp, eyes widening. They're colored crimson- the Devil's color. And she's sure you've come down from the Heavens or- or come from down below...come to mock her. To punish her

She knows you know what she's done. What unknowing sins she's committed. [ my poor girl hasn’t actually done anything though :( ]

 And you look at her, confused. Then your eyes soften, and your wings slowly close behind you. You gently smile, “I’m not here to harm you, Carrie.”  

She begins to calm at the soft sound of your voice, and your pleasant aura. She’s still shaky all over, and part her says to run and hide- but you have your arms out wide, offering her to join you. And she gulps down nervously- maybe this was her accepting her fate. She slowly walks over to you, allowing you to wrap her into a hug. It’s feels so good to have your arms wrapped around her- she feels overwhelmed by the amount of positive emotions sprouting from your actions. You let her stay there, crying in your arms. “It’s okay, Carrie.”

After she gets passed the initial meeting, and the two of you start dating- which takes a lot of time for her to get used to you. Not because she doesn’t think you seem like a good person, but she’s skeptical, given how people have treated her in the past- plus she’s still dealing with the after effects from all the religious abuse with her mother :( 

She starts associating you (and your wings) as almost...protection!

Her favorite thing is to have your wings wrapped around her as she sleeps. She feels safe in them.

Billy Loomis + Stu Macher

Y’all meet at a Halloween party.

It’s Billy & Stu’s favorite holiday, and they always go all out for it! With the costumes, the decorations, etc- maybe even a bit of hidden bloody fun for just the two of them.

You’ve always kept your wings well hidden- folded against your back, underneath big coats. But tonight? Ohh, tonight! You’re able to have them out, allowing them a good stretch. When people ask, you can pass it off as just crazy good mechanisms.

And well, the boys see your “costume”, and they get wicked excited about it! They’ve never seen someone with a costume like this before- it’s so realistic! And the fact you chose blood red, over the standard angelic white? Very impressed by your talent and ideas.

They start asking all these questions about it, cause it’s like, legitimately one of the coolest costume they’ve ever seen. How can you not think giant wings- that move- aren’t cool?? 

But then like Stu excitedly asks if it would be okay to touch it- and you get oddly quiet after that one. “Well, they’re fragile, y’know?”

Stu pouts, “I can be careful.”

You give him a skeptical look, “I mean- just be careful, like you said.”

“Woah, they feel so real!” Oh, if he only knew. “Billy, ya gotta check this out!” He says, nearly shouting, as he nudges his shorter friend.

Billy rolls his eyes, but gives you a look to see if it’s alright. You simply nod, smiling at him- feeling more at ease. As Billy’s admiring them, and finally leans in to touch them- another guest at the party harshly bumps into you. The force of it accidentally knocking their drink out of their hands, drenching your shirt. 

“Aw shit,” you mumble to yourself. “I’m sorry, I’ll have to leave for the night.”

Stu frowns, not liking the idea of you leaving quite yet. He’d been enjoying your company quite a lot, and he’s certain that Billy did too (even if it didn’t seem like it). “You can borrow one of my shirts,” he all but blurts out.

You can’t help but laugh at his offer, “Are you sure?” Stu eagerly nods.

 You’re in Stu’s bedroom changing, and you’re about to slip on his sweater, when the door is knocked open (not on purpose, of course). “Dude!”

They quickly apologize, but then take notice of your wings- exposed as what they truly were. They stare in awe and bewilderment. You’re still freaked out, and yet still try joking your way out of the situation. “Just, really good prosthetics?” 

It takes a bit of explanation on your part, but the boys accept you for what you are pretty quickly. As strange as this all might be. Stu will have a lot of questions for you, and Billy’s somewhat unsure of it for a while. 

Established Relationship Fun:

Okay, okay!! Soft idea!! When cuddling, sometimes you’ll wrap your giant wings around the three of you. so warm and cuddly.

when watching horror movies together, Billy’s always intensely focused on the screen(almost scarily so- but then again this is one of the faces behind Ghostface we’re talking about so...not too surprising), to the blood and carnage. But he always finds his hand idly playing with your feathers, even if you have them closed behind you. He’d never admit it, but he finds them comforting and extremely calming. He can just forget about all his little problems, and just stroke your feathers (plus, you enjoy it when he does that!! And he likes that it makes you feel good!!)

Norman Bates 

You’d be really nervous at first to tell him, because early on in your friendship/relationship, he introduced you to his hobby- taxidermy. And it kind of scared you seeing your feathered friends in such a state. But...Norman would never harm you. 

(Now...his mother on the other hand? Would be more than willing to discard this freak of nature)

(Norman won’t let that happen to you though- he promises) 

Norman is such an absolute darling. He couldn’t judge a single soul for who or what they are- and yes, that does go for your winged-body, too.

He’d be extremely surprised and intrigued though- he’d be all blushy and happy though that you felt safe enough to tell him!

He finds your wings just absolutely gorgeous though.

He’ll often get sorta shy about handling your wings at all. But he’s very careful with them.

And if you get hurt, he’ll be more than glad to help you patch up (while also being upset you got hurt :( ) - since you can’t really,, go to hospitals at all. Who knows what the general public would do if they found out something like you existed.

On that note- Norman will always be there to help cheer you up when you feel bad about having them. Like, it’s gotta be strange being the only being with wings surrounded by humans- and only humans. Norman’s very good at cheering you up though! He’s very soft and sweet about it. One of the few times he’ll touch your wings. He treats them delicately, as if they’ll break upon his touch if he’s not careful enough. Presses gentle kisses to them, and reminding you how much he loves you.

Michael Myers

You meet Michael during one of his hunts.

You never bring out your wings, unless you absolutely have to.

He’s surprised and a bit confused when he sees you, standing in the streets, giant red wings splayed out. The street lights reflecting your wings into pools of red on the ground. He watches intently, as you push yourself into the air with a loud whoosh. He nearly startles.

But besides this initial reaction, he’s fairly indifferent.

Michael knows no human should have wings like that, or even wings at all. And part of him is curious to know more, so the next time he sees you, he doesn’t try to attack you.

The Fun Stuff??

Michael would definitely be a little rougher with your wings than some of the other slashers. 

Mostly because a part of him recognizes you’re not entirely human, so he equates that to you’ll be able to handle more.

He’s still pretty careful though- because he would never want to hurt his S/O.

Michael enjoys killing alone, and he sure doesn’t need protection- but sometimes, when you convince Michael to bring you along, he finds he doesn’t actually mind your presence there. He kind of enjoys it. And, again, he doesn’t need your protection- but you can’t help to be worried about him, okay? You’ll use your wings as a shield when his victims try fighting back. If you get hurt a bit? Then I guess Michael will just have to help you patch up afterwards.

The Lost Boys

Aww, they are so hyped about it!

Most of the other creatures they interact with are human, so it’s so cool to them when they find out you’re a fellow supernatural being! They’re not,,, entirely sure what you are (neither are you, tbh), but that’s okay.

They get to fly around with you, which they wouldn’t be able to do with you if their S/O was a human or some flightless supernatural being.

Paul would love playing with your wings!

I mean, they all do to some extent. But Paul will play with them whenever. Even if you’re out in public. Like,, if anyone sees your wings they have ways of dealing with that, y’know?

Y’all sleep in the same bed together- kind of just like,, a constant cuddle pile lol. And you don’t always do this, but when the boys are feeling especially in the mood for it (like,, maybe they’ve had a long night, or they just really need to be as close to you as they can)  and you’ll just outstretch your wings, covering the four of them. The soft, familiarity of your feathers calming even the rowdiest of the bunch

They accidentally stay out too late, and you’ll use your wings to help shade them from the sun, as you make your way back to the cave.

[awanderingdeal]

Never too late - 4 - 5

A continuation of Leo and Regulus' attempts (antics) to give Regulus the childhood he never had.

CW: All content warnings relate to Part 5: piercings and food talk

Please message me if you feel I need to add any content warnings

Rating: T

Previous and future chapters can be found on my masterlist

Credit for the sweater universe and the characters within it go to @lumosinlove. What a hero.

4. Take photos! Candids, selfies and posed group shots. They’ll hold the best memories.

“Merde, what are you doing?” Logan asked, resting his head on Leo's shoulder as he peered at the laptop.

Leo grinned, tipping his head back slightly so he could press a kiss against Logan’s cheek, “I’m getting inspiration.”

“That cleared a grand total of nothing up,” Logan huffed, circling the sofa so that he could flop next to Leo. “Oh my God, no. I thought I had deleted everything from back then” he groaned, reaching to close the lid of the device.

Leo swatted his hand away with a scowl. “First of all, I am offended that you never told me that you used to have bangs,” he gestured to the image of a young Logan on the screen, laughter bubbling in chest. “Second, I think you may have caught most yours, but you failed to check your tagged photos.”

Logan sighed again, apparently resigning himself to the fact Leo was going to trawl through the photos no matter what. “Is there at least a reason that you are torturing me like this?” he asked, curling into Leo’s side.

“It started off as me finding inspiration for classic high school photos to take with Reg, but now I’m just looking at how adorable you were at 14.” Leo chuckled.

***

“I want to be on the top!” James yelled, earning a snigger from Finn.

“No, Logan needs to go on the top, he’s the smallest and I’m not breaking my back for you idiots,” Kasey said from where he was braced on all fours.

“He’s actually very heavy. Like a tiny ball of muscle,” Finn said. Logan seemed conflicted as to whether he should be thanking his boyfriend or reprimanding him, the confused frown making Leo smile, but he figured he should intervene before a full on argument broke out.

“Maybe we should ask Regulus where he wants to go? These are his photos after all,” Leo suggested, turning his gaze onto the man in question.

Regulus threw his hands up, shaking his head. “I was coerced into this madness,” he defended. “But if I must participate then I want to go on top. At least then I don’t get squashed when this goes wrong.”

“O, yee of little faith,” Thomas scoffed, making a dramatic show of stretching his limbs.

“I’m retiring after this season, I’m too old for this,” Dumo groaned as he joined Kasey on the floor.

“You say this every season,” Kuny laughed, taking the spot next to Pascal and nudging him in the shoulder.

“Alright, Cap. I think you better go on the base too,” Leo said, laughing at the scowl he earned. It appeared that Sirius had been trying to make himself blend into the cushions in the hopes he might get out of the photo, but Leo wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “For Reg?”

“Regulus doesn’t even…” Sirius began to argue, but he was interrupted by his brother’s low chuckle.

“I have suddenly changed my mind. Come on Sirius, don’t be a spoil sport,” Regulus teased.

Sirius opened his mouth to start a rebuttal, but all that came out was a resigned sigh, and the man heaved himself to his feet, getting a loud cheer from the rest of the team. Once he had taken his spot, the rest of the pyramid seemed to form easily. James, Remus, Leo, Logan and Finn all climbed on, until eventually it was Regulus’s turn. With a little help from Timmy and Olli, the man managed to take his place at the top of the pyramid.

“Okay, Sergei, take the photo,” Leo instructed, feeling parts of the pyramid begin to shake.

“Which button is -” Sergei asked, before a semblance of a smile crossed his face. “Oh, found it.” Just as the words left Sergei’s mouth, Leo found himself tumbling to the floor, several of his team mates on top of him, a chorus of grumbling in several different languages erupting as they clutched various body parts.

“If anybody has broken anything, I am not explaining this to Coach,” Sirius declared, from under James and Finn.

“Did you at least get the photo?” Dumo asked.

“No, we need to do again,” Sergei grinned, a groan reverberating around the room from the rest of the team.

***

Regulus wiped his hand across his cheek so subtly that he nearly missed it, but the redness in his eyes was obvious.

“Are you crying?” Leo asked quietly, feeling the muscles 0f his forehead tense into a concerned frown.

“I’m fine,” Regulus said, blinking rapidly, shutting the scrapbook perched on his lap with a little more force than necessary. Leo had spent hours compiling the photos taken over the last few months into it: the forming a pyramid, two dozen or so polaroids taken at various events, a fair few with peace signs; the transition of Regulus slowly becoming more comfortable with the action obvious with each one, another was a take on the classic shoe circle only with hockey skates. Somehow James had snuck several selfies of himself into the mix.

“No, Reggie, what’s the matter?” Leo pulled the book from Regulus’s hands and put it on the coffee table, turning so that he could face his friend more easily.

Regulus shrugged, playing with the sleeve of his shirt, a nervous habit Leo had picked up on over the past few months. “I...I just never really had any friends in high school. It’s kind of hard when you’re taught to see everybody as competition, you know? So, I don’t really have any photos that aren’t stuffy family portraits or media shots. I didn’t realise that bothered me until now.”

Leo bundled Regulus into a hug, his friend making a disgruntled sound as he found himself pressed against Leo’s chest. “Just accept it,” Leo huffed, wondering how he had managed to find himself saddled with so many emotionally constipated hockey (or ex-hockey) players.

5. Find your style - change your hair, get a new piercing, buy a new outfit. Go wild!

“Hey, Reg,” Finn waved, mumbling through a mouthful of cheese.

“Harzy! Do you know how much that cheese cost?” Logan scolded, his expression somewhat more horrified than Leo would deem reasonable, “Please respect it.”

Leo grabbed his jacket, patting the pocket to ensure his wallet was inside. He rarely used his physical cards anymore, but it gave him far too much anxiety to rely on just his phone. “We’re leaving now. Try not to kill each other while we’re gone. It would be tragic to lose both of my boyfriends in one day,” he said, dropping a kiss first on to Finn’s cheek and then Logan’s.

“Bye Reg,” Finn waved again.

***

“Thank you,” Leo smiled at the cashier as he took his purchases from them. He looked down, noting that between the two of them they had amassed nearly twenty bags. Leo wasn’t usually one to spend money frivolously, but he had found himself swept away by Reg’s enthusiasm. Apparently when he wasn’t being stuffed into tight button ups and tailored pants, Regulus really rather enjoyed fashion. Finn would have been proud of the multiple pairs of trainers they had acquired so far. Still, they probably had enough for today.

Before Leo had a chance to suggest a change of activities, Regulus beat him to it. “Do you want to get some food?” he asked, the grumble of Leo’s stomach answering the question with no need for any words. Regulus laughed, “I’ll take that as a yes. Are you good to get Thai?”

Somehow over the course of filling their stomachs with curry and Pad Thai, an innocent comment about how Regulus would look cute with a piercing resulted in them walking into the nearest studio that had decent reviews. Regulus had changed into one of his new outfits: a loose black and white striped shirt, a pair of black pants cuffed at the legs and chunky white sneakers because his old outfit was deemed unsuitable for getting a piercing in.

Leo had just finished up getting his lip done, pamphlet of aftercare instructions clutched in his hand, and was waiting for Regulus to come out of his room. The boy had refused to tell him what exactly he was going to get done, and the anticipation was killing him. A few minutes later, Regulus pushed out the door to the small room and Leo’s eye was immediately drawn to the light catching Regulus’ eyebrow.

“Oh my God!” Leo exclaimed, wincing as the movement sent a surge of pain through his lip. “You look so good,” he added, moving to inspect the barbell peeking through Regulus’ brow.

“Thanks,” Regulus blushed at the approval. “Yours is cool too. Logan and Finn are going to freak out.”

“They sure are,” Leo chuckled. “Alright, I’ll settle this and then I’ll drop you back home?”

***

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Regulus scowled, reading the instructions on the back of the box of dye for what Leo was sure was the fiftieth time.

“I told you, you haven’t been a teenager unless you have made some questionable fashion choices,” Leo countered. “Except I’m going to look amazing with blue hair so it’s not really questionable.”

“Well, it can’t be worse than this anyway, right?” Regulus grimaced, gesturing to his bleached blond hair.

“Noughties boy band members would be jealous,” Leo laughed.

“It’s a shame it is neither the noughties anymore, nor am I a boy band member,” Regulus replied, shoving the box into Leo’s hands. “Just do it.”

A little over an hour later, Leo was nudging Reg in front of the mirror. “Okay, this was definitely not a mistake! We look amazing. I am taking up a career in hairdressing if I get injured,” Leo declared, holding his hand out for a high five. Whilst Regulus did return it, it was less enthusiastic than Leo had been going for. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I like it,” Regulus shook his head, dragging his fingers along the short sides. The cut wasn’t that different to what it had been before, other than a slightly more dramatic fade. “Just feels weird. My parents would die if they could see me.”

“Well, I think we look badass,” Leo said, running his hand through his own blue hair. He’d left the front long and floppy, deciding to go wild and undercut the back. “Come here, let me take a photo.”

Leo was glad that Regulus had finally learned that while he was not one to throw a tantrum, he did have his ways of getting what he wanted and it was easier for everyone if Regulus just compiled most of the time. The post had barely been up on their Instagram pages for more than 3 minutes when Leo’s phone began to vibrate, Logan’s flashing onto the screen.

“Regulus! Why did my little brother just call to tell me that he wants to dye his hair blue?” Remus yelled up the stairs as Leo picked the call up.

And if drug stores all over the country sold out of blue hair dye the next day? Well, Leo guessed there were worse trends to have started.

[uwua3]

a3! as genshin impact characters

🌸🌻🍁❄️ all troupes

author’s note: all twenty-nine (29) playable characters are included in this post! some boys have two characters associated with them ✺(^▽^✺) ✺(^O^)✺ (✺^▽^)✺ (if you’d like me to elaborate or anything, please ask!!! this was so hard ╥﹏╥)

word count: 5,012

🌸 SPRING 💗

1. SAKUMA SAKUYA

♡ RAZOR + TRAVELER — the heroes who will save the world with their love alone

everything they do is out of love. to destroy or create, it all has the same source: the pure love from their hearts

they work hard every day to protect the ones they love no matter what. they’re the first to stand in front of you, ready to sacrifice their life to make sure you see another day

would go to the ends of the earth to save you. no continent is too big for them to travel across. if they can find you, all those years would be worth every moment

they wouldn’t hesitate to assist a stranger in need even if it cost him their life. friend or foe, they are a friend to all because they only see good until proven wrong

has the natural ability to make everyone want to root for them. you can’t help but believe in them against all odds!

has the biggest heart to take everyone in despite having their own burdens — has lost everything but still loves unconditionally because they never want anyone to experience the heartbreak they did

believes in lupical = fated family (knows family comes first at the end of the day, blood-related or not)

2. USUI MASUMI

♡ DILUC + XINYAN — the outcasts who would do anything for their inner circle

the first to run into battle for the people who have earned their lifelong loyalty

longs for the embrace of parents who are never coming back for them. even if the parents left first, a part they desperately try to hide wishes that they’d prove them wrong and come back. it’s a hopeless case...

despite presenting themselves as standoffish and blunt, the general public still admires them for their natural skill & ability. it doesn’t matter what they do, their background actions are more than enough to redeem their somewhat problematic attitude

devoted to mankai/mondstadt’s safety even if they won’t admit it. they’re the last to verbalize their concerns because they’ll fix it without telling anyone

difficult to get to open up; expresses their loyalty through meaningful actions instead of words

finds comfort in music regardless of how popular/trendy it is. as long as it makes them forget the judgmental world around them, that’s all they need

challenges prejudices by being upfront and confrontational about their opinions even in the face of criticism

3. MINAGI TSUZURU

♡ MONA + JEAN — the prodigies who have something to prove to themselves

extremely talented but receives little to no recognition for it/taken for granted

overwork themselves to find worth in their existences; see their actions as proof of deserving good things — if they’re not working, why would they deserve to take care of themselves?

would rather pass out before ever asking someone else for assistance; their independence is both their greatest strength and weakness

are always involved in any type of situation because they’re insistent on finding a solution (automatically feel responsible for other people’s problems). as a result, they often pass boundaries without realizing because they’re too curious and care too much

regardless, they’re a person of their word and can be counted on at any given time. they can have a full schedule but they’ll still put you on top of their list

the older sibling type who can scold their subordinates very effectively (listening to them lecture is tiring, but all of it is true and they always mean well) — can play the guilt card too well and becomes satisfied when people admit they’re right

becomes uncharacteristically quiet and at a loss of words when they realize they’re necessary to their company (people often forget they’re real people just like us)

4. CHIGASAKI ITARU

♡ ALBEDO + KAEYA — the two-faced mysteries who keep running from their past

no one will ever truly know who they are past their facade, and that’s how they want it

their past is indistinguishable at best, they’ll take the secrets of their harrowing and misunderstood history to the grave

no matter what their reasons are, they’re an enigma. they can adapt to any social situation possible with ease and charm everyone in the room to take the side of a stranger. it’s a blessing and a curse to be so well-liked and unknowable

their relationships are mainly acquaintances; it’s nearly impossible for people to maintain close contact with them. they’re like impersonal ghosts who appear right when you need them (they’re there at your worsts and bests, but no where in between)

whether it’s at the top of dragonspine or down below in mondstadt, you can always find them in isolation, where they dedicate themselves to a hobby of theirs to ignore the voices of their past. yet, oddly enough, no matter how caught up they are in their work, they’ll always sense when a person sneaks into their room

their words are carefully chosen and rarely are they impulsive, unless at their wits end and exhausted from maintaing a mask all this time. if they do happen to break character, they’ll apologize the best way they know how to: insincerely

it seems like nothing can crack their carefully formulated exterior, until a genuine act of good is done for them, then you might be able to catch a true smile from them

5. CITRON

♡ AMBER — the story-teller who is a friend to all no matter what

it doesn’t matter if you’re an outsider or not, you will always be accepted by them for who you are

they’re the type to cheer the loudest for you at an event you’re losing in, because there’s never a doubt in their mind you’ll win

always updated on intel and information on every person around them for some reason. the stories they tell are sometimes so strange, bizzare, and far-fetched that it’s hard to believe. yet, it’s often true because they genuinely have no reason to lie

prepared to take on any challenging task due to their unstoppable efforts! for any obstacle they face, they’re doing it with unparalled energy and enthusiasm (even if they do it wrong)

popular with strangers and has the special talent of making people warm up to them quickly. they’re easily recognizable from people you’ve never even seen before on the streets and they never forget a face! they have no problem recalling names with a big smile

used to doing things by the handbook and often requires assistance when making decisions not based on rules. can unintentionally cause problems when acting on impulse, which only further encourages them to explore more

despite being a friendly (albeit naive) person, they’re extremely capable and much more perceptive than anyone would think. they catch details first but misinterpet them depending on the person. they’re just too blinded by their belief in everyone!

🌻 SUMMER 💛

6. SUMERAGI TENMA

♡ XIANGLING + DIONA — the passionate hot-heads who will beat any challenge

watch out for them because they’re ready to burst at any given moment or time! anything can set these firecrackers off; they’re a fuse that’s always lit

in no way do they intend to hurt other people’s feelings, but their competitive streak and fatal flaw of doing anything on a dare make them problematic to some

yet, it’s hard to dislike them when they’re so skilled and talented. whatever they set their mind to, they execute it the best and add their own flavor to it! they impress crowds with their fiery nature and bold approach to life, they’re a force to be reckoned with

it’s even more impressive considering how young they are. they’re so sure of themselves and present their ego confidently, knowing what they like and dislike. it’s such a convincing act, almost everyone would buy it

while these constant competitions to better themselves may make them seem self-centered, it only proves they can’t win it all. when they try to care for others, it comes off as awkward when out of their field of expertise. if they can’t offer advice on their speciality, it’s suddenly foreign to them

they seek your attention and validation, even if they know they’re good. they offer to escort you home even if there are street lights and become quickly embarrassed and in denial if you bring it up. they’re trying their best, they just don’t know how to be a good friend when they’ve been a great entertainer their whole life

they’re doing their best no matter what! they are always working on being the best versions of themselves even if they jump into challenges head-first. they do so because they know they’ll win, it’s a confidence that burns red hot

7. RURIKAWA YUKI

♡ KEQING — the skeptic who never settles for less

their standards are the highest anyone has ever seen, yet they pass them every single time

as a perfectionist, they will never do less than their fair share of work for as long as they live. they expect themselves to be ten times better than the average human because they know their own capabilities

they’re relentless and unmovable, as solid as a rock. they won’t stop at a task, no matter how big or small it is, until it’s perfectly complete and ready to be presented. they take pride in their work and demand others to be respectful of their efforts

they live honestly and in the most straightforward manner possible. there’s no question about their beliefs or values because they wear it proudly like a badge

even if their society looks down on them for it, they’ll always speak their mind and will never be silenced. they expect others to do the same and have a distaste for fakeness in all forms

aren’t afraid of self-reflection and instrospection; although it may take a bit, they’ll eventually admit their inaccuracy and will do anything to correct themselves if proven wrong

use their downtime by shopping and exploring what the shops have to offer. they know exactly what they’re looking for and hardly get distracted from their to-do list at hand

8. MIYOSHI KAZUNARI

♡ BARBARA — the “perfect” idol who can’t let go of their inferiority

adored by all, they can make anyone feel energized again just from the thought of them alone!

ever since they were young, they made people smile with their bright optimism. everyone claps when they perform, they’ll always receive a standing ovation from friends and strangers alike

they work hard for every accomplishment they’ve achieved, but they often feel like a fraud or imposter. like they truly don’t deserve or haven’t earned the success in their life

their inferiority complex is hidden carefully behind their helpful actions and entertaining theatrics for others. as long as they can make someone laugh, they’ll believe in themselves for a moment, too

despite struggling with depression, they have never once gave up on their hopes and dreams! even if they’re certain they’ll never compare to everyone else, they still beat every monster with a smile on their face

although they dream of becoming the most popular person around, they bury it deep inside. all they want is for people to like them... but sometimes, they question if others like them for who they are or their image

9. SAKISAKA MUKU

♡ NOELLE + SUCROSE — the hard-workers who are held back by their own insecurity

though they’re not the most dependable of people, they still commit themselves to learning more and more!

made of big dreams and an even bigger heart, they’re certain they’ll make everyone proud one day with their hard work and perfected skill

they often lose themselves in fantasies and find their mind to be the most entertaining place to be in. in their imagination, they can be anyone they want to be! a knight, an alchemist, an actor, anything is possible! of course, they’ll do these things in real life, too, but a little self-indulgence never hurt anybody~

incredibly curious and can find themselves in strange situations simply because they couldn’t resist learning more. luckily, they can always save themselves in the long run

polite & professional, they’re stubborn in their principles and can stand up for their own rules if need be. while they may come off as weak at first, they have it in them to defend anything they care for

has a habit of stuttering around others — nervous and humble, they find confidence to be intimidating and hard to approach. they respect leaders and could never imagine themselves in such a position (despite being fully capable of doing so)

the only person holding them back is themselves! if they believed in themself, they’d be someone their childhood selves would admire!

10. IKARUGA MISUMI

♡ KLEE — the energetic dreamer who’s a kid at heart

energetic & outgoing, they are always found running around, looking to make every moment of their life fun and interesting (though... they might be followed by a worried friend who fears the worst)

filled with childish youth and spirit, they live in the moment and wish to make friendships wherever they go!

when you meet them, all you want to do is make them happy. they’re innocently naive and remind you of how much good is in the world. they wear their heart on their sleeve and no one could ever be so evil as to break it

they do everything and anything to make their friends proud, such as following any rules they set in place. they become genuinely guilty when they make a mistake, so please comfort them the best you can!

they’re terrified of losing another person in their life. that’s why they treat everyone nicely when seeing one another, they’re scared of every meeting being the last

much more capable than they appear. they can take down anything in their path even if they seem a little lost & confused half of the time. they’re every team’s secret weapon as long as they’re with their friends!

as much as they are a handful, they always mean well and will be a friend until the end!

🍁 AUTUMN 🧡

11. SETTSU BANRI

♡ CHILDE — the fragmented weapon who is always picking a fight

when meeting them for the first time, it isn’t until they leave that you release the breath you didn’t know you were holding

always front and center, their power is unmatched and is present in every unpredictable move they make. under their mask of youthfulness is an aged soul traumatized by reasons unknown

they’re willing to be any person you want them to be, as long as they get what they need. so one minute they’ll be smiling and laughing away, next they act like they didn’t even know you

wildly unhinged and deceptive, they imitate the wind of freedom but are truly restrained by their own private thoughts & feelings. their nonchalance and “i don’t care” attitude is a fool’s act

rarely feels alive — only feels the effects of a challenge when at the verge of death. it is only then that they let all hell reign loose. though, that rarely happens considering they barely have to try before being crowned victor

despite their moral ambigiousness, they are as straightforward as can be and are true with their word. if they say they’ll do somethig (at a price, of course), they’ll do it quickly and efficiently. they use any method possible to finish a task, as long as it guarantees results

isn’t used to others playing them at their own game. if you trick them (which can be done if you inflate their ego), they’re sure to have a grudge against you for an exaggerated amount of time. they may not admit it, but they expect others to be as honest as them (it stings unpleasantly when they realize they do not have the upper hand)

(it’s okay though, because they’ll never show their rare moments of weakness to anyone)

12. HYODO JUZA

♡ QIQI — the wronged ones who were reborn for a better life

all they ever wanted was a second chance at life. now that they’ve got it, they’re going to do everything they can to make it right

despite the world being so cruel & unforgiving, they cannot give up on it. they do their best to live proudly and happily, to heal their inner child who wasn’t so fortunate

has fascinations with the littlest things in life. in their rather monotone voice, they express their want for anything sweet (such as “cocogoat” milk or candy)

though, it’s hard to tell their mood based on voice alone. but, their eyes light up at the thought of anything that makes them happy. they will always have that childlike wonder no matter how old they get

quiet & reserved, they are oblivious to any amounts of attention on them and prefer moving in solitude. they find comfort in strolling far away from the human eye and take things one step at a time

their strength is unprecendented by every mean! just because they’re on the quieter side, doesn’t mean they can’t hold their own in a fight. in fact, it’s a rather hilarious sight to see an unassuming person staring down at someone with a blank expression (only they can order themself to cause such violence, however)

give them a moment to process you if they seem to have forgotten! they firmly believe it is better to forget. forgetting painful memories is a way of releasing

13. FUSHIMI OMI

♡ GANYU + BEIDOU — the gentle giants who could end the world, but choose not to

despite being capable of violence and causing bloodshed, they have left that life behind to be a regular person of society

though their past is tarnished by unsavory acts, they work to redeem themselves and bring comfort to others instead. whether it be taking on a larger share of work than necessary or preparing homemade meals, they’re an essential coming back after a long, hard day

therefore, their favorite way of group bonding is laughing over drinks and food with each other! they have no problem spending money on a feast as long as everyone comes to have fun

because of this, they have a great amount of appreciation for anyone who does a good thing for them. if it’s food, they’ll eat it all even if on a full stomach. if it’s an accessory, they’ll wear it at all times even if it clashes. they wish to take care of anything with sentimental value from now on

their faith and loyalty can be considered blind, but they have immense trust in others. they’ve lived far too long being suspicious of others, they want to live believing in good even if it stabs them in the back later on — yet, this doesn’t mean they’re naive in any way. in fact, they have no fear towards powerful entities that most would usually run away from. they’re confident in who they are after years of training and strength-building

due to their many years of experience in every predicament possible, they have a talent of reading people easily. tiny changes in facial expression are nothing to them and they can tell good from bad right away

so if they consider you a close friend, you have a strong ally besides you that will always do the right thing

14. NANAO TAICHI

♡ BENNETT — the unlucky unwanted ones who carry the weight of the world on their shoulders

no one expects them to be the oldest sibling, but they are! they have the responsibility of taking care of those around them, whether it be younger siblings or elder adventurers

although it becomes quite exhausting and difficult the older everyone gets, they never complain about their duty and will always see it through. sure, it’s more trouble than it’s worth, but if they don’t do it, who else will?

seldom do they feel discouraged, but when they do, it’s not long before they get back up and try again! their tears never last long because they’re never giving up. they can’t lose when so many people are relying on them...

they’re used to doing everything by themself. whatever you need to get done, they’ll do it with one more band-aid on their face! they’ve acquired so many skills that they’re a jack of all trades (and a master at none)

because of that, they’re always smiling no matter what life throws at them. there will always be tomorrow if today is bad, and they’ll do even better! so you better believe it!

even though it seems like they’re “cursed” with bad luck, you can often hear them say, “i’m the luckiest boy alive!”, when anything good happens. those little things keeps them going throughout all the bad

after all, how can they possibly have bad luck when they have so many great friends? they haven’t given up on them, so they’ll always do their best!

15. FURUICHI SAKYO

♡ NINGGUANG + ZHONGLI — the businesspeople who can never have enough money to feel secure

growing up with absolutely nothing, they refuse to go back to a time where weakness was all they had. therefore, even “dirty” money is considered a blessing these days

some may call them “frugal and cheap”, they like to put it as “saving money wisely”. they accept money isn’t permanent and anyone could lose it, even themselves. excess extravagence is a luxury even they won’t indulge in (for themselves especially, but others have a higher possibility)

everything they’ve earned has come from hard work and perseverance. they’re self-made and continue building their empire from the ground up. they’re never comfortable and are always seeking good opportunities to expand their wealth

even as they reluctuantly take on assistants, they’re still uncomfortable with the thought of asking for help when they’ve done everything by themself for so long. they hate to make themselves seem like a parasite and compensate fairly through other means

they’re not afraid to get into debates with just about everyone and see arguments as a way to solve problems and move forward. they’re relentless when speaking the cold truth and hard facts, but they do it to get the hurt over with. they’re not intentionally mean, they’re just cut-throat

they believe their past their “prime time” of experience and encourage others to aspire for more. they act as if they’ve lived several lifetimes (it is questionable if they have) and speak with wisdom so certain, no one thinks to disagree

they can bargain and negotiate for hours; it’s what they know best. should they lose this money... that is simply not a possibility. money protects them and they use it to protect others as well. any loss of money is a sign of danger to them

❄️ WINTER 💙

16. TSUKIOKA TSUMUGI

♡ XINGQIU — the booksmart leads who commit to doing good

at first, they are perfect students. their nose is always in a book, they retain information like its water, and are always gracing others with their polite manners and elegance

they were born with potential and promise, with the knowledge strong enough to change the tide. parents were envious of their achievements and clear excellence and often compared their own children to them (much to the dismay of their inherent humbleness)

yet, beneath their picture-perfect status is a much more curious, troublesome side. their thirst for knowledge grows more and more each day, they have to know. ignorance is not bliss at all

despite their constant learning, they never do it in an underhanded method. they’re honest if their principles are on the line and they believe in upholding morals & ethics

if they do not adhere to these righteous ways, how can they expect anyone else to? as long as they’re doing the right thing, that’s what matters

therefore, it’s more often than not that they give credit to others. they hardly take time to put their name on a project first and pass their own hard work to others. they find it much more rewarding to see people get praised than to receive it himself

though, if you want to thank them, it’ll be much harder to find them to begin with. they can disappear for days at a time before coming back. do not ask why, because the only answer you’ll hear is, “a moment of solitude”

17. TAKOTO TASUKU

♡ CHONGYUN — the ice-cold actor who does everything to conceal his secret side...

stoice & composed, it’s nearly impossible to get a reaction out of this serious person. unless...

they can become two completely separate people if the case calls for it. blame it on whatever you want, whether it be congenital positivity or acting, but they can become friendly and illogical if their job or roles requires it

this is always an entertaining sight for their friends, but it’s extremely embarrassing for them personally. they will apologize again and again, but it’s bound to occur in the near future

regardless of their quirk, they have strong ambitions to be the best in their business and will continue trekking down the long road ahead to do so

in order to be at the top of their game, they have immense self-control and follow a strict routine all for self improvement

they can get up early in the morning and work late into the night with no problems. their endurance is like no other and there is no limit to how far they’ll go for perfection

though anyone can be intimidated by their talents that go beyond the normal standard, they’re just a normal person at the end of the day who has a lot to work on

18. YUKISHIRO AZUMA

♡ LISA — the brains & beauty who make sure no one underestimates them

despite being the smartest and most self-sufficient of their group, they’re simplified to their appearance and charismatic personality at first glance

while they’re used to being objectified, they’ve figured out a way to use it to their advantage. because of this, no one can ever make them react genuinely. they have a calm, composed persona that never fails

hard to read and a master of charm, the only way you can tell they’re visibly not pleased is when the air crackles with electricity. the tension they can create is unfathomable and only they can dispel it. so, better to make it up to them quick or the uncomfortable atmosphere stays!

even if they appear as languid and slow as a cat, they do everything flawlessly. nothing is out of place wherever they go and their attention to detail is second to none. no matter who scrutinizes them, they’ll always exceed every standard with high remarks

yet, they can become easily bored. they need many things to keep them entertained for extended amounts of time. once they get their hands on something, they’ll study it so much until there’s nothing left to learn. if you have any questions, they can explain it in the plainest terms possible

please do not ask them to go do a task, however. they avoid troubling work that has the slightest possibility of giving them wrinkles. they’re lazy by nature, and it’s something they will not change

while they are confident they can handle any situation, they choose not to. more work is something they can never accept on their own terms

19. ARISUGAWA HOMARE

♡ FISCHL — the robotic wanderers who have no place to call home

disguising their true self behind frivilous words and outlandish theories, they almost seem like they’re not from this world at all

due to their odd behavior, they rarely have friends that go along with their roleplay and require translation half the time

regardless, they speak in poems and rhymes for the fun of it. if it makes them happy, so be it!

they take comfort in literature and fantasy stories and project onto characters they love. if they can become a story protagonist, they’d be able to do anything

because of this reliance, it’s hard to meet anyone who can get past their eccentricies. not to mention their family who attempts to be supportive but ultimately grows confused by their grand demeanor

yet, they’re unapologetically themself and refuse to break character for anyone. they don’t compromise their words or actions and are authentically themselves

they’re writing their own story and will never let anyone else decide it for them again

20. MIKAGE HISOKA

♡ XIAO + VENTI — the land-bound souls who wish to be relieved by the wind

there is more to them than that meets the eye; no one has ever dealt with more loss than them

the pains of their mysterious past have made them seem like they’re ancient; moving slowly with the weight of their forgotten responsibilities and promises upon their shoulders

their piercing gaze and ability to be dangerous is a rare sight, though you would be extremely lucky to even survive long enough to see it at its worst. its like muscle memory to them, their violence is like an instinct when threatened

due to experiencing so much in so little time, they now have no fear of others’ judgment whatsoever. they won’t hesitate to mock anyone when prompted and doesn’t need other people’s approval anymore

that is because they can still hear the voices of those they could not save. the dead haunt them whenever they sit idle for too long, so they escape their reality through many means, whether it be sleeping or drinking

they attempt to live freely, like their losses should’ve. they live the life they know their ghosts would’ve wanted and uphold the price to pay for surviving

“it shouldn’t have been me, not them”, you can find them saying in the latest of hours. nevertheless, they fight on. they have an eternal debt to pay to god knows what

(catboy)

[arsonistslut]

Suddenly...Liu woke up. His face didn't feel like it was burning anymore, and the sunshine that flowed into his room was starkly different from the darkness of the room he was just attacked in. It wasn't just that, though, everything around him seemed to be in a sort of dreamy haze. He was about to stand when his brother burst in the room. Liu nearly jumped out of his skin, quickly realizing that the scars that riddled Jeff's body before were totally gone. Was everything from before just a dream?

