#the moment i first saw her catharsis form in-game i was like

[daily-rayless]

And today we wish a big happy -- well, maybe it isn't a happy birthday for The Caligula Effect 2's Niko Komamura. You know what, that's okay. Sometimes it's just enough that you're hanging on.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Wednesday Album Review: Rat Saw God

(Dead Oceans)

BY JORDAN MAINZER

In a minute and a half, Wednesday reveal their palate and ethos. “Hot Rotten Grass Smell”, the opening track to their incredible new album Rat Saw God, immediately juxtaposes country guitars with shoegaze squall. Songwriter/vocalist/guitarist Karly Hartzman references Smog’s “The Well” before turning inward to a bleak vision: “Your closet froze after you left / Except the people who took your shirts / Closed off your door with yellow tape / Saw myself dead at the end of a staircase.” The song ends with a sudden cut to field recordings of peepers. Heartbreak, anxiety, life, death, both the natural environment and the concrete depression of the South. It’s all there for Hartzman’s poetry, and no moment is too small or too ordinary for worship.

Hartzman’s a true blue country singer, combining Angel Olsen’s crying wail with Lucinda Williams’ deadpan drawl, and she sports the observational prowess to match. The band’s unique aesthetic, a combination of twangy indie rock with overwhelming fuzz, spans eras of music and only serves to emphasize the universality and perennial nature of her themes. If on the band’s previous album Twin Plagues, Hartzman first practiced putting her vulnerabilities to tape, she’s doubly honest on Rat Saw God. “The racecar driver died on TV / I ran like hell into the burning house / It’d been too long since I had felt the sting,” she sings on “Got Shocked”, a reminder that feeling is living. On the same song, a cricket jumps behind a fridge and stays there for two days. You’re forced to ask yourself, “Who would I rather be?” Yet, songs like “Formula One” and “Chosen To Deserve”--the former using the same car racing motif--occupy different spaces of the heart. They’re sweet dedications to her partner, Wednesday guitarist MJ Lenderman, whose nasally backup vocals beautifully complement Hartzman’s coos on “Formula One”, whose riffs (along with Xandy Chelmis’ prickly pedal steel) propel Hartzman “tellin’ you all my worst” on “Chosen to Deserve”. “If you’re lookin’ for me / I’m in the back of an SUV / Doin’ it in some cul-de-sac / Underneath a dogwood tree,” Hartzman hilariously declares on “Chosen to Deserve”, wearing her warts not like badges of honor but as simply and sincerely formative parts of her past. 

Wednesday expertly build tension alongside Hartzman’s stories, a necessary representation of how bad things compound in real life. On “Turkey Vultures”, an increasingly desperate narrator tries to create deeper meaning from tragedy; Alan Miller’s drums gradually change tempo until the song pummels, Lenderman’s guitars squealing with pain. “Bull Believer” follows a similar pattern, albeit over an epic 8 and a half minutes. It’s a song about watching someone succumb to addiction, or the desire for a merciful end to the worst, but just like bull in a bullfight, it’s often death by a million stabs. As Hartzman recalls watching someone play Mortal Kombat, she cleverly chants the game’s famous catchphrase, “Finish him!”, but dragged out to a squirming length, as she lets out piercing out-of-breath screams and cries. It’s the type of catharsis that allows her, emotionally exhausted, to look at the fictional characters of “Quarry”, or the real person who overdosed in a Dollywood parking lot on “Bath County”, with zero judgement, just as much empathy as Bill Callahan before her.

That Rat Saw God ends with the unassuming road song “TV in the Gas Pump” is entirely fitting. The titular object “blares into the dark.” What could be more plain? Life goes on, minutiae are at once endlessly boring on the surface, limitlessly interesting if you stop for a moment. Wednesday implore us to observe and share.