"Wake up, bro! You're gonna be late for school!"

All he could do was just stare at Jeff, confusion riddling his face.

"You alright, man?"

"..Y-Yeah, I'm fine!"

Liu rushed out of his bed and began preparing for school as his brother waited downstairs, rushing down as well once he was ready and walking into the kitchen, expecting the same wordless room where his parents usually were in the morning. Carla looked over at her son and smiled as she ruffled his hair.

"Good morning, you two!"

"Mornin' mama!"

Liu thought something was deeply wrong. His brother was never this jovial, and their parents barely ever talked to them in the slightest, and that was for 15 years! Was..was that all a bad dream? Was all that Sully shit a bad dream, was Jeff getting set on fire a bad dream? When him and his brother got to the school bus, Jeff sat next to one of the other kids, and Natalie sat next to Liu.

"Hi, handsome!~"

"Hey, Nat! How are you?"

Liu was thankful that at least she didn't change.

"I'm doing really well, my dad's recently gotten arrested, so now I'm living with my grandma, she's a sweetheart!"

"O-Oh, that's great!"

"Hey, did you hear about Jeff's new girlfriend?"

"No, he never told me! What's her name?"

"Cassie! I'm gonna be honest, those two are the cutest. They're such sweethearts, they're practically made for each other!"

"That's wonderful!"

Liu then looked outside the window..he couldn't help but wonder how he'd just realized this, but it was such a beautiful day outside! The birds were singing, the flowers were blooming, days like this came practically once every century in New Orleans. Maybe everything from before really was just a bad dream.

A delighted giggle came from Sully as he watched Liu go about his day in the world he'd so carefully crafted for him in his head.

"Finally safe..safe from the horrors that would taint your pure soul."

Nina boredly flipped through the late night channels, sighing as she wasn't able to find anything that interested her. It was far past her bedtime, and her eyelids were getting heavy, so when a particularly eye-catching news report showed up, it grabbed her attention right away.

"And now, we turn to New Orleans, which has been the site of a brutal massacre tonight, as 7 people have been recently found brutally murdered over the course of an hour. Police are not releasing any names of the victims, but they have apprehended a suspect who they believe is the killer, 17 year old Jeffrey Woods was recently arrested after having set the house of Bruce and Aurora Arkansas on fire. The lone survivors of this horrible night are reportedly one individual, along with the daughter of Bruce and Aurora. Liu Woods, Jeffrey's brother, has gone missing, if you have any information regarding where he may be, please contact the police. We do have footage of Jeffrey's arrest, but be warned, it may disturb some viewers."

The TV then showed footage of a group of police officers surround a pale teenager, his whole body caked in blood. Jeffrey shrugged and laid his knife down on the ground, placing his hands behind his head and allowing the police to arrest him. As he was led to the back of a cruiser, Jeff looked into the camera.

"You win some, you lose some, I guess."

The TV then cut back to the clearly shaken reporter.

"We'll provide more information as it comes to us. IN other news.."

Nina shut her TV off, a wide smile growing on her face. She couldn't quite place her finger on it, but she related to Jeff. What was keeping someone like her from going on a rampage like that...? Snatching her laptop off her desk, Nina quickly logged onto 4-Chan and started a thread. She pondered over what to call it, then typed in an adequate name.

"Jeff's Killers."

Chapter 19: "Nothing but pure evil"

"Jeffrey..do you feel even the slightest bit of guilt for your actions?"

Woods had shown no shame throughout his trial. No guilt or remorse for his actions. He sure as shit wanted to, but when the judge asked him that question, he couldn't restrain the smile that came to his face as he remembered how good it felt to plunge his knife into his father's head, how good it felt to snap Troy's neck, how good it felt to drop that match. Besides, wasn't Zalgo right? This was going to keep happening until he died.

"I don't. They all deserved what they got. Besides, I didn't have any other choice."

Silence followed his words. Some gasped, some began to sob, some just laughed in amazement, but most of the courthouse was silent.

"Jeffrey Woods..you are nothing but pure evil. This court finds you guilty of all charges, and sentences you to death."

The judge forced back tears and pointed toward the door.

"Get him out of here.."

Woods was led away by a pair of policemen, and the courtroom cheered as he was led away.

"And then, my sentence got reduced to life in prison, and now..here we are, doctor."

"I see.."

Dr. Oborn wrote down more notes in his clipboard, before looking back up at his patient.

"Doc..can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Jeffrey."

"...Was that judge right? A-Am I just..evil?"

"While murder is a horrific crime, and many people do seem to see you as nothing more than a psycho who killed for fun, I've spoken with you for over a year now, and I don't believe you to be evil. After what you've told me, I now know that your condition was likely caused by the trauma you referred to earlier."

"..Doc, I.."

Jeff let out a burst of relieved laughter, almost tearing up from joy at the doctor's words.

"You h-have no fuckin' clue how much that means to me! I..I thought I was a lost cause for the longest time..I-I mean, people don't feel happy when they kill someone, y'know?"

"You're not a lost cause, by any means. We've made incredible progress today, and I believe that you will be able to comfortably integrate back into society soon enough. Although, I am confused by one thing."

"What?"

"..How did you know about the things that happened after your hospitalization?"

"Zalgo showed me."

"Zalgo? Who is that?"

"Zalgo is the reason I believe in the afterlife. Apparently, it's a medical miracle I even survived the incident at the party, let alone heal so quickly that my body's now one big lump of scar tissue. Zalgo helped me to survive."

"This is the first time you've mentioned this.."

"Demon."

"Demon to me. You have previously stated your beliefs in Leveyan Satanism, so is this a sort of..representation of the devil?"

"No, the devil isn't real. Zalgo is. Look, can we t-talk about something else?"

Dr. Oborn placed one of his hands on Jeffrey's shoulder, growing concerned due to his growing..worry, almost.

"Is everything alright, son?"

"I...didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"Nightmares, again?"

"No, I saw things, doctor..I've seen how this world will end."

"You've seen the apocalypse, you say?"

Jeffrey then just shook his head, something he feared he would do suddenly worming it's way into his brain unannounced.

"Jeff..are you having intrusive thoughts?"

"I..I don't want to hurt you, you don't deserve it.."

"Nothing will happen to me, son. I'll be just fine!"

"You..you sure?"

"I'm positive."

"Thank you, doctor.."

"Of course-"

Dr. Oborn was pleasantly surprised when Jeff reached across the table and hugged him, but didn't hesitate in hugging his patient back.

Chapter 20: A new terror

"Listen, man, I know what I saw! Some lanky motherfucker was running around my backyard, and wearing a white hoodie! They didn't catch Jeff The Killer, he's still fucking running-"

Carlos Kennedy changed the channel of his radio, confused as to how someone could genuinely believe that it was a good idea to log onto a radio show, ramble about how you believed a convicted killer was still able to run around your backyard, and think you'll be taken seriously. His attention to that was quickly interrupted by seeing a person lying near the road, face down. The good Samaritan quickly stopped his car and got out, rushing over to the seemingly unconscious person that was lying in a ditch.

"Hello?! A-Are you-"

A knife to Carlos's throat quickly cut him off, blood spraying out of his wound. The girl who stabbed him lifted his corpse off the decoy, a teenager in a white hoodie and a somewhat poorly made, but nonetheless effectively scary Jeff The Killer mask.

"Good work, Jethro."

"All I did was sit here, but thanks, Nina."

This was the first recorded murder committed by Jeff's Killers, after a year of just being a bunch of teenagers hanging out in an abandoned house where a bunch of patricide took place.

[monotonous-minutia]

It’s here! The ridiculously long (about 9 pages on Word) and totally unnecessary literary analysis of the absolute gayness of one of my favorite operas!

you guessed it: Les contes d’Hoffmann. I spent way too many hours over the past months writing this thing.

I just think of all of this altogether too much so I decided to just write it all down in one place like the lit crit nerd I am.

As I’ve mentioned before, there is a LOT of evidence in Les contes d’Hoffmann that the two main characters (the titular Hoffmann and his friend Nicklausse, aka the Muse) are absolutely an item. To the point where I honestly can’t understand how a director can look at this opera and think “oh that’s not gay” and proceed to stage it as if it’s not. It is SO GAY. I can only imagine that directors who stage this differently are deliberately trying to specifically remove the gay content (e.g., taking out the Violin Aria, messing with edits, doing weird things with the productions that I won’t get into lest I fall into a rant and forget what I’m here to talk about).

For some, the only way to acknowledge that Nicklausse and Hoffmann are an item is it ignore the Nicklausse part and have the Muse be a girl for the entire opera. Because, well, we can maybe admit to the romance, but at least it’s not gay, right?

Well, no.

Often, we get a strange dynamic where productions can’t seem to decide how to mitigate the gayness. Is Nicklausse a girl so there’s no gay with Hoffmann? But what about when he’s flirting with Giulietta (and come on, it’s really hard to stage the Barcarolle, which is basically a love song, without Nicklausse at least vaguely flirting with Giulietta and vice versa, because they’re singing it together). How is that not gay if you insist Nicklausse is a girl? There’s no way to get around it.

No matter how you spin it, it’s gonna be gay. And like I said, if a production tries to insist otherwise, it’s specifically to push back against The Gay. That usually fails miserably for two reasons. One, those productions are garbage, I don’t care who the director is and how fabulous the rest of their work might be. And two, by trying their hardest to get rid of the gay, they are flat-out admitting that it is there. If it wasn’t so blatantly obviously gay, people wouldn’t try so hard to prove that it isn’t.

On another note, it’s pretty obvious that the character of Nicklausse/the Muse is genderfluid. The Muse introduces herself in feminine terms in the Prologue (and Muses are typically associated with femininity), but navigates the majority of the opera identifying as Nicklausse, who’s a man. Ironically productions that try to lessen The Gay get stuck on this because if Nicklausse is definitively a feminine Muse, she’s gonna be gay with Giulietta, in which case the only way to avoid that is to say that isn’t gay because Nicklausse is a man, and, well, whoops, you just admitted the character is genderfluid.

Like I said, there’s no way around it.

I feel like even this super-vague analysis should be enough to convince people. But, because it’s not lit crit if we don’t get all in-depth and nerdy, and because it’s really fun, I’m going to plumb the depths of my research and analysis and share with you this 4,000-word essay proving that yes, indeed, Nicklausse is genderfluid; and yes, indeed, he and Hoffmann are a couple, and a very gay one at that.

Let’s begin.

(Note: the following contains a lot of references to outside sources and I’m just too lazy to properly cite them especially because I just spent the last three years of my life doing that for all my research papers and it sucks. But if anyone is curious and wants to know where specific pieces of information come from, let me know.)

Nicklausse is genderfluid.

This honestly seems like a no-brainer. The dictionary definition of genderfluid is “of, relating to, or being a person whose gender identity is not fixed,” so the fact that the character spends part of the opera in a feminine form (the Muse) and part of the opera in a masculine form (Nicklausse) is pretty much the definition of gender-fluid since the character’s gender identity is not fixed. Yeah, maybe the Muse is just in drag for the night, but either way, they’re obviously extremely comfortable in the masculine form so it seems more than likely it’s something they’ve done many times before and are not only okay with but very used to. There’s debate as to how much time, exactly, the Muse spends with Hoffmann as Nicklausse, or even whether Nicklausse is a real person or has been the Muse all along. The solution to this could affect the way the character is or is not defined as genderfluid, but the fact that there is no way to tell what the answer is—because the authors deliberately left that ambiguous—renders it a moot point. We could argue back and forth about that all day and never come to a conclusion because there isn’t one. At the end of the day all we can agree on is that the Muse is acting as Nicklausse the night Hoffmann tells the stories, and likely has done so before.

There is other, non-textual evidence that backs up the concept of Nicklausse as genderfluid. The biggest one is that Barbier and Carré were not strangers to the idea of gender fluidity in their work. About 14 years before Hoffmann premiered, another work from these two hit the stage: Ambroise Thomas’s opera Mignon. The titular character is, for all intents and purposes, genderfluid, presenting as both male and female throughout the course of the opera and seeming comfortable in both roles. Even earlier than that, the two of them translated da Ponte’s libretto for Le nozze di Figaro into French for the Paris Théâtre Lyrique. Anyone who knows this opera knows the multiple levels of gender-bending that occur here and the extremely meta exploration of gender primarily through the portrayal of Cherubino, a boy, who is played by a woman and frequently dresses up as a girl. You can hardly talk about Nozze without acknowledging the genderfluidity it contains. So, before writing the libretto for Hoffmann, Barbier and Carré had worked with at least two other stories dealing with canonical genderfluidity. It’s not much of a stretch, then, to say that they were deliberate in their portrayal of the Muse/Nicklausse as a genderfluid being.

That being settled, on to the next point:

Hoffmann and Nicklausse are a couple.

You wouldn’t think so watching the way most Hoffmanns treat Nicklausse onstage, but there’s a lot of textual evidence that supports this claim. There are multiple facets of Hoffmann and Nicklausse’s relationship that indicate they are, at least in some sense, an item, even if Hoffmann doesn’t always acknowledge it.

We still don’t know if the Nicklausse we see in the tavern has been Nicklausse all along, or if he’s taking on the position of someone who’s actually been hanging out with Hoffmann all this time. That doesn’t necessarily mess up the analysis, though, because: if the Muse has been Nicklausse all along, then all of the evidence in Hoffmann’s stories is true (as “true” as they can be, being a result of Hoffmann’s drunken storytelling) of the person who is sitting next to him in the tavern right now. If, however, the real Nicklausse is absent, Hoffmann is still admitting the extent of the relationship to the Muse/Nicklausse who’s in the tavern tonight. We know this because Hoffmann is presumably making these stories up since it’s revealed at the end all these “loves” are manifestations of the real-life Stella. In which case, it is Hoffmann who is describing all of these things about Nicklausse that indicate they are in a relationship, consciously or unconsciously admitting that they are an item. Since the Nicklausse who is sitting with him during the storytelling is also the Muse, it’s not really a stretch to assume Hoffmann is talking about them during the telling, even if there is a “real” Nicklausse who’s absent tonight, because Hoffmann is taking details from things in the immediate vicinity to tell these stories tonight.

Now on to some more specific details:

They are a packaged deal. Before Hoffmann enters the tavern, Luther announces his arrival, adding that Nicklausse is with him (“Messieurs, il ouvre la porte,/Et Niklausse est avec lui!”). No one questions this or asks who Nicklausse is. They are all used to the idea of Nicklausse coming along with Hoffmann, so it clearly happens on a regular basis.

It’s also clear that Hoffmann is much closer to Nicklausse than he is to anyone else in the tavern. And that’s probably saying something, as it’s clear the friends at the tavern know a lot about him: they are familiar with his many different stories; they look forward to seeing him and hearing his tales; they know he enjoys singing, and convince him to do so to cheer him up; they tease him; they ask him personal questions; and they know his schedule well enough to notice when he’s late coming to the tavern. So, Hoffmann clearly has a lot of people here who know and care about him—but none nearly to the extent that Nicklausse does, as we will see. That indicates his relationship with Nicklausse is much more intimate.

Here are some examples:

When Hoffmann and Lindorf are facing off in their insult duet, before they can get too far, Nicklausse intervenes with a metaphor about shepherds and their girlfriends, distracting them before they come to blows. The others in the tavern join in, but no one else was motivated to stop the fight. Nicklausse was the only one who cared enough to break it up.

When describing his role in the stories that are to come, Hoffmann says Nicklausse takes the prize for common sense; he thinks highly of Nicklausse’s perceptions and opinions, even if he doesn’t always show it.

HOFFMANN Tu m'auras sans doute compris, O toi qui dans ce drame où mon cœur se consume Du bon sens emportas le prix!

At the beginning of Act I (Olympia), Nicklausse makes several statements that indicate he knows Hoffmann extremely well. Upon his entry, he exclaims “J'étais bien sûr de te trouver ici!” (“I knew I would find you here!”) He is familiar with Hoffmann’s usual haunts and knows exactly where to look for him. Further, he already knows about Olympia; when Hoffmann shushes him after his entrance, Nicklausse asks, “C'est là que respire la belle Olympia?” (“Is there where the beautiful Olympia is?”) He teases Hoffmann about being in love with her, so Hoffmann has obviously told Nicklausse all about her. Given no one else in the tavern knew anything about Hoffmann’s love life, we can assume he only talks about things like this to people he’s particularly close to.

Further, when Nicklausse is trying to get Hoffmann to reach out to Olympia before proclaiming his undying love, we have this exchange:

NICKLAUSSE Alors, chante, morbleu! pour sortir d'un tel pas! (Then sing to her, for heaven’s sake, if there is no alternative!) HOFFMANN Monsieur Spalanzani n'aime pas la musique. (Mr. Spalanzani doesn’t like music.) NICKLAUSSE Oui, je sais! Tout pour la physique! ... (Yes, I know! Science is everything!)

So not only had Hoffmann told Nicklausse about Olympia, he has also told him about Spalanzani’s obsession with science and aversion to music. Which means Hoffmann very likely talks to Nicklausse a lot about his studies and his intention to pursue a science education.

Out of all the names and titles Hoffmann is given in the tavern—poet, writer, artist, drunk—no one mentions the fact that he is a student. It might be because the group consists almost entirely of students, so it’s a given; but it might also be that, in addition to not discussing his love life with his friends, he also does not talk to them about his studies. Once again, this indicates that he is much closer to Nicklausse than anyone else in the tavern.

Nicklausse also knows the best ways to interact with Hoffmann. After Nicklausse sings his song and Hoffmann brushes him off, Coppélius enters and tries to get Hoffmann’s attention. However, Hoffmann does not respond, to which Nicklausse replies “Voilà le seul moyen d'être entendu!” (“There is only one way to be heard/get his attention”). Then we get the stage direction “il frappe doucement, puis plus fort sur l'épaule d'Hoffmann” (“he hits softly, then harder on Hoffmann's shoulder”). It works; Hoffmann turns and asks him what he needs. This is a very particular way to get someone’s attention. The fact that Nicklausse knows it means he gets Hoffmann’s attention a lot, and knows him well enough to understand the ways in which Hoffmann needs people to interact with him. This once again indicates a more intimate relationship, as no one else in the opera expresses having this kind of knowledge.

In less specific examples, Nicklausse spends a great deal of this act teasing Hoffmann about his love for Olympia. However, Hoffmann doesn’t seem annoyed or put off by his behavior. He goes to Nicklausse repeatedly to make sure he stays involved in the action. He’s used to Nicklausse’s banter, but it doesn’t annoy him enough to keep him away. He’s too attached to him to let the teasing get to his head.

Though Nicklausse does leave with the other guests so Hoffmann can be alone with Olympia, he returns much sooner than any of the others, looking for Hoffmann and asking “Veux-tu qu'on se grise sans toi?” (“Do you want us to get drunk without you?”) Apparently the party isn’t nearly as fun as it would be if Hoffmann were there with him. He misses Hoffmann and wants him to come join him. Then, he tries to warn Hoffmann that Olympia isn’t what she seems, and that he should be careful. When Hoffmann doesn’t respond to that, Nicklausse suggests he come to the ball and dance with Olympia—anything to get him to come to the party.

When Hoffmann does begin to dance with Olympia, she goes out of control. Nicklausse intervenes, afraid for Hoffmann’s life; in the process he gets knocked over himself, but continues to focus on Hoffmann’s well-being (while no one bothers to check in with Nicklausse). (This is rarely staged but it’s in every version of the libretto I’ve read.)

Finally, when everyone else is laughing at Hoffmann for falling in love with a robot, Nicklausse goes to him and tries to comfort him among the madness.

In Act II (Antonia), we obviously get the Violin Aria, which I wrote a really long thing about earlier. In short, it is clearly a love song, and since he’s singing it to Hoffmann, what’s really left to be said? That alone should be enough to convince folks that there are romantic implications (to say the least) between Nicklausse and Hoffmann. I’m at a loss as to how anyone could come up with any other reason Nicklausse would sing that song. “Love victorious”? “Poet, give your heart”? What else could he possibly be talking about?

Unlike almost every other number in the opera, the Violin Aria has no precedent in the play. It’s only here now because we have the Muse doubling as Nicklausse, singing a love song to Hoffmann. Though he spends a great deal of the opera discouraging Hoffmann from pursuing the objects of his affections, he’s not against the idea of Hoffmann being in love. He’s against the idea of Hoffmann being in love with anyone who isn’t him.

Of course, this song is sometimes (often) cut. There’s more evidence that it’s supposed to be there than evidence against, though (according to a bunch of people’s research), so edits that exclude it are probably trying to lessen The Gay as much as they can. I don’t see any other reason for taking it out.

In addition to that, though, in the dialogue version of the libretto, Nicklausse gets a paragraph or so describing just how long (six months) and hard they have been looking for Antonia. You’d have to be pretty devoted to someone to follow them around for six months helping them look for the supposed love of their life. And on Hoffmann’s end, you’d have to like someone quite a bit to have them around you nonstop for six months, and feel extremely close to them to be able to expect that kind of devotion from them.

In addition, Nicklausse once again risks his own safety in order to save Hoffmann (though this is also rarely staged). When Crespel goes after Hoffmann with a knife at the end of this act, Nicklausse literally throws himself between Hoffmann and the knife. Y’all, if that’s not devotion, I don’t know what is.

Act III (Giulietta) is much more complicated because there are just so many versions of it. Of course there’s Kaye’s edit which is heralded by many is definitive and I’ll admit his research seems pretty sound so I’ll allow that to stand (because obviously I have the authority to have any kind of say in the matter). However there are several things from previous edits that Kaye takes out that also contribute to this discussion, so I’ll be referring to them as well.

First off, we get this line here which I’ve seen exactly once out of (n) productions:

GIULIETTA (se tournant vers Nicklausse) Et son ami! Pardon, Pylade or Pollux?

Giulietta is introducing Hoffmann to her company, and of course wherever Hoffmann goes, Nicklausse is as well, and since they’re a packaged deal, Giulietta introduces him as well, immediately after. And not only that, it’s precisely what she calls him that really drives the point home.

“Forgive me, was it Pylades or Pollux?”

I wrote a thing about this too. Here I’ll say:

Pollux refers to Castor and Pollux, who are typically used as a symbol of platonic affection between men, since they’re half-brothers. However, Pylades and Orestes are a different story. As I mentioned in the other post, if you’re familiar with Greek mythology discourse, you’ll know that most people agree there’s more to the relationship between Orestes and Pylades than a little bromance. So Giulietta is clearly suggesting something here when she refers to Nicklausse in these terms. It’s almost like she’s asking the question: “Are you two bros or are you romantically involved?” The fact that neither Hoffmann nor Nicklausse attempt to address that point seems significant to me. Nicklausse simply introduces himself, neither confirming nor denying the implications Giulietta is making about his relationship with Hoffmann. Nor does Hoffmann make a comment. If they didn’t want people thinking of them as a couple, one of them would have probably spoken up, but neither do.

In some Oeser-based edits we get an extended gambling scene, during which Giulietta serenades the guests, Hoffmann is distracted by her, Dapertutto gets some side dialogue, Schlémil acts shady, Pitichinaccio has some fun, the chorus gets philosophical, and Nicklausse tries to convince Hoffmann not to gamble away all their money. (Even if the extended scene isn’t included, Nicklausse gets a line to this effect in many versions of the libretto.)

Their money. Throughout, Nicklausse isn’t just worried about Hoffmann throwing away his own life savings. He’s worried because, despite the fact that he himself is not involved in the game (until Hoffmann makes him take his cards so he can go be with Giulietta), Nicklausse’s funds are at stake here too. I don’t know all the historical intricacies of finance at the time, but it sounds to me like the equivalent of these two having a joint bank account. You don’t share a joint bank account with just anyone. If Nicklausse and Hoffmann’s funds are collective to the point that Hoffmann losing money means Nicklausse is losing money too, the two of them are clearly financially dependent on each other, and if that doesn’t scream domesticity, I don’t know what does. I almost feel like the entire argument could ride on this alone.

The rest of the act is all over the place in terms of the order of events and even if some or others happen at all. The one most of us are probably used to honestly doesn’t have much Nicklausse material after the Barcarolle and his spat with Hoffmann, but others have more—like the conversation with Giulietta and the gambling scene described above. One of the most significant, which is based on a similar scene from the original play, concerns Nicklausse trying to get Hoffmann to leave with him, begging him to leave Giulietta behind, telling him this place is sketchy AF and they should leave before someone tries to steal their souls (which, incidentally, is pretty much exactly what happens). Eventually he gives up and goes to find a means of transportation (usually horses) and someone to help him physically remove Hoffmann so they can finally get out of there. After that, we only see him when he returns after Hoffmann gets his reflection taken; sometimes he doesn’t say much, sometimes he laments their fate, sometimes he finally does get around to dragging Hoffmann away once Hoffmann finally gives up, rescuing him yet again as they escape just before the police come looking for Schlémil’s murderer.

An interesting side note: In one performance I saw, Nicklausse tries to go after Hoffmann when Hoffmann goes with Giulietta, but is held back by Pitichinaccio (who then attempts to give him a poisoned drink, similar to an event in the original play). I also found a libretto and an album where a similar event occurs, except it’s Dapertutto who pulls Nicklausse away and makes him go back to the room where everyone else is still playing cards. In both cases he was able to return to Hoffmann right after Giulietta steals Hoffmann’s reflection. This bit isn’t included in any of the critical editions as far as I can tell, but it’s an interesting event, Nicklausse trying to go after Hoffmann to protect him (yet again) but being prevented by one of the villains. And, because Nicklausse isn’t there to help him, Hoffmann does get hurt this time (Giulietta steals his reflection). The one time Nicklausse is prevented from helping Hoffmann, Hoffmann winds up in a whole lot of trouble.

The epilogue is pretty self-explanatory, I feel.  Nicklausse doesn’t get too many lines, but his altercation with Hoffmann is pretty significant. Nicklausse makes the connection between the three ladies in his stories and the real-life Stella, joking that they should make a toast to the lady. Hoffmann yells at him, basically telling him “shut up or I’ll slap you” (and in some productions I’ve seen, he actually does get slapped). Nicklausse is definitely offended by this.

NICKLAUSSE se levant Ah! je comprends! trois drames dans un drame Olympia ... Antonia ... Giulietta ... Ne sont qu'une même femme: La Stella! LE CHŒUR La Stella! NICKLAUSSE Buvons à cette honnête dame! HOFFMANN furieux, brisant son verre Un mot de plus et sur mon âme Je te brise comme ceci! ...

NICKLAUSSE Moi, ton mentor? Merci! ...

This isn’t the kind of fight you have with an acquaintance. Banter like this, that borders on threats and insults, typically happen between people who are very close and have a lot of history. Nicklausse is trying to draw attention to Hoffmann’s failed loves, comparing them to Stella, to point out how futile it is for him to continue to pursue this siren. It’s about time Hoffmann notices him. Hoffmann, on the other hand, is furious at Nicklausse for revealing the fallacy in his tales. Saying “I’ll break you” is a pretty savage way to respond; Hoffmann feels betrayed by Nicklausse. He’s also pretty drunk. Either way, it’s clear his reaction stems from the closeness he feels with Nicklausse; upset that his “mentor” and confidante would reveal him like that.

After this, Nicklausse usually ducks away, though some edits give him the line “Il faut se décider!” (“You need to decide!”) as Stella enters. He’s giving Hoffmann the final choice, the one he delineated in the Prologue:

Il faut en cette heure fatale qu'il choisisse entre nos amours, qu'il appartienne à ma rivale ou qu'il soit à moi pour toujours!

(In this fatal hour he must choose between our loves; he will belong to my rival or be mine forever!)

Hoffmann is too drunk to recognize Stella, and she leaves him to go with Lindorf. The students leave as well, and Hoffmann is alone—until Nicklausse returns (or maybe he never left, depending on how it’s staged), revealing their identity as the Muse. Again, it’s unclear if they were Nicklausse all along, or just borrowing the identity for the night. Either way, the character that we’ve spent the last two and a half hours with (or longer depending on the edit)—the one who, as the last six pages will attest, is almost definitely Hoffmann’s boyfriend—is here declaring their love for Hoffmann. In some versions they literally say “I love you!”

Je t'aime, Hoffmann: confie-toi à moi! fie-toi à moi!

(Interestingly, when this line is included, it is spoken under the name “Nicklausse,” before their transformation back into the Muse. To me, that’s a decent indicator that Nicklausse has been the Muse all along, even before the events of tonight.)

We don’t know exactly what’s going to happen next, and what precisely we assume will happen once again depends on the Muse’s status as the actual Nicklausse in Hoffmann’s life or imagining. I haven’t seen any two productions (save revivals of the same production) that stage the ending in the exact same way. There’s a lot of ways to interpret it.

But after all this, I’d venture it’s pretty safe to say the ones where Hoffmann and the Muse get together at the end are accurate.

[madroxed]

the order (season two) thoughts.

so chotoranii asked me for my thoughts on the order season two. of which there are many. posting them here rather than in a reply so tumblr doesn’t fuck up the ‘keep reading’ break. 

SO MANY SPOILERS AHEAD, OBVIOUSLY.

OK FOLKS, LET’S DO THIS. SORRY ABOUT THE WORD COUNT.

the good, the bad, and the incomprehensible.

ok SO. overall i thought this season was so much better than season one, especially in terms of production and acting.

i should start by saying, the biggest twist of this season? ME LIKING JACK AS A BLOND. i’ve been dragging that hair for months and i end up digging it? i’m so mad at myself.

ANYWAY the first three episodes? flawless! beautiful! amazing! they honestly took everything i could have listed as wanting and put it onscreen. jack trying out for cheer squad and having to stay on cheer squad to keep up the act? them finding each other almost immediately? the jokes about orgies? jack taking the knights seriously and holding on to his anger over the memory wipe? lilith and nicole? nicole in general? RANDALL AND HAMISH FAKE DATING (however briefly, seriously, i will be writing fic where they have to keep that up because i am betrayed that it was never brought up again and if you think i didn’t throw my laptop across the bed so i could run around screaming you’d be wrong)? A MAGIC HEIST?

honestly, all perfect.

............then the season started to go downhill. don’t get me wrong, there were still some excellent parts, but they were hindered by two things:

the plot jumping about too much to be comprehensible.

the fact that we the viewers are supposed to believe that randall carpio and hamish duke would not tear the world apart for lilith bathory immediately. 

the first is forgivable; the first season’s plot was a simple enough device that meant it dragged a little at times. this season they seemed to not want to fall into that trap again, but in doing so threw something so big in that they needed far too much exposition because they didn’t have enough time to show it (a trait they fell into in a lot of ways, we’ll get back to that). SHOW, DON’T TELL, FOLKS. that being said, i really liked salvadore as a character, and the idea of a group of people striving to make magic accessible to all was a cool moral quandary plot. 

the second is unforgivable to me, and led to the majority of my issues with the season. i understand the knights becoming members of the order (cool concept), i understand them struggling with conflicting loyalties because of it, but what i don’t understand is the fact that randall spent the majority of the season saying “let’s get lilith back!” only to back down at the first push back, and hamish was the push back. because......the order had other problems. IN WHAT UNIVERSE DO THE KNIGHTS OF SAINT CHRISTOPHER NOT PUT EACH OTHER FIRST AND SAY FUCK EVERYONE ELSE? 

(jack i understand, if only because we saw so much of it last season. his loyalties are kinda flaky. i do understand his loyalty to vera; not only did she play a huge part in taking down edward last season, but the mind link thing and learning all her pain would have stuck with him. he loves a cause, that boy. also hey ho! jack was so much more likeable this season! we love to see it.)

also i just really missed lilith.

(thank fuck for nicole never giving up.)

the amount of callbacks to season one were fantastic. they didn’t just move on and leave it be, they referenced basically everyone, and seeing professor clarke and kyle again was a nice touch just to tie things together. there also being discussions about jack’s pete related trauma was great and necessary. 

ok, so alyssa. i take back my post about how great it would be for her to be the villain. this was so much better. her trauma in the wake of both season one and then accidentally killing someone leading to her feeling so conflicted and lost and alone? her magic malfunctioning when it’s all she feels she has? we’ve always known she was ambitious, but to see her face straight on the idea that she may be left completely powerless and no one really listening or trying to help her except a hive mind that’s also hurting her? o u c h. 

we saw this season that the real problem with the order is its motto of ‘hurry up and wait’. ‘we’ll save lilith.....just do all these other things first!’ ‘we’ll get alyssa’s magic back......there’s just more important things right now!’ it’s all so easy to see how that could frustrate someone so much they can’t take it anymore. 

i’m so pleased i loved alyssa so much this season. i desperately wanted to and i’m glad they gave me that. i just felt so much for her. she just wanted to not feel so alone and so helpless and so scared that she was going to pick the wrong side again. it was beautiful.

this also meant alyssa/jack was better this season. having got the insta-love out the way last season (ugh), this season they were able to actually look at how that would play out if you took ramifications into consideration. all the problems i had with them last season were vocalised onscreen, and this new unstable thing left in its place was far more appealing to watch. they were messy and bad for each other and they knew it, but that didn’t stop them loving each other. 

also: “if we get out of this, can i take you to the mall? because i really hate your jean jacket. and your hair.” 

in regards to the other relationships: 

lilith and nicole were adorable for the limited amount of time we got them onscreen. the slow crush to nervous dating was beautiful, and seeing lilith struggle with what getting her memories back meant in regards to that was great. we all know i thought the lilith/randall of last season was rushed, so having lilith torn over hurting one of the most important people in her life and following these feelings for someone new was lovely. IF WE GET A SEASON THREE I BETTER GET SO MUCH MORE OF THEM.

here’s the thing, putting aside lilith/nicole for a moment: the order can’t write good relationships (*with one major caveat).

hear me out. 

in season one it was insta-love. jack and alyssa meet and suddenly defending alyssa is the only thing that matters to jack. it....wasn’t good. randall and lilith were thrown together with very little build up and we were supposed to roll with it.

this season we had both hamish/vera and randall/gabrielle. i would like to say that theoretically i am here for both of these. but.

hamish/vera occurred off screen. oh, sure, we had a couple scenes of them staring at each other over drinks, but that was all we got until late into the season. we were told that hamish and vera were a thing by randall when he was winding hamish up. we didn’t see it for ourselves. again, this show’s habit of telling not showing is a problem. 

hamish and vera could make sense. two leaders of opposing factions having sort of hate, begrudging respect sex? i see it. from there, you can show us how it would become something more.

the show doesn’t. 

we’re told they’re together. we’re told hamish is forsaking his knightly duties in favour of vera. we’re told by hamish that he’s drunk the order koolaid, 

and all of this is supposed to culminate in us believing that hamish duke - tundra, leader of the knights of saint christopher, the most cunning of the wolves - would push aside everything else because he just believes that much in vera stone? to the point that he would all but abandon lilith and degrade his relationship with randall to randall being the annoying sidekick? 

i woke up at two a.m. to write a note on my phone that says: ‘the greatest tragedy of the order season two is hamish duke’s character assassination.’ and i stand by that. 

besides lilith’s absence for almost the whole season, it’s the thing i’m most mad about. i love hamish so much and to one-dimensionalise him in favour of a ship is...............shoddy work honestly.

so like i said. HAMISH/VERA COULD HAVE BEEN GOOD, BUT FOR FUCKSAKE SHOW, YOU HAVE TO ACTUALLY DEVELOP THIS SHIT.

randall/gabrielle was better developed. by which i mean we actually saw them interacting on screen. we got to see them begrudgingly working together, we saw him learn more about her, we heard them talk about her need to fit in somewhere. when they made the joke about being bffs? good stuff. would i like them to slowburn this shit? yes please. have them become best friends and then have those feelings be something else. i would really like that. the show just needs to.......slow down. not immediately see a single character and need to throw them into a relationship with the nearest person.

gabrielle was great this season. by which i mean, she was gabrielle, and we love some consistent characterisation. i think it’s so true to everything we know about her that she’d want to inject herself into the knights’ world; she wants to be part of the in-crowd, and right now that’s them. she’s also supremely jealous of alyssa because, to her, it seemed like alyssa had the best of both worlds. so, yes, her wanting to be around the knights and that developing into her begrudgingly liking them makes a lot of sense to me.

so, my caveat.

the relationship the order knows how to write? the knights. hamish, randall, lilith, and jack. that dynamic saved season one from being a total mess. that dynamic thrived in the early episodes of this season. IT’S JUST THAT GOOD. i said once that if the order just became greek (2007) but with werewolves i’d be happy, and the first three episodes really gave me that. 

THE KNIGHTS ARE EACH OTHER’S SOULMATES, ASK ME HOW.

is this an excuse for me to complain that they gave us a hint of hamish/randall and then cruelly snatched it away and i’m still mad about it? YOU BETCHA.

is this also my way of saying there wasn’t nearly enough jack/randall this season? YOU BETCHA.

removing lilith from the equation (I’M STILL SO MAD) and then having hamish pull away from randall because..........who the fuck knows, was just a recipe for disaster.

clearly lilith is the glue that holds these idiots together.

so, vera. katherine isabelle still just steals every scene she’s in. i love her. i love vera’s characterisation. i love that she’s shamelessly ambitious but also wants the order to succeed and the world not to end. i love that she can be cold and cruel and still have such soft spots for both jack and alyssa. i love that she can be vulnerable and angry about it. i just........think vera’s pretty fucking great, tbh.

i still don’t understand why the knights - after their infiltration revenge plans go tits up - decide to just go full on order. like??????? hamish and jack barely even questioning anything???? randall must have spent most of this season feeling so alone.

that being said, when jack said to nicole and randall that he knew what they needed to get lilith back and the conversation pretty much went:

jack: you’re okay betraying the order?

nicole: for lilith, anything.

randall: i’d literally betray the order for a cookie, haven’t you been listening?

we love to see it.

OH, HEY GUYS, REMEMBER WHEN IAN ZIERING AND JASON PRIESTLEY WERE MEMBERS OF THE ORDER AND JASON PRIESTLEY BECAME GRAND MAGUS FOR A HOT SECOND???? that was written solely for me. i do not know who this show thinks its audience is, but it understands me to my core.

so...............i have zero clue where the show intends to go from here. i just need alyssa to be ok and i hope - like his friend randall - jack is willing to kill whoever the hell he has to to make that happen. (we stan randall straight up murdering someone to get lilith back and making sure nicole remains innocent and safe tbh.) 

SO TL;DR: the early episodes gave me life. the show declined from there, but i still enjoyed it a lot. the order is at its best when the knights are a team, i loved alyssa’s story this season, and i have no clue what to expect from next season (if we get one). werewolf alyssa? villain jack, perhaps? we’ll see! 

THIS POST PROBABLY SEEMS TOO NEGATIVE BUT HI! I STILL LOVED THIS SEASON A LOT AND I LOVE MY KIDS WITH MY WHOLE HEART AND IF YOU READ ALL A MILLION WORDS OF THIS THEN I LOVE YOU TOO.

also if anyone has any hamish/randall prompts i’ll be hanging out over here crying into my hands for the next few weeks. FAKE DATING. how dare they?!

[omg-baeyoung-baeran]

Maybe I Should Resign (Jumin/MC Oneshot)

Summary:

When your cringeworthy, cutesy cat-based post-its meant for your depressed friend are accidentally sent to your stone-hearted boss...take it as a sign to turn in your resignation letter.

o-o-o-o

It was mischievous and amusing, he admitted. The words written were always related to his current situation for some reason. Initially, it was odd and suspicious, but after it had given him comfort on several occasions, he had grown a little fond of the notes sent attached to his cup of coffee. 

Unless it was something related to cats, he was never the type to waste time, energy, or even money on something that did not involve the family and the company’s benefit; therefore, he never bothered finding the person behind it. He figured it was another scheme from someone who wanted to get ahold of his affection, so it was in his best interest to leave things be. The interaction went on for months, and the unknown person did not seem to have missed a single day doing the same task.

Impressive.

This mysterious person had persistence he would applaud of if he or she were not using it on something insignificant.

“Make efforts for yourself too because you are worth it!” The sticky note was purple this time.

That day, he bought himself a cat mug and was delighted by it.

Is this what commoners mean by “reward yourself”?

The first time the note made him frown deeply was when his father was involved with another woman, though the message was not the reason why he had made such a face. He wondered once again who the person might be behind the notes. Is it a woman who has the same intentions like his father’s passing lovers? Is it a man who is sucking up for a promotion? 

He had asked Jaehee before who had been preparing his coffee lately, since he had her retire from the task to handle more important matters at hand.

“It’s the chef’s son who prepares the coffee for the executives, Mr. Han.”

“He is not an employee.”

“Yes, but he volunteered to work without pay to help his father fulfill his duties without problems. I have offered to raise the concern to you, Mr. Han, but he refused.”

He hummed, raising his hand to his chin in thought. “Make him sign a contract and ensure his pay is more than sufficient to compensate for the days he did not get paid.”

Jaehee nodded and reconfirmed, “We will need to help him get a lawyer for the contract. The chef has mentioned before that his son is illiterate, so I will be contacting Mr. Joyou for recommendations.”

For a brief second, his eyes flashed in confusion. “Are you sure his son is illiterate?”  

He received the third report the next day, proving that the chef’s son was indeed illiterate.

From mysterious messages, it went down south to suspicious messages.

Fortunately, nothing other than passing one-sided notes was happening. The messages were innocent and can sometimes be helpful, thus there was no need to be alarmed.

“Meow~ a kitty a day keeps the purrblem paway!”

It can sometimes be… cute… he begrudgingly confessed. 

That was the first time it made him smile and his heart flutter.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

It was a huge mistake.

All this time, she was digging her own grave, and she had no idea she had dug deep enough to be a knock away from entering the gates of hell. She had been writing him notes to cheer him up and, perhaps, brighten up his troubled days. Pretending to be a maid to gather information unavailable online from a huge company seemed to be a huge hassle. He was tasked to do it for months too; hence, she made sure he wouldn’t get too lonely.

She wrote him notes—which she thought might help him smile—and stuck them on the cup of coffee he would serve for the employees. He never mentioned anything about it whenever they got the chance to chat. It was a bit disappointing, but her little help appeared to be working well. He seemed genuinely happy, and that was the only thing that mattered.

That was until she got a response in the form of a cat-shaped baby blue sticky note.

The coffee area was empty early in the morning. Most employees were yet to arrive, but the tray holding the cup where she usually stuck her messages already had a sticky note attached to it. Her lips touched the rim of the mug, her own sweetened coffee warming her cold lips.

Oh? A response? I wasn’t expecting that….

She took the note, flipping it around to inspect it.

Cat-shaped? Aw, so cute! Seven really loves cats. 

Her eyes scanned the message written.

“Write something about cats today.”

Huh? Wait, hold on, something’s wrong here.

She felt the heavy feeling of dread fill her stomach as she analyzed the piece of paper in her hand. Her mother had always jokingly called her “stupid” when she was in her teens, but she never believed it was true until she actually gave evidences to such hypothesis. Her joke was probably not a half-meant joke but a prediction of what she would become in the near future.

One thing she was certain of….

This is totally not his penmanship.

She had known Seven for years and was one of his closest friends. He would even take her out at random times to get ice cream even when his schedule was loaded. They would write on receipts and draw doodles of whatever came into their imagination. His penmanship was not necessarily messy but it carried its own charm.

This, on the other hand, looked too elegant to be his.

“Umm… good morning, Ma’am,” greeted a young man with brown hair and light brown eyes.

She forced a smile, tucking the note into her skirt’s pocket. “Good morning! Are you gonna grab a coffee?”

“Oh! Umm… no… haha! I am more of a tea person, though I make coffee for the executives.” His laugh sounded awkward, but she thought he looked like a nice guy. “Please do excuse me,” he muttered before passing in front of her, grabbing the tray where the cup with the note was placed.

The coffee she drank nearly burst out of her nose when she choked.

“Miss?” the boy questioned in a low voice, albeit slightly alarmed, “Are you okay?”

Her laugh can sound as fake as it was, but her petrified mind was too horrified to function.

“Ohohoho! I am fine! Nothing to worry about!” she beamed between coughs.

Later that day, Jumin did not get his daily note.

He tried to deny it the best he could, but it was just too evident.

It was the first time it made him upset.

Just a little bit.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

When a week came without a single note from the mysterious messenger, he started to feel unusual. It may be childish of him, but because he had learned to like it, it brought him disappointment to find a typical cup of coffee served in front of him. Perhaps it was from the fact that he forcefully abandoned his childhood before that his childhood spirit came back to bite him now.

Each morning, it got him curious of what secret message he would receive for the day. Will it be another joke? Another cat pun? He learned to find excitement in the short letters and “freebies” that came with it. Once, he got a stamp, and it caused him to raise a single brow.

“What is this?” he asked the chef’s son while he studied the white cat stamp between his fingers.

The chef’s son cocked his head to the side. “I do not have a clue, Mr. Han. I just found it on the tray next to your cup. I assumed it was something important and someone wanted to send it to you.”

It was nothing expensive, yet he kept it displayed on his table.

That was weeks ago… and he missed it.

Again, just a little bit.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

The gossip which greeted her ears the moment she entered the office mortified her beyond belief. Apparently, the heir of the C&R International company had asked if anyone knew of someone who was courageous enough to leave “memos” on his cup of coffee. He worded it terribly, as though it was a violation of the company’s rules and regulation, so it was not a surprise people made a huge deal out of it.

I’m leaving this company. I will never rise from the ashes of my shame and humiliation. Surely, Mr. Trust Fund Kid will know immediately if he’s ever free to check the cctv footage.

With a silent battle cry, she filed her resignation a day later…

and just her luck, a secret agent had successfully stolen quite an important document from the CEO the very same day.

“You are relieved from your mission, Agent 707.”

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

“Are you sure you did not misplace it, Father?”

Three people stood inside the CCTV control room. They were surrounded by more than 20 monitors that were flashing previous clips from the past weeks.

“I am sure without a single doubt that I kept it hidden in drawer 7.”

Dark, calculating orbs scrutinized the video. It was the last clip they were reviewing, and it was where the chairman can be last seen holding the documents prior leaving it in drawer 7.

“How can it disappear when no one has entered Father’s room? Have you double checked the system if anything’s amiss?”

He patiently waited for a response while the control manager worked on the system check��his eyes drifting back to the multiple clips they were previously analyzing.

There was Yeonwa chatting with Jaehee...

Jaewoo bringing in three boxes of pizza...

Helena bumping into Chong—

He frowned.

“August 6, 2018” was coded on the top right corner of the screen. If he was not mistaken, the company suspended all works that day to celebrate their successful purchase of Grace Cup Store.

So why are there employees working?

“Mr. Han,” the male manager cut off, “I believe the entire footage was placed in a loop since March using videos back in 2016.”

“Since… March?” He racked his brain for any memory that happened back in March. There were international events, meetings, partnership requests….

“Surprises will start today~ I’ll make sure you’ll enjoy it.^^”

Now that he recalled, he was pretty sure the notes started back in March.

o-o-o-o

Soooo this is meant to be an open-ended oneshot, but we MAY post a second chapter (emphasis on “may”)

[clovermunson]

Fluff Alphabet- Charlie Weasley and Emma Galloway

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

One thing Emma finds most attractive about Charlie, oddly enough, are his freckles. In a weird way, it’s like they accentuate his facial features. Another thing is his personality, how he’s very laidback but he’ll always come through for her.

When it comes to Emma, there isn’t much that Charlie doesn’t like, if there’s anything at all. His favorite, by far, are her eyes. They’re always so expressive and hold so much hidden emotion that he wishes he could just understand the half of.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

At first, they were both very hesitant about ever having children. Emma choosing to be a Healer was a safe, reliable choice of profession, but Charlie choosing to be a Dragonologist and Emma taking it up as a second profession proved to be tricky for them to feel comfortable having children. About two years after their marriage in 1994, they’d finally decided to start trying to have a child.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Charlie is usually the big spoon, but sometimes they’ll cuddle face-to-face, with Emma’s face buried in Charlie’s chest.

They’ll cuddle nearly anywhere they can comfortably fit.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Most dates are adventures for these two, starting out with them searching for dragons near Hogwarts as teenagers, taking trips to the Black Lake for a swim, and Charlie flying them around on his broom. Sometimes, there’s the romantic, formal date.

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

Emma is Charlie’s everything. He nearly made the mistake of losing her once and he wouldn’t dare even try it again. He couldn’t lose her because then he’d be lost.

Charlie is Emma’s life, every choice she makes is with him in mind, and she’s very thoughtful in thinking of how he’d feel about certain situations.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

Emma knew she was in love the moment she looked into Charlie’s eyes on their first official date. She knew from that moment on, she was done for.

When Charlie saw Emma at the Celestial Ball in her light blue dress, perfectly curled hair, very little makeup, and her always radiant smile, he was immediately love-struck. He knew she was beautiful both inside and out, but he never thought he’d see her in a dress.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

They’ve very gentle with each other. Charlie has a lot of natural strength and some built-up strength from working out for Quidditch and to work with dragons in the future, so he’s always very careful to make sure he doesn’t hurt Emma. Emma, according to Charlie, is just naturally gentle without even trying.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

With their fingers interlaced, Charlie’s thumb over Emma’s. They’ll hold hands all the time, studying in the library, the common room, or the Great Hall.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

Emma first noticed Charlie’s affinity with dragons and his smile. Both of these things caused her to take a liking to him. At first, Emma was a little wary of the second oldest Weasley, but she quickly grew to like him.

Charlie noticed Emma’s smile before anything else, which seemed infectious to him. How she lit up a room was evident to him, and left a good impression on him. Soon after, every time she smiled, he was smiling.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

They both can get very jealous at times.

Emma doesn’t like when other girls with blatantly stare at Charlie, even when she’s sitting right next to him. She’ll scoot closer to him and hold his hand, or plant a kiss on his cheek.

Charlie, if another guy even so much as glances in Emma’s direction for a second too long, will wrap his arms around Emma’s waist and pull her closer to him, kissing the top of her head.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

Very soft, gentle kisses are the norm for them, and it’s usually Emma who will initiate them, sometimes Charlie will surprise her and quickly peck her lips. When it comes to the more heated, nobody-can-see-us-so-lets-go-for-it kind of kisses, Charlie initiates them every time.

Their first kiss was more of a mutual thing, with the both of them kind of having a sense that it was about to happen, though it was initiated by Charlie in the Gryffindor common room in 5th Year while nobody was around. This was their first passionate kiss, and it just had to be interrupted by Bill, much to Charlie’s annoyance.

“Dammit Bill, do you ever knock?”

“What do you mean? This is the common room, you git.”

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

On a technicality, Charlie. Though they both said it at the same time during a swim in the Black Lake, where their first kiss almost happened. Leave it to Bill to ruin that moment too.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

Their first dragon-hunting date. They went out by the Black Lake, where Charlie had sworn he’d seen a Norwegian Ridgeback. Though they never saw a dragon, they spent most of the night talking to each other and laughing at each other’s stories and jokes.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Charlie spoils Emma more than he should, honestly. Every time he sees something that he knows Emma would love, he just has to buy it for her.

Emma will sometimes buy little gifts for Charlie, and sometimes she’ll spend just a little too much to get something she knows he’ll like.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Charlie: colors like yellow and red remind him of Emma. Yellow because of how she’s always in a cheerful, playful mood, and red because of how passionate and determined she is to always prevail in her journeys.

Emma: orange and red remind Emma of Charlie. Orange partially because of his wavy, long hair, and because of his energetic nature and creativity. Red because his passion matches hers and his unyielding courage. It takes a lot of courage to willingly want to work with dragons, and Charlie has just that and more.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Charlie: Princess, Babe, Baby, Honey, Darling, Love, Sweetheart

Emma: Honey, Love, Sweetheart, Babe, Baby, Dragon Tamer

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

Definitely vintage things like vinyl records, old payphones, and antique items

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

During their Hogwarts years, they’ll sit in the common room together and enjoy a cup of tea while they’re studying together. When they’re in Romania, they’ll cuddle up on their couch or bed, listening to the rain pelt against the roof and windows of the small cottage, eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

It comes down to them usually having to cheer each other up, because either they can’t cheer themselves up or their friends can’t. More often than not, Charlie can cheer himself up with just the mere though of Emma, and she can cheer herself up with just the thought of Charlie. But to cheer each other up, they’ll always make dumb little puns and jokes to each other, and words of affirmation are a key point.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Anything about dragons

Their future

More often than not, each other and how much they love each other

How Bill can be a bit of a nuisance to them

Care of Magical Creatures

Who is the better student (usually relating to specific classes)

Who is more deserving to be a Prefect

Who’s family can be more annoying (usually Charlie wins this argument)

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

For Charlie, during his Hogwarts years, it’s being able to crash and take a nap in his dorm, or on the common room couch. Sometimes Emma will be on the couch, so he’ll just lay his head in her lap and mentally clock out for the day while she’s playing with his hair. After, it’s being able to come home to Emma and just kiss her for as long as he wants. Sometimes he’ll try and get it to become something more, and he’s almost always successful.

During her Hogwarts years, Emma is most relaxed by being alone in her dorm and lighting a candle if she’s not able to crash on the common room couch with Charlie. After, it’s lighting a candle and taking a warm bubble bath, that Charlie will sometimes ask if he can join but will never admit that he likes because Bill would give him so much shit for it.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Charlie absolutely loves showing Emma off to everyone and he 100% will ‘my girlfriend’, ‘my fiancée’, or ‘my wife’ someone to death. He just can’t believe out of everyone she could’ve had, she chose him.

Emma loves showing off all of Charlie’s dragon drawings, notes, and dissertations, as well as his Quidditch accomplishments and not to mention, his well-maintained athletic figure.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

On his birthday in 1993, Charlie proposed to Emma at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. They had been working with a nursing Romanian Longhorn, and Emma had her back turned to Charlie to tend to the dragon chicks, and he took his chance to get down on one knee and ask for Emma’s hand in marriage. When Emma turned around, she was surprised to see Charlie down on one knee. Emma didn’t even think about saying yes, and instead just pulled him into the most passionate kiss they’ve ever had, when they pulled away from each other she had the most playful smirk on her face as she asked, “does that answer your question?”, and Charlie already knew that he had a definite answer.

On December 28th, 1994 Charlie and Emma got married in a small ceremony at the Burrow, with their families and friends in attendance. Emma ended up taking the Weasley name, as she was proud to become a Weasley. Charlie chose Bill as his best man even though he tried to act like he didn’t want to.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

There’s a few that come to mind

Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper

Hooked on A Feeling by Blue Swede (Charlie actually played this song a lot when he first realized he liked Emma, and then Bill told Emma about it)

Right Here Waiting by Richard Marx

My Girl by The Temptations (this one was found by them playing an old record, and Charlie acted like a complete goof about it)

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Marriage is often talked about in their last year at Hogwarts, as they’re both so set on being able to move in with each other as soon as they can. Charlie was surprisingly the first to bring up the topic.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Ideally: a dragon.

Realistically: dogs and/or cats

[immortalcoelacanth]

Smile for Me Oneshot: Pickle Jar

I’m back on my Smile for Me kick because I love the game and epilogue! Gillis and Randy are adorable and I felt inspired to write out how the meeting between the two of them might have potentially gone. Word count: 2800 Summary: “PIKL” jars were hard to open, but you knew just the tough, strong guy to handle this. 

The Habitat could be a strange place at times, or all the time depending on your perspective. You had gotten used to the collection of, quite literally, colourful characters that you encountered and interacted with at every turn, but it seemed as though every day you ended up meeting someone new.

 Case in point being Randy Hapukurk.

 The pickle craving poet that you had found at the bottom of the stairwell. It had been a relief to encounter someone that was as socially anxious as you were, although it was for very different reasons. You were “too” quiet, while Randy was just…

 Different.

 It honestly made you a bit sad to see how nervous he was, but you were happy he felt safe enough to talk to you and ask for a favour. Granted, it was not a favour that you could really complete on your own. You had taken a moment to show Randy that you both shared the same soft, pathetic, little baby hands which would make opening the pickle jar he had more challenging.

 But he still believed in you, and he had entrusted you with the pickle jar in the hopes of granting him sweet, briny salvation. Now you just needed to figure out the best way to open the jar.

 As you started to walk away from Randy, he called out to you. “O truest friend, I send you well wishes and fortunate tides on your quest to open the salty elixir!”

  You grinned and sent him a thumbs up. You had no clue how you were going to accomplish your quest, but you were certain you would find a way! Randy seemed like such a sweetheart and it made you all the more determined to help him feel happy.

 After exiting the stairwell, you did try your best to open the pickle jar on your own, face twisting into a frown as you struggled to get the lid to move. You smacked it a bit and held the jar so hard when you removed your hand you could see the rim of the lid imprinted on your flesh.

 You hissed and shook your hand to dull the somewhat numbing pain.

 Ronbo took note of your plight, taking a quick drag of his cigar before speaking. “Youse sure is struggling with that jar. Like you could use some help…”

 A quick, eager nod was your answer. Yes, surely Ronbo was strong enough to open it for you. The flower on the top of your head swayed in time with your nod, making the clown smile at the sight.

 “But I’m busy, someone needs to look after the carnival and keep people smiling.” He continued, and you felt your smile drop in disappointment. “Life responsibilities you wouldn’t get.”

 You let out an annoyed huff. It was somewhat annoying that everyone assumed you were younger than you actually were and treated you like a naïve kid. Although, for most it seemed like the title of “kid” was one more so born out of affection rather than a label. Either way, it was nice while also leading to some personal annoyance.

 … Not that you would ever mention it, or could mention it, anyways.

 You were snapped out of your thoughts when Ronbo started speaking again, gesturing towards the carnival and the various Habiticians that were scattered across the grounds. “Check and see if there’s a tough guy clowning around. He should be able to help ya. Hnk.”

 Tough guy…?

 As the realization of who he was talking about dawned on you, you smiled brightly and nodded in thanks. This got another grin out of Ronbo, who waved as you quickly strode into the carnival grounds in search of your target.

 Where was he-aha!

 Gillis was hard to miss with his intimidating frame and towering height, but he always seemed so… quiet, as though he did not want anyone to notice his presence. You had seen firsthand how much of a sweetheart he could be, both with his love of cute things and the empathy he was willing to express if he felt someone needed it. He had made it clear that he hated people judging him from your interactions with him, and it was something you could relate to. Unconscious expectations and the disappointment when those expectations were not met-

 You shook your head. Nope. Not getting into that while you were trying to cheer someone up.

 Wanting to further distract yourself from your previous train of thought, you waved as you got closer to the bouncer, hoping to catch his attention. Soon enough, he noticed you and waved back.

 “Hey!” Gillis greeted before looking around and crouching down so he was closer to your height. In a much softer, hopeful voice, he quickly asked you a question. “Did you grow any new flowers to show me?”

 The slow, somewhat sorrowful, shake of your head caused a frown to appear on his face. You winced at the thought of disappointing him but, well, you had not been able to grow any new flowers here. The only seed you had been able to get your hands on was just barely budding. When you got out of here, you definitely needed to start dropping off flowers at… wherever he lived.

 You hoped the quick pat on his shoulder helped convey your apology.

 Despite his dismay at your answer, he was quick to put on that macho act as usual, standing upright as a serious look crossed his face, though he was careful to make sure you had moved your arm before he did so.

 “GOOD! FLOWERS ARE FOR BABIES, NOT MACHO GUYS LIKE ME! So, what if they… look really pretty when the sun’s shining, and all the… f-fuzzy bees land on them…”

 You waved again to catch his attention, cutting off his mumbles about how wonderful flowers were, and how cute bees could be. As he directed his focus back to you, you held out the pickle jar. A pleading expression crossed your face as he processed your unspoken offer.

 “Oh! Uh… you need me to open this weak jar? Cause of your baby hands?”

 You quickly nodded and, to your surprise, Gillis seemed rather hesitant to help, growing a bit sweatier.

 “That’s WAY too easy for me to open! I’d be wasting my time when I could be doing, uh, other TOUGH, MACHO things! Yeah-huh?”

 The pleading expression on your face as you held the jar out to him again certainly caused him to pause. His flustered state intensified as he took in the… cute expression on your face-

 It was too much.

 “Ok, if you REEALLY need my help with this… task. BABY task. I’ll open the jar, easy peasy…”

 After he took the jar from you, you grinned and clapped your hands. Yes! That jar stood no chance against Gillis, and you knew it! You watched as he took on a determined stance, holding the jar in one hand while the other rested on the lid. In fact, it was as though the entire carnival had grown silent, the anticipation building…

 “Time to… FLEX-”

 You watched as the bouncer slowly struggled with the lid, turning it one way and then the other to try and loosen it up. His eyes were narrowed, teeth gritted, and you swore you could see the veins in his arms bulging due to the amount of power he was using, but the lid just… refused to budge!

 Not wanting him to give up hope, you clapped your hands together and did your best to cheer for him, despite your naturally soundless state.

 To your surprise, your clapping and supportive state seemed to actually be helping him. Slowly, slowly his grip tightened…

 “Hrngggggg…”

The hand on the lid started to twist…

 “GrrrrAHHHH-“

 And the lid popped off.

 It flew somewhere in the distance, as though Gillis had accidentally thrown it during its removal, but you were certain you heard something breaking in the background, like a window.

 Hopefully, no one would have to pay for that.

 Gillis stood in front of you, panting slightly and sweating quite a bit, but he looked victorious as he offered you the pickle jar. “Heh… super easy… huff…”

 You placed the opened jar down off to the side and leaned forward to quickly hug Gillis. Normally, you would never have instigated such contact, especially if you did not know whether the recipient would want it or not, but you wanted to make sure he fully understood how grateful you were.

 And a small part of you had wanted to hug him since you first realized how soft the bouncer was.

 He, naturally, stiffened up at the gesture and quickly looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. Once he was certain that no one was looking at either of you, his eyes quickly grew watery and he let out a sniffle.

 “F-Fine, you can have one… hug. A Baby Hug.” Gillis relented as he carefully hugged you back. “Not like I like… hugs… um, thanks…”

 You looked up at him, tilted your head to the side, which the still sprouted flower on the top of your head mimicked, and grinned. Communication would forever be a painful hurdle for as long as you remained at the Habitat, but hopefully this was enough.

 Based on the blush and smile present on Gillis’ face, you were certain it was.

 With your thanks and hug properly delivered, the opened pickle jar was collected, and you set off to deliver Randy’s briny salvation, waving at the other Habiticians as you went. There were still so many you needed to cheer up, so much work that needed to be done, but you could worry about that later.

 Randy was your focus now.

 The trip back to the stairwell took no time at all, and you were soon greeted by a cheerful exclamation from Randy. “Oh, pungently fragrant flower, the wind carries a briny scent! I see the sweet nectar has been unsealed.”

 You grinned at the theatrics before nodding your head. A true, genuine smile took over the poet’s face as he leaned over, performing a mock bow, and waited. Quickly picking up on what he wanted you to do, you lifted the jar up and dumped it over him.

 Immediately, Randy was covered in the strong-smelling substance, pickles nearly falling to the ground before he managed to deftly catch them. When the jar was empty you placed it off to the side and watched as the tinted green Randy smiled at you.

 It certainly seemed like you had managed to cheer him up.

 “Thank you, o faithful friend! The glorious smell of pickles, one could weep… sniff, sob.”

 The praise and thanks were appreciated, but a part of you felt bad knowing that Gillis would not get the recognition that he deserved. If he had not opened the pickle jar for you, you have no clue how else it might have been opened. Besides, you had a feeling the bouncer could use the confidence booster!

 You sprinted away from Randy, ignoring his confusion and questions as you gestured for him to stay put. You could only imagine the stares you were getting as you dashed back towards the carnival, nearly bumping into Putunia in the process. After waving apologetically at her and ignoring her insistence that you needed to continue practicing your tackles to “take down the Green Menace”, you swiftly made your way over to Gillis.

 Panting a bit thanks to all the running you had been doing so far, the morning was barely over, you nearly bumped into the bouncer as you came to a halt, hands on your knees as you took a moment to catch your breath.

 This, naturally, drew Gillis’ curiosity and concern. “Uh… you okay?”

 You looked up at him and nodded before reaching out and grabbing onto one of his arms. Using all your strength, you did your best to tug him towards the stairwell.

 As expected, he did not move an inch.

 “Heh, your Baby Muscles aren’t enough to move a MACHO MAN like me!” Gillis exclaimed before his bravado turned to confusion. “What’re you doing?”

 Doing your best to convey your intent, you gestured towards the courtyard, still tugging on his arm. He seemed pretty confused by what you were trying to do, but ultimately relented and allowed you to pull him towards the courtyard.

 “NICE TRAINING, FLOWER CADET!” Putunia called out, throwing her fists up in the air. You awkwardly sent her a thumbs up before continuing with your task.

 It took far too long in your opinion to get Gillis to the stairwell, but you eventually managed to. Randy was still standing where you had previously left him, seeming to bask in the heavy smell that now engulfed him. He was snapped out of his trance when you, and Gillis, got close enough.

 “Hello, o fruity flower! What has caused your swift return?”

 You pointed at the confused bouncer and mimed opening a pickle jar to the best of your abilities. The poet was able to quickly decipher what you were trying to portray and shifted his attention from you to Gillis.

 There was already a blush forming on his face.

 “Oho! So, this sweaty fellow is the one who freed my salvation from its glassy cage?”

 “Uh, yeah?” Gillis hedged, somewhat unsure of what to say. “Opening that jar was SUPER easy for a TOUGH GUY like me!”

 “A magnificently muscular specimen, then!” Randy proclaimed before bowing to Gillis in thanks. “You have my external gratitude, savior of pickles!”

 “Uh… YEAH! Did… did you really need those pickles so bad?”

 “Indeed, I did! I have craved their glorious juices and brine as a fish craves water! You were vital in helping accomplish my wish, according to our flowery friend.”

 The bouncer scratched the back of his head, still somewhat flustered by the praise but now starting to calm down a bit more as the conversation progressed. “W-Well, if you need a BUFF, STRONG MAN to open more jars, I’m the guy you should look for!”

 Randy’s eyes practically sparkled with joy at the offer. “How wonderful! I shall write poems that praise your strength and victory over the might of the pickle jar!”

 From there, the conversation continued with the topic shifting from focusing on the challenge of opening jars to shared interests. While Gillis was not a poet, he certainly seemed interested in listening to some of Randy’s poetry, and it made you happy to see that the two of them were getting along and enjoying the other’s presence.

 Who knows, maybe they would become friends because of this.

 When there was a break in the conversation, you took the chance to wave and catch both of their attention. You gestured towards the courtyard, indicating that you had to leave.

 “Safe travels and good luck on your quest, o flower friend!”

 “Yeah! And… uh, Maynard says hi…”

 You mentally cooed at that; it was good to see that Gillis still cared for the toy bear and nodded in understanding. With everything settled, you took off and resumed your duty of trying to cheer up those in the Habitat that were still sad.

 Someone had to help them, even if you were the least qualified person to do so.

                                                 xxxxxxxxxx

 The next time you saw Gillis and Randy interacting was about a day later. As you made your way down the questionable stairs, you noticed that the pair were seated at the bottom, talking about something. Curious and not wanting to disturb them, you quietly crept down to the landing above them and waited there, looking down at them.

 Due to Gillis taking up most of the space, Randy was somewhat squished up against him, not that either of the pair seemed to mind. In fact, Gillis appeared to be downright infatuated with whatever Randy was saying-

 Oh, he was reciting some sort of poem! A poem that Gillis was enjoying based on the smile he had, and perhaps he was enjoying just being around Randy too.

 The blush on his face certainly made you think so.

 The soft-spoken words between them went unheard by you for obvious reasons, but you were glad to see that they were enjoying each other’s company! They looked cute together, too! Your heart melted as you watched Randy lean against Gillis, enthusiastically gesturing to something on one of the pages he had been reading from. The bouncer was sweating drastically at this point, but there was no denying how content he looked with the situation.

 You stood up and made your way back to your room, intent on leaving the two lovebirds alone so they could have some peace and quiet.

                                        xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I hope you all enjoyed reading this oneshot and thank you so much for reading it in the first place! I hope to continue writing more Smile for Me fics, especially since i have some ideas, so hopefully you’ll see more from me in the future! Thank you all so much for your support!

- ImmortalCoelacanth

[forkanna]

[AO3] [WATTPAD]

NOTE: Some shit is about to happen. Brace yourselves. And thanks to everybody for your reviews, I really appreciate them!

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"So! That was, um, interesting."

Ai cleared her throat as they walked along the bustling streets. By now, it was later in the afternoon and the crowd was different; most of the people out and about either had business there, or they were NEETs who had nothing better to do with their time than wander around. "I'm sure. Sorry about dragging you in there, I just… I had been thinking about Crossroads since last night."

"Last night?"

"Yeah. When you said you would come with."

"Oh," she laughed. "Well, I mean, hey, if Lala-san is important to you, then that's fine! Though I'm still… I guess a little confused about a couple of things."

"Like what?"

What a would-be innocent question. Problem was, Rise could hear the anxiety threading through Ebihara's voice as clear as day. Even though she wasn't sure why, she had this notion that Ai wanted to open up to her even more than she already had, but was afraid of how she would react. She was too finely attuned to these things now to miss simple emotions.

"Oh… like… nothing." She linked arms with her and smiled brightly, skipping a couple of steps. Ai was dragged along with a slight grunt of surprise.

"Hey!" They both laughed a little. "No, but really, you can ask."

"It's okay! I just wondered where you knew her from." Then she smirked. "Probably helped you with dieting or whatever, before you moved to Inaba."

Ai's smile was a little pained. "Yeah. Or whatever."

"Sooo what's next? The whole day is ours! You wanna hit a pachinko parlour or something super skeevy? Oh — or a host club! I mean, all they do is shake you down for money in exchange for smiles from cute boys, but…"

Ai thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No, I… l-let's go to a karaoke bar. Host clubs are gross, I'm not into it."

"Totally with you on that," Rise agreed easily. "But it's whatever you want to do." In the back of her mind, she was still a little worried about the reason they were ditching in the first place… but she wanted to give Ai time to open up on her own. Badgering her with questions only sounded like the quickest route to get her to clam up.

They quickly found a suitable karaoke establishment that didn't look like a front for an underground drug ring or anything. Ai insisted on paying, so Rise said she would get their snacks. An acceptable compromise. They were soon set up in a little two-to-four-person room, taking a load off after walking around so much.

"Oooh, I could melt into this couch," Rise sighed blissfully as she kicked off her shoes, letting her head tip back and her eyes close for a moment.

"Yeah, for sure. Now I'm going first. When you take your turn, you're going to blow me out of the water with your professional level ability, so I can at least enjoy one song."

She frowned, sitting up to look over at her. "You think I would gloat about that? No way!"

"Not gloat," Ai chuckled softly, favouring her with a brief smile. "But… I've always been a little self-conscious about my voice. Even now that it's better."

"Better… than what?"

"Oh — here's a good one." She had been looking through the catalog of songs and was now inputting the selection into the screen. Some of the more modern places had touchscreen menus that you could just scroll through, but this place seemed a little old school.

What else would she pick but another old song? Though of course Rise had no idea who Momoko Kikuchi was, the name sounded very vaguely familiar… as did the upbeat little tune that started floating out of the karaoke speakers. She sank back into the couch, crossing her legs primly to listen with rapt attention.

"Hizashi gaaa… hitotsu yowamaru tabi niii," Ai sang in a soft voice. Rise was fascinated. Her friend's talent wasn't nearly as polished or strong as her own, but there was a hint of real power lurking under the surface. Somewhere along the way, she had stopped listening to common people singing — because she was surrounded by professionals. So much more gratifying as a reprieve from constant perfection.

And the longer Ai sang, the better. Confidence made her voice gradually grow stronger until she hit the final chorus, her repetition of the titular lyrics "MOU AENAI KAMO SHIRENAI" practically shaking the rafters. Rise was reasonably sure it wasn't supposed to be belted out like that, given the accompaniment, but it still made for a fantastic performance.

"WHOOOOOO!" Rise cheered loudly as she clapped, and Ebihara blushed and tried to hide the microphone behind her back, as if that would absolve her of all culpability for whatever crime she thought she was guilty of. "Encore!"

"Psh. You're just saying that because you don't want to hurt my feelings."

"Screw your feelings! That was amazing! Really, you need some practice but everybody needs practice. I think you could join a girl group; I mean, you're already super hot."

That definitely didn't make her blush go away. "Sh-shut up! Idle flattery is so lame!"

"And you're adorable!" When Ai sat down stubbornly and began to rummage around in her bag, she pouted. "Aww, come on, is it really that bad? Now you want to leave?"

"Not leave. I just… wanna take the edge off if I'm- yeah, there."

Rise felt her eyes go round when she pulled out a six-pack of beer. A full-blown six-pack! "Uhhhhh… what's, um, what's that for? How did you even fit that in there?!"

"For forgetting my bullshit problems," she grunted as she cracked one open, passing it to Rise. "And you too, girl. Forgetting my bullshit problems, I mean; I think I pretty much am your bullshit problem."

"But…" How could she be more diplomatic about this? "You really strike me as more of a wine spritzer kind of girl. Or something with melon!"

Ai waved a hand from side to side. "Yes, but my father didn't have that stashed in the fridge. And a bottle of wine would be too difficult to smuggle out! Now, are you going to get crazy with me or not?"

"Um, no," Rise told her flatly, passing the can back. "I'm not going to tattle on you, either, but I'm not… let's just say I had an unfortunate experience when I wasn't even really drunk, and I think that's probably enough. So I'll pass. Thanks, though."

"Ohhhhh, that sounds like a story," she chuckled as she tipped her beer up. At least she hadn't insisted.

                                                      ~ o ~

As their afternoon slowly approached evening, the two girls had a fantastic time in the karaoke. Rise did tell her the story, and she laughed aloud at how sloppily she had hit on Narukami while under the influence of what she thought was alcohol. Entirely psychosomatic. Then they moved on to swapping a few stories about him, waxed a little poetic about what a good friend he had been to everyone. Promised each other they would try to be just as close.

And little by little, Ebihara got freer and less inhibited. Rise was never that uncomfortable because she wasn't crossing any lines — not really. But those reservations that usually kept her from touching her for too terribly long fell away under the influence of alcohol, and she started patting her leg or hugging her randomly, grabbing her hands and spinning her around in a circle as she laughed and laughed. This was well worth the price of admission.

"So that's all it was?"

Ai nodded as she hung up the landline receiver on the wall. The front desk had just interrupted to ask if they wanted to extend their time another hour, and she had answered in the affirmative before returning to the previous topic. "That's all, yeah."

"That's not even that bad," Rise giggled as she took a hesitant sip. Beer was horrible, though she found it oddly satisfying. Still, that was plenty and she didn't want to imbibe further until she was drunk like Ai was quickly becoming. "I thought you might have been really into Erica's nail polish or something. Besides, all you did was put your foot on the table the same way she did — and because you're proud of how dainty they are now!"

"It was lame," she sighed as she plonked onto the couch next to her friend, clearly not intending to take the next turn at the microphone. "I was lame. They were just trying to hang out together and I inserted myself into their conversation. I'm really annoying."

"No, you're not," Rise scoffed with a small smile as she reached over to pat her friend's shoulder.

"I am! My own mother didn't even want to…" She trailed off, as if she didn't mean to say the first part of that and certainly didn't want to follow it up.

"What? C'mon, you know you can tell me anything."

"She… didn't want to talk to me. She just had some information she wanted to pass to my father, about some shitty bill. And she couldn't get him on his phone, so…"

"Oh. Well… at least you got to talk to her, right? Better than nothing."

"Not really. Like, we didn't have much to talk about. She wasn't interested in my life, wasn't interested in my new best friend." Rise couldn't help smiling slightly, despite the gravity of their current conversation. "I'm just not interesting to her or whatever. So fuck her. If she doesn't want a daughter, then I don't want a mom."

"Right! Geez, no wonder you've been in a mood for a few days." She could definitely relate to that. But she didn't want to make this about herself, so she just followed up with, "Yeah, fuck her! You're an amazing girl who is going to be an amazing woman, and if she can't even take time to talk to you? Then who cares? You just live your best life."