[smallblip]

A quick prompt @luanabonn and I came up with seeing this TOTALLY CANON scene of Levi bathing Hange in this hilarious animatic video (the best part is obviously from 0:17-0:25)

Imagine the first time the vets walked in on Levi bathing Hange and Erwin would probably just facepalm or start rubbing his temples like "Geeez guys, really?". Mike would be like "Called it!" and high five Nana. Poor Moblit would probably just freez cause he's traumatized for life 😂

Years later when the 104th kids walk into the same scenario, Levihan would legit try to normalize it 😂 I see Levi saying something like "What are you looking at, brats? This is perfectly normal. I've been doing this for years now, okay?" and Hange would say "yeah... It's surely not like we're dating or something like that...ha ha ha... not at all"

And the kids be like "Yeah we know you're not dating... Because you're already married... Mom & Dad" ❤️

Yasssss my bbs💖 @hanjo-love @luanabonn thank you both💖 I love this!

Also thank you for the video it was GREAT.

Two sides, same goddamn coin

“Erwin... Why are you standing out on the corridor?” Mike asks on the way back to his room. It’s late. There’s no reason for Erwin to be standing back against his door, looking absolutely resigned.

Nanaba peeks from behind Mike, “hey boys, what’s the commotion about?”

Moblit is with Nanaba, both deciding to search the male dorms for Hanji who has seemingly disappeared into thin air.

“Hanji and Levi are in my bath...” Erwin exhales a sigh, eyes shut, fingers rubbing his temples.

“What do you mean?” Mike says carefully. At this point, Moblit just looks like he’s seen a ghost. Abort abort! It’s okay Nanaba I’ll look for Hanji buntaicho another time! It’s not that urgent! Nothing is that urgent! But Moblit knows it’s too late. He knows where this is all going. He’s part of their little game now.

“I mean...” Erwin gives them ‘that look’, the one they always give one another when Levi and Hanji are being insufferable, “they are in my bath... Bathing... Together...”

Mike and Nanaba freeze for a second.

It’s only a split second and soon they’re pushing past Erwin and dashing in his room.

“Wait-“ Erwin and Moblit in a hushed whisper. But soon the three of them are standing outside his bathroom door.

Laughter streams through from the other side of the door.

“Oh my god...” Nanaba gasps, “what’s going on?”

“Let’s weigh our options,” Mike suggests.

“On one hand, we get to see for ourselves, get to the bottom of this matter... You know... Investigate...” Erwin has his thinking face on.

“Investigate huh... That’s exactly what the tax payers pay us to do in the Survey Corps...” Mike says. Immediately it’s clear what his preference is.

“On the other hand...” Erwin continues, “Levi might murder us all...”

“A worthy death for a soldier...” Mike shrugs.

“Oh no... I really don’t think we should...” Moblit stutters. Nanaba notes that he is very sweaty.

Looks are exchanged and it has been decided. With a heavy hand, Erwin slams open the bathroom door.

There’s a scream that’s only stopped when Levi slaps his hand over Hanji’s mouth.

“What?” Levi snaps, as if they had been trespassing.

“You’re in my bath...” Erwin says, equally matter of fact.

“Your bath is the nicest...” Hanji offers.

“You’re in my bath... Together...” Erwin raises a brow.

“As Captain of the Survey Corps, you said it was my duty to supervise the cleanliness and hygiene of the soldiers,” Levi murmurs, sinking lower into the bubbles, hands coming to cover Hanji up. Absolute gentleman.

“This is a very unique means of supervision, Captain...” Erwin smirks.

“Whatever gets the job done, Commander...” Levi spits the last word.

Behind him, Mike and Nanaba high five. Finally. Some catharsis. They called it. They all called it. Levi and Hanji were a thing. This is absolute proof. No one can tell them otherwise now. Ha! Take that! Moblit has averted his eyes. Nothing in this world can compel him to look.

“Excuse me ladies...” Hanji clears her throat, shifting uncomfortably against Levi, “I am very naked, and to be honest with you, the water is starting to get cold... Soon I will be freezing my tits off... So could we please continue this at a more convenient time?”

“Whatever you say m’lady...” Erwin tips his imaginary hat.

“Fuck you...” Hanji narrows her eyes at him and mutters under her breath. Great. They can never use Erwin’s bath again. What alternatives are there? The cadet showers maybe? The piping is really new there, that means there’s a whole lot of hot water. Probably not. They don’t need a part two of this happening.

-

“Hanji san! We need to seek approval for-“

Everyone’s jaw is agape. Armin’s hands have flown to cover his face, “my virgin eyes...” he’s murmuring repeatedly.