Ai turned to smile at her. The way her eyes were glistening with unshed tears made Rise's heart leap into her throat, but she tried to ignore that. They were going to have to get used to doing so. "Thank you. I'm not sure I think you're right, but thank you anyway."

"No, I am. I'm right about a lot of things." She nodded her head emphatically as if somehow that would prove it, and Ai chuckled. "Now, whose turn is it? I'm losing track."

"Wait. Um…" Now she looked a lot more anxious. Why? Hadn't they just cheered her up, decided to forget about her mother being horrible and focus on having an amazing skip day?

"Ebi-chan?"

"No… I'm gonna do it." Then she shotgunned the rest of her second beer, slamming the can down on the table a little too roughly. "You got this."

Rise didn't need to be told she was talking to herself this time. So she just reached down to grab her friend's hand, squeezing tightly in reassurance. "Hey, listen. Whatever this is, you and I can work it out. Are you still feeling weird about the kissing?"

"Y-yeah."

"Then, um… I know! We could find one of those host clubs and kiss some boys. Would that help? Like, if your most recent kiss wasn't from me…"

"No… I… I wanna tell y… you that-"

Suddenly, she stopped talking. Rise gave her a few seconds before she leaned in to whisper, "What? What is it?"

Instead of answering with words, Ai covered her mouth, held up a finger, and bolted for the door. No need to ask what that was about.

"Told her to slow down with the beer," Rise sighed as she whipped out her phone. To her surprise, she actually had a few messages; this was her third phone number, because the first two got found out by fans and she couldn't sort through all the spam to find actual messages from people she knew. But so far, so good with the current number.

YUKIKO: Kanji mentioned you weren't in class today. Is everything all right?

Leave it to the junior innkeeper to make sure she was taken care of. Smiling, she leaned back to relax against the couch until her friend was done voiding her stomach as she texted back.

RISE: Oh sorry about that it's all good~

YUKIKO: Oh okay. Thank you!

RISE: You want to ask what's going on but are too nervous

RISE: Riiiiiight? ;D

YUKIKO: NO!

YUKIKO: …Yes.

RISE: Hahahaha

RISE: I'm in Shinjuku with Ebi-chan

YUKIKO: WHAT?! Why?

So she told her the whole thing, as briefly as she could. While waiting for a response, she grabbed the key and ran down the hall to the restroom to ask Ai if she was alright — and only received a groan and some muttered words she couldn't understand, so she winced and headed back.

YUKIKO: I have to admit I am a little confused. How does Ebihara-san know those people?

RISE: Yeah she's being a little cagey

RISE: Maybe it's none of my business

YUKIKO: Maybe. But you are her friend

YUKIKO: Oh, Chie has an idea

RISE: CHIE does? What are you two doing?

YUKIKO: Nothing! Just hanging out

RISE: Mmmmhmmmmm YUKIKO: Really.

YUKIKO: Anyway, Chie wanted to know if that strong looking woman bartender was actually a man?

RISE: Oh… you mean in drag?

RISE: Wow I didn't think about that

RISE: Maybe but why?

YUKIKO: Hey it's Chie

RISE: You have a phone lmao

YUKIKO: SHUT UP this is easier

YUKIKO: Anyway like it really sounds to me like you were in a gay bar

YUKIKO: It's Shinjuku right?

RISE: Hey not everything in Shinjuku is about sex and gays!

RISE: But… you might have a point

RISE: But hey so what? You saying Ai has been a lesbian the whole time?

YUKIKO: Oh no no way

YUKIKO: Well maybe?

YUKIKO: Yuka told me about you making out and then feeling awkward

RISE: HEY that was a secret!

RISE: Wait did you just call her Yuka?

YUKIKO: Uhhhhhhhhhh gotta go

YUKIKO: It's me again, I am so sorry for telling Chie. She's my best friend and I didn't realise it was a secret

RISE: Oh it's okay really

RISE: I guess I just wanna figure out what she OH SHIT she's coming gotta go

YUKIKO IS TYPING…

But she would never find out what she typed. At least, not for a while. The banging on the door made her hop up immediately and open it.

"Oooh… I feel… like ass… I didn't want to… do this today!"

"Wash your mouth out!" Rise helped her grab her lemon soda, and she swished and spat into the wastebasket before taking a real drink. "Wow… hey, I mean I did tell you so, but I'm really sorry you're sick."

"It's… fine. I'm fine." Clearing her throat, she wiped at her mouth with her napkin, then her face crumpled. "I ruined my makeup… I look like a wreck!"

She reached up to run her hand over her friend's hair. "What? No, hey… come on, it's okay! I've got plenty in my bag, we can touch it up before you-"

"I was about to… tell you something really important. But now I just wanna sleep. Or kiss you. Or both."

"What?" Rise's eyes shot wide. "Oh. Well, um… I th-thought we were trying not to let those vibes take over, right? So… so I'm just gonna forget you said that. No big deal!"

Ai threw her arms wide, practically whacking Rise in the face. "IT IS! It's a big deal! You have no idea!"

"Then explain it to me," she urged her with a furrow in her brow. "Like, you know I wanna help my friend, but I can't do that with my hands tied and my eyes blindfolded."

"Fine. Here it is." And of course, she took another swig of beer, because that was going to help matters. Rise found it almost impossible to suppress the eyeroll. "You… are really fucking with my plan."

"Plan?"

"Life plan. I was going to… well, maybe I didn't have a good one, but I was going to finish myself and become a whole woman instead of half a woman, and find a rich guy and settle down, maybe just be a trophy wife. Narukami if I could tie him down. And now it's all shot to hell!"

"Whoa, whoa, you're losing me! You can still do all of those things! And what do you mean, you're only half a woman? You're eighteen now! Right?"

But Ai was already shaking her head, tears running down her cheeks. "I don't know… I should have asked Erica… but I've been trying so hard to just pretend, I didn't want to admit it. So I couldn't ask her! And now she's probably flying back to the States!"

"Ask her about what?! Ebi-chan, you're not making any s-"

This was the most unexpected kiss of them all. Not that Rise had expected any of the kisses, but the way Ai pounced on her, pressing her down into the couch cushions as she went for it with all the gusto she could manage… that was new. For the first few seconds, she tried to scream into her friend's mouth, pounded her fists against her sides and shoulders…

And then she just wasn't trying to resist at all. As always, the kisses from her new best friend felt more like kisses from a lover, and it didn't take long for her fists to come to a rest, and then for them to unfurl into hands pulling her closer. God could threaten to strike her dead if she didn't deny that this was the most amazing thing she had ever felt and she would have to wind up dead. She couldn't even lie to herself or to anyone else about it anymore.

Insane as it was, Ai Ebihara had overtaken Yu's spot as the one directly in the center of her heart.

When they finally broke apart, Rise was staring up into her best friend's eyes, knowing she must have looked like a deer in the headlights. Because even if she wasn't scared of her, she was still scared — of this entire situation, of her own feelings, of what this could mean for the course of her entire future. And her career! Was Japan really ready for a gay idol? Or bisexual, or whatever the word for her would be from now on. So many concerns were flooding her mind…

And there would be more. Instead of leaving her to ruminate, Ai's face scrunched up as if she were about to start bawling again. "See? I'm… it's all ruined!"

"H-hey, no…" Reaching up, she caressed her cheek as tenderly as she could. "Listen… you're not ruining your 'plan', it's… do you want me to leave you alone? If it's hard for you to not kiss me, I could, um, I could transfer somewhere; I have the money to rent an apartment. Or I could just… just do my studies in-"

"NO. Inaba is more your home than mine. You stay. And… I won't go, either, because it won't change anything. I just…" Fresh tears slipped down the sides of her flawless face, dripping from her chin. "I have to face the music. I'm a fraud."

That was it. So eventually, Rise had no choice but to prompt her, "What? I mean, you're not, but… what do you think you're a fraud about? Being a friend when we're kissing?" Ai shook her head. "Then what?"

"Me liking you isn't the problem. It's who I am. If I like girls, then clearly… I was just… delusional that I could really be…"

Finally, Rise sat up, forcing Ai back onto her own legs. She leaned in very close, pressing her hands onto either side of her neck. "Tell me. And whatever it is, we'll figure it out! I'm not going anywhere."

"You might." Ebihara took a deep breath, eyes turning to stare at the door listlessly. As if she wanted to disappear. "Thing is… I'm nothing but a liar. I've been lying about everything since I came to Inaba — to everyone around me, and to myself. When I met Erica, I really felt like maybe I wasn't, that it might be fine! But the more I like you, the more it must mean… I'm just crazy. I'm just a crazy, stupid, psycho who thought he could be something he's not!"

"No, you're not!" Rise whispered — and though something in that sentence sounded a little off, she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Not yet.

"I AM. Because I'm a goddamn boy who lied to himself that he's a girl, and now I'm in love with an idol and I've ruined my whole life! What the hell am I supposed to DO?!"

                                                      To Be Continued…

[pnatsecretsanta]

Johnny Jhonny in: A Christmas Calamity

A STORY!/ IT’S DONE!/ FOR @pjmaxsson! Apologies for getting this out so late, I hope that this little tale brings you a bit of belated Christmas cheer, and more! Without further ado, here is:

Johnny Jhonny in: A Christmas Calamity

“ARGH!”

Johnny Jhonny kicked one of the small snow piles haphazardly placed along the sidewalk. The holiday season, as with most things in Mayview, had been bizarre so far, with a mild snowstorm being followed by a mild warm front. Only a thin layer of snow remained, save for the large dirty piles left by the snowplows.

“Out of anyone I coulda gotten, I had ta’ get Isabel Guerra? That chick’s impossible to get information on!”

“Well if it’s any consolation, she probably won’t murder you if you get it messed up. Pretty sure Lisa knows I got Violet ‘cause she’s been giving me that creepy smile for the past three days. Plus, I don’t think RJ even got someone from our grade,” Ollie chimed in.

RJ nodded in agreement, their furrowed brow hidden by their hood.

“None of this would even be a PROBLEM if Mr. Garcia had handed out these assignments earlier!” Stephen cried out, waving his hands in an exaggerated motion. “THREE DAYS to deliver a Secret Santa present?! We’re gonna have to do our investigations separately!”

               The group, sans RJ, groaned at that. Gift giving for them was nothing to be taken lightly; each member of Johnny’s Gang would meticulously search for, or more often create, something for their target that would have some kind of personal connection for them, a tactic that extended to any poor fool that they got saddled with for a Secret Santa. This, of course, could take a bit of time to gather enough information to make such a gift, which the boys (and RJ) preferred doing together. That plan was now ruined thanks to Mr. Garcia sleeping through the day he was supposed to hand the slips out, on top of his continued forgetting.

               There was a nudge on Johnny’s arm, and he swerved to see where RJ was pointing. At the base of the hill they were slowly traversing down was his target, a maroon sweater barely peeking out under a stone grey jacket, mahogany hair lightly nestled at the shoulders. There’s no way Guerra wouldn’t suspect an ambush if the four of them went down, a thought Johnny saw reflected in his compadres’ eyes.

               “Go get ‘em, slugger!” whispered Stephen with a shove that was anything but soft, sending Johnny stumbling nearly a quarter of the way down the slope before he caught his footing. Halfway down the hill, Johnny stopped and gave a quick glance at his pals, who gave waves of encouragement and thumbs up as a response.

—

About three feet in, Johnny was able to gather one bit of information on Isabel Guerra:

She had really weird ideas for recreational activities.

After a few close calls, he had managed to tail her into a weird-looking cave mound. The damp walls seemed to eat up any light, as Johnny had soon found it hard to see even a foot in front of him, and the soft ground obscured any sounds he could have used to follow her. The paths were wide (he surmised that Ollie could easily walk beside him) and winding ever downward, and the bully soon realized that there were multiple sprawling paths. Johnny silently cursed himself for not charging his phone the day before. At least there would have been a small light source if he had.

The small, uneven muttering up ahead caught his attention.

“Oh geez. Oh man. D-did I go the right way? How are there so many paths? What if Mr. Max is hurt? What if that thing comes back? Ohhh…”

Slowly, Johnny crept up to the voice, hearing it fret over many things. He squinched up his eyes, trying to think. This definitely wasn’t Isabel-her voice could command the room, confidence would ooze from every sound she made.

“I can’t stay here worrying about this! Mr. Max needs me! But…”

“Who the heck’re you?”

               “WAAAUGH!”

Johnny could just barely make out the hazy shape of a boy about his age in front of him, quaking intensely. He wouldn’t have enough time to ruffle this one up, he figured. Got too far away from Guerra already. He’d have to make this quick in order to catch up to her and hopefully hear her let something slip.

“A’ight fella, this is the way it’s gonna work here. I’m feeling pretty generous t’day. Gotta make sure I get the deets on somebody real fast n’ stuff. I’m not even gonna stop ta’ beat ya’ up right now, my mood’s that good. Just tell me where the Guerra chick went.”

“Uhhh…I…don’t know who…that is..?” came the hasty reply.

“Er.. Isabel Guerra? Brown eyes, long brown hair, gray jacket? ”

“…Oh. OH!” The boy seemed to perk up a little upon hearing that. “That’s the scary girl’s name? The one from that weird dodgeball game, right?”

“Hitball, yeah, she was t’ other captain. Besides me.”

“O-oh, okay. I, uh, wasn’t paying too much attention to the game…mostly just watching Max. Ah! Are you the guy Max blocked that ball for?”

That one stung a little. If there was anything that made Johnny Jhonny uncomfortable, it’s someone taking a punishment that should’ve rightfully been his.

“Yeah…that’s me,” he said, the agitation creeping into his voice. “You gonna tell me where the girl went now, or are ya gonna stand here and waste my freakin’ time?”

“Well…I dunno where…Isabel, right? Went exactly…but if she’s in here, that means she’s going to help Max too! Which is good, because this place kinda scares me..”

Great. This kid wasn’t any help at all, Johnny thought to himself as he began to storm off. Well, as best as he could storm in this place, anyway, as the ground muffled all his footsteps.

“Uh, mister sir, you’re heading into a wall,” the boy provided helpfully right as Johnny smashed his face into a bed of dirt. “Are you able to see in here? Because it looks like you’re squinting pretty hard…”

“Oh, so you can see where yer’ goin’ in this pitch black mess?”

“A-a little, mister sir. This place has a lot of weird turns and forks and dead ends. If you can’t tell where you’re going, you could get pretty lost.”

Johnny suddenly had an idea.

“Right then, it’s settled! I can’t see a foot in fronta’ me, and yer’ too scared to fight…whatever it is you came in here fer’, so you get ta’ do the lookin’ and I’ll do the fightin’! I’ll let ya’ pay me back for it later.”

“Uh…ah…oh…kay”, came the uneasy reply. “There’s a path to your left. It’s straight for a while after that, from what I can see.”

And with that, the two set off.

—

Johnny couldn’t tell how long he’d been walking in silence for. At least with the Ed ambush a few days prior, he’d been able to gauge some method of progress by seeing just where Ed was and what he was up to. But here there wasn’t anything to see ahead of him. He could barely hear his own footsteps on the ground if he paid enough attention, but he couldn’t hear the other kid’s at all, even though with a glance he could see the kid steadily at his side.

He wasn’t scared, of course. It was just a dark silent cave, that’s all. Nothing that pathetic could scare Johnny Jhonny.

He was, admittedly, just a little creeped out. He needed something to keep his mind off of this. Besides Guerra, of course. No sense chasing Guerra with some hyped up senses that’d give him away.

“So what’s your deal, anyway? If yer’ so scared of everything, whatcha even come to a spooky cave for?” he asked.

The sad little laugh’s proximity made him jump.

“I was trying to go around with Max a little bit, to see the town again. I thought maybe I could become a little braver, maybe even help in a fight…but then a big spirit came up and grabbed him! I followed it here, but then Max dropped his bat trying to get out of its arms, and I rushed in to help and give it back to him. He can’t fight real good without it… but this is a big cave, and I can’t get the bat to him without going through it, and it’s dark and I got scared…”

Johnny stared at the kid with only the slightest expression of disbelief. “You wanna learn how to fight?”

               “I have to be able to help out when he gets attacked! So I can have his back! Because that’s what friends do!”

There was a sense of conviction in the kid’s voice that wasn’t there before. A conviction immediately lost when the floor shook and a deep rumble emanated from below, if the higher pitched wailing that came from his position was anything to go by.

Once the rumbling stopped and Johnny confirmed that he could not beat the earthquake into submission, he turned and gently slapped his hand over the general area of his partner’s head. Although he missed his mouth entirely, it still worked wonders in stopping the kid’s terrified babbling.

“Tell ya what, ya picked a good day ta run into me. I’ll whip ya up into ship-shop shape so you can wallop all yer problems while I’m out nerd hunting. A’course, you’ll have to pay me back with interest…”, he said, cracking his knuckles for effect, but secretly impressed that the kid was trying to take initiative.

He was not expecting a shaky, uncertain “thank you” as a response, but it filled him with a weird sense of pride, and soon an exchange of stories began.

—-

To the timid kid’s credit, he had kept his end of the bargain.

Johnny soon realized the kid was a good eavesdropper, since he mentioned that he only knew the girl for a few days. He would’ve quicker taken Isabel to be a dog person afraid of spiders than the other way around. Apparently she was close to her spider too, the one that she’d lost recently. Called it a friend. Johnny could relate; the loss of his boxer four years ago still hurt to think about somewhat. She was also Max’s friend, so of course she’d be into the freaky flipping and jumping around he did constantly. Between her and that spiky nerd dude, freaky movements seemed to be something of a requirement for being that kid’s buddy. He made a mental note to himself to practice some moves with his pals later to show him up.

Some of the facts were a bit harder to make sense of. According to him, she had come with some “scary guy with glasses” to help sort out a…evil whale frog the other day? Riding a paper horse? With the kid’s luck he probably found that weirdo history teacher that’s always wearing shades, but with the kid’s track record of jumping at the smacking sounds of Johnny’s hands, he could’ve been scared of pretty much anyone.

And if what the kid was saying was true, he had somehow managed to punch a teacher in the face for “being evil”. Not a bad start to a fighting career, even if he said that he ran and hid behind Max immediately after.

On his own side, Johnny had launched into relaying many of his and his gang’s bouts over the years, placing emphasis on each blow, duck and dodge. What started out as giving advice on which attacks are what, when people are giving them and how to take/sidestep them quickly derailed into making as great a story as possible. Johnny was just too used to framing these stories for his pals. His partner didn’t seem to mind it too much, though, and every hushed “wow” and question of what happened next only served to hype him up further. He told of turf wars and stakeouts, of the gang catching up to a group of cyclists that had bought the last of the candy that RJ had been looking forward to all week, even his battle with Ed and the Great Starch Hunt.

“’An then he gave us stars from his own pocket for beatin’ him, and Ed took off for greater quarry. Gotta meet up with him later to get RJ’s stuff back…an’ mine too, come ta think of it. Then we got thrown inta’ detention.”

“Wow, mister sir, you sure do get into a lot of adventures.”

“Whoa whoa, knock it off with the ‘mister sir’ crap, yer makin’ me feel old.”

“I don’t think you’ve told me your name though.”

“Wha-you don’t know my name? After everything I just told you?”

“S-sorry…”

“The name’s Johnny. Johnny Jhonny. Forget it and I whack ya.”

“Ah, okay mister Johnny.”

There was a small back and forth about not using “mister” and the kid’s inability to get it through his head, followed by a weird silence, until a small question piped up from the compatriot:

“So you were always good at fighting the bad guys and…other guys, huh? I hope I can be that fearless someday.”

Johnny paused. The image of an angry Jeff from a few days before surfaced in his head, mocking him for protecting his buddies and promising a permanent scar. He remembered how that ball came sailing towards his pals and how much it’d hurt them if he moved. How people kept taking shots for him that weren’t meant for them: Dimitri, Max…

…and how readily RJ and Ollie were to take them, too.

“…That ain’t it. Listen, it’s not about never bein’ scared. That Hitball game where everythin’ went nuts? I acted all brave to calm down my buds, but…I was shakin’ inside. But I took that fear and threw it right back at that little punk. You just gotta take all that terror that’s buildin’ in your chest and put it in your fists instead. Pick up all that fear those jerks put in ya and make ‘em take it back tenfold.”

“How do you do that, Johnny sir?”

The “sir” wasn’t much better, but Johnny brushed it aside for now. “Well, you know how you keep screamin’ whenever somethin’ spooks ya? Make it louder. Make it a war cry! Bellow and yell in their face and make em’ pay for makin’ that sound come outta’ your mouth! And when you think maybe you should book it, or get worried that you can’t take the fight, you think of how your friends would be in the same spot as you, and how they’d get hurt instead, and then you beat up that foe for daring to put that image in your head!”

There was a pause before he spoke again with as much mentorly conviction as he could muster.

“Ya’ don’t let those punks hurt your friends. Ya gotta stand by your pals, fight by their side, so they don’t take blows that ain’t their due.”

“Because that’s what friends do.”

“Exactly.”

A few seconds passed without any words. Johnny then piped up again.

“Y’know, I don’t think you ever told me your name neither.”

“Oh. Uhm..it’s PJ. I’m PJ.”

Johnny couldn’t really see the kid’s face at all, but he could feel the smile from where he was standing. Or maybe that was just the small smile creeping up on his own face. He wasn’t sure, but the area felt calmer, the silence almost welcoming.

That didn’t last.

Another rumble cut through the air, and the quakes nearly threw the bully to the ground. Then another noise, just loud enough for Johnny to make out, bellowed from below.

“KKKKKKKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“That’s the spirit that got mister Max! It’s close!” shouted PJ before a third rumble sounded. Johnny felt loose soil fall into his hair and vigorously ran his hands through his ‘do. He wasn’t exactly sure what a “spirit” meant, or what could’ve possibly made that noise, but it wasn’t going to stop him from following Guerra. He charged ahead.

Straight into a wall of dirt.

“Ahh! The path is blocked off! It must have touched the soil again!”

“Wha..?” came the muffled reply.

“The spirit can touch things! It moved the soil around earlier when I was making my way in!”

Johnny felt hands on his shoulders for a brief moment before he was catapulted backwards. His hands quickly found soft fabric and the two sped away back up the hallway, swerving and curving to avoid pieces of the ceiling falling down around them. The tremors intensified, and Johnny swung back, bracing himself to punch an enemy he couldn’t see.

KLANG!!

It took a minute for his ears to stop screaming at him, but the vibrations underneath him seemed to halt. His foot slipped for half a second over a pit that he didn’t think was there before. As the ringing subsided, his head pieced together what that noise could have been.

“Hehey, that sounded like a solid hit! Looks like ya got more punch than ya thought, lil slugger!”

“Uh…I didn’t actually swing at it…it came up from underneath me and hit the bat with its face…”

“A solid hold then. You held the bat steady while it came at ya.”

“I was more frozen in fear…”

“Dude, take the compliment before I shove it down your throat hole.”

“OK, Johnny sir.”

“NO, it’s just—you don’t have ta—ah, forget it.”

Johnny turned back and felt around the edges of the hole with his shoe. Whatever came up from the ground was huge, as it took him a while to find a part of the soft earth that wasn’t sloping into the pit. He had half a mind to try throwing something in it to hear how deep it went, but the way the ground was, he wouldn’t be able to hear how far something went anyway.

With no other options, the two started backtracking farther up the cave.

—

“Hey, come ta think of it…PJ, are you in your pajamas?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so.”

“Why’d you come down here in your pajamas when it’s this cold out? You lookin’ to catch a flu or something?”

“I can’t really…touch anything unless it’s possessed. …or a spirit… …or Max…or people with special powers.”

“Whaddya mean you can’t touch things? You’re holding Max’s bat. You just touched me like five minutes ago!”

“This is Max’s special weapon with special powers! I can touch it because it’s full of magic.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t no freaky jumpin’ wizard with wizard tools, and ya touched me, so there. What the heck are you talking about with ‘spirits’ anyway? You saying this cave is full of ghosts or something?”

“I don’t think spirits are the same thing as ghosts… they’re weird. They can be really big, or small, and they all have powers, and they can have legs.”

“Ha! Now I know yer’ bluffin’! Stephen told me that ghosts look like super see-through people with a faint bluish tint on ‘em. Only the ones from other places don’t got feet.”

There was an awkward silence. Johnny couldn’t see the face of his partner beside him, but he could tell that the look on his face was one of confusion.

“…You’re new to this, aren’t you?”

Before Johnny could ask him what the heck that was supposed to mean, the rumbling returned. The large, soft chunks of dirt rained down on Johnny’s shoulders, and the ground beneath him quickly lost stability. Small hills of soil quickly piled up near his feet.

The place was caving in.

Johnny quickly found PJ’s arms (though there was little need, as his hands had already found Johnny’s wrists as soon as the rumbles had begun again) and booked it back up the path. He soon found it hard to block out the burning running up his side, or his lungs crying out for air, or the urge to remove all the dirt from his hair, but the twists and turns the path soon divulged helped distract him ever so slightly.

There was only one brief stop, when two other shadows crossed their path, one yanking the other forward in a similar manner. The long hair fluttering into the other shadow’s face was a dead giveaway for Guerra, but when Johnny tried to follow her, he ran into another wall. The place must be coming down fast if he was blocked off that quickly, he thought, and scrambled back as fast as he could to get the heck out of Chrysler.

After more twists and turns and dodges, a blinding light made its presence known. Johnny raced forward, the screaming in his sides unmatched by the crumbling walls becoming more evident from the light. As the exit loomed nearer and the snowy woods came into focus, he noticed the archway begin to buckle. He forced himself forward as fast as he could muster as the shiny white window to the outside became polluted with fallen sediment. He could feel the cool air on his skin and in his lungs, soothing his aching….well, everything. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the roof give entirely. He threw both of his arms forward in desperation, only dimly realizing that the grip he’d felt on his arm had vanished.

Suddenly he felt a hard shove from behind, and everything went white.

—

Johnny lied on the ground for a few seconds, allowing the small layer of snow to soothe his burning limbs. Each inhale brought both pain and relief. Slowly, he got back up to his feet, rubbing tiny patches of nearby snow underneath his pant legs to numb them ever so slightly and surveying the ground.

For the most part, the woods looked about the same as when he had entered, though he hadn’t been paying much attention to the ground at the time. Every track in the snow looked fresh, so it hadn’t snowed any further after he had entered the cave. A massive gouge in the frozen fluff confirmed that someone had been dragged into the mound, and he could see his shoeprints from his stalking mission, his wavy treads trailing just behind a far smoother and slightly smaller boot print.

He paused, then looked around the marks again. There were only two types of prints in the snow. Unless the kid had trod over the haphazard gouge, that was one type too few.

A small gleam caught his eye, and as he registered what was giving off such a glare, his eyes widened.

Lying three or four steps away from his position was an aluminum bat.

His head quickly snapped up to the cave’s entrance. The once great gaping maw that had lead down to the damp dark underneath had been entirely filled with moist brown soil.

There was no sign of life nearby.

He tried to scream for his cave companion, but his voice flickered in and out like a match refusing to light. Within seconds he was at the cave’s entrance, frantically clawing out bits of earth, searching for an opening, his trembling legs and pinwheeling arms providing the howling his throat could not produce.

As he opened his mouth to attempt crying out a fifth time, another scream filled the area for him.

“KKKKKKKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Johnny stumbled over onto his back, scrambling back into the snow while keeping eye contact with the thing. It was a gigantic mantis, about a few heads taller than a bus, with glowing white eyes the size of the globe Mr. Garcia had in his room. A viscous purple permeated its form and gleamed in the light as if it was made of Jello, and it shimmered like some form of mirage.

It noticed him instantly. Quicker than he’d ever expect a mantis to move, it raised a violet-tinged talon and swung its biological guillotine towards him. The light streaming through the bug caused Johnny’s eyes to water, and he braced himself.

Another familiar sound struck through the air, and his ears cried out in protest.

Johnny blinked away the tears to see another purple shape floating just a few feet in front of him. While the consistency still looked around the same, this one took the form of what looked like a twelve year old kid. A squint revealed what looked to be some form of shirt with a collar and wrist cuffs. There were no sign of legs; instead, the torso tapered off to a wispy serpentine tail. As Johnny stared at the apparition with a quivering mouth and eyes wide as saucers, the purple boy struggled to retain his position. The redhead mentally shook himself and peered beyond the kid; the mantis’s front claws had locked on to the bat the kid was holding and was attempting to push it out from underneath him.

“Aaah! The spirit’s too strong! I can’t keep this up!” the ghost exclaimed as the mantis lowered its head to his eye level, chattering large mandibles that would look less out of place on an ant. Its voice sounded familiar, Johnny thought, and oh sweet merciful Punch why did it sound so familiar, it couldn’t be–

“Please, mister Johnny! Heeelp!”

Johnny glanced from the purple boy to the purple bug and back a few times, his breathing becoming more erratic. It was then that his voice finally burst through in full force.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

For a brief second, the boy turned his head just a bit to look at Johnny. He had the same glowing eyes the bug did, as well as a small curl of hair sticking from his top. A look of panic and confusion soon snapped into realization, and the boy turned back and joined in the din.

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!”

It was barely audible above the combined noise of Johnny’s and the bug’s screams, but it was a valiant war cry nonetheless.

Through the wails, Johnny noticed the ghost slowly pushing back upwards against the mantis. The redheaded rogue shot himself to a sitting position and shoved the ghost forward, and the insidious insect buckled. The cold metal of the bat reunited with the behemoth’s face, and as it reeled backward, PJ raised his volume just a little bit, pitched his arms back, and swung the bat right into the creature’s eye. After another round of shrieking, the mantis waved one arm in front of them, and with a tepid “peh”, it retreated back into the earth.

Johnny stared at the spot the mantis had been a second ago in shock, only turning back to the ghost as it floated back in his direction.

“We did it! We beat the bad guy with …uh…violence! And friendship! And violent friendship!” PJ exclaimed as he neared Johnny, his grin somehow resting on the verge of just off-looking enough to be intimidating.

The bully tried to get up, or scramble away, or anything, but his body betrayed him. A fist slowly and haltingly tried to meet the ghost, but even that only made it halfway to its destination before stopping, the limb quaking uselessly in the air. The seconds passed as the ghost stared at the shaking fist until finally he clasped his hand around it.

Johnny’s voice failed him once again, only letting out a small squeak. He could only stare.

After a few minutes, the pajama-clad lad let out an “Oh!”

 “I think that’s Isabel and Max over there!”, he exclaimed. Johnny barely managed to turn his head to see a large smoky red arrow a few yards away. “I have to hurry home too, I sort of didn’t tell Lefty where I was going again and he’s probably going to be real mad if he finds out I left.”

“Bye Johnny! Thanks for everythiiiing!” the ghost cried as he flew away.

 Johnny just stared forward for a few minutes, his body completely spent. His head tried to come up with reasons for what just happened, but to no avail.

It took about ten minutes for his legs to finally work again, and as he made his way back home to complete his mission, the thoughts nagged at his mind.

He fought…something. With a ghost. He had Friendship Fused with a ghost.

He had befriended a ghost.

He shook his head back and forth to try to clear his head. He got what he needed out of the…ghost…and now it was time to put his newfound knowledge to good use.

Operation Season’s Beatings was a go.

—

All things considered, the Activity Club had a rather uneventful morning. Early patrol had consisted of dealing with one minor spirit with a compulsion to spread gift wrap everywhere, and Isaac’s small kicks of wind made quick work of the litter.

The lunch bell rang, and Isabel hurried to her locker to put away her books. The four of them had promised to eat lunch together outside and possibly share what they had gotten with the others. She thought about how Isaac would try to play it off as if he hadn’t looked at his gift yet when he had been keeping the plush ninja bunny really badly hidden in his jeans pocket all morning and grinned.

Upon kicking the locker door open, she was greeted with what looked like a shoebox with red Santa wrapping paper awkwardly balancing above her books. The spectral quickly glanced around to see if she was being watched and just barely caught a glimpse of red retreating. Shrugging it off, she grabbed her prize and headed to the schoolyard.

Unsurprisingly, Isaac was gushing about the bunny, his eyes reminding her of those “canine eye inflation disease” posters her grandfather had put up in her room. It was a well-crafted rabbit, from what she could see, and the black ninja garb combined with a small metal headband was a nice touch.

“Oh man Izzy, you’re gonna love what Max got,” Ed chirped as she plopped down beside the three.

“I’m serious, whoever told my Secret Santa about this is dead,” Max groaned as he revealed a model train set from his box. Isabel laughed heartily. “My dad is never going to stop running this thing! It’ll be puffing around upstairs until Halloween!”

“How long did it take Stephen to figure it out, by the way?” she asked Ed, who mirrored her devious grin.

“Two periods and I’m pretty sure Ollie was in on it.”

“Do I even want to know what awful fate you brought upon that fool?”

“Hey, when I told him the alien was right behind him, I wasn’t lying. And the Velcro stuck pretty well, all things considered.”

After hearing Isaac gush about the bunny some more (she recalled a scant few times where his voice reached that high of a pitch) and watching Ed reveal his gift of some art supplies and an Optimus Prime robot, the kids turned their attention to Isabel’s red box.

“The tag just says ‘Guerra!’ on it with no sender, so we’re off to a good start already”, Max said dryly as she carefully tore at the paper.

Isaac complained that he wanted to use that paper for later, so Isabel removed it carefully as to make it as whole as possible. Soon the box was bare, and the kids shot each other gleeful looks. Isabel ripped the box open.

Everyone paused. The boys shot uncertain glances at their friend, who stared at the contents with the blankest look on her face any of them had ever seen.

The box was filled with spiders of various sizes, colors and materials. Felt spiders with pom-pom bodies and googly eyes stared innocently upwards, a drawing of a spider eating a dog was taped to the side of the box, and spiders crafted with pebbles and glue stubbornly stuck to the bottom.

There were three origami spiders scattered throughout the box, each done in a different style. One of them had red eyes, saw-tooth fangs and an oddly misshapen head.

There was a handwritten note taped to the lid.

“Guerra,

I heard you lost your spider pal. Having somebody you love leave you stings something awful. So I made you a bunch of spiders that will never die on you ever. Plus to give you something to remember your friend by.

-

PS. They eat dogs”

“They didn’t even write their name on it?” Isaac murmured as Isabel picked up the red-eyed origami spider, slowly turning it in her palm.

“Izzy?” Ed asked gently as his friend traced an hourglass shape into the spider’s body. She stole a glance behind her of the red-haired idiot she’d seen earlier, propped up against a tree just within her line of sight, doing what looked like his best not to fall asleep. “You OK?”

She turned to her friends with a small smile, tucking the odd spider into the deep pocket of her jacket.

“Yeah, I’m just fine.”

[sailor-cresselia]

Zi-O Episode 33: featuring the Power of Music

So, RiderTime Fansubs picked up Zi-O starting with the Agito arc. They’ve already got their release of ep 33 out, so I’m using their version this time around.

Now then! Onward!

Tekken 7 returns! And it’s being played by the latest Hibiki’s pupil! … Or, his FORMER pupil. Looks like he dropped out of Oni training. So, Heure ‘offers’ him the chance to A; help lure Hibiki out into the open, and B; become an Oni.

Of course, said method of becoming an Oni is a bit… unconventional.

Oh WOW, I really like Another Hibiki’s look. He gets to go all in on the traditional Oni theme!

((WHOOPS ALMOST FORGOT TO PUT THE READ MORE IN MY BAD))

Sightings of harness-less Geiz: Two? Two. He apparently takes it off to sleep, and to work out… in the middle of the shop. (Oh, sweetie…) Also, clearly under the harness, jacket, and poorly-fitting pants, Geiz is ripped.

See, this is why you don’t work out in the middle of the path. A distracted Woz will walk right into you! And incidentally make your lack of harness a REVEAL.

Also Geiz’s first reaction to being nearly stepped on is to assume there’s an Another Rider. I mean, there IS, but that’s not it.

WAIT NO DRAT he’s still wearing the stupid harness. Drat. It just blended in better than it usually does. ...My point about his choice of location still stands.

Woz. Woz? You okay there? Why do you not want to let Sougo remember it’s his birthday? Why are you so dead set on that, that you stop his uncle from saying it?

The boys have one brain cell, and it looks like it’s not Woz’s turn to have it today.

For SOME reason, Junichiro decided that he’s going to bring out Sougo’s elementary school yearbook. Since he has this one, I’d assume it’s from the 2009-2010 school year, so Sougo would have been 9. That would make it… 3rd grade, since he turned 9 that April. And looks like he had a classmate that even Sougo thinks was odd, but they still cheered each other on. But really, Sougo thought that Tsutomu was odder than him. That. That says something.

(As Junichiro goes to reheat breakfast, him and Woz share A Moment of ‘We’re Totally Not Conspiring Or Anything.’)

Also, Tsutomu said that ‘his master was Hibiki, a great Oni’. That’s actually really cute.

The thing is… Asumu was, like, 14 when he met Hibiki in 2005, and Hibiki was a bit reluctant to take HIM on. So… Tsutomu was WAY too young to be studying for that type of thing.

And the Zi-O trend of ‘finding the next Rider by Coincidence’ continues. Sougo and Geiz come to the same conclusion immediately – “Hey, maybe we can find Kamen Rider Hibiki and his Watch!”

Sougo knowing about Hibiki actually works, too, according to past events in Zi-O. Decade used Hibiki against him back during the first episode of the Ghost arc, so Sougo has, technically speaking, seen said rider before. And, as has been previously established by arcs such as Wizard, Tsukuyomi may have the tablet and the fact-finding, but Geiz knows what Riders ‘used to’ exist. Which is now clearly ‘which Riders came before them,’ as opposed to ‘which ones happened once upon a timeline.’

Woz. Woz, the camera’s over here. You’re going the wrong direction. … Oh, wait, no, he’s going upstairs… and immediately dashing all hopes of us seeing a set for even a hallway, as he warps straight into his Storytime Vault. And we’re not getting Hibiki Hibiki, of course. No, we’re getting Kyosuke Kiriya, who… I GUESS has taken over as Hibiki. Or is carrying his watch?

I haven’t watched Hibiki, I don’t really know how the mentor system there works, aside from the fact that it’s a thing.

No I totally didn’t start singing the theme song with my parents around. What are you talking about? That’d be silly.

… I totally sang along by instinct.

… I know they think I’m odd for this already. I don’t even know HOW to explain that I’m liveblogging a show. At least they’re used to my being a fan of kids shows at this point.

(Over Quartzer is TOO DAMN CATCHY)

Geiz: “So there’s no doubt that the next Rider we’re looking for is Hibiki?” And he’s immediately proven right by Another Hibiki taking a flying leap at them.

… Hang on, there was a sound effect right before Sougo and Geiz turned around. Did they hear that? Or something like it? Some sort of acquired ‘time has gone wrong’ sense?

Seriously, the choices for the Another Riders are usually really good. Ever since Another OOO, they’ve been incredible. ...Well, except for Another Quiz, but that’s my preferring to not have brain motifs in character designs.

(Yes, I’m calling out Brain himself with that comment, too. That’s the worst part of his new bike.)

Aw, Woz made Sougo a fruit tart! It’s not nearly large enough for the candles and decorations, but it’s a nice thought!

And he wants to make celebrating his Demon Kings birthday AS EXTRA AS POSSIBLE, to the point that it looks like he’s starting to Blue Screen at not being Extra enough.

His usual IWAEs will not suffice.

(Also I like how the cuckoo clock sound effect trails off despondently as the cake cover rolls on it’s axis.)

CIVILIAN FIGHTS!!! Sougo and Woz are actually doing pretty decently, too. Still not great, but again. Civilian fight against a monster, so it’s in no way a fight on equal grounds.

Geiz is right, that we’d need Zi-O II to beat Another Hibiki without the watch. However, as Sougo points out, Another Hibiki came after them, not the other way around, so they can’t defeat him quite yet. Geiz lands on the same page right after.

I’m so glad these boys are working together. They’re so much better off as a team. And even more so with team transformations!

Ooo, Another Hibiki had only been using hand-to-hand techniques while they were civilians, but once the armor goes on, the drumsticks come out, and Fire Powers are fair game.

“Alright, old power for old techniques!”

“What?! No! You’ve got to use magic against an oni!”

:GASP: SOUGO PULLED OUT THE KUUGA WATCH!

WE’RE GETTING TO SEE THE KUUGA ARMOR!

FINALLY!

ARMOR TIME! KUUGA~!

I like the touch of how Kuuga Armor doesn’t have a ‘catch phrase’ when it finishes going on – the newer riders do, like with Wizard’s “Please”. But Riders didn’t have belt and weapon sound effects until Ryuki, so Kuuga and Agito wouldn’t have anything to work with for their Ride Armors.

Yoooo Another Hibiki has more fire powers than just from his drumsticks! He can breath fire, too!

And here comes one of the Oni, keeping the peace from other Oni. With the kanji for thunder and a SWORD GUITAR.

… OH FOR FUCKS SAKE. IT’S AN ELECTRIC GUITAR.

After some blows are exchanged, Oni-who’s-name-I-don’t-know gets a fire blast tossed at him from yet another direction, knocking both him and Another Hibiki down, and after yelling at whoever just attacked them, he goes off in pursuit of the fleeing Another Hibiki.

Sougo and Geiz have absolutely no idea what’s going on at this point. This is even more confusing for them than how the Quiz Arc started off, isn’t it?

Haha, Tsukuyomi finally makes it down to the (now former) battle field, and all three of them assume that the Oni was Hibiki. Heure, clearly knowing that he wasn’t Hibiki, is about to sulk off...

But then here comes Kyosuke, being all “Nope, that’s Todoroki. I’m Hibiki.” (How dare he cop the salute!)

Ahaha, Sougo’s grin is about to split his face. That is the face of someone who knows that that coincidence and fate have shone upon him once again, and will continue to do so.

(I was talking with @miyukomatsuda recently, and we’ve agreed that if he were a DnD character, Sougo’s player would consistently get great rolls on Insight and Charisma… except where said checks relate to the character himself.)

Cut back to Woz, who is… keeping the main door to the dining room shut, holding the dish cover and cover cloth. Although, it’s nice to see that there IS, in fact, a second door to the area – I can see that the one Sougo usually comes through is shuttered.

...Actually, why does that dining room even have two entries, anyway? There’s only the small wall dividing the storefront from the stairs to the bedrooms, and literally nothing else separating the two, so why is the side door even necessary?

Correction, Woz is hiding in the dining room, attempting to hide the tart, while the Rider Debrief is going on at that small table in the shop.

Ah. Right. Even if we aren’t showing the ‘give a blank watch to the Rider when they’re active’ task anymore, that doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t doing it. (I still need to watch Rider Time Ryuki.) But Kyosuke wasn’t Hibiki in 2005 – he was Hibiki’s pupil. The Zi-O team hasn’t had mentorships and titles being passed down before. It’s not usually a thing with Kamen Rider.

(Usually. I still haven’t seen Kiva or Den-O, either, and I think there was something similar in those? And also there’s how Ghost and Specter have several people using variants of the name, with Daigo having gone by “Zero Specter”, and Ayumu apparently taking up Takeru’s mantle as Ghost in the future. Please note that I’m still flat out ignoring the majority of the Ghost Novel, because of all the uncomfortable implications of several things in there. The STAGE SHOWS, however, are fair game so far.)

Okay, that digression aside.

Kyosuke isn’t wrong in asking them to prove themselves worthy of the Hibiki watch, even if he’s being a dick about it. That is a thing for Oni – they train to get where they are, and have to earn the powers and name.

Of course, his “we provide a blessing to the earth” line draws the attention of a very frazzled Woz, who is trying to figure out the best way to bless his overlords 19th birthday. He’s so desperate to make this the most extra birthday ever, that now he’s trying to call himself the “oni of blessings”. Kysouke is confused by this. Sougo and Geiz think it’s hilarious – Geiz is only making a token effort to hide his laughter, and Sougo isn’t even trying. (Is this what the harness is for? Hiding his emotions?) Tsukuyomi is so done with everything right now. She’s just gonna head out and look for Todoroki. Maybe she’ll find some sane people there. She’d like that, that’d be nice.

By the time they reach the Taiko drums, Woz has snapped, even knocking the other two boys out of the way to get to the center drum, because ‘this is perfect!’

Woz has lost visitation rights for the trinity’s brain cell this week.

Sougo’s worried about him. Geiz is just resigned. “He’ll stay out of our hair this way.”

!! Oh!! Kyosuke and Tsutomu trained together? Or… Hm, Hibiki took place in 2005, with the epilogue in 2006… so Kyosuke could have taken over as Hibiki by 2009/2010, and trained Tsutomu. But again, Tsutomu was, at most, 10.

… Trying to work out this particular timeline is confusing.

Meanwhile, with the one rational person on this team, Tsukuyomi only has to follow the sound of the Electric Guitar.

Oh! Todoroki knows full well that that’s Tsutomu under the Another Hibiki transformation! … I suppose, since Oni are technically alternate appearances… somehow… since they’re both using the Oni abilities, he could see right through it.

Also. Turns out? Kyosuke’s not Hibiki. Todoroki actually seems a bit insulted that he called himself that. (VALID)

So, Sougo might be made of iron defense-wise, but less so weight-lifting wise. Also of note: Geiz has taken off both his harness AND his jacket, leaving him bench pressing… a good amount of weight.

Heeeey, Sougo, did someone convince you to wear pants that fit? Who was it? Where can I find them to give them my gratitude? Your overshirt is still super baggy, but your regular shirt fits pretty normally.

And can whoever got you the fitting outfit go talk to Geiz about his pants?

Ohhh, Kyosuke, telling Sougo to ditch his dream has never once worked.

Wait, okay, it did work. ONCE. Literally one time. And it was technically him telling him that, but as a taunt/dare, so I don’t think it really counts.

Hmm.. But Kyosuke’s saying to stop going after an unobtainable dream, and that you’ll only be met with despair when you can’t achieve it.

He studied under Hibiki.

Todoroki, during their shows run, turned down his masters name – Zanki – instead preferring to use a name of his own choosing as an Oni.

Oni discard their human names upon becoming Oni.

Kyosuke introduced himself with his human name.

Sounds like somebody else flunked out, too.

Tsukuyomi tells the boys to head after Another Hibiki… and is going to have to drag Woz with her. He’s still drumming.

After Heure redirects Todoroki’s attack right back to him, Sougo and Geiz show up. Heure thinks that Hibiki ought to be with them. Pity Hibiki’s not here today, regardless.

GEIZ. Either tell us if using Revive is still dangerous, or stop using Revive. I have to wonder about Sougo’s choice of Ex-Aid, though. Hammers versus drumming, maybe?

Heure’s all but pouting that Hibiki’s not here as he takes his leave. Oh, kid, if you weren’t a bad guy, I’d be able to like you so much better. (get away from swartz)

I thought for a moment that was the original HIT! effect, but nope. It’s still Sougo’s version. To be fair to Sougo, though, I don’t think I’m quite as worried about what it might mean if he gets things right, anymore.

But only not quite as worried. I’m still a little worried.

Cut to Woz, still furiously drumming. Tsukuyomi has to throw a rock at him to get his attention… and he still won’t leave. “He’s got Geiz with him, right? They’re good at working together, they’ll be fine.”

I like that both Woz and Geiz have finally come around to this whole ‘working as a team’ thing. (insert growth.gif here)

Woz: “Anyway! I have to make this celebration perfect!”

Tsukuyomi: “You are literally the only person who likes your speeches. You have no idea how to celebrate people.”

This kills the Woz.

… Woz no. It’s definitely not that you’re not ‘rejoicing’ enough. It’s literally the opposite of that.

A nice Ex-aid armor / Revive Fury team fight… and to finish it, they swap into Zi-O II and Revive Typhoon. Well, Revive Gale, right now, since I’m using the Rider Time subs.

I love that the Zi-O II fight music is the instrumental version of King of Time, because it makes for such a dramatic backing track.

The drama is only intensified by Another Hibiki’s drumsticks growing spikes, lengthening to ABSURD lengths, and catching COMPLETELY on fire.

Ohhh that’s a NICE group finish!

Sougo, even 9 years later, can still recognize one of the only people who he was close to as a kid. (This lonely little dweeb keeps breaking my heart.) He wants to listen to Tsutomu, to see how he can help, to see what led to him becoming Another Hibiki.

Heure is having none of that, still wants actual Hibiki to show up, and re-monsterizes Tsutomu.

… You know, he might have gone after Sougo for a reason. He still recognizes him too, after all. The only problem with that is, Another Hibiki is more monstrous than most Another Riders are. He’s more on the ‘Another Build’ level of losing sight of himself. Worse, possibly, because at least Another Build still had language. But neither of them ever turn back on their own, and even the other…  ‘feral’ Another Riders could still do that, like Another Ryuga.

So, Another Hibiki goes after Geiz, Sougo’s down on the ground.

And Kyosuke comes up to stop them from attacking Tsutomu.

He pulls out a tuning fork, and transforms.

Into a white Oni.

One who’s decidedly not Hibiki, and Sougo can tell. See again, Tsukasa used Hibiki against him back during Ghost.

Here comes Todoroki, confirming for us.

Kysouke wasn’t able to become Hibiki, or an Oni of his own. He doesn’t even have a proper Oni name. He’s just an Oni.

Hibiki is a name to be earned.

And Kyosuke didn’t earn it.

Makes it all the harsher that he tried to get the boys to prove themselves to him, when he couldn’t prove himself.

Oh, what’s this? Heure thought that he was Hibiki, too? Interesting.

Even more interesting… Another Hibiki just attacked Oni!Kyosuke, with one of his more powerful attacks.

Preview time:

“I couldn’t be like my master Hibiki.” – That’s Kyosuke.

There’s a shot of Kyosuke and someone who is presumably a 10-year-old Tsutomu.

… Woz, I’m pretty sure even Kougami would think that cake is a bit… much. And he’s KOUGAMI.

Just who… who is Sougo talking to in that last line?

“You were Hibiki.”

Who? WHO was Hibiki?

So, I jumped back to the very beginning, after seeing that shot of Kyosuke and babby!Tsutomu. Heure says that he was “Hibiki’s pupil.”

But Tsutomu doesn’t use the name ‘Hibiki’ when he says that he’s ‘not his pupil anymore.’

Kyosuke. Did you tell Tsutomu you were Hibiki? That’s a dirty lie, bucko.

[literarycat]

(2525 words). post-finale taz: dust fic.  errol, augustus, and gandy cope how they can with the aftermath of the last eight hours.

Michael himself told Errol that Dylan was going to make it, so he supposed that was as good an assurance as any.  Still, Errol found himself at the boy’s hospital as soon as visitors were allowed, just in case.  He didn’t doubt the immortal’s word, per se, but it was in his nature to make sure that people were taken care of.  And someone needed to bring the boy flowers.

He was recovering nicely.  The surgeon had stitched him up and given him a considerable amount of pain medicine, so much that Errol thought Dylan might not have recognized him the first time he came.  He had just awoken from surgery, after all, and Errol was only the second visiting party (his mother and sister, of course, being there as soon as the doctor allowed).

Dylan squinted at Errol for a long time, apparently trying to place a name to the face that hovered just in his quarter’s doorway.  Errol edged a little closer, still keeping his distance so as not to startle the boy.  Then suddenly, Dylan’s face lit up.  “Mr. Ryeson, I didn’t think you’d- please, come in.”

Errol smiled, relieved, and came closer to the bed.  He placed a small vase of lilies on the table near Dylan’s head.  “I’m glad to see you in good health.”

Dylan nodded as best he could from his half-laying position.  “Doctor says I’ll make a full recovery, with enough rest.” He craned his neck, trying to peek past the ragged tear in Errol’s coat.  “And- and how are you doing?  You were shot, right, did- did the doctor take care of that for you?”

Errol was almost surprised, not expecting a man who’d been stabbed through the ribs mere hours ago to be so concerned with other people’s injuries.  “Oh, yes, the doctor stitched me up right after taking care of you.  No painkillers though.”  And he laughed a little to himself, ignoring the jolt it sends up his side.

Dylan nodded again, slowly.  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said softly, leaning his head back on the pillow.  He was quiet for a moment, and then his gaze drifted to the flowers Errol brought.  “Are those for me?”

Errol snorted.  “Wouldn’t’ve put them on your table if they weren’t, kid.  They’re from my garden.  Carrion Street’s garden, really.  It’s a- a community effort.  Why they call it a community garden, I suppose.”  And he laughed again, though this time at himself.  It was a miracle he’d been able to become a politician given the atrocious habit he had of rambling awkwardly whenever anyone gave him the chance to speak.

Dylan looked at the flowers a while longer, then smiled.  “They’re beautiful.  Thank you.”  His brow furrowed, then, and Errol leaned in with concern.  “Do you… Do you know what they’re saying, out there?”

Errol blinked.  “I’m not sure I quite understand the question.”

“About me.” Dylan’s voice wavered.  “About me killing the sheriff.”

Errol’s posture stiffened.  “I wouldn’t worry about that, Dylan.  What you did was beyond understandable.  No one’s gonna blame you for killing Jeremiah’s murderer.”

“But-” And Dylan’s voice caught in his throat.  “But he was the sheriff, Mr. Ryehouse, and I didn’t even give him a trial.  I didn’t think, I just acted, I just- I transformed.  You’re a fur, you know how hard it is to transform at sunrise.  But as soon as I knew he was the one who killed Jeremiah, I just- I couldn’t help myself.” His voice was barely audible, now, and Errol had to lean in to hear.  “I wasn’t being rational, I was- I was savage. A beast.  They have to blame me for that.”

Errol is startled by the intensity of Dylan’s words, but there is no hesitation when he speaks.  “What you did isn’t your fault.  You can’t blame yourself for a crime that wasn’t really a crime at all.  Remember what my, uh, ghostly coworker said?” Errol paused for a moment to see if his half-joke land.  It didn’t.  He sobered, and said quietly, “Dylan, if you didn’t stop him, he was going to kill us all.  You saved my life back there, I- I owe you a tremendous debt.”

Dylan is quiet.  “Mr. Ryehouse.  What are they saying about me?  My mother refuses to say anything, and even Anne is keeping quiet, even when I beg her.  I drove a knife through the heart of our town’s sheriff in a rage.  What do they think of a monster like that?”

Errol’s heart tightened at the sight of Dylan, hardly old enough to be considered an adult and yet saddled with the conviction of a murder he didn’t commit and the burden of another he committed in the defense of those he loved.  Errol had loitered around the town for a while, after the doctor had patched him up but Dylan was still unconscious from his own surgery.  He’d conferred briefly with his coworkers, who’d each promptly vanished to do their own soul-searching. There was nothing left for him to do but loiter, milling around Carrion Street to ease his people’s worries; patrolling the town square to answer the burning questions of those who awoke too late to see Uncle Oni’s explanation.

No one was bold enough to speak ill of Dylan to his face (he was a fur, after all, and he’d played his own role in the sheriff’s demise).  But Errol didn’t become a politician without learning how to discern people’s true intentions.  And the way that they spoke about Dylan in hushed tones, when they thought no one was listening- it was sickening.

Dylan pleaded with Errol to tell him the truth.  Bedridden as he was, he’d probably be able to avoid the brunt of the rumors for at least another few days while he recovered.  His family had clearly taken the route of shielding him from the truth, and if he didn’t tell Dylan, no one would.  The idea was tempting.

But Errol didn’t become a politician to lie to people.  And, as Errol had just said, he did owe Dylan a debt.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, kid.” Errol said.  “It’s not looking too hot out there.”

He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or heart-broken when Dylan didn’t seem surprised at all.

---

Augustus was rather pleased with himself after his grand entrance.  After all, his comrades might have defeated Connors, but only he saved them from the wrath of the residents that would have immediately followed.  His task complete, Augustus had leisurely floated down to where Errol and Gandy were standing, shell-shocked, outside the police station.

“Rather clever of me, don’t you think?  Escaping with Gandy’s, ah, eccentric eyepiece like that?” The two hadn’t responded, and the ghost pinned it on their exhaustion and potentially life-threatening injuries rather than a lack of interest in him.  The two excused themselves to, you know, get their lacerations patched up, and Augustus waved them off with a cheerful smile.  When they were gone, Augustus didn’t leave the square.  He had someone he wanted to see.

It was a long shot, really.  He was rather embarrassed to admit that he had no idea where his daughter was at any given moment.  When he died, she had been in town, sure, but she was nearly grown by now.  Perhaps she’d decided to pack up and move elsewhere, away from her father’s legacy and (literal) ghost.  Or, perhaps, she was still in the care of The Church’s nearby chapel, and she was one of the many who’d heard the commotion and come to the town square…

Augustus shot a glance in the church’s direction, then quickly looked back towards the crowd proper.  No, no, of course not.  The church was much farther than the immediate residences and it would take time for news to travel there.  Anna was likely still asleep!  It was seven o’ clock, and teenagers tended to sleep late.  Though, perhaps not under a Father’s watchful eye?  Augustus’s gaze drifted again, and he immediately busied himself with performing an animated introduction to two yet unmet residents.

News would spread to Anna eventually.  It had to.  Even if she had left to live somewhere else, it had to be nearby.  It seemed unlikely she’d want to move so far away from home, or that The Church would let her- her being underage, and all.  What Augustus had done today must have been front-page news, especially for a town as quiet as this.  Some day this week, she’d hear snippets of conversation in whatever place she lived, maybe the city- and she’d hear Drywater mentioned.  And she’d perk up, thinking, that’s where my dad’s cashew company is! They would tell her what had happened, and she’d be ecstatic to hear that Augustus Parsons, ghost of her previously corporeal father, was the one who had saved the day.

Or, Augustus thought bitterly, she would hate him for being in town and not visiting.  Hell, he hadn’t even taken the time to find out if she was available to visit.  He hadn’t seen her in, what, five years?  And even though he’d passed over guardianship to The Church, there had to be a part of her that resented him, right?

The most likely option, and the one Augustus loathed the most, was that Anna merely forgot about him.  Not that she literally couldn’t remember him, because who doesn’t remember their father’s unfortunate and suspicious cashew-related death?  But since he wasn’t a presence in her life, it would be easy for him to fade from her recollections.  For him to become merely a shadow. A ghost.

Augustus looked around the crowd again, noting it to be considerably thinner than the last time he’d bothered to check.  His station outside the police building was as much an opportunity to garner attention from passerby as it was a necessity: unlike Errol and Gandy, he really didn’t have a place to go.

The sun was high.  It was noon, or whereabouts; the town bell hadn’t yet rung but Augustus could see people shading their eyes from the late morning heat.  If Anna hadn’t woken by now, she was not long for this world herself.  And everyone in town had come to hear what had happened once they’d woken up.  So she must not have been around.

She would hear about it, eventually.  Augustus knew this.  And when she did…

Augustus drove the thoughts from his mind.  He’d died, and that meant he had to literally leave his life behind.  His work with the Graysons was merely a means to an end, something that would enable him to make up for his sins here, or whatever, and pass onto whatever business ventures awaited him in the afterlife.

A fine thought.  He chewed on it a while, floating there listening to an exhausted Rosa’s nineteenth explanation of the hour.

“S’pose I should go check up on Gandy and them, make sure they’re all alright,” he muttered.  Rosa, still in earshot, gave him a weary look.

“Who are you talking to, Parsons?”

He had to pull the “sinking into the ground” bit for the second time in a day just to avoid embarrassment.  (It wasn’t quite as hilarious, this time around.)

---

Gandy sat in her Sanctum Sanctorum, idly flipping through the pages of a book used to contact chaos demons and willing the queasiness in her stomach to go away.  She’d gone to Uncle Oni’s side almost immediately after the confrontation, ignoring even the growing numbness in her arm in favor of showing Uncle Oni exactly what she’d confiscated from Connors’s house.  The enthusiasm was, of course, partly real, but she’d be lying not to admit that part of her urgency in sharing the news was the unexpected presence of Death himself in the square.

Only when Michael was gone did she allow herself to be pulled away by a concerned Errol and the town surgeon, and she submitted easily to treatment.  Squinting at the stiches on her arm, afterwards, Gandy thought it might make a good scar.

She had plenty of those.  One didn’t study magic as thoroughly as she did without a few accidents, and one didn’t travel the globe running multiple “How do you play poker, again?” grifts without getting into a few scrapes.  And, of course, her work with the Graysons hadn’t helped either.  She was no stranger to injuries.  But Death?  Capital-D, eyes-that-stare-into-your-soul, surprisingly handsome but incredibly terrifying Death?  That part was new.

She’d told Uncle Oni, eventually.  It had taken until well after eight, but she’d caught him up on who she’d met that morning.  He was her partner in this quest of hers, for better or for worse, and she wanted to ease her nerves about it anyway.

“You met Death, you say?” Uncle Oni said, as obnoxious as ever.  “How astounding!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know Gus put the glasses on your head so you saw all that stuff already.  Cut the act,” she muttered, not particularly annoyed.

“I’m not acting!” Uncle Oni insisted.  “What a wonderful opportunity, to meet Death himself!  To know what awaits you at the end!”  His grating voice took on an infinitesimally more sinister tone.  “To have a chance to glimpse Death’s weaknesses, hmm?”

Gandy swallowed down the lump of bile in her throat that arose from even thinking about Michael’s face.  “My thoughts exactly,” she said instead, to distract from the way her stomach was apparently rising up her windpipe.  “Now that I know who he is, perhaps I can know better how to avoid him.”

“Or destroy him,” Uncle Oni suggested, and Gandy could hear rather than see his smile.

A smile tugged at the corners of her own mouth as she pulled Connors’s book into her lap.  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.  We have a lot left to do.”

“But of course,” the demon said.  “We have all the time in the world.”  A pause, then he added, “Or, well, I do.”

Gandy’s smile became tight.  “I will too, Uncle Oni, once I know how to beat that bastard who took my parents.”

Uncle Oni’s pitch rose.  “You mean Death, dear?  Don’t tell me now that you’ve seen his face you’re too afraid to say his name.”

Gandy forced herself to keep an even tone.  “Don’t tell me you’ve lost faith in me already.”  Then, to prove herself, she added, “This only makes me more determined to find a way around death.  Death, or Michael, or whatever he wants – he doesn’t stand a chance.”

The doll containing Uncle Oni’s form grins, and it’s truly grotesque; though he has a limited command over the doll’s physical body, he very rarely uses it unless he has to (by which he means, Gandy offers him something so that he intervenes).  “Well said, my dear.  Well said, indeed.  Now, why don’t we crack into that chaos god’s book which you so smartly liberated from its previous owner, hmm?”

Gandy is all too happy to oblige, if only to chase away the images in her mind of a man, tall and broad and handsome and not entirely unkind, standing over her body with a scythe in his arms.

[animeloveworld]

A Review on Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion

Note: This review is not mine.I have posted this review here because I feel it summarizes the anime Code Geass very well.

However I will be posting my reviews in the future once I get more experience.

This review is taken myanimelist from the reviewer kiriska.

Overall Rating 9

I was incredibly skeptical about Code Geass at first, but I'm very pleased to say that I was greatly surprised.

STORY - Before I saw this series, it was described to me on multiple occasions as "Death Note with mechas." After seeing it, however, I am inclined to disagree. The similarities between the two series are superficial at best, and though I can see why people would draw the comparison, I don't really think that dis/liking one means that you'll dis/like the other. But anyway, unlike Death Note, I wouldn't say that the story in Code Geass is particularly notable or unique. It's actually rather straightforward and even a little cliche, but that's exactly why this is such a well done series -- the barebones storyline is handled in a refreshing and new way that grabs the viewer's attention. There are enough twists and turns involved to keep you on the edge of your seat. The pacing is excellent and nothing feels rushed or drawn out. Indeed, the progression up to the conclusion is especially brilliant. (It's a cliffhanger "ending," but oh, it's just a fantastic cliffhanger.)

The series is also appealing in its uncanny ability to mix genres. Yes, this is a mecha series, but it really doesn't have to be. Yes, CLAMP did the character designs and there are some very shoujo elements (read: homolust), but there are very shounen rivalries and some pretty epic battle scenes too. Everybody wins! Additionally, because of the number of characters, the story allows for a number of small subplots. I was very happy with how this was handled in particular because all of the subplots relate and affect the main plot directly, whether by revealing some bit of information to both the characters and the viewer or by pushing forward interesting character development. Everything is well thought out and wonderfully executed, so despite the fact that "strong-willed person with plans to change the world receives mysterious power that helps facilitate his goals" isn't a very unique storyline... Code Geass makes it work.

Also. Code Geass utilizes the "best friends trying to kill each other" plotline, and I'm a sucker for that plotline.

CHARACTER - The characters in this series are rather varied. Some are very plain and one-dimensional, while others have an amazing complexity to them that makes them very life-like. I'll be honest. I've become somewhat infatuated with Lelouch as a character (and am rather biased as a result). To me, he is very much a human character -- he has emotions, opinions, a unique point of view, and some very serious flaws, all of which make him incredibly easy to relate to and to sympathize with. He is easily the most complex character in the series, and he feels real to me, even with his supernatural powers and his genius-level intellect. This ability to make the audience relate to him is also probably the series' greatest strength and the main reason why the story is able to remain relevant and interesting despite the fact that there aren't too many new ideas plotwise.

Suzaku would probably be second in line for complexity after Lelouch, though his sense of justice might be called cliche at first (along with Nunnally's and Euphemia's), and his hax-level physical prowess is somehow harder to accept than Lelouch's genius-level intelligence. It's harder to appreciate Suzaku's depth at first, partially because he is presented as Lelouch's main obstacle and the audience's sympathies are with Lelouch, but a great deal is revealed about his character throughout the course of the series, and he becomes an amazing foil to his rival. Their conflicting ideologies and philosophies are fascinating if you really look into it, and gay as it sounds, they really do compliment each other very well.

Much of the rest of the cast seems to fall into typical archetypes -- there's your adorable little sister, your mad scientist and his assistant, your cheerful schoolgirls, your best friend, your most loyal soldier, your second-in-command, your village idiot, your... really creepy lesbian girl? Despite the generic-sounding descriptions, most of the characters are actually pretty fun, or at the very least, interesting. C.C. provides snarky commentary. Shirley spreads innocent schoolgirl love. Nunnally is so moe you'll die. Jeremiah is a good butt of all jokes. Little bits of backstory are tossed in here and there to separate them from the crowd, but it's never enough to actually intrude, and the wide range of characters lets you settle into the world pretty well too; after all, what universe is complete without an animal mascot that shows up now and again?

ARTWORK & ANIMATION - I wasn't too impressed with CLAMP's character designs at first (noodleboys!), but as always seems to be the case, they gradually grew on me, and I remembered just how pretty X was. CLAMP just knows how to make everyone look amazingly sexy, male or female. I really loved how they did all of the facial expressions in the series though, especially for Lelouch. Seriously, that guy had some of the most awesome crazy expressions, some of the most amazingly touching sadface expressions, and of course, some of the most amusing WTF expressions. The mecha designs for the Knightmare Frames were also pretty awesome. I dig the whole rollar blade thing, and some of the technologies they come up with are neat, if a little over-the-top. The animation is fluid and smooth for the most part and very few things stood out as being bad.

MUSIC - Initially, I wasn't particularly fond of any of the OP/EDs for Code Geass except the first ending by ALI PROJECT because 1) they're awesome, and 2) Yuki Kajiura's style seemed to suit the series very well. The screaming violins both convey the high status of Britannia and the intensity of the emotions in the series. The rest of the themes seemed lackluster in comparison, but though I was never a huge fan of FLOW, "COLORS" kind of grew on me after a while. The final insert song, "Innocent Days" by Hitomi is pretty nice as well. Very thoughtful, very poignant, very fitting. The background music during the series was negligible for the most part; there is some pretty generic battle build-up type music and other appropriate, but rather typical, themes. Still, there's some neat classical/opera stuff, and the "All hail Brittania!" theme is definitely awesome.

VOICE ACTING - I've seen all of Code Geass subbed and most of it dubbed. Although I was incredibly turned off by Johnny Yong Bosch's role as Lelouch initially, it kind of grew on me, and now I think it fits well enough, though I do wish he'd change his voice a little more when Lelouch is Zero (make it a little deeper?). Suzaku's dub voice surprised me with how appropriate it was too. One of the things I really wish we could replicate in English though, is the subtle differences in manners between characters, between Lelouch and Suzaku at various stages of their lives, and between Lelouch and Zero. In Japanese, when Lelouch and Suzaku are children, they refer to themselves with "boku" and "ore" respectively. As teenagers, the pronouns are swapped, with Lelouch using "ore" (Zero uses "watashi") and Suzaku using "boku." Euphemia uses "watakushi." I'll skip the grammar lesson (go wiki "Japanese pronouns"), but suffice to say that these differences provide a lot of very interesting insight into each of the characters. It's really too bad English isn't nearly as interesting.

The rest of the voices in the dub are pretty average, perhaps the low end of average, with a stereotypically high-pitched girly voice for Nunnally that is amazingly annoying, and very forgettable voices for virtually all the female characters (Milly, Shirley, and Kallen all kind of sound the same). I was very impressed with Lloyd's dub voice though, even if nothing will ever amount to his amazing original voice, which is uh, amazing! Seriously. One of the most amusing voices I've ever heard. Jun Fukuyama's voice for Lelouch I found to be a bit too deep/old sounding initially, but that grew on me as well, and I really love the badassity of his voice for Zero. Suzaku's original voice sounds a little generic at first, but it grows with his character. There's a good bit of Engrish in the Japanese version as well, which is always fun. I don't think you can ever get tired of their "Yes, my lord(o)!" or their "All hail Britannia!"

Overall, I'd say the original is damn awesome, and the dub is pretty watchable -- always a plus, right?

OVERALL - I really love this series, and I definitely did not see that happening. Honestly, I found the first episode incredibly underwhelming: the opening sequence made it look like a series I wouldn't be interested in watching at all, and all of the expository really turned me off...but the second episode? That was so much more epic than I could have ever predicted, and I was pretty much won over after that. I'm just a sucker for chess analogies, I guess! Seriously though, good story, good characters, good animation, and good music! Mechas, politics, rivalry and comradery, strained friendships, love and hate, complex ideologies, and blowing shit up! What more could you want? :D

[tenderdnp]

we’re already each other’s, yet you aren’t mine

beta: @star-crossed-phan​

artist: @just-another-phanfic​ + a pt. ii of her art is here!

word count: 26.2k

rating: PG-13; genres are romance, fluff, and angst

warnings: mild language, homophobia (internal and external), mild homophobic slurs, alcohol, hints at sexual intimacy

summary: in a time where tattoos bloom upon the skin out of nowhere - dan is a boy who paints watercolor roses in his backyard and has a single hidden marigold behind his ear, all while phil, who has tattoos of daisies around his ankles + shoulders, writes poetry on the front porch next door. (a high school, art student au)

author’s note: aaaa my first pbb fic!! :’)) thank you so much to kayla for betaing this! you are so sweet, and we talked more than just about editing which was so lovely. bless you for sticking with me even though the word count went from what was supposed to be 5k straight to 25k; you’re a real one! and thank you to kat for being a great pinch hitter artist, your moodboards make my heart go !!!!!

and a p.s. —  this fic was inspired by @demonphannie​’s post and @audaw​’s art. ty for existing

moodboard by @just-another-phanfic

. . .

For centuries, humanity has held art to the highest of esteems. Early neanderthals began it all with their coarse hands, withdrawing the dirt from the earth below their feet to leave marks upon rugged stone walls, the ones that would convey the beginnings of history. In the millenniums that followed, an elitism has formed around the most talented ones who have managed to make a name for themselves. The names of these creators are commonplace in many households amongst the nations; buildings are erected with the mere purpose of showcasing such artistic creation.

Perhaps it is for that reason that the phenomenon in which ink would envelop one’s skin was thus regarded as a wonder, rather than as an alarming fright.

Despite seeming harmless, precaution took place of course: scientists all over the globe have dedicated themselves to research the peculiar tattoos. Theories ranging from genetic mutations related to the brain’s creative processes to shifts in the earth’s overall physical environment resulting in a strange seismic change have arisen, but nothing about their origins have been confirmed as of yet. For that matter, nothing has been confirmed as to how exactly they appear either.

<<>>

It’s the sound of lips on skin and lips on lips that makes his shoulders tense and his hair stand on end. He can’t ignore them, they’re only three lockers down after all, and his peripheral vision just happens to be especially keen. Dan Howell has the new girl -new as in she had literally transferred into their art school several days ago- pinned against the locker’s cold metal, his lips pressing against hers again and again. It isn't a shock, really. She is likely his latest rendezvous, i.e. the new girl in both the real and alternative sense.

The probable truth of that fact makes his gut twist.

His thoughts are confirmed by gossipers in the hallway, their ringing giggles unintentionally piquing his interest. Their conversation automatically separating from the bustle of bodies and hallway sound, he listens in on their eager chatter.

“Did you hear who it was this time?”

Her friend squeals —was that necessary?— in response. “No I haven't! Who?!”

“It was Erin—”

“Erin? The new girl who came in and started here last week?”

“Yes! Well, she came in a totally different way last night,” he could hear a smirk and a wink in her voice. The if you know what i mean was a little more than heavily implied, making him internally cringe. “Everybody’s saying that they just locked eyes across Chris’ living room and like, totally fell in love. Or lust. You know how it is.”

“Of course,” the friend laughs knowingly, “Not a single girl has ever lasted too long.”

From there, as the conversation topic shifted, his attention followed. Suddenly irritated, he shuts his locker with a slam, not loud enough to gain the passerbys’ attention, but enough to snap Dan and Erin (she has a name now) out of it. By the time he turns around, Erin shoots a mildly peeved glance his way. Familiar words of it's always cloudy except for, when you look into the past, one night… flow from his worn earbuds to hit his eardrums as he makes his way to class, clearing his mind and relaxing his annoyance.

He shakes his head to himself, and puts a little smile on his face. It happens all the time, so he shouldn’t be bothered. Today is gonna be a good day.

He can feel it.

<<>>

As per usual, he is the first one in the classroom. It is a basic english class, because despite being at the art school for written work and thus having several writing and literary classes under his belt, he is still required to take a “basic” class for the english language.

His efforts to convince the principal to change his situation (that other students have voiced to have as well) otherwise was, needless to say, futile.

The class bores him a bit, but it’s not like he can do anything about it. More often than not, he keeps to himself and simply chooses to not actively participate in class. Besides, being one of the teacher’s favorites due to having a particularly advanced grasp of the material is not necessarily the worst thing in the world (plus it gives him time to write rather than pay attention).

Several minutes pass before Dan enters the classroom. As per usual he is the last to enter, with Erin in tow. Her blonde curls are even more all over the place than they usually are and his typically perfectly straightened hair is a little less than perfect; to add even more to that, their clothes are crinkled, leaving little to nothing to the imagination as to what their shenanigans were. The teacher makes no comment but a slight disappointed exhale and a passing gesture of the hand for them to take their seats before he opens up the class for the lesson.

“Now for the past two weeks we have been talking about poetry…” Mr. Lamansi begins, clapping his hands together. “And for today in particular, we will be focusing on Walt Whitman’s Song of the Open Road.”

The class proceeds by his calling on various students in a random fashion to take turns with reading stanzas, his choice sometimes falling on the ones with their hands raised and other times upon those who were purposefully remaining quiet and avoiding eye contact. Phil allows himself to take advantage of this time to freewrite, allowing his pen and mind to wander.

brown is all sorts of golden in the sense it gives...

“Phil? Could you read these few lines for us?”

At the teacher’s interruption, Phil looks up and nods, proceeding to put down his pen and stand up from his seat as every other student had. His hands hold his textbook as he prepares himself to speak, but the moment he opens his mouth, Mr. Lamansi stops him.

“Actually Phil,” Mr. Lamansi begins, “Can you come up and read in front of the class? This is one of my favorite parts.”

Phil bites his lip. “Y-yeah. That's fine.”

Everyone’s focus is on him as he strides towards where the teacher directed him to go. He’s not a fan of this kind of thing you know, being the center of unwanted attention that is, and each stare only seems to be encouraging the swirls that are slowly appearing on his lower back. Once he reaches his spot in the front, each set of seemingly judgemental eyes causes buttercups to rapidly pop up on a concentrated spot on the inside of his wrists, mapping the places where he feels anxiety and unease.

An awkward cough to clear his throat and break the stillness of the room comes first. Then, he begins.

And it's captivating.