“Why wouldn’t you close the bathroom door!” Sasha shouts accusatorily. Now the bunch of them are standing awkwardly in Hanji’s room, averting their gaze from the adjacent bath. Should they leave now? They really should. But there are forms that need filling.

“Why wouldn’t you guys knock!” Hanji retaliates.

“You always ask us not to!” Connie shoots back.

Oh, Hanji winces, she did in fact tell them to just enter because half the time she’s too engrossed in whatever it is she’s doing to hear.

“What the fuck do you want brats?” Levi has sunk all the way down the bath, the water now grazing his chin.

“We would like to seek permission from Hanji san to go to the town on Monday for supplies...” Armin pipes up, eyes still squeezed shut.

“Permission granted! Now go!” Levi shouts.

Sasha sees the opportunity and ceases it, “we would also like to request for the weekend off for recreational purposes! Sir!”

“Don’t push it Braus!” Levi snaps.

Darn it.

“Anything else? Or would you guys like to run through your entire schedules for the next two months with me while you’re at it? It’s not like I’m in the bath naked or anything ha-ha!” Hanji guffaws. It’s so painfully awkward her body literally cannot conjur anything rational to do. They have both slid so far down the tub that she’s practically lying atop Levi, his crotch against her butt making her blush up a storm.

“Why are you in the bath with Captain Levi?” Mikasa asks. Everyone stares at her.

“Mikasa!” Armin exclaims. They absolutely do not need more time in this tiny room with their two naked superiors.

“Hanji is filthy. I’m cleaning her. What’s abnormal about this situation?” Levi deadpans.

“I can’t reach my back! It’s a practical arrangement!” Hanji chuckles, “it’s not like we’re dating or anything!”

“My parents are married and they don’t even do this...” Sasha murmurs.

Jean has had enough. His face is so red he feels like he’ll die if he doesn’t stop this nonsense. This is a conversation that never needed to happen. “Permission to be dismissed from this conversation!”

“Fuck! Finally! Permission granted Jean!” Hanji says, throwing her hands up in despair.

Everyone shuffles out the door, and Armin bumps against the frame multiple times because his eyes are still shut. Levi and Hanji let out a collective sigh. Good lord Armin!

“Uh... Okay... Bye mom and dad...” Eren stutters, how does one leave this situation on a good note because this isn’t it, “I mean... Captain... Squad leader...” he gathers his jaw from where it has hit the ground and leaves with the others.

Hanji laughs awkwardly and turns to Levi, “remember when Erwin and the others saw-“

Levi’s face is red, and the blush has now spread to his neck. Thankfully the kids are gone. Another moment longer and most of the bubbles would have popped. He tsks and cuts Hanji off, “I would very much not like to remember that... Or this...”

[xiaodejunletsact]

i still love you | zhong chenle

word count: 17, 367

genre: high school!au, basketball!player, angst, fluff, you are a bet au??? lol idk 8 letters!au

warnings: lots of angst, playing of emotions, mentions of panic attacks and sex.

authors note: im finally back!! with a chenle fic!! okay so,, i wanted to thank everyone who loved 8 letters, the reaction to that fic was better than anything i could’ve ever imagined, so thank you so much!! this is like a chenle version from the same universe. but most importantly: i decided to put songs in some scenes to enhance the experience while reading, you don’t have to but if you want to listen to the ‘soundtrack’ of this fic click the ‘🏀’!!!!! please enjoy!! 

synopsis: high school can be complicated. thats why when your crush of three years, zhong chenle, approaches you out of nowhere offering to drive you home you are right to question his intentions.

🏀

You can hear the loud thumping of your heart in your ears as you watch the players dart across the court. The squeaking of their sneakers against the polished floor as they furrowed their eyebrows in concentration. Well… as he furrowed his eyebrows in anticipation, you wouldn’t know about the rest of the players on the court because your eyes were focused on one boy in particular. Number 22, Zhong Chenle. Your crush since sophomore year and soon to be captain of the basketball team (even if this is your personal opinion you’re 87% sure of it). The boy had caught your eye when he first smiled your way back in 10th grade and offered to help you with everything since you were new, leaving a stamp on your heart that would mark it as his own for the next years to come. Of course, you hardly ever spoke to him, too nervous and clumsy to even think of approaching someone so out of your league but there was something about his crinkly smile eyes and fluffy hair that got a hold of and never let go. 