“The earth expanding right hand and left hand, The picture alive, every part in its best light, The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted, The cheerful voice of the public road—the gay fresh sentiment of the road. O highway I travel! O public road! do you say to me, Do not leave me? Do you say, Venture not? If you leave me, you are lost? Do you say, I am already prepared—I am well-beaten and undenied—adhere to me? O public road! I say back, I am not afraid to leave you—yet I love you; You express me better than I can express myself; You shall be more to me than my poem.”

His voice pulls at the heartstrings of everyone watching him, or at the very least, grabs their gaze so that they don't look away. Other students were bored and monotone in vocal delivery, but his take on it is deep and rich. It's lovely, and all the students (okay, except maybe a select few, but you can't win them all) are listening. Breathtaking is definitely the right word to describe it, for the full classroom of rowdy adolescents are nearly completely silent.

Unbeknownst to him, when he's finished, Dan’s lips are parted oh so slightly in a sort of soft awe.

As Phil sits back in his seat, his face burns red, a murmur of applause going through the room. His teacher praises and thanks him, but he pays it no mind. His eyes shift down at his desk as he brainstorms and works on a poem for the rest of the period, until the bell eventually rings.

Now mind you, Philip Lester was usually very observant. His eyes were open, all the time— as a poet he had to take inspiration from every facet of the world around him. However, perhaps if his mind didn't force itself to replay the most anxious of moments, and he wasn't so distracted by his writing, Phil would have caught how peculiar it was for a certain Dan Howell to throw a fleeting gaze at him just before leaving the room.

<<>>

philip michael lester. flashback; age four.

Life was pretty nice when one’s age was still a single digit number.

While his mother was cooking, Phil was sat in the chair at the dining table. Legs swinging in the air because he was far too short to reach the floor, with a face of curiosity he pointed a small finger at what was on her bicep.

“Mum, why does your skin have different colors there?”

She briefly stopped her stirring upon the stove, her eyebrows scrunching in confusion a little before she saw what he was pointing at and laughed in understanding. “This?” she clarified while she smiled, pointing at the tattoo of a concert ticket that lay on her upper arm.

“Yeah!” young Phil exclaimed, nodding eagerly. “And Daddy has one too!”

His mother hummed in agreement and continued to make supper. “Indeed he does,” she laughed, “And that's on purpose you know. The first time I met him was at a concert.” Her voice became wistful as she continued, “I was sold a counterfeit ticket and because of that was absolutely devastated, with tears in my eyes and all, and was on the way to being sent home. On my way out, I had bumped shoulders with your father. We were completely knocked down to the floor! And then…” Her hand stopped once more as her words trailed off.

“And then he noticed my eyes and asked me what's wrong. Once he heard about what had happened, he told me that his friend became sick and that he had a free ticket. Only if I wanted it of course. I accepted it, we ended up having a great time, kept contact, and eventually started dating. I got one half of a concert ticket on my left arm, and your father had a concert ticket on his right.”

“Wow! Now you two are matching, right mum?”

“Yep! They say that nothing’s been proven but if anything,” she turned towards her son and made a pointing gesture to emphasize her words. “This appeared out of love, I’ll tell you that.”

“Love?”

“Yeah, love.”

Phil’s cheeks beam with a smile. “Love sounds so nice.”

As she sets a bowl of Phil’s favorite soup in front of him, an easy reply comes as a response. “Oh it is, dear. It really is.”

<<>>

“Just milk and a bag of crisps? Again?”

Phil places his tray down with a playful eyeroll. “Peej, you know it's because I’m not hungry.” He sits down next to his best friend, unzipping his backpack to take out his phone and aimlessly scroll while they’re chatting.

With his mouth still full, PJ says pointedly, “Yeah sure.” He swallows his food. “I’m just worried sometimes, you know.”

“I know,” Phil laughs, “And I appreciate it.”

PJ does a cheeky little grin and wave with a jokingly bashful, “Aw you’re making blush and all Philip, but let’s cut the sap.” He takes another bite of his lunch. “So how are you? How’s your day been so far?”

“Ugh,” Phil groans. He stuffs his face with practically six crisps at once, annoyed. He had nearly forgotten about how his day started, and now PJ had reminded him. He chews rapidly before he swallows so that he may continue talking.

“Dan was making out with some girl this morning at the lockers… It was obnoxious. Annoying as hell.”

PJ just smirks. His body leans in closely, accompanied by a wiggle of his eyebrows and reply in a teasing tone, “Are you sure annoyed is how you’re really feelin’ Philly? No jealousy because of ‘ol pretty boy—”

“How are things going with that film project?” Phil quickly interjects PJ’s sentence with his cheeks suddenly red, making PJ immediately drop both his smirk and the topic. Ooo ouch, how touchy.

“It’s good! It’s going. I hope to actually start the filming part soon.”

Pride for his friend swells in Phil’s chest. “That’s great!”

“Yeah I guess, but I’m stuck with the script. I’m really lacking inspiration,” PJ mutters, his eyes looking back down to his food.

“Oh, I totally get that,” Phil nods with a wave of his hand. “It’ll pass, don’t worry.”

The other laughs, immediately dismissing the comment. “Pff, yeah right! Coming from the guy who never stops writing ever.”

“Peeeej! Trust me, I’m serious! Okay listen—” Phil’s voice softening, almost as if he was revealing a big secret. “Sometimes you just need a break, you know? Or to look for inspiration in unlikely places. You have to have a muse.”

“Aw Philly, are you saying that you have a muse?” PJ smiles.

Before he can answer, Phil catches a glimpse of Dan walking to join his group of friends, and in doing so, Dan passes by he and PJ’s lunch table. Phil only lets his eyes linger for a moment more before he turns to look back at PJ, and gives him his response, letting out a low hum first. A cheeky hint of something is playing at the edges of his lips.

“I guess you could say that.”

<<>>

brown is all sorts of golden in the sense it gives as much warmth as a gentle sun    when it touches every bit of soil and soul of the earth a sign that even angels admire from afar, a bronzy glow of the ages - p.l.

<<>>

“Now creative writing has a key word: creative. And what does creative mean?” implores freshly graduated teacher Miss Caroline (who, at the beginning of the year, refused to be called Miss Alabang due to it apparently being “too formal”). A resounding lack of feedback comes from the class. Rolling her eyes in response, she shoots them all a you guys are useless look, accompanied by the typical seriously you could do better eyebrow raise.

Not many people are in this particular class, so theoretically, there should be more student engagement. But oh, on the contrary, it was not working out that way.

Throwing her hands up in the air with a passion, she exclaims, “It means to think outside of the box of course! Which is why there will be an interesting new project for the midterm. Never before done, never before seen by this institution.”

She begins to pace around the room, her voice rising and falling in a way that seems to soar over students’ heads and then capture their attention, while her gaze creates eye contact with each and every person to guarantee their engagement. “This project,” she says with a pause for dramatic effect, “will be a collaboration with the art students.”

“Exactly right.”

Art teacher Miss Land enters the scene. Her chin is raised with a sort of delicate poise and her hands are held behind her back, a contrasting yet pleasing juxtaposition that is a great complement to Miss Caroline’s own casual stance and posture. While Miss Caroline has a voice that projects itself as much as her eccentric presence, Miss Land’s is a bit more subdued in the sense that listeners had to concentrate more to hear her.

“The idea is to bridge together visual art and written art…”

“...essentially taking words and bringing them to life.”

“Both pieces must be able to both stand on their own, yet inspire one another. A mix of two mediums that are strong individually, yet when put together, fabricate something that reaches beyond what one could achieve as a solo piece,” Miss Land elaborates.

“Any questions?” asks Miss Caroline. The students helpfully provide her the deafening silence that fills the room in response.

Miss Land nods. “Good. My students, please don’t crowd around the door. Line up against the front, please.” She gestures to the front board, each art student awkwardly shuffling to their own spot, standing expectedly as the creative writing students sat and looked upon them with neutral expressions. Most are calm and collected except for a select few, who shift in their seats at the thought of working with unfamiliar people and a medium they didn't know. Among the art students is new girl Erin who couldn’t care less, and she has a hand on Dan’s arm while she whispers into his ear. He chuckles, and makes playful a face back at her as if saying, “Shh, we’ve got to listen now.”

Miss Land then glances at Miss Caroline, sharing an exchange of the eyes before coming to a silent understanding. From there, Miss Caroline addresses the group as a whole.

“So I’m going to randomly choose a student from my creative writing class, while she,” placing emphasis on the last word and looking pointedly at Miss Land, “will randomly choose an art student of her own. Okay? Sounds good. So first off: Eli Romano.”

“...Louise Pentland,” completes Miss Land.

“Andee Steiner with…”

“Erin Romer.”

“PJ Liguori.”

“Chris Kendall, you’re up.”

“Philip Lester…”

“...Dan Howell.”

As partnerships are created one by one, it is so interesting to see the reactions of each couple (couple used for the lack of a better term here, of course). For example, Eli, Andee, Louise, and many others seemed like the type to not mind whomever they were to be assigned to. Erin on the other hand? No one missed the huff she let out and the scrunch of her nose when she heard that she was not assigned to Dan. Chris Kendall stuck his tongue in his cheek with a smirk then let out a big grin when he sauntered over the PJ’s desk, while PJ himself held a soft smile.

In regards to Phil, he kept it together. If together meant his leg started bouncing at a great speed, that is. As long as no one looked below the desk, no one would notice. His fingers start picking at the ends of his sleeves. Buttercups were starting to appear.

And Dan was just an enigma. Nothing in the eyes, nothing in his stance, only a polite smile.

Once the partner assignments are completed, papers are handed out, and a direction is given for everyone to go with their respective other half of their duo, the art students disperse and fill the empty seats. Immediately, chatter begins to diffuse throughout the previously quiet room.

Squeaks come from the moving of chairs and desks, along with slight oomphs of backpacks being tossed down to the linoleum floor and pushed to the side in order to be out of the way. Phil bites his lip as Dan sits in the desk next to his own, and with every ounce of effort in his body he tries to make sure his voice is steady when he breaks the ice between them.

“So, I guess we have to exchange info right?”

“I guess,” Dan replies simply, scratching his neck awkwardly. “I don’t really know, but I guess there’s not really any other option. I mean, what else can we do.”

Not too far from them is PJ, who leans back in his chair and sends a questioning glance over to Phil, who then does a small shrug in reply. Turning back to Dan, he purses his lips a little before continuing. “Okay, so uh, my number is…” Phil lists the memorized numbers with ease, then repeats it once more. “You got that?”

Before Dan can even nod, the bell rings, and out of nowhere Erin grabs Dan’s hand right for the two of them to immediately bolt out the door.

<<>>

Dan is reading over the paper that the art teacher gave them earlier. He wants to start brainstorming, the concept of combining two different art forms seems really interesting… It would probably be best to discuss it with his partner, though.

His partner: Phil Lester. Dan knows him, he lives next door to him so how could he not, and they have gone to school together for a while now. Yet despite having known him all these years, he only knows of him. Dan has never spoken a word to Phil, to his knowledge.

Although he never paid mind to him before, when Phil read Song of the Open Road in his english class today, Dan admits that he was surprised. He never expected something like to come from him.

Dan takes out his cellphone, tapping the screen to reach the number that he put in earlier. Because Erin pulled him out before he could tell Phil his own digits, he is forced to be the one to text first. He types a quick message, and hits send. Better now than later.

from dan, to phil:

hey it’s dan. meeting in the library after school tmrw sound good?

He doesn’t expect a reply, but for some reason it’s like he’s waiting for one. When he thinks about it, Phil seems like someone he would want to get to know better. He seems interesting.

This project may actually be kinda fun.

A reply comes a minute or two later, and it’s like Dan has something caught in his throat when he rushes to see the message.

from phil, to dan:

Okkie dokes! :D

Aw. Dan can’t help but smile to himself. Heh, how cute.

<<>>

Phil ends up arriving first. In his defense, he spends most of the time in the library anyway, and extra time gives him the chance to pick the perfect spot: one with a lot of sunlight, and where not a lot of people are studying. And besides, there’s nothing wrong with wanting for today to go well, right?

Dan arrives about ten minutes following the school’s ending bell, and Phil doesn’t even notice him walking through the door. He’s got his head in his notebook, as usual.

“Bye, see you later,” bids Dan, giving Erin a quick kiss on the cheek. Although he begins to head off, he remains facing her, walking backwards, giving a little farewell salute and a quick wink to match.

Erin calls after him. “Goodbye baby, have fun with the project!” She accompanies it with a chippery wave back, and blows him a kiss right before orients his body forward so that he could see where he is going.

Phil looks up from his work, disturbed by the noise. Dan has spotted him, eyes lighting up in recognition, and he is starting to make his way to the table. When he gets there, it is a moment when first impressions are made.

For Phil, it’s like an up close confirmation of everything he has admired from afar. Everything is so lovely, and the way the sun hits Dan is so nice. His eyes aren’t just brown, they fit every descriptor that Phil has wrote with— caramel, golden, earthy, warm. Choosing this spot was the right choice.

As for Dan, he is taken aback by the scribbles of sentence fragments and various adjectives and lines that cover the pages of Phil’s notebook and Phil’s hands. They’re like stories that others want to read, but won’t understand, because Phil is the only one that can tell them.

He doesn’t know it yet, but he is one of the few willing to listen.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Dan grimaces, feeling guilty that he was the second to show despite being the one to set up the meeting in the first place. When he grabs the seat next to Phil to sit down, he misses the edge of the chair and the sound of his bum hitting the hardwood floor echoes through the library, making Phil laugh and Phil’s heart swell.

Embarrassing. Still grinning, Phil holds a hand out, helping him up. Dan lets out a laugh as well, Phil’s attitude spreading to him.

“Don’t worry about it Dan, I was willing to wait for you.”

<<>>

His car purrs as it rolls into the driveway upon his arrival home, having just come from hanging out with friends after school. Dan loves going out with them, but to be frank, it gets exhausting sometimes.

Right now, he kinda wants to take a nap.

A chirp comes from the car as he hits the buttons on his keys to lock up the thing, and the moment he unintentionally shoots a glance at the house next door happens to be the same moment that Phil looks up from his spot on the porch.

Phil looks down at his feet right when their gazes meet, before choosing to raise his head once more and give Dan a little wave. “Hey,” he mouths.

A moment of hesitance, then Dan smiles and takes a step forward. As if it’s an invitation, Dan walks over and sits next to Phil, joining him. The last time they had talked had been over text a day or two ago, and they have only met up once more since their initial meeting at the library. The steps creak a bit at their weight and their legs nearly touch, but not quite.

Slowly but surely, they are warming up to one another.

“So what are you working on? Are you working on our project?” Dan leans a little into Phil’s side to get a better look at Phil’s notebook, while remaining careful as to not be too invasive of his space. A writer’s notebook is like an artist’s sketchbook: a secluded place for the expression of thought. The cover is worn and the pages are messy, Phil’s writing ranging from neat print to rushed scrawls. Anyone could tell that that little notebook was the receiver of a lot of love. Dan’s heart skips a little at that thought; it always makes him happy when a creator is passionate about their own work.

“Yeah actually,” Phil replies, not looking up. He keeps writing as he completes his thought. “Just brainstorming about various ideas.”

“Is it okay if I stay here?”

Phil nods. “Yeah, I don’t mind.”

A few minutes pass of comfortable silence, and Dan even took out his own sketchbook from his backpack. He keeps making a few strokes then erasing, feeling the urge to do something as Phil is sitting beside him seemingly within an endless river of creative flow. He breaks the silence as he wonders in a whisper out loud, “You know, people always see you writing in that thing.” Dan then pauses, attempting to formulate his question before he voices it. “How do you… How do you constantly have something to write about?”

Phil is quiet, thinking before he comes up with a response. “It’s about being honest I think.”

“Honest?”

“Yep, honest.” Phil affirms. His pen stops writing for a second, and he makes a motion towards his body, looking forward rather than directly addressing Dan. “Let whatever is in you tell the story you know? They don’t have to be complete ideas, you just need to let them exist. Like how our tattoos appear on their own, but still tell our story to others, in a way.”

As Phil rambles on, without realising, Dan is sketching Phil’s profile. Glancing up to look at him while he speaks to give an occasional sign that he’s still listening, his wrists make little flicks and strokes across the page, while his hands are especially careful with shading. Dan spends quite a bit of time on Phil’s cheekbones, for he can’t seem to get it right.

He grins softly. Phil seems to be all angles and sharp edges, and it’s kind of enticing.

“...And most of all, with honesty, you know what is real.”

<<>>

“You know Phil, this is a bit clingy.”

“Clingy? May I remind that you were the one calling me at two in the morning for the past week and a half.”

“Pbbbt, but you said you didn’t mind!”

“Yeah, you’re right—”

“Damn straight I am.”

“But anyways, you didn’t call me tonight, and I was still awake, and now here we are.”

“I don’t need your excuses, Lester. So what do you wanna talk about? Because we’ve got all night.”

<<>>

According to Dan, working at a Starbucks coffee shop is ‘too corporate,’ and that is why they are at a local cafe now.

Chris and PJ are here as well. They’re doing a cute little “study group” thing, but instead of studying they are discussing their projects. It’s always good to have someone to bounce ideas off of, and brainstorming is better when one is able to hear feedback from other people.

They’re all casually chatting, as friends of friends all together.

What’s strange though, is this: Chris is being particularly touchy towards PJ. It was playful touches at first, to his arms and to his sides, but then all of a sudden he put his arm around PJ’s shoulders. PJ didn’t acknowledge it at all, but the expression on his face was one of someone who was definitely flustered.

Dan raises an eyebrow at Chris upon seeing this, the other only responding with an eyebrow raise back as if in a challenge of, what? Something wrong?

And as for Phil, his tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth as he has a shit-eating grin, simply amused.

It becomes a source of small unacknowledged tension, but no one brings it up and they all continue their relaxed chatter. Each of them grab several pastries and a coffee each, scones and croissants and the like, “brain food” being the excuse for all of the sugar in their purchases. They then head towards a table by one of the cafe’s huge windows that overlook the London street.

PJ speaks up about their projects first. “So, what’s your guys’ idea?”

“We’re going for a kinda… like… nature-y? Is that the right word?” Phil looks at Dan, who just kinda shrugs. “Theme. Something with the forest, or the ocean… We don’t know for sure yet.”

Chris nods, and looks at Dan. “Colors?”

“Earth tones, I would guess,” Dan replies, taking a bite from his scone.

Chris hums in approval. “Some cooler undertones would work nicely with that, I think.”

“How about you guys?” asks Dan.

“Something with a whole lot of bold color. That’s kinda all we got.” PJ shrugs.

“We’re just rolling with it,” Chris barely manages to add, mouth full.

Phil points his question towards PJ. “And how’s the writing?”

“Well I haven't had too much time to really develop it, I've been working on stuff for the poetry slam…” PJ says sheepishly, momentarily preferring to watch himself stir his coffee over looking up.

“Spontaneity is the best kind of creativity!” Chris exclaims defensively, yet mostly excitedly, He lists descriptors as he counts them off on his fingers, voice all sass and eagerness, making everyone laugh. “It's gonna have a lot of color, it's gonna be bright, and it's gonna be cool as heck!”

“Poetry slam?” Dan inquires. “Our school has that, PJ?”

“Yep! It's open to all the students but mostly english students enter, I’ve been bothering Phil to join for ages—” When PJ moves his hand to point at Phil, the porcelain of his coffee mug hits the table and his drink  becomes a brown puddle of a mess out of nowhere. It had narrowly missed his crotch, and thank goodness, not a drop fell upon the notes of his that were scattered on the table in front of him.

Chris’ eyes widen, and he reacts quicker than all of them. “I’ve got this,” he assures PJ, immediately rushing off to grab napkins, but not before leaving PJ with a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine!”

When Chris is out of earshot, Phil immediately gives PJ a look.

PJ’s face only gets redder, and he folds his hands in his lap. “Shut up he didn't mean anything by it…”  

But Phil is relentless, and he’s not buying PJ’s denial at all. He doesn’t stop giving his old friend that look that is all smiles and muffled laughs. Eventually, PJ breaks and bursts out with, “Okay, I admit it, he might’ve maybe asked me out yesterday…!” Phil smirks, and finally lets out the laugh he was holding in. “But to be honest I haven’t given him an answer yet.”

Throughout the past few moments of Phil and PJ’s exchange, Dan had remained silent, gaze bouncing between Phil’s knowing grin and PJ’s not-at-all-subtle blush. It is for that reason that when he makes a comment it catches them both off guard, even though it was more of an observation to himself, if anything. With his chin in his palm and his elbow resting on the table edge, Dan murmurs, “Huh, that's why Chris looks so happy. He's probably the happiest I've ever seen him.”

“Yeah,” says PJ after hesitating a little, addressing Dan’s words. He bites his lip, the corners of his mouth hinting at turning up as he admits the truth. “He makes me really happy too.”

“Happy enough to write about?” asks Phil with a smile, referring to their conversation from way back when. Dan sits, listening still.

PJ doesn’t look at Phil directly, but his hand unconsciously reaches up to his face to briefly touch where Chris has left a quick kiss earlier. If you looked closely, a little tattoo of a planet was beginning to fade into view.

“We’ll see.”

Chris finally returns, a wad of napkins in his grasp. Carefully he begins dabbing at the mess, nudging PJ’s papers aside so that they would be out of the way, all while PJ has a look that is entirely of affection all over him, as Chris pays no mind.

Very casually, PJ throws a question into the air. “So, what time and place?”

Chris crumples up the napkins, the coffee mess finally cleaned up, and heads towards the nearest bin. “For what?” he calls, throwing the trash away.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about our date already.”

Standing in place a couple feet away, Chris is frozen and his jaw goes slack, and PJ can’t help but giggle. Chris is simply beaming now. He rushes to the table to directly talk to Dan and Phil, words rushed and excited. “Sorry to cut it short lads, but we’ve got a date to plan,” Chris says matter-of-factly, adorned with an adorable little salute. After that his hands move to help PJ pack up his things, and in a matter of seconds everything is put away.

When they head towards the cafe door, PJ flashes a sheepish expression to Dan and Phil and mouths a “Sorry about this,” followed by a sincere, “Thank you.” Before they disappear, Chris then grabs PJ’s hand in his— holding it up to his lips to place a quick kiss on the back of PJ’s hand.

Cute.

As for the left-behind-two, an hour and a half more passes before they make any real effort to go. The company is lovely even if they aren’t talking. They are simply working in silence, both lost in their own creative worlds, and it is only when a worker comes up to them and asks if they would like to order anything more (to which they politely declined) do they begin to clean up their space.

“They’re cute together,” says Phil, a comment that breaks the stillness between them.

“Yeah,” Dan replies nonchalantly. He closes his bag after putting away his sketchbook and pencils bag, and slides the strap on his shoulder as they both head towards the door. To no one in particular he adds, “They’re really happy together, aren’t they?”

The edges of words seemed to be tinged with a bit of longing, if you listened hard enough.

When they step out of the cafe, Phil immediately rubs his arms, his breath forming a small cloud with each exhale from the oxygen in his lungs and the brisk air. “Heh, I didn’t expect it to be this cold today…”

Almost hesitantly, Dan places his own jacket upon Phil’s shoulders. The gesture isn’t acknowledged at all, and he just keeps walking, ignoring the fact that the chill was now getting to him. He refrains from rubbing his own arms, and just shoves his hands into his pockets. He only did as any friend would do.

In the meantime, Phil just stands there, not knowing how to react.

Steps ahead now, Dan merely waves his hand before quickly putting it back into the pocket of his jeans, beckoning Phil to walk a little faster.  “C’mon Phil, let’s go home.”

<<>>

phil: <IMG_0981 is attached. View image?> phil: LOOK AT THESE DOGS!!!!! phil: IT’S A DOG WHO HAS A GUIDE DOG

dan: asagAFGAAJHLHFW dan: THAT’S THE CUTEST THING I’VE EVER S E E N

<<>>

philip michael lester. flashback; age eleven.

He stood outside, garden hose in hand. His mother had told him to water the plants around the front porch, and that is exactly what he did. Although the job required focus, it did nothing to prevent him from becoming lost in thought.

The age of him and his peers was one where crushes were all too common. Girls were talking about cute boys; boys were talking about cute girls. However, no one really made Phil feel the way that other people claimed they felt— Samantha from maths lent him a pencil once? That was kind of her. But he would only want to become friends with her and nothing more, he was sure.

A yelp of surprise escaped from him when he suddenly realised that the water had begun to pool around his feet amidst his musings, which formed a damp patch of grass that was well on its way to becoming a muddy puddle. Quickly, he ran to the side of the house to turn off the hose, and started to make his way back inside.

Before he crossed his driveway to head towards the small path that led to his front door, out of the corner of his eye he noticed something roll across the road.

  It was a piece of white chalk. The neighbor’s, to be more precise, who appeared to be outside as well. A rare occurrence it was: Phil had only seen them a handful of times before.

Tentatively, he took the chalk piece into his hand. Heading towards who was kneeled in the driveway next to his own, in front of a house with freshly trimmed grass and no garden, but did have a single weeping willow. As his steps drew him closer, more details about his neighbor, a somebody about his age, came into view.

And honestly? Phil couldn't help but be left dumbfounded.

The pretty boy in front of him had equally pretty hands. With those hands of slightly tanned skin he was creating art out of seemingly nowhere; slender fingers fabricated gentle strokes, images of flowers and stars, along with daisies and planets and angels amongst them stole Phil’s breath to allow for only awe to remain.

Phil was almost nervous to disturb him. If he did, it would be like catching a doe in a forest clearing— one moment peaceful, until a slight sound frightens them away. So because of that, he made sure to be careful.

His voice of “Um, this yours?” was a whisper full of gentleness that seemed mindful of the delicate flowers that the boy in front of him seemed to be growing out of the pavement.

Immediately, the boy looked up, revealing brown eyes that perfectly matched his brown curls. “Yes, thank you,” the boy replied quietly, carefully taking the chalk piece from his extended reach. His fingertips lightly grazed against Phil’s, which left Phil’s hands tingling.

In the three days that followed, Phil had fireworks tattooed upon his fingertips (and more often than not, from then on, one could catch him writing poetry on the front porch in an effort to catch a glimpse of the boy again).

<<>>

Dan throws a bag of McDonald’s on the library table, the sound of its impact resounding through the quiet studying of students. And if that’s not enough, he follows up with a loud, “Eat up babes, let's get to work!”

Laughing, Phil does an exaggerated fake gasp. “Dan! Watch your volume!” Reaching over the the table, he grabs the bag off the table, still noticeably hot. When he opens it, a little whiff of steam comes up, caressing his face. “Besides, why'd you buy this anyway?”

Dan shrugs, taking a chicken nugget and shoving it into his mouth. While he’s chewing he responds, “I’ve been noticing that you never have food when we work on school days, and we usually work during lunch. It's always just a drink and like, a bag of chips.”

Phil shrugs back, head tilting as his words trail off. “I just find eating to be a waste of time…”

Dan holds up his hand, cutting his words short as his voice trails off. “Don’t even give me that bullshit Phil, it’s because you’re always writing and you think you have no time for eating, so just eat a little bit or so help me.” He nudges the bag closer to Phil so that it hits Phil’s chest. Dan’s eyes shift to the side a little, and his voice becomes a bit demure. “Just… Take a break from that carpal tunnel catalyst, and dig in, alright?”

Phil opens the bag reluctantly and sighs, taking a bite of a french fry. His lips are pursed into a pout, for what Dan said was pretty much on the nose. He doesn’t mean to avoid eating, honest, it just… happens that way.

He smiles. The fact that Dan noticed and bought him food is such a sweet gesture, and the more Phil chews, the more Dan looks satisfied. Dan claps his hands together right as Phil swallows.

“Cool, now let’s get started.”

Today is final drafts day.

In order to proceed with the final production of their project they have to refine their drafts, and that is what today is dedicated to. For their work to not go to waste, everything has to be absolutely perfect (but to be fair, a poor outcome resulting from the two of them is actually quite doubtful).

“I’ve got these so far,” indicates Phil, pulling out various disheveled papers. They’ve got red ink that make it look like his writing went through a bloodbath, with elegantly chaotic black scrawls to match. He holds them out to Dan and is a bit sheepish about it, kinda embarrassed by how messy it is. “You can look through them right now if you want, but they’re not that great…”

Dan shakes his head, automatically dismissing Phil’s putdown of himself. “I doubt that, Phil. I absolutely doubt that.” He accepts Phil’s writing from Phil’s outstretched hand, and exchanges it with a few ripped out sheets of his own from his sketchbook, graphite smeared and all. “And here’s mine, they’re really sketchy and not as refined as they could be, but you should get the idea.”

When they’re looking over each other’s rough pieces, Phil’s fingers linger over the calculated strokes of Dan’s drawings, all while Dan is floored by Phil’s words.

Dan has never gotten the opportunity to see Phil’s work like this before. He’s taking in everything, soaking every word and descriptor in, and he makes sure he does not miss a single stanza. He never was someone with a way with words, that’s why he stuck with visual arts. But he is thankful that he was given the opportunity to read rawness such as this.

Then suddenly he notices a little something. A little bit that doesn’t seem to quite fit in with the rest catches his eye, a little snippet of a thing that was barely legible and had the last word cut off.

‘n ‘ol brunette has got that teasing grin skipping class and hands that have likely committed sin that ugly little shit messing with my h

When he reads it he snickers, and when he points to it and holds it up to Phil, he can’t keep his laughter in and he justs bursts into a giggling fit. “Aw, Phil,” his tone entirely both sing-songy and teasing, “Guess now I know that you think that I’m an ‘ugly little shit.’” Dan does a little pout. “Do you not think I’m cute?”

“Pfff! Please,” Phil sputters, realising what exactly Dan was pointing to. “Who says that’s about you?”

“I mean we could just address the ‘hands that have likely committed sin’ part…”

At the sound of that, Phil interjects quickly. “Fine, you’re adorable!” Barely processing the thought, Dan thinks, “Pbbt, so are you,” and Phil suddenly puts his index finger in front of Dan’s lips in a shhhing motion.

“What’s going on—”

“No no no, shush!” Phil holds a finger up, as if motioning “Hold on,” and Dan takes the hint and complies. Phil’s eyebrows are scrunched, clearly thinking.

“What?” Dan asks, after a few moments pass.

Phil takes both sets of their work from their respective spots and lays it upon the space in front of them, spread out but distinctly separate. He purses his lip, unsure at first then proceeding to rearranging a few. “Why don’t we… write about...” Phil picks up a sketch from Dan’s side and a page or two from his own. He hands the chosen ones to Dan, who takes it with a raised eyebrow. “This?”

Dan slowly nods, shifting through the papers and ultimately agreeing with the choices. He turns his body, his eyes looking up to meet Phil’s. “So that’s it? That’s our theme?”

Phil answers his question with an affirming hum, and when he starts explaining it just to clarify they find that they were on the same page all along. “It’ll be about humanity in its rawest form—”

“With earthy elements and other aspects of nature—”

“How we all have stories—”

“...and what makes a human human is emotion.”

Phil’s grin reaches from ear to ear. “Perfect.”

“Fuck yeah!” yells Dan, pounding a fist on the table. He holds up his palm for a high five, which Phil happily reciprocates.

When he hears a loud SHHH! come from behind him, Phil’s eyes widen, for it is most likely the librarian telling them to politely shut the hell up. He looks at Dan and silently scolds him, mouthing “Language!” to which Dan merely giggles, his laughs muffled as he tries to keep quiet.

“Fuck you,” Dan mouths back.

Phil rolls his eyes and smirks. His reply comes with a chuckle: “You wish.”

<<>>

Forget about Monopoly being end-all be-all relationship ruiner. With the way the game was currently going, Mario Kart should be the holder of that title.

“EAT MY ASS,” yells Dan. With every turn, he turns as well, because he insists it ‘helps me play better!’. His body rams into Phil’s side as he mimics the motion of the kart on the screen.

A breath leaves Phil’s lungs with an oof as Dan nearly knocks him to the floor. He automatically bursts into a laughing fit, pressing into the buttons of his controller even harder. “NEVER!!”

At this point they’re practically sitting on top of each other, and seem to have ignored the whole concept of sitting on the bed rather than the floor. Legs crossed, his knee touching his knee, the room is filled with giggles and playful banter as they keep jabbing each other in the side as they play.

When one shouts, and the other pouts— the game is officially over.

Dan crosses his arms, and presses his lips into a thin line. He withholds himself from bitterly throwing the control to the ground, but he does cross his arms. “Good game,” he mutters.

Shaking his head, Phil rolls his eyes at Dan’s dramatics. He gives Dan a pitiful pat on the back, and gives his reply all-too-knowingly. “Oh just let it out, we both know you’re a sore loser.”

A sharp inhale through the nose, and a slow exhale through the mouth.

Followed by a swift headbutt by Dan to Phil’s shoulder.

“OW!”

Dan jokingly starts to lightly punch Phil in the back, sides, and shoulders, shouting,  “YOU WERE THE ONE THAT HIT ME WITH A FUCKING SHELL AT THE END I THOUGHT WE WERE PLAYING RELATIVELY NICE!!” He pushes him down, Phil chuckling at Dan’s sad attempt to push him over (noodle arms are not that effective, Dan has learned). “I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!”

They land on the ground, the punching turning into tickling. Phil rolls around in an effort to avoid Dan’s attacks, but each attempt is futile, and instead his stomach hurts from the laughter and his face aches from the grin on his face that reaches from ear to ear. “See,” Phil laughs in between breaths, “What an incredibly sore loser you are.”

Dan finally sits back up, smug at Phil’s ‘defeat.’ “Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” He holds a hand out to Phil, and they pull each other up so that they are both standing. “I still totally should have won though.”

At a suggestion to take a snack break, the two head downstairs towards Phil’s kitchen. They continue to chat, and as Phil moves towards the pantry, he makes a gesture for Dan to take a seat at the dining table.

When Phil turns around, he not only has various food in his hand, he has a smile on his face. He walks over to the table and sets a plate of cookies in front of Dan, making Dan look up from his phone and eagerly move to grab a cookie of his own.

“You know, where you're sitting right now, is where my mum told me about what tattoos were.”

With a mouth full, Dan manages a, “Really?” Phil nods, and Dan swallows the last bits down his throat. “Was it like, a serious talk?”

Phil is at the counter now, he has decidedly chosen to make hot chocolate for the both of them. He mulls over Dan’s question as he gets the hot chocolate mix out. “Hm, no? Not really. I was like five or something. How about you? When did your parents tell you?”

“Oh, uh…” Dan grimaces, suddenly feeling awkward. “They— they never really told me? I kind of just found out on my own. From classmates, and the internet, and stuff. They never brought it up, and I never really asked…”

“Oh.” For a moment, Phil stops moving. “So they didn’t even tell you where they come from?”

“What do you mean? No one knows where they come from. Isn’t there still no confirmation from scientists about their origins or whatever?”

“Yeah, but my mum told me.”

Phil hesitates a little, the tiniest bit embarrassed.

“She told me they came from love.”

Dan sputters, laughing, nearly choking on his food. Phil doesn’t say a word and continues to prepare the drinks. “No offense Phil,” Dan chuckles. “But really?”

“I know, I know. But at the same time, there’s no harm in believing in things like that, don’t you think?” Phil hands a mug to Dan, who takes it gratefully. They clink their mugs together and drink a bit at the same time. Phil laughs when Dan makes a face at how hot it is, and Dan rapidly starts blowing on the drink to decrease its intense heat.

“Love though? Quite doubtful.”

“Are you not a believer in love? How about you and Erin?” Phil takes another sip from his hot chocolate. When a little residue is left on his upper lip, his tongue easily leaves and licks it away in a moment. “How are you guys doing?”

Dan’s eyes don’t quite meet his, sounding distracted. “Oh we’re great.” When he looks back up at Phil, Phil’s expression is expectant, waiting. Dan quickly rushes to elaborate on his previous sentiment. “She’s lovely, and so sweet!  Every date I’ve been on with her has been amazing. She’s incredible. I like her a lot.”

Phil nods. “I’m glad.”

After that, he says nothing more.

He takes Dan’s now-empty mug from his hand, and washes it after his own. Dan’s eyebrows are scrunched in thought, he’s staring at his phone again, but he’s not really processing what’s on the screen at all.  

Phil finishes up rinsing their cups in the sink, and puts their mugs into the dishwasher. He dries off his hands with a hand towel. Once he’s all done, he asks Dan, “You wanna go back upstairs and keep playing?”

Dan’s phone vibrates.

from erin, to dan:

Hey babe! I’ll be finishing up work soon, you wanna come over?

Rather than unlocking his phone, he reads the message as it is on his lockscreen. He ignores it, and shoves the phone back into his pocket.

Dan smiles up at Phil. “Yeah. Let's go.”

Phil grins back, and as he leads them back to his bedroom, he has his hand on Dan’s back. The atmosphere is nice and easy. Uncomplicated.

He makes a comment about how Dan is ‘totally going down’ again, but to be honest, Dan isn’t really listening.

Later at night, in his own room, Dan takes off his shirt before he goes to bed. He always sleeps shirtless (that is nothing new), but it’s different this time: for if he had looked in the reflection in the mirror behind him, he would have noticed that there were dandelions on his back exactly where Phil had touched before.

By the morning though, they are gone.

<<>>

phil: I remember you saying you had a test today, good luck! phil: The universe may test ya like this but I believe in ya

dan: oh shush go pay attention in class dan: but ty that’s v nice dan: u’re too good for me

<<>>

“Aw, they’re so cute together!”

These are the words that seem to be just about everywhere: in the comment section of various social media, in the giggles of the hallways, in the not-so-subtle gestures and points of the cafeteria crowd. They can't seem to go anywhere without encountering what seems to be a fan club around the two of them.

But don't get him wrong. Because there is nothing wrong in the first place.

Erin is a lovely girl, and they have been together for a while, three weeks almost four weeks now. And that is far longer than any previous girl of Dan’s. With a wild head of curls and an even wilder personality, she is a whole lot of fun, and he loves to admire the beautiful ink upon her arms. She has these beautiful gradients of rising suns around her arms along with clouds that often change in hue.

Each and every time she goes on her tiptoes and she wraps her arms around his neck to place a kiss on his lips, he can’t help but be reminded of the idea of them, both in regards to the tattoos themselves and of him and Erin as a couple. Of all things though, he is reminded of Chris’ party especially.

Additionally, as if that isn’t enough, there are whispers of new ink starting to bud on her hands. Rumors that the new ink matches his own spread like wildflowers, even though so few have seen the hidden marigold to the extent that there are doubts of its existence. The possibility of Erin’s budding flowers being identical to his still makes his own blossom burn at the thought.

Because even though he did say that there was nothing wrong, there is an issue. And that issue is that nothing has happened to his own skin.

Besides the common flare ups of ink that happens to most people including himself, the only thing constant that he has is the single flower on the spot behind his ear, and that has been been on his skin for years.

Maybe he could— No. He couldn’t.

Could he?

It wouldn’t hurt —it couldn’t hurt— if nobody found out.

Besides, it couldn’t hurt to fake tattoos for a while, right?

He ignores the prickling of stars appearing on his ribcage, and takes some skin-safe ink to his own arms to mimic what Erin has on her own body. When the prickling starts going around his abdomen and begins to reach his shoulder blades, he still pays no heed to it.

He just continues on.

With each mark and movement of his nimble fingers, his stomach turns once more, even more so as he recalls the words that Phil mentioned before. What he said about honesty, about truth. This thing, what Dan is doing right now, he knows is the exact opposite of that.

He shakes his head in an attempt to shake the words off his mind. Phil has nothing to do with this. Phil has nothing to do with the state of Dan’s feelings for Erin. Why is he thinking of him at a time like this? For that matter, why is Dan doing it in the first place?

To be brief, he does not want to be rude. It’s not like Erin isn’t a nice girl anyway, so it’ll be fine. It will only be for a little while until those typical boy-girl feelings become stronger, because that’s how it works. That’s how it should work. And it will. There’s no reason to not reciprocate what Erin evidently feels for him. Naturally, it will all work out.

Yet if he were to take Phil’s words to heart right now and be honest, in reality, Dan was actually pushing certain feelings away.

Dan touches up the final details of clouds on his forearm, and presses his lips into a straight line, shoving the spiraling feelings that were welling up in his chest far deep into the ground below his feet.

If he were to be honest, he was actually just pushing certain feelings away… And with regards to other things, he was simply burying them further.

And covering them up.

<<>>

daniel james howell. flashback; age thirteen.

“...NOW AS A RESULT THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT IS CURRENTLY HOLDING DISCUSSIONS IN REGARDS TO THE POSSIBLE LEGALIZATION OF HOMOSEXUAL MARRIAGE. THERE IS NO FURTHER INFORMATION AT THE MOMENT, BUT RADICAL ADVOCATES FOR THE LGBT COMMUNITY ARE CURRENTLY LINED UP IN FRONT OF THE GOVERNMENT HALL—”

A harsh, snarky tch came from Dan’s father, his blatant irritation had jarringly interrupted the newscast that came from kitchen radio. In his hands the steak knife threatened to start shaking with his tight grip, his knuckles whitening to nearly match the teeth he was gritting in anger. “Those homosexuals,” he spat, while he slammed the table with his fist at the same time, “Those homosexuals need to get the fuck out of our country, or better yet off our planet, or I will BEAT THEIR ASSES!!”

His mother simply took a napkin to her lips and daintily dabbed at her mouth, taking a breath before she added input of her own. “Now honey, some of them may be nice,” her tone calm and even. With a voice tinged with what seemed like genuine concern she continued, “I just don’t understand, they can’t have children, so why even bother if they can simply choose a lovely lady or a strong man?” She reached across the table to squeeze her husband’s tense fist. “If anything dear, I think it’s just a trend.”

The entire “discussion” only progressed from there, all while Dan remained silent. His shoulders hunched in as if he was going to fall into himself, he ate his food with minimal noise whether it be chewing or cutting into it for a bite, merely taking everything, every comment— “It’ll blow over, for this it just sounds ridiculous”, retort— “Ridiculousness has wrongfully made it’s way to the law of the land!”, and remark— “To put it simply, the gays need to know their place”, in.

Eventually he asked if he could be excused (he was given permission by a grunt of acknowledgement from his father and a nod from his mother).

Dan’s room was his sanctuary. Constantly he would go there for escape, or to remain in solitude with his thoughts, and this was one of those times. From the back of his closet he revealed his unfinished painting, taking it from its resting spot and placing it upon the floor so that he could resume his work. The canvas was one that he left alone but kept coming back to—maybe he would finish it one day. A year or two had passed since his work on it began.

His paints were in his lower bedside drawer, and he took those out as well. Every movement was routine, a relaxing habit, and essentially his mind was a step ahead of his actions. But perhaps the ease of not thinking only gave way for other, bad thoughts to come.

The harsh tongue of his father as he spat out the words “those homosexuals” could not leave his ears and only further buried itself in his mind. The comment made his hair stand on end, even though he didn’t know precisely why. Dan knew that he couldn’t like boys. Liking boys was wrong. Boys like girls, and girls like boys. Nothing else. And why would Dan care about liking boys anyway? Dan liked girls.

why would he care why would he care why would he care—

His chest was heaving. He only snapped out of his train of thought when he realised his breathing had become erratic, his chest heaved and his hands were shaking and his heartbeat was far too rapid for it to be normal. At an attempt to relax he tried to breathe, he inhaled and exhaled in time as he closed his eyes.

Darkness came.

Darkness came, and colors followed. Shades of blue, green, and yellow. His painting was actually composed of only that particular color palette, a set of hues that seemed to be set in not only his subconscious but also within the motions of his brush. They reminded him of someone’s eyes, but no one he knew. They reminded him of the ocean, of waves he wasn’t used to.

They were always comforting. Those colors never failed to ease him.

Through his open window, he heard the neighbors’ garage open, and he opened his eyes. The sounds of their laughs made their way into his room, which made him smile a little. Those laughs eased him too. The family next door must have arrived home.

Within his own house, dinner had presumably ended. He could hear his parents’ footsteps in the hallway outside his bedroom door, their bickering anything but quiet. “I don’t want him drawing, I don’t want any of that sissy shit.”

That was his father.

“He is super talented and we should be supporting our son!”

And that was his mother.

He put on headphones to drown out it all, and dipped his brush into his paints. This time, he focused on blue. As his strokes hit the paper, shivers went up his spine as a tattoo of tree branches spread out across his back, and as its roots went down to his hips; the only signs of life that the tree’s branches held was the idea that it used to be budding once.

<<>>

In basic english, the poetry unit is coming to a close. For the past couple of days, the students have been presenting their favorite poetry pieces to the class, an assignment that the teacher thought would be a fit way to wrap up the unit.

“Dan, you’re up,” calls Mr. Lamansi.

Finally, now he can get this done. He is the last student that needs to present.

Although he isn’t nervous, his heart is pounding incessantly in his chest. He definitely has jitters, a finite flow of energy that is coursing through his veins and he can’t seem to calm it down, and everyone can definitely tell. Who couldn’t? His hands are trembling so much.

The amount of anxiousness in his body makes this whole ordeal feel like confessional.

Before he actually starts, he awkwardly coughs to clear his throat. “Um, I picked a part from that poem we read a long time ago? Walt Whitman’s Song of the Open Road?” Mr. Lamansi then nods and jots the title down, and makes a motion for Dan to begin.

When he makes an attempt at a taking a deep breath, he hears a whisper. Turning his head slightly he sees Erin, who makes a silly face at him, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing a little. Instead, he opts for a simple smile.

And then he (he couldn’t help himself) casts a glance at Phil, who's beaming at him, all warmth and encouragement and support. Dan’s small smile widens just the littlest bit more. What did Dan ever do to deserve a friend like him?

With that, his shoulders relax, and he breathes.

Swallowing his worry, Dan feels ready now.

“I will recruit for myself and you as I go; I will scatter myself among men and women as I go; I will toss the new gladness and roughness among them; Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me; Whoever accepts me, he or she shall be blessed, and shall bless me.

Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear, it would not amaze me; Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d, it would not astonish me. Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons, It is to grow in the open air, and to eat and sleep with the earth.”

When he finishes, he does everything in his power to not completely rush back to his seat. He tries to keep it cool, but he can feel his face burning, and if anyone looked hard enough they could see little leaves and thorns popping up along his collarbone.

A couple seats away, Phil’s heart is swelling. For some reason he feels like this poem has an underlying importance to Dan, and if he were to reread the lines to himself perhaps he would even realise what its significance even was. For now though, that was something that Dan could keep all to himself. Phil is proud of him for standing in front of the whole class like that (Lord knows that Phil’s confidence in his own public speaking is quite mediocre at best).

Small moments like these only fuel Phil’s admiration for this boy, and this time he can't help but feel pride and a sense of wonder all at once.

In Dan’s pocket, Dan’s phone vibrates. Before sliding it out, Dan quickly glances at the teacher to check whether the coast is clear, and upon ensuring so, he reads the notification under his desk.

to dan, from phil:

You did so great!

The small gesture is so sweet, and although it isn't much, it makes Dan undeniably happy. He has this expression of light, a grin reaching from ear to ear. While he can't see it himself, he swears the marigold behind his ear is tingling for the bud of another golden flower.

As they are leaving class, Dan comes up to Phil’s side and puts a hand on his shoulder to catch Phil’s attention before Phil has the chance to head off in the other direction.

“So, see you later?”

Cheeks red, Phil replies shyly, “Yeah, see you.”

<<>>

Soft taps are hitting metal, and Phil knows that Dan doesn’t even need to look to see who it is. He already knows it’s Phil. When Dan shuts his locker and he pokes his head out, saying “Heyy!” with a huge grin and the cutest dimple, Phil can’t help but to match with a smile that’s equally as big.

If someone told Phil that he and Dan would be friends one day, he would doubt them. But right now, he’s chatting with his crush, they’re face to face, laughing and shining with ease and happiness. Phil is on top of the world.

But Dan reaching up to close his locker door placed Dan’s arm at Phil’s eye level, and for a moment, Phil saw Dan’s tattoos up close. When his hand eventually falls back to his side, Phil’s eyes linger over them for a moment more. He has forgotten something important, something more prominent than the dimple in Dan’s soft cheek that Phil adores. The tattoos are a reminder: Dan isn’t his.

The wings on any of the butterflies Phil has in his stomach rapidly frumple, suddenly shy and abashed, and his smile can’t help but falter a little.

<<>>

Even though they don’t have an audience or anything because everyone has already headed to class, when Erin is kissing him, he’s not really kissing back. At all. The hallways are pretty much empty and the only sounds that remain are her lips on him. But even then, he can’t focus on her. If anything he is much more interested in absentmindedly playing with her hair.

Erin pulls away from him, noticing his lack of enthusiasm. She places a kiss on the marigold behind his ear, a tender thing, but to him it just burns. “Love, what’s wrong?”

Dan only brushes the question off, the ringing of the first tardy warning bell easily makes it so he doesn’t have to answer much. “Nothing, I promise.”

The expression in Erin’s face shows that she doesn’t buy it. “Oh Dan,” her voice sympathetic, one hand rubbing the space on his back between his shoulder blades.“Let’s just ditch class and go to my house? I can make you feel better and get you out of this funk.” She ends that last sentence with a wink.

As gently as he can, he pushes Erin off of him, politely giving her a cordial smile. “Uh, maybe next time?” His eyes not-so-subtly look away from her, and he just scratches the back of his neck, with his shoulders hunched stiffly. He starts to open his mouth to say something, but abruptly, the second late bell rings this time. “Let’s just head to class, alright? We’re gonna be late.” From there, he attempts to make his leave.

Erin hastily grabs his arm before he can make it too far. Her grip is firm.

“What has been with you lately?”

Despite sounding tender, she definitely comes off as confrontational. All the little things she has been noticing about him for the past few weeks begins to spill out of her one by one, in the form of pent up evidence supporting a suppressed argument.

“We’ve barely hung out, you rarely approach me first, and don’t think that I haven’t noticed that you hardly ever text me back anymore,” her voice cracks, just the slightest bit, but it is not vulnerability, it is only irritation. When she looks at him, she makes perfect, dead on eye contact, as if daring him to look away.

She starts getting louder. Her face is getting more red and more frustrated, the emotion further emphasised in her tone. “I thought I had it. I really did! I thought I was in one of the most important relationships of my life— here I thought I was different, and that I changed the ‘unattainable Dan Howell’…!” In a flash, it all shifts and she suddenly becomes a bit reserved. A bit meeker, wishful. Regretting and inhibited. Her voice is quieter. “…And that I found a really, really sweet guy.” She smiles the smallest bit, but her eyes are dull.

Her fingers start fiddling with the ends of her hair, and she looks down at her feet. “Instead, you just seem disinterested.”

“Look Erin, it’s not you it’s me—”

At that, her glare rises up once more, red lines suddenly appearing in wings at the ends of her eyes, further emphasizing her vexation. “Stop.” Her index finger threateningly pokes his chest with nearly every word that she says. “Don’t you even dare give me that load of bull. shit. I had to have done something.”

“You didn’t do anything, I promise,” Dan tries to reassure her, but he can tell that in the same way she didn’t believe him when he said was fine earlier, she absolutely does not believe him right now.

“Dan, don’t lie to me,” Erin huffs. She then furrows her eyebrows and kinda tilts her head and frowns, but it’s not directed at him, not really, and Dan knows that it means she’s thinking. When the corners of her mouth turn up a little and she shakes her head and laughs to herself, that is when he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to react. And he certainly does not anticipate the words that would then exit from her lips.

“I bet it’s that boy. It’s that boy, isn’t it?”

Dan bites his lip, his words are caught in his throat, and for some reason he can’t make himself reply.

A moment passes. One that lasts a beat too long for it to be salvaged.

“Oh.” Her voice and face suddenly falls and softens. It’s evident that she did not expect her ‘revelation’ to actually ring true. “Oh, Dan. I’m right aren’t I?”

Dan’s brows raise and his eyes widen, his hands waving frantically in an effort to convince her of the truth. “No!! No no, no way. We’re just friends, plus, I think that you’ve forgotten that I’m straight.”

Erin sighs. “But straight boys don’t look at other boys —well, just a single boy in your case— like you have, Dan. It makes sense now that I think about it, and honestly why didn’t I see it before, and I don’t care about the whole ‘gay thing’ if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She turns away and opens her locker, packing a few things into her bag, then slides one strap on her shoulder. “Love is love, and who am I to deny that?” Instead of then moving her body to face him, she bites her cheek. Her head tilts to the side a bit as she looks down. “I just hate that I had to find out like this.”

“Erin, I’m telling you!! We’re just friends!!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say,” she waves, brushing him off. She doesn’t move, hand still on the locker door. She only turns her head so that he can look at her when she makes her point. “But baby, it’s obvious. And if you still can’t see it, then maybe you should stop and take a good look at what you’re missing.”

“You’ve got it all wrong—”

“Look…” Erin lets out a low exhale and lets her eyelids fall over her eyes, slamming the locker hard enough to both make the sound echo off the walls of the now empty halls. To her relief, it also  effectively shuts Dan up. She sounds tired. “I’m gonna head home alright? I don’t really feel like being here anymore. You can go back to class.”

After beginning to walk off, she stops after only taking a few steps.

Her back remains as the only thing facing towards him.

“Dan?”

He hesitates before responding. “Yeah?”

Before she speaks, she takes a second to articulate what exactly she wants to say. Even though it’s not a goodbye, it sure as hell feels like one.

It’s like a final admission.

“You… You were a good time. Even if you ignore me after this, since we’ll just be classmates, say hi once in awhile, yeah? And consider who’s important to you. Really, really consider it,” she then angles her body a bit to look over her shoulder, so that their eyes may meet one last time. Her lips tilt upwards a little bit at the corners, but even that is twinged with a hint of sadness. “That Phil boy… He really does make you smile.”

<<>>

They’re walking home, and the warm tones of the sky perfectly complement the warmth of the caramel macchiatos in their hands. Phil had treated them to the delicious drinks once school was over, despite Dan’s protests, and the late afternoon sun showed that they definitely ended up spending a little bit more time at the coffee shop than originally expected.

Oh well. Becoming lost in a sea of conversation of topics they could no longer remember gave them a much needed break from thinking about anything —or anyone— at all.

When they reach Dan’s house, Dan fumbles for the key and unlocks the door. Noticing that is Phil hesitating at the welcome mat still, Dan laughs. “C’mon,” he invites Phil in warmly, as he starts removing his shoes and places it next to the front door after closing it. Dan motions for Phil to do the same. “Let’s get started.”

Tonight is the night they finish their project. With only visuals remaining, and their use of a different type of surface for their piece, they only have the next several hours to complete it.

Dan grabs blankets for them to sit on and he tells Phil where to find the paints they need, and together they make their way towards the backyard. With perfect weather accompanied by a lovely sky, it is no wonder as to why it is their work space of choice this evening.

Outside, the air is quiet. The only noises come from the soft hum of suburbia and the chirping of crickets. “I work here often,” Dan says, his voice casual and not as loud as it normally would be.

Phil nods. “I understand why. It’s peaceful out here.”

They start setting up, picking a clear spot in the grass. Dan tosses the blankets to the ground and they both slide their backpacks off their shoulders, and Dan leans down to take the supplies they need out of his bag. As he is getting situated, Phil asks if he should get ready now. Although Dan just passively gives him a “Yeah, yeah,” he can’t seem to resist looking up when Phil turns around to slip off his shirt.

Phil isn’t the most fit person in the world, but he is certainly a bit toned, and the movement of his shoulder blades and back do something to the heart beating in Dan’s chest. The first thing he notices even before that though, are the daisies that seem to go all across Phil’s shoulders. They are admittedly quite hard to miss. That too, gives Dan this tingling feeling that starts in his chest and spreads through his arms. He can’t put a name to it, but it’s just that the flowers seem so endearing. Because oh, how lovely is that?

When Phil turns and faces Dan again, he catches Dan looking at him. Quickly, Dan looks away, but by then it’s too late, and Phil is standing there flustered, hints of pink coming off like paint splatters and freckles on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose.

Suddenly self-conscious, Phil shifts the moment’s attention to something else when he quickly moves to pick up one of the many blankets that Dan brought outside. When he hands one end of the blanket to Dan, Dan takes it with a sheepish smile.

For a split second, their fingers graze each other’s, before parting so that they may set the blanket down upon the grass together. After they put the blanket on the ground, Phil rubs his fingers together. A reaction, he can’t help it: last time there were fireworks, after all.

And even though his hands show no ink this time when he checks, by God does it feel like the moment was electrically charged.

“So, where do you want me?” asks Phil, the question effectively gently breaking the comfortable silence.

Dan laugh cuts through the thick air between them. “Pff, Phil,” He teases, “You know that anywhere is fine as long as we’re together.”

Phil shoves him playfully in response, making Dan grin, and the pink in Phil’s cheeks becomes just the tiniest bit redder. “Oh, shut up!”

“Lie down on your stomach here,” Dan gestures to a certain spot right by Phil’s feet, “Just relax okay?”

Phil follows Dan’s orders, and underneath him, he can feel the rustling of the grass. He rests his head on his arms, closing his eyes, his voice muffled by his mouth being covered. “Don't worry about me. I trust you.”

Dan chuckles. “I would hope so.”

The scenery around them seems unreal. The setting sun’s light gently lays a golden cast upon everything in the backyard, as if graced by Midas’ touch. Flowers and plants of every color grow here: a personal rainbow, a trove of jewels. Even the grass is a true to life representation of ‘the grass is greener on the side,’ for Phil knows that the grass on his side of the fence is wild and unkempt.

The atmosphere of it all is airy and seraphic.

Dan awkwardly squats down while muttering an apology, for in order to begin the actual painting process, he doesn’t really have any other option besides straddling Phil’s back. Of course he could just sit down next to Phil…  But then he would have to work sideways, and that would simply not be optimal.

He shifts in an attempt to make himself as comfortable as he can, and he makes sure that Phil is okay too.

Next to Dan lies the sketches of what he wants to achieve for the piece. Their idea is to demonstrate and illustrate what the definition of humanity, with an emphasis on the relationship between man and earth. The execution of Dan’s vision involves painting upon Phil’s back, sort of as a way to mimic the concept of tattoos and tell the story of man.

It is now time to work.

Underneath him, Phil’s skin is clear, pale, and soft. Like a blank canvas would, it invites him to have his way with it, a call to let his hands take over his mind. When Dan does any kind of art, he doesn’t like thinking at all due to its hinderance on creative flow. He takes a deep inhale, counting the seconds that pass as oxygen comes in, and lets a deep exhale pass his lips.

His fingers lightly trace the flowers upon Phil’s back, taking in the detail of each and every one of them. The intricacy of it all is so pretty, and almost delicate.

Finally, Dan starts.

The coldness of the paint makes Phil shiver.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Phil laughs awkwardly, “It’s cold, that’s all.”

Dan can’t help but laugh a little too. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I’m gonna need a steady surface though so…”

“What should I do?”

“Hmm…” Dan starts, trying to think. He makes a long, broad stroke with his brush. “Maybe you can like, I don’t know. This might sound dumb. But maybe you could recite some poetry to me?” Dan dips his brush into the water, cleaning it off so that he could change colors. “It’ll distract you from the cold. It can be from the project, your own stuff, whatever. Tell me anything on your mind.”

Phil thinks it over, taking about a minute to contemplate over what he wants to share.

While he thinks, the sun finally finishes setting, and the moon eagerly moves to replace it. No longer is the sky burning ablaze with oranges, vermillions, and magentas; instead it’s all dark. Only a star or two glimmers. Everything is void except for the light of the moon that only seems to shine on them two alone.

“Yeah okay,” he agrees. “Alright.”

Another breath. “This is one of mine,” Phil adds.

Then a beginning.

“in a field of forget-me-nots, he’d try to forget them a lot the one who made his heart bloom from freckles that were like seeds, and smiles like sunshowers: pulling handfuls of grass out of the ground beneath him and picking petals of any flower he touched, choruses of ‘like me’ and ‘like me not’ in a golden air

there was something about them, who with hands made soul out of oxygen of every color and texture and medium who made his knees shake and his cheeks redder

Dan’s breath hitches. Phil continues, seemingly not noticing, and Dan shakes his head to shake the ridiculous thoughts out of his mind.

So what if the story seems to tell of a boy in love with an artist? It doesn’t mean anything.

“for although they was a mere windowpane away, their red threads seemed to be nothing more than fishing lines leading them to a separate sea and him to an empty shore

The brush in Dan’s hand has completely stopped moving. His arms have goosebumps, and although he can see that Phil has goosebumps across his skin too, Dan is sure that his own are not from the brisk air.

He bites the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he’s reading too much into it. Maybe it’s not even about him.

But is it too strange to say that Dan doesn’t seem to mind at all?

Before, Dan wished that Phil could see what he’s making while he was making it, but he is very thankful that Phil can’t see him right now. His free hand reaches to cup the side of his face, and under his palm he can feel the heat radiating off his skin. Although he can’t see it on himself, his suspicions are basically confirmed, and he has a good guess as to what is there.

Because at this moment, only visible by the moonlight, Dan has a fierce blush— a coalescence of roses and carnations on his neck that reach and bloom upon the apples of his cheeks (along with a few freckled stars).

More stars that could be seen in the night sky, to be precise. Side-by-side a whole garden that rivals the one that is blossoming around them.

“so from the coastline, he would admire them —this caramel boy— and he would watch the boy pull in the many fish of the sea as for he, he would merely sit writing words in the stand with a tidal wave heart that consumed him and stole the air from his lungs”

The chill of the night is starting to set in, but he feels like he’s on fire.

<<>>

They finish incredibly late. The idea of time is lost to them, and honestly they can’t tell the difference between the the evening’s final hours and the earliest hours of the next day.

Phil fell asleep towards the end, and Dan finds it endearing. The rise and fall of Phil’s back, along with the faint sounds of his breathing, are the only things keeping Dan company in this standstill of a night.

“Wake up,” Dan murmurs. He nudges Phil gently. “Get up, Phil.”

Begrudgingly, Phil sits up. He yawns and ruffles his hair, and as Dan begins packing up the supplies, Dan makes sure to keep a watchful eye on Phil to make sure that he doesn’t ruin the painting. Ultimately, he tells Phil to sit on his hands to ensure that no excessive movement leads to crackling in the piece.

Once Dan has returned everything inside, he comes back out to see that Phil is still sitting there, and the sight makes Dan chuckle a little. Phil has his eyes closed, clearly he dozed off despite sitting up; how he managed to do it, Dan doesn’t know.

He first lifts up Phil’s right thigh, then Phil’s left, sliding his hands out from under his legs. He keeps his hold on Phil’s palms and pulls Phil up so that he can stand, then picks up the last blanket that is left on the ground so that he can sling it over his shoulder.

With Phil’s hand in his, Dan carefully guides him inside, to a seat right beside a window.

“Dan…” Phil is still incredibly sleepy, his voice groggy. “Dan, what… What are we doing���?”

“It’s okay, I’ll handle it. You’re alright,” He assures him. “I’ve got you.”

Dan proceeds to sit Phil up in a chair. He makes sure to be gentle. Phil’s eyes keep going back and forth between either being open or closed, his eyelids eventually settling for the middle ground of being drowsily half-open; his body is simply too sluggish for him to stay completely awake. He is doing his best, though.

While Dan does have a soft yellow light lit up so that he can properly operate the camera, he had picked this spot next to the window so that the light of the moon could hit the piece just right.

What a good choice that is.

He snaps a couple photos. He takes some shots that are up close, in addition to others that showcase the big picture. The ones that are closer show all the detail; they show every single one of the strokes and the way the colors seamlessly blend into one another. Those are his favorite, for they caught what the eye wouldn’t normally catch.

The paint doesn’t completely hide the imperfections of the skin and Dan loves it. Humans aren’t perfect, and it only further emphasizes their project’s theme, but it also makes the piece uniquely Phil as much as it is uniquely Dan’s.

Click. And that one’s nice too.

This photo frames everything perfectly, it is one of the far-away shots: showing how Dan’s depiction of a skeleton matches exactly where Phil’s own bones would be. Amongst the rungs of Phil’s ribcage, Dan weaved an entire garden of flowers, blossoms come in azure, olive, and honey, and all of the other related shades.

Where the veins would run through, instead of being where the blood would run its course, it is red thread intertwined with vines, and it even leads all the way through Phil’s arms and hands. Where there is empty space, Dan filled it with a mix of daisies and stars, along with the colors of a midnight sky, the sky’s colors are a contrast almost as striking as Phil’s hair to his pale skin.

It isn’t a physical manifestation of the poem Phil recited to him, no. But if Dan said that he didn’t think about doing that, he would be lying. Dan ended up completely disregarding his original drafts and ended up giving into what his hands and mind seemed to want to do, and this was it, a portrayal that was a likeness to the relationship between nature and man, with a subtle hint at man’s idea of a red thread fate (perhaps Phil’s poem had more of an impact than he originally thought). And it turned into something lovely, he thinks. He hopes.

It almost resembles how Phil makes him feel inside.

How Phil seems to make everything bloom in color.

Softly, he taps Phil on the shoulder. “C’mon, wake up, Philly,” Dan whispers. “You did great.”

Phil rubs his eyes. They’re fully open now. “Oh hi Dan…” he replies, “I know I’ve been awake, but I think I can actually think… Coherently now.”

Dan smiles. “Don’t worry about it.” He holds a hand out to Phil, to which Phil accepts, and he pulls Phil up so he can stand. “I handled it. It all turned out fantastically.”

Phil stretches, and yawns. Then his eyes widen, face suddenly full of worry. “Wait, what time is it?? I never told my mom what time we’d finish—”

“Why don’t you just stay here?” Dan suggests. Phil looks at him and tilts his head, thinking it over. “It’s so late anyway, and my parents won’t mind, they’re out on a business trip anyway.”

Phil nods, “Okay. Alright, I’ll just let my mom know.”

Then they go to the bathroom upstairs, and Phil follows. While they are walking, Phil sends a quick message to his mom: I’m still at Dan’s, just right next door. Staying the night. I would’ve told you sooner but I fell asleep. Love you ❤❤

Upon reaching the bathroom, Dan gets a hand towel from the closet, and runs the towel under the sink. Out of nowhere, Phil laughs, and Dan turns to look at him, eyebrow raised, perplexed and wanting an explanation.

When all Phil says is, “Heh, Howell with a towel,” Dan smacks Phil in the shoulder playfully and can’t help but laugh too.

Dan then adds a bit of soap so that it will wash better. Before he starts to clean the painting off, Phil sees the piece in the mirror and loves it. “You’re so talented,” he whispers, and Dan’s ears flush with pink, he’s positively bashful. “It really is a shame that we have to wash it off.”

“Yeah,” is all Dan can reply. “It is.”

He finally starts washing Phil’s back, watching the colors smear together into something incomprehensible. Abruptly, Dan hesitates, really taking in the situation. “This isn’t weird, right?” he asks.

Phil doesn’t miss a beat. “No, you’re just helping me. I wouldn’t be able to do it properly myself.”

Dan can’t seem to argue with that, and so he finishes. When he’s done, he tells Phil to wait a moment. About a minute or two passes by, and Phil is humming to pass the time, and when Dan returns, he tosses Phil the clothes of his that he grabbed. Then he shows Phil how to use the shower.

“So those clothes are just some of mine that you can borrow,” Dan finishes. “My room is just across the hall when you’re done.”

Dan’s hand is on the door handle already when Phil stops him. “Oh wait, hold on! Before you go…” Phil pulls him back to the counter, and takes a new towel from where he saw Dan take one from earlier.

He does just as Dan did, and runs the towelette under water with a bit of soap, and he cups Dan’s cheek with his hand. He dabs at Dan’s cheek gently, cleaning up paint that had somehow made it’s way to Dan’s chin and other miscellaneous parts of his face.

“I didn’t know you had freckles,” Phil whispers, continuing to tenderly clean Dan up. “I love them.”

The comment automatically makes Dan flustered. His cheeks threaten to flare up, as they usually do at words like that, but he wills every atom to his body to refrain from doing so in that moment. He can only hope that it works out like that, though.

He barely manages to utter the two words. “Th-thank you.”

Eventually Phil finishes, and Dan subsequently leaves and retreats to his room. He uploads the photos from the camera to his laptop while he waits for Phil to shower. Once they are uploaded, he is pleased to see that they did indeed turn out as great as he thought. He starts editing, retouching them a bit here and there, just overall playing with the exposure and sharpness of them.

Fifteen minutes go by, and he’s still editing. That’s when Phil comes in, having lightly knocked on the door before entering, with his hair damp and Dan’s t-shirt and pajama pants on. In response to the opening of the door, Dan spins in his chair to watch as Phil comes in.

And there is just something about Phil in Dan’s clothes that makes him look so incredibly cute, that Dan has no other option but to smile.

Phil walks over to look at the photos that Dan has pulled up on his laptop. He asks if he can see the others, and Dan turns back to the screen to watch Phil scroll through the rest of them.

“Oh, Dan…” Stunned by the photographs, Phil is breathless. The lighting is spectacular, and the attention to detail is amazing, and none of it goes unnoticed.  “These are beautiful.”

He says some more things, but to be honest, Dan stopped listening. He’s just looking at Phil instead. That is, until Phil turns his face too.

Their faces are so near.

And their lips are so, so close.

Phil pulls away though, and Dan feels strangely empty. But why does he feel like that? he asks himself. He instantly shakes off the thought, getting up from his seat and heading to the closet to grab some pajamas. “You can just sleep on the bed Phil,” he states simply, “I’ll just take a quick shower.”

In the shower however, the thought of Phil can’t seem to escape him. Yet again, he pushes it away.

Nothing happened, and besides, it’s just Phil, he thinks, but it’s like he’s reassuring himself.

Nothing more.

When Dan is done, he heads back to the room, in far comfier clothes. As he opens the bedroom door, Phil cracks an eye half-open at the sound. Dan walks over to the bed, leaning down so he is looking at Phil at eye level.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Phil yawns, and pulls the covers up a little. His eyebrows scrunch up, and his eyes squint a little, questioning. “You have curly hair?”

Dan grimaces, a bit embarrassed. “Mmm, yeah. I always straighten it though.”

Phil reaches over, taking a curl in between his two fingers. “It’s like a little pig tail,” he giggles, “Why do you keep getting more and more damn adorable, whenever I learn more about you?”

This time, Dan doesn’t even acknowledge the comment, except for the playful hint of the corners of his lips turning up. He then stands up straight, and heads towards his desk. “I’m gonna edit a little more before I hit the sack. Good night you little shit.”

“Goodnight,” Phil calls.

Dan is editing for another twenty minutes more before he decides that it is time for him to finally sleep. He makes his way over to the bed, and he would lie down, but Phil is in the middle, looking cozily wrapped up in the black-and-white duvet.

Dan smiles softly. As he adjusts the covers so that it covers Phil’s feet, followed by tucking him in a little more, he mutters and laughs under his breath, “And I am the one that looks more and more adorable? Has he even seen himself?”

When he’s all done, he takes one of the extra pillows on the bed and tosses it to the ground. He then goes out and grabs one of the last clean blankets, and tosses that to the ground as well.

He doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor tonight.

<<>>

phil: We definitely did great on that project! :D

dan: hECK yeah i hope they grade us soon

phil: alhfdlhls What if I told you that they did already??

dan: W H A T dan: but they usually take ages??

phil: It’s been a couple days materino phil: Plus like, my teacher told me that she graded ours first sooo,, phil: In THEORy it should be up by now! ;P

dan: omgomgomg i just checked and it’s uP

phil: And??

dan: WE GOT AN A

phil: YAY!! All thanks to your amazing art!!

dan: pbbbt your writing is the loveliest thing ever don’t even come for me dan: like shakespeare who?? i don’t know her

phil: Oh shush asdfgjjhg phil: That’s so sweet I hate you

dan: nooooo don’t hate me

phil: Don’t worry Danny boy phil: I don’t think I ever could.

<<>>

The rain outside is dreadfully heavy, and Dan is late. Usually, that wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary, but he had been doing so well with being on time these past few weeks. Since there is no point to alarms if they don’t even work as they should, alarm clocks are dead to Dan now.

When he runs in, he looks so scattered. Sleeves are three-fourths rolled up, creating a look that lies somewhere between rushed and on purpose, and to add to that his hair is frizzy, he has mismatching socks (well, one is black and the other is dark grey, but still). A white umbrella that has baby pink ribbons all over it completes the whole ensemble.

Honestly? A fashion icon.

Phil sees him on the way to his second period class, and he has to cover his mouth to keep from giggling at the sight of Dan looking completely frazzled from the rain. One little laugh does escape him though, but he can’t help it: what is likely Dan’s little sister’s umbrella makes Dan look cute as heck.

Yet when Phil begins to lightly run towards him to give a quick hi, something doesn’t seem right.

Dan’s tattoos seem… Blurry?

At first glance, the ink seems to be what Phil expects it to be. That being, what Phil knows to be on Erin’s own arms: grey, stormy clouds. Yet at the same time— it seems to have changed?

Phil is just standing in place now, stopped in his tracks, a fair distance away from him still. He isn’t looking up close, the exposed skin on Dan’s forearms show it all. The texture is off and that the colors are melding together in an unnatural way, and overall it is just wrong.

Phil continues to stand by and watch.

Dan rolls up his sleeves more, revealing his whole arm. When he reaches into his locker, he takes out a variety of art supplies, of various mediums and hues and purposes, and begins to mess around a bit with the tattoos. As if he’s touching up.

Why would he need to…? Oh.

They’re fake. The tattoos are fake. And scratch what Phil said earlier— they are not blurry. They are smeared.

Dan finishes his work relatively quickly, and by that time, Phil has already begun heading to class, asking himself whether or not the scene he just watched unfold in front of him was real. Whether the sight of Dan amending the ink on his skin was true, or if it was a sleep-deprived induced dream. Yet no matter what he tells himself, he can’t deny what he saw.

Eventually Dan looks up and sees Phil’s distant figure. When he lets out an, “Oh hey! Phil!”, a moment passes that seems like a reluctance to greet Dan back. But Phil turns around, because that’s the kind of person he is, and he waves. Dan swears that it seems a bit stiff, though.

After that, Phil doesn’t acknowledge anything else.

He simply bites his bottom lip and keeps walking.

<<>>

(2) missed calls from Danny Boy.

<<>>

“Hey Phil! Let’s head to the library for lunch?”

Phil forces a smile. “Maybe another time, Dan? I have to… uh, go to a teacher.”

<<>>

You missed (5) Skype Video Calls from Daniel Howell.

<<>>

dan: hey why rnt you replying to me? dan: phil, did i do something?          ✓ read 9:22 PM

<<>>

Rumors are spreading all across campus. The hallways are littered with whispers and gossip of the school’s proclaimed ‘It Couple,’ and even teachers are chatting about it in the teachers’ lounge. Everyone seems to be aware that Dan and Erin had a falling out, but to be fair, it wasn’t necessarily hard to guess. No one needed to hear it from the source.

It is evident from how they no longer walk together, sit together, or talk to one another. Even more apparent, Erin’s arms no longer displayed the sunrises that everyone believed (she, included) to represent new beginnings and the birth of something new. Instead, it is now rain. It is stormy clouds on a setting horizon, the sunset for the sunrise, to match the end to the beginning.

Even the flowers she had, the precious flowers that convinced even the doubters of her and Dan’s love (if you could call it that), are wilting.

There are claims being made; there are those who are attesting to seeing Dan leave parties early with people on his arm while he has his hand on their waist, as he leads them out the door and to his car. Some said it was Dan whose neck and chest was splattered with purple from what the night had entailed, others said it was his company who adorned the marks. People told of the moans that would come from bathrooms, bedrooms, and even in one instance, a closet, where sounds of ecstasy made passerbys envious and left his partner of the night a pleasured mess.

Amongst all of Dan’s hookups, there is one thing they all have in common: they are all boys.

And that common fact makes Phil’s heart go from skipping a beat at even the mention of Dan’s name to sinking six feet below the floor.

Girls? That he can handle. He can handle it because he is used to it, he has been used to it for years. But Dan being with boys puts Phil on an even playing field— Phil isn't different from any of those boys. He has gone from watching on the sidelines to being an average player on the losing team.

When it comes down to it, these are the truths: he is in love with someone who, until the project, hadn't spared him a glance for years. He is in love with someone who —he was sure of it— had tattoos that were ingenuine and painted on. He is in love with someone who is known for playing the game, for having issues with commitment, for being someone who picked up people then dropped them like flies.

He is in love with someone who lies.

And so now Phil sits on his front porch, writing, restraining himself from going beyond the brink of tears. For someone who treasures honesty, the truth hurts. No matter how much he tries to hold himself back, two or three droplets still manage to escape, smudging some of the words that were written out of a mix of anger, disappointment, and emptiness.