Which is why you find yourself seated at the school’s bleachers watching the basketball game like you did every week, hands clutching the sides of the bench as you watched Chenle get the orange ball passed to him, and the scene plays in slow motion. 

Sweat drips off the tips of his newly dyed blond hair as he gains impulse with a jump, shooting a perfect three pointer and deeming the game of victory for his team. You proudly smile as you watch his teammates cause a ruckus around him, cheering and hitting him occasionally. However, your mood dampened as you watched Chenle escape the clutches of his team, running to the side benched where Ava, (the bitchiest girl in school but also his girlfriend), sat. He leans down to peck her lips, only to be stopped when she holds her hand up, pushing him away with a disgusting, “you’re sweaty!” He looks dejected for a second, before forcing a smile and turning back towards the team. You wonder if you’re the only one who noticed the interaction, you wonder if you’re the only one who cares enough to want to march down there and tell her off. You huff, instead opting to march your angry way to the entrance of the gym starting the trek home. Wondering if Number 22 will ever be yours like you desperately want him to.

-

It’s funny how much of your life you could dedicate to one person without any sort of reciprocation. You felt almost embarrassed as you shoved yet another letter into an envelope that increasingly got thicker and thicker with every burst of your emotions. You see, every time your feelings for Chenle got too strong to bare you would write short letters about how you felt, obviously, with no intention of Chenle ever getting his hands on them, just for your own catharsis. It helped, most days. 

Today is not one of those days. 

“Uh huh…” you said absentmindedly at your friend, Donghyuck , who tries to explain to you what intricate contraption they are building in this week's robotics class. However, you’re too busy looking over his shoulder at Chenle who laughs half heartedly at something his friend says, before going serious once again. You furrow your eyebrows and say, “have you noticed anything off about Chenle?” 

Donghyuck  sighs, knowing he has lost you once again. Nevertheless, he humors your narrative turning to watch the boy in question along with you. “I mean… he is kind of down.”

“Right?” You reply, shutting your locker and clicking the lock. Donghyuck  shrugs.

“Maybe it’s because he broke up with his girlfriend this weekend.” 

You stop dead in your tracks, “He did what?” 

Donghyuck  nods, (like it’s not a huge deal!) “at the party you missed this weekend, they got into a big fight and he told her it was over and stormed off.” 

“A-and you didn’t think to tell me this?” You respond to which he just shrugs.

“It’s not like you had a chance with him anyway.” 

“Ouch, Donghyuck .” 

The words stung, of course but you knew Donghyuck  was just being realistic with you, never one to lead you into things that could only hurt you in the future. 

Donghyuck  says something after that, that you don’t quite catch but you guess it’s fine since you didn’t really want to listen to him right now anyway. 

Especially since Zhong Chenle just caught you staring at him and is now staring just as intensely into your eyes as you were to the side of his face. 

You don’t know what kind of glitch you go through that you are unable to form any type of reaction or look away. Instead just kind of… freezing. 

He brings up a hand and slightly waves in your direction. A kind smile on his face. 

Oh no. He actually sees you. 

Before you can even process it, you realize that you're running down the hall in the direction opposite to him. Out of the back door of the school, heaving as your heartbeat reaches 3000bpm.

🏀

Recalling the memory as you walk to the bus stop that afternoon causes you to slap your palm against your forehead once again. “What was I thinking? Now Chenle is really going to think I’m a freak.” 

You couldn’t believe yourself, kicking the gravel underneath your sneakers in frustration you beat yourself up over having ruined the only interaction that could’ve possibly been your chance to win his heart. It could’ve been the last time he ever looked your way again, and you wouldn’t blame him. 

But it wasn’t. 

Because just minutes after, like a miracle from heaven, you hear the roar of an expensive car engine near you before hearing his angelic voice call the syllables you thought you’d never hear him say: “Y/N!” 

Wide eyed, your snap your head to the sound of his voice only to see him through the window of his shiny million dollar car. He smiles and you feel like running again. He notices. “Wait! Don’t go!” 

You hear the buckle of his seatbelt being undone and watch in shock as he jogs around the car and suddenly he towering over you with a sweet smile. “Hi.” 

Say hi back! What are you doing? “Uh- I- uh- Hi?” 

He chuckles, looking down at his shoes before looking into your eyes once again. “How you doing?” 

“I’m- im good.” You stutter. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

The silence that follows makes you want to get swallowed up by the ground and never see daylight again. 

Chenle notices how you avoid his eyes and chuckles once again, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, um, I just saw that you were walking and wanted to know if you wanted a ride.” 

“In your car?” You ask in a quiet voice. Chenle laughs. 

“I mean, yeah. Unless you want to rent bikes from the tourism center.” You allow a small smile to grace your lips briefly before remembering the circumstances you currently found yourself in. Chenle (Zhong Chenle, Number 22, Yes. Chenle.) has just offered you a ride in his fancy car. The same car you watched him pull up in for two whole years. And he wants you to get in it. 

The millions of scenarios that go through your head as to why this could be happening but as you painfully remember today’s events, you realize what this is about. 

Chenle shoves both his hands in his jean pockets as he awaits your answer. “...So?” 

You breathe in deeply, “Listen, um, if you’re doing this because you feel bad about earlier or something, please don’t.” 

Chenle’s eyebrows furrow together and he comes closer to you. “That’s not the case at all, I just saw you walking all by yourself and thought to offer you a ride home.” 

“But you drive past here every day and you’ve never offered me a ride before?” You question out loud, wincing as you realize that you could possibly sound creepy for knowing where he goes in the afternoon. “I mean- you always drive in the same direction as my bus stop! So I see you!” You feel how clammy your palms are rubbing against the harsh fabric of your jeans. “Speaking of the bus, I should probably go before I miss it.” 

Just as you turn to walk away, Chenle’s hand grips your wrist where your sleeve has ridden up, allowing the first skin to skin contact you ever made with him. Your eyes widen at him and he lets go immediately, awkwardly. “I guess I was focused on other things, but now I’m focused on you.” 

-

In the fever dream that was Zhong Chenle flirting (?), and the insistent drumming of your heart in your ears you come back to only realize you were moving into Chenle’s car. (The doors opened upwards!) 

The boy took the liberty of opening it for you, closing it once you were settled in. You took the moment he was walking to the driver’s side to take in a deep breath and compose yourself. 

What the hell is going on? Why Zhong Chenle talking to you? Why is he driving you home? Why did he tell you he’s focused on you? What? What does any of this mean? 

Before you could begin pulling your hairs out in frustration, Chenle’s door opens and he plops down onto the driver’s seat. He looks over at you with a smile as he fastens his seatbelt, “Buckle up.” You do so quietly, biting your lip to prevent any further embarrassment. 

The drive begins with little to no talking, the only thing filling the silence being the constant humming of the air conditioning and static of the radio.

 “Do you want to listen to something?” He presses his pale fingers to the glossy touch screen in between you two. Soon enough, a soft beat travels through the ambience of his car. You see from the corner of your eye that he looks over at you and smiles, but keep your nervous eyes on the road in front of you; Chenle faces the road once again, tilting his head to the side in a gesture that you would find unbearably cute any other day makes you want to open the car door and jump out into the street, running away from the awkward silence and the confusing thoughts plaguing your mind.

-

Chenle leaves after promising to pick you up tomorrow morning, you can only nod your head rapidly and run into your house, afraid that he would be able to hear the loud beats of your heart.

Once the door of your room is closed safely behind you, you finally breathe for the first time this afternoon. “What the fuck? What the shit? What the hell?” You mutter to yourself as you pace around the room. 

Could it be that your dreams are finally becoming a reality? Had Chenle seen you the way you saw him this entire time?

The one sided crush wasn’t as one sided as you thought! Is what you wanted to think, but there was part of you that questioned where his intentions lie due to the abruptness of the situation. What if there was an ulterior motive behind his actions? No. Chenle wouldn't do something as bad as play with someone’s emotions like that? Right? 

As you lay in bed pondering the thought you decide it's best to ask him tomorrow.

-

You wake up 30 minutes earlier the next day, showering thoroughly and waiting in the living room so as to not make him wait too long to leave when he arrives. 

This moment comes while you’re sitting at the table with your family, your eyes widen as you hear the knocks on your front door. “I’ll get it!” You stop your mother from reaching the door as you run to it. 