They were words written by a heart who lost the game, a game rigged by a player of the most gut-wrenching emotion.

<<>>

skin of freckled honey and a body of clouds, sweet and soft— in the same way that only thoughts could fabricate the idea of how your lips taste. fabrication does not compare to the reality of it all though and no one ever warned me, for although tattoos of roses don't have thorns blood pours from the prick in my fingertips because i picked you - p.l.

<<>>

Everything is white noise. His surroundings are a blur and his head is pulsing intensely from the conglomeration of far too much alcohol and far too loud music. He can barely feel himself existing within his own body. The bustle of people dancing around him, the sounds of the DJ and the people singing and screaming at the top of their lungs, and the scent of sweat and booze: it’s all much more than he wants in that moment.

But to be fair, he does not really know exactly what it is he wants.

Whoever he is kissing is much more into it than he is, for he isn’t into it at all. He’s barely there, just a shell of a kiss upon the person’s lips. A disappointment for anyone sober to be honest.

Yet the other one couldn’t care less.

“S-so do you wanna, like,” the boy, probably two years younger than him, stammers as they separate for a breath, “Take this somewhere else?”

Numbly, Dan nods. No harm in going along with it, right? “Y-yeah. Yeah, okay.”

On the drive to Dan’s house, the boy (Justin? Jake? Josh? Oh forget it, just calling him J will be easier) is texting rapidly. The entire drive is silent except for those keyboard clicks and the nervous tapping of J’s foot, and from the light of J’s phone screen, Dan can see that J is sporting a huge grin on his face. Dan doesn’t even have to see the texts to know what they are about.

If he were to guess, it would be J bragging to his friends about how he is getting to sleep with The Great Dan Howell™ and how “OMG HE CAN’T BELIEVE IT.” Or you know, another statement that is equally as dumb.

It makes Dan feel sick.

When they actually arrive, things escalate from Dan leading J into his home with his hand on the small of J’s back, to rapidly making out on the couch. The way J kisses him is incredibly zealous. Dan tries his best to match his passion, but his efforts fall short. It’s just different, for Dan’s kisses are intense in a different manner; his lips press against J’s lips and skin in a way that is almost forceful, as if trying to forget about something.

But regardless of how fervent they both currently are, it all stops the moment the boy reaches to unbutton Dan’s jeans.

Immediately, Dan breaks away.

The boy, Jared, Jace, whatever his name is, looks confused. He leans in in an attempt to just restart where they left off, but Dan only shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says quietly, pushing him off. “I can’t do this. I’m so sorry.”

He gets up, and the younger one awkwardly follows, the way the boy carries himself shows that he is definitely disappointed. When they reach the front door, the boy takes a second to send a quick message, letting his friend know that he needs a ride, knowing what Dan will say next.

“Go home,” Dan tells him, his voice gentle as he opens the door. “You’re sweet, but go home. Please.” A nod from the other passes as a silent “Alright then, goodbye,” and Dan knows that he’ll never see the boy again. When Dan shuts the door and locks it, he runs his hand through his fringe, letting out a groan that comes from deep within his chest.

He makes his way upstairs eventually. When he gets there, he sits upon the edge of the foot of his bed, elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands, pulling at his hair. His knuckles are white when he forms a fist, fiercely punching the bed once. And that’s the point where he just yells.

Dan yells so loud that it genuinely scratches his throat, it is of such volume that it bounces off the walls of the empty house.

Next, he just allows himself to fall onto the bed. His body sprawls out in the center, amongst all of his sheets that should seem familiar, yet somehow don’t smell like home at all. His eyes are squeezed shut. One hand reaches up to rub his one eye, the other arm rests in place and remains outstretched.

After some time, breaking the quiet, a soft gravelly whisper finally leaves his lips. “Dang, she might’ve been right all along…”

<<>>

chris: i heard from pj that u + phil aren’t on the best of terms right now chris: you okay mate?

<<>>

daniel james howell. flashback; age sixteen.

from chris, to dan (and 63 others):

party tonight. my house (u should know the address, lmk if you need it tho) until whenever u wanna leave ! gon be lit be there or be square lads

He only had a little bit of time before Vanessa —well, because she insists he actually calls her Van— arrived. Chris Kendall was having the party of the summer to celebrate the end of the school year and the beginning of vacation because his parents were out of town, and he and Van agreed that they would go together.

As a casual thing of course, nothing serious.

The party started in about half an hour. Black skinny jeans that were ripped at the knees and a shirt he knew he looked good in was the look of choice for the night. He nearly chose to leave his hair in waves, but after he ran his fingers through his fringe he ultimately decided against it. His hair looked stupid if it was anything but straight.

Right when he was straightening the last curl, the doorbell rang. How perfectly timed, and even their arrival at the party was perfect too: not too early and not too late. As soon as they got there, they were greeted by the mob of people who were bumping along to the music. While they gave quick greetings to their friends, they quickly made their way into the center, amongst all those who were dancing like it was the night of their lives.

Van had her hands on his chest, her moves sensual and easy. She’s dancing with him, and Dan doesn’t hate it, because any onlooker could tell that she was very attractive. She’s pretty, and admittedly they have had fun together before, but Dan had realised for a while that he hadn’t been actively interested in her for quite some time.

But who was he to decline her company when they should be having fun?

“Let’s go grab some drinks,” Van commented, as she took his hand to drag them both out of the cluster of partying bodies. Even before she reached the drinks table, people started to hand her drinks as if they knew exactly what she wanted. She grabbed two, nudged Dan with her elbow, then held out the one cup out to him. “Drink some, Dan!”

Dan made a face, unsure. “I dunno, I don’t usually drink much…”

She gave an ‘ol pbbbt and a playful eyeroll that clearly meant that she didn’t want no for an answer. Van gestured towards the cup in her hand once more, and with her eyebrows raised up at him, she follows up with a plead. “C’mon! Take a fuckin’ sip babe.”

Giving in, he took the drink from her, downing it all in a matter of gulps. Van laughs, and they went right back into partying.

However, whether he realised it or not, one sip had quickly turned into multiple sips. And sips turned into finishing the cup, and one finished cup turned until multiple finished cups, and then he completely lost count. He’s completely, he thought as he hiccuped, he’s completely —as his friends would say— tabled.

If he’s honest, he had no idea how much time had passed. He just knew that he was currently all over the place, dancing one moment, chatting the next, then suddenly beer pong or something after that. When the music got softer, that’s when his drunk high started to diminish too, and that’s when he started to get tired.

He terribly needed a bed.

It was at this time that he started to head towards the stairs (anything after that however, he couldn’t recall for the life of him).

<<>>

Why is Phil doing this?

Dan knows he’s not imagining it. Dan can feel Phil distancing himself away from him more and more with each passing day, and he just wants to know why. It’s not just ignored texts, Phil won’t even glance at him. And that’s what really hurts about it all.

At lunch, he goes to “their” spot in the library, but Phil isn’t there. He brings food and everything, but even if he waits, Phil never shows. As a matter of fact, he isn’t in the library at all. To add more salt to the wound, when Dan goes to the cafeteria to check out the lunch table where PJ, Chris, and Louise sit at, Phil isn’t with them either.

Even when it is time for class, Dan is determined. He shows up first rather than last in an effort to try and sit by him. Dan will get him this time he’s sure, because he knows that Phil likes having time to himself in the beginning of class. Dan knows Phil. Dan is positive that he is right in this notion —there is no way he wouldn’t be— and when Phil walks in through that door, Dan will just talk to him and everything will be normal again.

But as if he’s aware of Dan’s plan, Phil ends up arriving last. Every time.

<<>>

“Please Chris!” his tone is embarrassingly pleading, but Dan doesn’t care. Anyone could be listening in on their conversation as they’re strolling the halls, but Dan doesn’t care about that either, he just grabs Chris’ arm and begins shaking it violently as he keeps begging (these are clearly some great persuasive tactics he’s using, perhaps he should consider becoming a lawyer).

“Pleaaaseee!! Talk to your cute boyfriend for me!”

Chris stops in his tracks, nearly making Dan stumble. He stares at Dan dead in the eyes. “Okay first of all, only I can call him cute, back off. And second,” he says the last parts slowly as he takes a couple tentative steps forward. “I don’t think it would be smart. If anything, you can talk to my cute boyfriend yourself.”

Dan lets go of Chris’ arm, letting out a small reluctant exhale. “Okay. Fine.”

It takes a while. Dan has to wait until the afternoon finally comes to an end in order to talk to PJ, and even then, it takes a good chunk of time to convince him. Dan’s proposition is for PJ to somehow provide Dan with an opportunity to talk to Phil.

At first, PJ declines. Right away.

But then he manages to go from “Oh, I don’t know Dan…” to “Alright, okay,” after a little over an hour of persuading. After Dan explained the circumstances, and with a bit of begging, PJ changed his mind. He makes it clear that he’s not the most supportive of Dan right now due to Phil’s current state, but that he is appreciative of the fact that he did make Phil so happy before.

And above all, there is one thing that PJ can’t deny, and that is that Phil deserves closure. If anything.

PJ looks away from Dan, not able to directly meet his eyes. He scratches the back of his neck, before turning to face him once more, voice firm. “He’ll meet you in room 109, alright? Tomorrow, fifteen minutes after school ends. I’ll tell them there’s a meeting for a club he’s in or something. But if you miss it… That’s on you. This is the only chance you’re getting.”

<<>>

The clock on the classroom wall shows that seven minutes have passed since their supposed meet-up time. Not that he was counting or anything. Understandably, Dan can’t help but to feel on edge, for what if PJ changed his mind?

What if Phil never comes?

Out of nowhere, words start coming from the other side of the door. “Yeah, this is the room. Text me when you’re done, and I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Thanks for letting me know about this meeting Peej.” That one is Phil. That’s definitely him. “You’re a great friend.”

The door then opens with a flourish. Phil closes it behind him.

Dan coughs, making Phil turn around. He does a small wave and says meekly, “Hey, Phil.”

Phil’s eyes widen and the color drains from his face. “Oh no. Oh no no no…”

“Phil, please listen to me—”

“But I don’t even want to talk to you…” Phil’s firmly points out. He is looking all around the classroom, at every place and every thing except for Dan. Annoyed, he mutters, “I knew that something was up when PJ said there was a meeting for a new writing program. It just seemed sudden, and I never heard anyone talking about it or anything…”

“Phil, please talk to me?”

“And why should I?”

“Please.”

Instead of responding right away, Phil walks over to Dan, and gets all up his face. He nearly spits at him, and to be honest, he kind of wants to. Inked images of flames are flickering from his bottom of his neck, threatening to reach his chin. He entire demeanor is radiating with bitterness. “Don’t you get it? Can’t you take a hint?” He crosses his arms. “You’re with her, and I’m a total idiot, and you can just live your happy lie. Ignorance is bliss, right?”

“What are you even saying, I don’t understand…” Dan’s voice trails off, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Brashly, Phil grabs Dan’s arm, hastily rolling up the sleeves. His lips are pressed into a straight line as he takes out his water bottle from in his backpack. Proceeding to pour a bit of water onto Dan’s forearm, he then takes his hand and rubs across Dan’s skin.

The ink smears, as Phil expected.

A sharp intake of breath comes from Dan. His eyes widen, and suddenly it’s like something has lodged itself in his lungs. Frantically, he waves his hands, crying, “Phil, whatever you’re thinking right now, don’t believe it! There’s more to the story, I promise you…” Phil doesn’t respond, he simply twists the bottle cap closed and slips the water bottle back into his bag. “Can we just talk? We need to talk, Phil!”

Phil’s voice is hard and stilted. He doesn’t acknowledge what Dan is saying, not really, but his words speak directly to him. “Dan, if anything, you have to understand this: the project is done, so there is no logical reason for us to talk anymore—”

This is where Dan attempts to shut Phil up. Hurriedly, he had leaned in to close the space between them, with the aim for a chaste kiss on the lips. Just so Phil would stop talking and calm down. That kind of thing works in the movies, right?

But Dan misses.

He misses because Phil turned his face, so that instead of his lips, Dan would hit his cheek instead. A futile attempt overall. When they return to simple eye contact, Phil is anything but pleased. Dan grimaces. He’s worried now.

“Art students,” begins Phil bitterly, “are the worst.” He moves his head so his fringe is out of his face, and all of his focus is on Dan. He shakes his head, a forced chuckle almost escaping his lips.

“Just so you know,” Phil’s eyes are like steel. Unbearing, unyielding, a disclosure with resolve. His words are steady. “I was pretty damn close to falling in love with you.”

Dan’s expression has become a mess of emotion, his voice laced with a desperate want for Phil to stay. Yet Phil is already for the door. “Well I’m pretty damn sure—”

Phil cuts him off one last time, his fingers lingering on the door handle. His face turns so that Dan can see his profile, but can’t see his expression. To be fair, he doesn’t need to, for the impenetrable accusing, disappointed tone of his voice is undeniable.

“Do you tell that to everyone you sleep with?”

<<>>

philip michael lester. flashback; age fifteen.

Apparently this party was supposed to be a big one. More so than usual anyway, and that was why James had forced him to go— and that was why he was here. People seemed to be filling up the house to its brim, and the scent of sweat and alcohol blended into what Phil guessed to be whatever Nirvana imagined teen spirit would smell like. When Phil and James arrived, they were greeted with the same chorus of “heyyy!”s that all the other houseguests probably had to endure.

They had only stepped through the entrance moments ago when James had nudged him in the side with his elbow. “I’m just gonna go and mingle, yeah?”

Phil just passively nodded him off in reply, and turned around to head towards the living room. Before he makes his leave, James patted him on the back with a brief, “‘Kay mate, I’ll be back in a minute.” Phil rolls his eyes, because he highly doubts that. Yeah, yeah. That’s what he said every time.

An hour and a half passed on by. To elaborate, an hour and a half was how long it took for Phil to finally look up from his phone, get up from his spot on the couch, and go to the kitchen for a change of pace, and maybe a drink perhaps. His journey to the kitchen was mildly ruined however, when he realised James had been preoccupied —and was still preoccupied— with making out with someone in the hallway.

Phil simply pursed his lips, blatantly ignored it, and headed towards the drinks. Despite being close, the two were never actually close. As evidenced, that guy was never really a good friend anyway.

Life sucks sometimes, you know? Phil grabbed the nearest drinkable-looking liquid. but before he could pour himself anything, he was stopped. Someone else was offering a red solo cup to him.

“Are you looking for something harsh, or you just want to let loose?” The person says.

“Let loose,” Phil affirmed, with a shrug. “I just want to have less of a crappy time to be honest.”

“Well then here you go mate,” he replied, as he handed him the drink. “I’m PJ by the way.”

The conversation took off from there. Introductions were made, and so were jokes and banter; overall they were having fun getting to know one another. PJ was a film-video major, and was studying directing, writing, and special effects. It turned out that they both attended the nearby arts academy, and that they were in the same lunch period. Numbers were exchanged, and agreements to hang out were arranged.

It seemed like a friendship was to start. One already far better than the one with James.

“It’s been great talking to you Phil,” PJ grinned as the conversation came to a close, patting Phil on the shoulder. “I gotta make my way out though! The party host is a past friend of mine, and I just wanna see if I can give a cheeky hello.” With that, he turned and headed off with a little salute.

“See you!”

And with that, the night went on. The party dwindled down, and as early morning approached, people transitioned from either quietly chatting or leaving, to being completely knocked out or sleeping. The sleeping ones included Phil amongst them, who had succumbed to that heavy-eyed feeling on the stairs. It was one of the only places left that was free: his peers littered the couches, the floors, and the hallways. Along with all of these people, there were cups, half-eaten pizzas, and a whole lot of other trash that were haphazardly left upon every surface and within every possible nook and cranny of the house.

The music that had previously been blasting loud enough to vibrate the whole block had now been turned down to a lower volume, presumably by someone who did so out of the courtesy of others. A simple light pulse could be felt through the floor, and it stood as the only sound left to resonate through the house.

Well, except for the footsteps of one person. A person who, in their completely hammered state, had decided that he wanted to sleep in the comfort of a bed, and was thus attempting to trudge their way to a bedroom. That was before they tripped on Phil.  

Who was on the stairs.

Blocking his way.

Phil’s eyes kinda squinted and fluttered open, eyebrows furrowed as he half-woke up from the sound of whoever fell near him. Once he realised that someone was helplessly lying face down upon the steps, he made the effort to help them up. Even though he himself did stumble a couple of times.

He placed an arm around the person’s shoulder, and the other did the same back at him. In their matching hazy, sleepy states, they made their way to the bedroom together, nearly tripping on more than one occasion as they attempted to hold each other up on the way up the staircase.

A couple fumbles, and they were finally at the top.

“Are we nearly there?” The guy asked, sounding out of breath.

“Yeah,” Phil replied quietly, as he pushed open the first door he came across. “Yeah, nearly.”

When he opened the door, it was easy to tell that it was probably the master bedroom, for it had a bed fit for kings. The duvet looked silky to the touch, and the pillows looked fluffed to homey perfection. It just seemed so, so inviting.

The music from downstairs could still be fairly heard from where they were. The boy Phil was holding onto sorta hummed along and tried to spin them around the room in a dazed dance.

A laughably graceful spin, an uncoordinated dip. “Mmmm, mmm mm mmm…”

It all quickly went downhill though. Expectedly, rather than dancing, they instead clumsily fell onto the bed, the covers being as soft as they looked. Phil giggled as they fell down.

One person on one side, and the other person next to them. They laid down together, back to back, not touching and ready to fall asleep. Phil’s eyes began to close once more. Both of their breathing patterns were becoming slow and even.

Rustling all of a sudden came from the other side of the bed, the shifting of sheets were followed by a genuine, dazed slur of question. The guy spoke at a volume that hardly goes above a hummingbird’s whisper. “Hey, doyouthinkit’sstrangethat… I don’t know. That society is simply made, made up of concepts that are in… inherently real and. And not real?”

Reluctantly, Phil turned on his side to face him so he could reply. He yawned, and shrugged. His voice is gravelly. “I don’t know. Maybe. Some people see marriage as just being a piece of paper.”

The stranger nodded, seemingly accepting his answer. “That’s, that’s true...” He paused for a moment, taking a second to think before he voiced his next thought. “Hmmmm, next question: why are we here?” His voice was more stable now, despite all the alcohol in his system. Probably because he was more awake due to holding a conversation.

“If this is an existential question, that’s too much thinking.” Phil’s face scrunched up as he attempted once more at a better response, but inevitably gave up. A mostly-tired tipsy brain is only capable of so much at two am. “It’s too early for that, mate. Sorry. But if you’re asking for why I’m at this party? Then it’s because,” Phil moved his body so he could be more comfortable, resting his head on his arm. “Well, my friend forced me to come.”

The other one’s body mirrored Phil’s, moving in the bed as he did in order to better situate himself. He replied with a nonchalant shake of his head. “I did mean it as existentia-whatever, but eh, you’re right. Too much thinking. I’m here because of a friend too.”

Somehow, they began to talk about everything. And by everything, it meant just that: worries, fears, existential thoughts, random animal facts. They became so relaxed yet so awake, because if they closed their eyes they would miss these fleeting moments of an almost trance-like unreality. There were no holds barred. Everything left was raw.

After a while, there was a lull. It’s either that or they have fallen into a comfortable silence, Phil truly didn’t know. They were both still lying face to face —but also not really looking at each other— in an absentminded stupor. The stillness was broken when the guy reached over, almost as if he wanted to play with Phil’s hair. He hummed and muttered, “You kinda look like my neighbor, you know?” Phil’s eyebrows only raise slightly in response, like a silent question of “Oh really?”

Dan pursed his lips with an mmhm, decidedly rubbing the black locks in between his fingers and brushing Phil’s fringe out of his face. “You are the prettiest boy I have ever seen, you know...”

After hearing those words, Phil took the other’s hand into his, away from playing with his hair. He brought their hands down to rest in between the both of them, fingers interlocked. Chrysanthemums quickly bloomed on the boy’s face in a blush, which then faded as fast as they appeared. “And that is you, to I,” said Phil.

The boy laughed, the flowers reappeared on his cheeks for several moments fiercer and brighter than before, right before they faded again once more, slowly this time. A soft rosy patch of red on the apples of his cheeks was all that was left behind upon his flushed face. “What are you, a poet?” he jokes.

“Maybe,” Phil smiled.

Whoever made the first move after that moment wasn’t relevant. It was just that at one point they were no longer at an arms’ length away from each other, but yet they somehow had moved closer to one another. Close enough for Phil to see that this pretty boy had the prettiest eyelashes and the softest brunette hair, and for the other to see his three favorite colors within Phil’s eyes. They were simply lying down amongst shared bedsheets face-to-face, alcohol on their breath; two boys with no care in the world.

Phil moved forward just the slightest bit more, letting go of the guy’s hand to move and kiss him behind the ear first, where a tattoo of a marigold immediately began to bloom. Then Phil continued and left soft kisses down the male’s neck.

In response the boy sighed with the quietest ah, nearly moaning from the slightest touch. With the utmost tenderness, he ran his hands across Phil’s shoulders and down Phil’s arms, letting one hand rest on Phil’s waist before he leaned in and gave him a peck of a kiss, making the both of them smile.

“Your touch is so gentle,” Phil says to him. Echoing the other’s words from earlier, Phil continued in a teasing tone, “What are you, an artist?”

The boy only winked, with a hint of a knowing smirk. “Maybe.”

That portion of humanity’s daily twenty-four hours in which the ongoing evening merged with the early day, and when the stars met the morning sunrise, was not only comprised of only the physical world that night, but also of the whispers of yes between strangers and the unspoken confessions between two people who had somehow already met. Perhaps through a past life, or unknowingly, a connection even closer than that.

Because even acquaintances can be something more.

In the morning, it’s skin against skin, amid silken bedsheets and marks from the night before. Their legs were entangled with one another— leaving daisies around Phil’s ankles, while the boy’s arms around him left daisies upon Phil’s shoulders.

When Phil awoke, sunlight had only begun to trickle in. Reluctantly he moved to break away from the guy’s hold, careful to not wake him up, and groggily, Phil grabbed for his phone that was on top of the nightstand.

Four missed calls. Seven texts. His mother must be worried sick.

from mom, to phil:

Where are you Philip???!!!! I’ve called you so many times!! I trust you to be alright, but please contact me to ease your old mother’s heart. Come home as soon as you can, dear. Call me.

Phil sat up on the edge of the bed. Cellphone in hand, he immediately dialed for his mother. As it rang, he began to shuffle around the room to pick up his clothes off of the floor. Pants here, shirt there. Boxers somewhere. The phone rang five times, to which afterwards it then went to voicemail, accompanied by the traditional “Please leave your name after the beep!”. While he struggled to put his jeans on, Phil pinned the phone in the nook between his shoulder and ear.

“Yeah, mom? Sorry I didn’t answer or come home right away, I fell asleep at the party from last night. I’ll be heading there now. Don’t worry, I’ll take a taxi or uber or something.” A quick message and then he hung up, it was just a sign to let her know he was okay. Finally, he slipped his shirt on over his head.

Before he left, he took one last glance at the boy in the bed. It was only at this point does he realise exactly what happened last night. He wasn’t a stranger at all, in fact Phil knew him, he knew him much more than he would like to admit.

The boy was Dan. Dan, the one Phil admired from afar, the one he wrote about in secret.

Phil bit his lip, feeling a twinge of something twist his insides. It’s a mix of guilt and some other emotion. His stomach did not contain butterflies, oh no; right now his ribcage swelled with bumblebees. Stabbing the inside of his chest, filling his lungs so he couldn’t breathe.

But perhaps that was only fitting. Because that couldn’t stop him from confessing the fact that this sight of Dan left Phil a bit breathless.

A state that left Dan looking so vulnerable, while at the same time, looking so damn gorgeous.

Leaning down, Phil’s fingers grazed Dan’s forehead so that he may push those adorable curls aside, and his lips left a light kiss on Dan’s forehead, just above the space between his eyebrows. A farewell that would have to suffice, for after that Phil went back home.

When Dan awoke, he woke up to strewn sheets and duvet, and a slight tingling of where someone had left their mark— literally. There was a small red heart where Phil unknowingly kissed him, along with even smaller ones splattered along his hairline. When he touched them, they gave him a pleasant feeling, but at the same time he was just confused.

On Monday, when he went back for the last day of school, he hid the hearts under his fringe. If anyone were to catch a glance at them, he’d say they were freckles.

The matching redness of his cheeks and his glance towards the floor alluded to otherwise, though. And the way he picked at his shirt collar that hid a hickey or two showed that he was a bit unsure as to where exactly they came from.

<<>>

It has been almost three weeks since he first started avoiding Dan. At first it wasn’t on purpose at all, it was simply a reaction. He felt like he couldn’t help it— he just didn’t want to be around Dan for a while. Being around Dan felt like a confrontation.

But now, Phil is well aware that he has been purposefully distancing himself from him. From ignoring Dan’s texts and calls, taking a different route to classes, and turning the other cheek when Dan attempts to catch his attention. He has been doing it all.

And each and every time he does it, it hurts him. The feeling of contrition makes his insides wrench.

A new tattoo appeared on his thigh a while ago. It’s a clock. Every time he avoids Dan’s persistence, another crack appears on the clockface.

Needless to say, the clock is very close to being completely shattered.

People say that time heals all wounds, and at this point, Phil is praying that the saying rings true. The very idea of disingenuity tears him apart, because if something is built on falsehoods, does it even have any true worth? The answer is no, it doesn’t.

If he were to consider the amount of time he has spent on Dan, Phil has worn his heart on his sleeves for years. Dan was never his, but yet Phil feels like he lost him.

So much of himself, more than he’ll ever want to admit, has gone into this boy. It’s too much. Putting more of himself into someone who does not seem to value him to nearly the same extent is exhausting, and ultimately emotionally draining. Letting it continue on isn’t right.

This is the right choice. Phil is making the right decision, for he is considering every element of the bigger picture. So what if he didn’t hear Dan out back then? That he didn’t listen to what Dan had to say? He’s sure that Dan will just try to cover up his tracks, and move on. He’s sure that Dan’s just that kind of guy, the one who sees everything as temporary, ultimately forgetting about Phil in a matter of months. Dan will just be dishonest because it benefits him somehow. Phil is positive about that.

Because more than anything, Phil doesn’t want to be in love with a liar. And that’s what Dan is.

He needs to put everything behind him.

Phil needs to end it all tonight.

<<>>

pj: Are u sure

phil: I’m sure.

pj: Alright. I let her know. She says you can be the last performer so you should be ready by then

At the last moment, Phil took into consideration what PJ told him about the slam poetry night, and he asked PJ to let the teacher know that he wanted to participate in the school-run event taking place at the local cafe.

Phil decides to do it because such a great number of his poems are about this boy. PJ was right about Dan being his muse; Phil would write stanzas upon stanzas based on him in messy scrawls in the margins of his school notes and frantic jots on his hand.

If he mentioned eyes, the color would always be brown. If he wanted to create a particular atmosphere, it would almost always be one of warmth. And if they were about love…  Phil wrote from experience, because that was an emotion he was all too familiar with.

That is why this performance tonight needs to happen. He needs to get all of this pent up emotion out of his heart and into the world, rather than keeping his feelings restrained to the confines of himself, wishful thinking, and paper.

Phil glances at where the current poet is standing. Whoever is at the microphone right now is doing great, and it is only making him more anxious. The audience is clearly affixed to their words, eating it all up, and clearly enjoying the show.

Remember, tonight is not about the actual performance, Phil whispers to himself.

His palms are laying flat against the table in front of him; an abundance of the poems he has written are scattered all over the surface. There are scribbles in various pen colors and the worn papers are even ripped in some places. Any onlooker could see that these pieces were nothing but the tangible forms of pure amour.

After tonight, the burn he feels in his chest at the thought of him will stop, and the ashes of discarded literature will be its only remains.

Itwillstopitwillstopitwillallstop.

A vibration sends a tremor through the table when his phone screen lights up.

from dan, to phil:

where are you?

Phil picks up his device and shuts it off. Although it could be said that this night was about Dan, it is mostly about Phil, it is about Phil’s feelings, it is about Phil putting it all behind himself. He needs this.

Because it’s justified, right?

Two taps are hitting on his shoulder. It’s PJ, who actually ended up becoming a spur-of-the-moment volunteer to manage the behind-the-scenes for tonight. He leans in to whisper to Phil. “You’re on in a minute or two.” And almost as if he could sense Phil’s worrying, he continues and reassures him with, “You’ve got this, you’ll be great. I believe in you.” PJ clasps his hand on Phil’s shoulder, and gives it a squeeze. At that, he corners of Phil’s lips turn up slightly. He really is grateful for having a friend like him.

“Thank you.”

The supposed minute or two passes by quickly, and soon enough they are introducing Phil’s name. “The final poet of the night,” is what they say. Phil takes a deep breath and goes under the spotlight, the cool metal of the microphone in his hand is doing its best to calm him. He holds onto it tightly. With the spotlight in his eyes, and the cafe lights dimmed, he can’t see the audience at all.

Perhaps that’s for the best. For more reasons than one.

Because right when Phil opens his mouth to begin, someone quietly enters into the cafe. Despite the fact that the slight little twinkling of bells signaled his entrance, no one pays any heed to him.

He chooses to sit in the back.

And Phil notices nothing at all.

“brown is all sorts of golden, in the sense it gives as much warmth as a gentle sun…”

After a few poems, some cafe patrons swear that they see a shadow move from the back of the cafe to the front, as if to listen to the poet better.

“...for although tattoos of roses don't have thorns, blood pours from the prick in my fingertips because i picked you”

With every line, with every poem, with every eloquent sentence having their origins rooted in enclosed secrets, each word that leaves his lungs also lifts a small weight off of his shoulders and manages to carry it over to listening ears. Everything is on the line tonight. Every emotion is on Phil’s sleeve, not just his heart, and every person in the room is hanging on to each otherworldly wordy confession that falls from his lips. And speaking of confessions, Phil’s biggest one is coming up. He wrote it last night, so it’s fairly new.

His final poem. About everything.

Including the night from two years ago.

“young days are of bubbles and bubble gum little girls are so kind, they are so soft that little boys can’t help but fall for them with their small smiles and neat handwriting from tentative hands for a crush and descend

however, i never took the plunge for i saw a boy who was softer: with a subtle cotton candy blush who grew daisies from concrete and carnations on flushed cheeks

a mirage, admiration from afar became inkstained fingertips and etched scrawls on every surface imaginable

(he had freckles that were far more than just constellations, they were made of stardust)

adolescent times; time stopped for one drunken night when only the moonlight was sober, an evening full of whispers and kisses and care that faded when faced with the sun

artists are known to create somethings out of nothings with elements derived from the earth, they turn strokes into paintings clay into sculptures a-and unspoken promises—”

He coughs, his voice caught up in his throat.

“and unspoken promises into h-hope”

Phil’s voice is wavering. His eyes aren’t on the audience anymore. Instead, he’s staring at the floor.

Hands shaking.

“poets are known to write about tragedies and this is no exception there is red on those hands: is it from the words of my pen, your paint on my skin? or perhaps from the thorns from the flowers that bloomed, with your smile that could make the heart grow fonder

perhaps he truly loved her but his smile could tempt a lover

and my dear, even the lawfully good fall into temptation.”

He’s out of breath now. By the end, he was just rushing to get the last few words out, and he was straining his throat. His eyelashes are wet, he can feel them, and he knows that he’s probably on the brink of crying.

Phil bites the inside of his cheek. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t know what will come next. He stays standing there for a moment more, doing a small nod and awkward bow. Barely registering the trickling of applause, his shoulders curl in and he crosses his arms, one hand reaching to rub the place where the all too familiar daisies bloomed.

Would they still be there?

When Phil steps out of the light, it is an unexpected sight. Dan is there, right in front of him: one of Dan’s hands is all tremors while the other is reaching up to his face, desperately wiping away his salty tears. Dan’s hair, in those beautiful curls Phil loves, are in disarray; Dan’s lip trembles; Dan’s eyes are red and looking up at him through wet eyelashes that match his own. It is a state of vulnerability that only God should see. And seeing that? That is the breaking point.

A truth revealed. Barely louder than a bumblebee’s hum, that Phil almost misses it, but good thing that he happened to be great at reading lips.

“I love you,” Dan whispers.

Now that is true the breaking point. At that moment, Phil breaks into sobs, and they both reach out to one another to each other into a bone-crushing hug. “A conversation between us is long overdue,” one of them mumbles into the other’s neck, and the other one just nods, unable to respond with words.

They’re in tears.

<<>>

“I wrote poems about you, you know. Mostly on my front porch. I would never see you, but I always hoped that I would catch a glimpse of you.”

“I would paint in my backyard, among all the plants. I loved painting roses in watercolor, they were my favorite, but so many paintings of mine were made with three particular hues: blue, green, and yellow. My favorite colors. And they just so happen to be the colors of your eyes.”

<<>>

Out on a sidewalk curb, two boys sit with a cup of local coffee. “It’s good to support local businesses,” one says, “and Starbucks is overrated.”

“Yeah I know, you’ve told me,” the other replies. “I remember everything you tell me.”

He puts his head on the other boy’s shoulder. The other boy lifts his hand to gently wipe away the tear stains on the boy’s cheek with his thumb, while the boy softly places a kiss on the other one’s  neck.

<<>>

You have (1) voice mail from Philly-delphia.

“I’m sorry for distancing myself from you. Call me back? Let’s meetup and talk. Bye bye.”  

<<>>

“I’m sorry for not telling you the whole truth. But please know that I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t even being honest to myself. I don’t think I have been honest to myself for a long time now.”

“Dan, it was immature for me to assume. To be frank? Out of line. It was stupid for me to be upset over what you were doing with your own life. What you do isn’t my choice, and I shouldn’t have been so personally affected by it.”

“We’re our own people, of course. I know you know that. And besides, I get where you were coming from.”

“What do you mea—”

“If I lost you, I probably wouldn’t be thinking rationally either.”

A pause.

“...I shouldn’t have acted like you were mine, when you weren’t mine to own.”

“A fair point. And you’re completely right. But I think you’ve had me since the beginning, Phil Lester. I feel like I’ve finally found something that I’ve been looking for my whole life.”

<<>>

dan: let’s take it slow?

phil: That sounds perfect.

<<>>

For centuries, humanity has held art to the highest of esteems. Early neanderthals began it all with their coarse hands, withdrawing dirt from the earth below their feet to leave marks upon rugged stone walls that conveyed the beginnings of history. In the millenniums that followed, a sort of elitism has formed around the most talented ones who have managed to make a name for themselves. The names of these creators are commonplace in many households amongst the nations; buildings are erected with the mere purpose of showcasing such artistic creation.

Perhaps it is for that reason that the phenomenon in which ink would envelop one’s skin was thus regarded as a wonder, rather than as an alarming fright.

Despite seeming harmless, precaution took place of course: scientists all over the globe have dedicated themselves to research the peculiar tattoos. Theories ranging from genetic mutations related to the brain’s creative processes to shifts in the earth’s overall physical environment resulting in a strange seismic change have arisen, but nothing about their origins have been confirmed as of yet. For that matter, nothing has been confirmed as to how exactly they appear either.

There are two people though, who have it all figured out. No matter how many times you ask them, they will always give the same answer: if anything, they appear out of love, they’ll tell you that.

They have graduated now. They are at a graduation party right now actually, and their time at their high school art academy has finally come to an end. Blood, sweat, and tears have been spilled all over the canvases and films and publications and music at that institution, and now every student can only rely on hope that their work does not go to waste as they move on to pursue the rest of their future.

But for now, that kind of worrying does not exist.

There are no drinks this time around. Okay, maybe one or two, and perhaps they are a little tipsy as well, but they are definitely not drunk. They are, however, definitely on a bed again.

Dan and Phil are lying together on a bed again.

Phil throws a question into the air between them. “You know, this is how we met?” Although the words come out in a way that sounds like a rhetorical question, Dan nods.

“I wish I remembered more,” admits Dan. Phil squeezes his hand, and this time, it’s Dan’s turn to ask a question. “Do you regret it?”

Phil thinks for a moment. “I regret how it happened. So in that way, I do, a bit. Maybe even a little more than a bit. Even though I remember that night, the details of it all are hazy, and we weren’t really in the best state of mind.” Dan curls into Phil’s chest, looking up at him as he listens to him speak. Phil affectionately looks back at him. “But then again? I don’t regret that it took place. In some ways, I feel like that night was our starting point.”

With Phil’s arm wrapped around his waist, they are only a breath apart from one another. “And now we’re here,” whispers Dan. His lips pepper a few soft kisses upon Phil’s skin.

Phil echoes Dan’s words with a fond smile, placing a kiss on top of Dan’s head. He absentmindedly runs a hand through the brunette’s waves, Dan finally confident enough to adorn the curls after all those years.

“Yeah, and now we’re here.”

When Dan then comments on how far they’ve come and Phil marvels at how much they’ve grown, it is to be noted that their growth is not just a growth of spirit, or of themselves as people. It’s also evidenced, it’s also proven that is, by their skin.

The single marigold behind Dan’s ear is now a small gathering of flowers. Its stem winds down his neck, its petals and leaves falling to meet the leaves of the tree that grows on his back. The tree on his back is grand, absolutely lovely and absolutely bountiful. Its signs of life are held within every branch, and where the roots end on his hips, are a freckling of small hearts. According to Phil, it is because it thrives off love (“that’s so cheesy,” dan always says. laughing, phil always replies, “it’s supposed to be cheesy!”).

In the meantime, Phil has a whole garden on his shoulders, with flowers of every hue and type. If he ever took the time to search up the meanings, they would not only mean love, but forever, and admiration, and warmth, and together. Upon his ankles are the cutest little succulents and cacti, pretty little plants that are hard to kill. They remind him to remain grounded, and who it is that helps him do so, a representation of how hard it would be to forget the one who is such a big part of his life.

They are kissing slowly now, every touch between them is an embodiment of care and devotion that would put the bond between the moon and tides to shame. Nothing else exists around them. The future is unknown, but as said before, worries don’t exist here.

Because if they are being honest, they are ready for anything.

<<>>

“Mon enfant! I give you my hand! I give you my love, more precious than money, I give you myself, before preaching or law; Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me? Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?” - Walt Whitman, Song of the Open Road

(and also, those would happen to be the same lines that dan would propose to phil with a couple of years later.)