Chenle smiles politely as your face appears from inside the house. “Hey.” 

You smile back nervously, “Hi.” You proceed to stand at the doorway for a few awkward seconds before your mother comes to see who it is. She is pleasantly surprised to see someone of the male species there in front of you. 

“Oh?” She says, smiling at him then looking at you suggestively. You try to convey a silent plea to not embarrass you before she looks away to shake Chenle’s hand.  “Hi! I’m Y/N’s mom, are you one of her friends?” 

Chenle smiles at her sweetly, “Yes, I am. I’m actually here to pick Y/N up for school.”

“You’re taking Y/N to school?” Your mother’s shocked face is enough to tell Chenle that it was probably the first time anything like this has happened to you. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Your mother sends you a sly smile that she thinks Chenle doesn’t notice before nudging your arm. “Then what are you doing standing there? Don’t make him wait!” Your groan and rub the spot on her arm where she pushed you as you go upstairs to grab your backpack.

Downstairs, Chenle accepts your mother’s offer of entering your humble home. Your house is a modest abode with strange decorations hanging up on the walls, along with pictures of your family. The living room looks like an orphanage where mix matched furniture goes to live. There's one pale green couch, one beige and one a bright yellow. Chenle thinks back to the pristine state of his own living room, the pure white furniture and modern, classy decorations hung up on the marble walls. He realizes that it is nothing like his own, in fact, he doesn’t think it could’ve been more different but he finds that he likes it. That it feels homey compared to his usually liefless house. It’s the kind of place he would stay in for a long time. 

Chenle shakes those thoughts out of his as soon as they appear, remembering why he was doing this in the first place, he couldn’t risk getting attached.

-

“Be honest with me.” 

Chenle startles upon hearing your voice above its normal shy muttering. You, on the other hand, are shaking in your shoes having practiced what you would say and thought over doing this millions of times last night. “What are your intentions? Like, it’s not that I think you’re a bad person or anything but I just don’t understand because of the suddenness.”

Chenle averts his eyes from the road to glance at you, smiling. He faces forward once again sighing slightly. “Okay, I’ll be honest,” He starts, you sit up straighter and involuntarily lean toward him. “I think you’re really cute, I always noticed you at my games and the way you would cheer me on was really endearing and it encourages me a lot.”

The butterflies that erupt in your stomach with his words are undeniable. “You noticed me?” Your quiet voice is back, still, he hears you. He smiles, and it’s genuine. 

“Of course I did,” he says, “And i know that it was very… sudden but if you give me a chance i would really love to take you on dates and maybe… more.”  

He sounds slightly unsure of himself. Rubbing the leather of his wheel with his hands. 

Your mind is mush. Chenle likes you! He thinks you're cute and he noticed you at his games! What is life?! 

“What do you say?” he says after the awkward pause in which you freaked out. 

‘No’ is not a word in your dictionary.

-

The cycle continues throughout the next week; Chenle picks you up every morning (never forgetting to bid your mother a good morning) and takes you home every afternoon (always politely rejecting your mother’s offers to stay for dinner), always spilling banter in the car, learning about each other. Chenle notices how you open up to him and he likes it (though he can’t really pinpoint why), he likes talking to you, and laughing with you and he finds himself wanting to be around you more often. Though this wasn’t initially part of the plan, he figures he can enjoy it until it had to end. 

The thought makes an eerie feeling rise in his chest, even if he doesn't know why, he thinks things will be a lot harder than he planned.

🏀

It’s friday when Chenle invites you to come watch his basketball practice.

You had imagined this scenario in your head plenty of times before but not once did you think you would ever actually be here sitting on the players bench watching up close as Chenle maneuvered across the court along with the rest of the players. There was sweat dripping off the tip of his blonde hair which made him look 10 times more attractive than he already was and you have to stop the drool that threatens to leak from your lips as he sits down next to you on the bench. “Hey.”

“Hi,” You reply, trying to keep yourself together.

“Practice is over.” Chenle says motioning towards the now empty court. It's only then that you realize that you and Chenle are alone, and suddenly, he’s sitting a lot closer to you than you thought. You turn your face to him and realize that your noses are nearly touching, Chenle smiles. “Hi.” He says, coming a bit closer until he feels the moisture of his sweaty arm against your dry one, he recoils. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so sweaty right now.” There’s a dust of embarrassed blush on his face as he slides away on the bench. Your heart starts beating erratically as you watch him try to rub his sweat away with his small hand towel.

You can’t find the words to tell him it’s okay (slightly scared to tell him that you like it) so you say the next best thing. “You looked cool playing.”

This eases him a bit, he smiles. “You think so?”

“Yeah!” You say, “Like Curry!” 

Chenle laughs, “Oh man! I can’t believe you just compared me to Curry.” He stands and takes a bow, waving his towel dramatically. “I am honored.” 

The scene causes you to giggle, and Chenle has to take a breather to calm his own beating heart. 

“Especially when you blocked Jaemin at the 3rd point and scored on the spot. I was impressed.” 

“You must know a lot about basketball.” He points out. You shake your head. 

“Not really,” is your response. “I only learned from coming to watch your games.” The sudden confession slipped from your lips and you momentarily panicked. 

Upon not hearing  a response from Chenle, your breathing deepens and you think maybe you ruined the moment. 

Unbeknownst to you, Chenle watches you with curious eyes. He senses the tension coming from you and walks away, leaving you alone in your troubled state. 

You think maybe Chenle left without, freaked out and uncomfortable because of what you said, however, you’re proven ridiculously wrong when you dribble a basketball on the floor. 

You lift your gaze to Chenle who dribbled the orange ball with a teasing smile on his face. “Why don’t you show me what you got?” 

“I- I don’t-“ you begin. 

“Oh come one, Y/N!” He says, passing the ball to you, “You have to be good. I mean, you did learn from the best.” The cocky shrug of his shoulders and teasing smile bring you peace of mind and you find yourself agreeing. 

-

It’s safe to say that Chenle is surprised at your skills. He should’ve known you had paid enough attention to him to learn all his techniques and dodge them while playing. And to think he was planning on letting you win so you could feel better. It eventually became a full competition. Sweaty bodies and heavy breathing, running, dodging, scoring. Teasing words and intense competitive gazes. 

The score was 7-7. Chenle sweeps in to swipe the ball from your hands but you pivot and shoot the three pointer right from your spot. “Yes!” You exclaim, throwing your hands in the air with a celebratory dance. “I won!”

Chenle is leaning with his hands on his knees, his chest heaving. “I need-“ he breathes, “I need to stop being so good at basketball. So heathens like you can stop learning my best tricks.” He brings his hand up to pinch your cheek teasingly. “You should join the team.” He says jokingly. You chuckle, rubbing the spot on your face that was just touched by his fingers. 

“As if.” 

“Hey! Does the idea of being in a team with tons of rowdy sweaty dudes that unappealing?” Chenle jokes, placing the basketball back in its place. 

“It’s enough with you.”

Before you can retract the statement, Chenle speaks. “That’s right, you only need one sweaty rowdy basketball player in your life.” He winks. “And that’s me.”

You laugh at his words but can feel your heartbeat all throughout your body. You can’t stop your mind from thinking: 

You’re damn right. It’s you. 

-

As you walk back to his car, Chenle is the first to break the comfortable silence. “You know… it was nice to see you so talkative and competitive today. I had fun.” 

And despite everything, he meant it. He knows he probably shouldn’t, but he does. 

Unaware of his inner turmoil, you smile. “I did too.” 

He gives you a lopsided smile in return before sliding the strap of your backpack off your shoulder and onto his own, keeping his own backpack company. “I’ll carry it for you.” 

You wonder if this is the start of something magical. Beside you, Chenle wonders the same but his thoughts are weaved with something more, something that meant trouble. 

You, however, hurry home to pour your feelings into a letter. Hearts drawn on the borders of the loose leaf page and a smile on your face all throughout. 

🏀

Every week it gets harder to become immune to Chenle’s charm. 

Today, he did something as simple as drop you off at home after school. However, before bidding you goodbye as song rings from the radio of his car. Chenle perks up. “I love this song!” 

He turns up the radio to its full capacity and rolls down the windows, making the music sound through the street. 

“Chenle! Turn that down!” You exclaim but the laughter in your tone hints that you want the exact opposite. Chenle shakes his head. 

“No can do!” he waves his arms dramatically in the air, “Dance with me!” 

You laugh once again at the wonderful boy, “You’re ridiculous!”

“Oh yeah?” He says challengingly. Suddenly he is opening the door and dancing on the sidewalk where everyone could see him. His movements are almost manic and all you can do is continue laughing. “I’m not leaving until you dance with me.”

“My neighbors are going to see you.” You warn. He shrugs.

“It's fine. I’ll just tell them I’m with you!” 

“Oh my god no.” You say, stepping out of the passenger’s side, walking around the car until you’re in front of him, you cross your arms. 

“Show me some moves, I’m getting tired.” 

And so an impromptu two people dance party breaks out on the sidewalk in front of your house. Even though in your imagination dancing with Chenle would require the presence of an elegant ball gown and fancy chandeliers, all there is to be seen is loud music, laughter, grabbing of hands and playful banter. And you wonder if it could ever be more perfect than this.

-

Of course, like any other human, Chenle has his moments. 

The morning car ride was as silent as could be. Chenle’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, angrily. His usual smile is replaced but a scowl that only left momentarily when you stepped into the car earlier, a (clearly forced) polite smile is what you saw.

Since then you didn’t dare to speak, not wanting to bother him when he was clearly having a bad time. 

You arrive at the school and escape the still awkward ambience, bidding him a quiet farewell before running in. 

- 

You proceeded to spend the entire school day wondering what was up with Chenle that morning and what you could do to help him. It’s when you meet at the end of the day once again that you ask, “Hey, is everything okay?”

The boy freezes up, before clearing his throat. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

You shrug, “Nothing, you you were just kind of, like, quiet this morning… so i figured you were upset.” 

The blonde boy in the driver’s seat keeps his eyes on the road ahead of him, “It’s nothing, Y/N.” He says in a rough tone, one you’ve never heard or thought you would ever hear him use. “It doesn’t concern you anyway, okay?”  

Your form deflates into the seat, wishing you had kept quiet like you did this morning. You reply, “Okay.” 

There’s tension. Body swallowing tension that lasts all throughout the car ride to your house, as Chenle pulls up in front the driveway and you have already unbuckled your seatbelt before he got the chance to put the car in park. 

In the passenger’s seat, Chenle feels the guilt creeping on him. He realizes that you only asked because you cared. “Wait-” Seemingly, he is too late since you’ve already shut the car door and made your way up your driveway. “Goddammit.” He sighs to himself, working to take off his seatbelt.

Your feet hurriedly take you to your door after you exit Chenle’s car, your nerves increase as you hear Chenle leave his car. “Y/N, I-”

The door opens before you can turn the handle, your mother’s smiling face looks back at you. “Hey, Honey.” You smile back at the woman, who immediately notices the emotions behind your smile. Quietly, she asks: “Are you okay?” 

As soon as you nod in response, her eye catches Chenle standing guilty behind you. “Chenle! How are you?” 

Chenle smiles with a nod, “I’m doing alright.”

“Well, I would invite you in for dinner but I can imagine what your answer will be.” She says jokingly, teasing him for all the times he had rejected her offer. To her surprise, Chenle doesn’t laugh awkwardly or agree with her, instead, he ponders for a bit. His gaze finds your own causing you to quickly look away. He feels his heart contract as he thinks of starting at square one with you; back to when you couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Actually,” He says, “Dinner sounds great.”

🏀

Even though the tension between you and Chenle is painfully obvious, he feels his heart become lighter as he watches how you interact with your little siblings. Laughing at their childish antics and playing along with them at the dinner table. Your parents engaged in conversation with each other across the table and Chenle sat next to you, smiling and nodding as your little sister animatedly explained to him why the rocks she found next to the trash can at recess just had to be magical. As he looks at the dynamic you have in your home, he realizes that this feels more like a home than his house ever has. All of you are sat at the table, the splash of colors brought by the miscellaneous decorations, the laughter and the love radiating from every corner makes Chenle want to stay there forever. 

“Woah!” He acts, “Are you serious?” 

The little girl nods proudly, “Mhm! And I’m going to give this one,” she points to a particular shiny one on the dining table, “to Y/N, so she can make her dream come true. But don’t tell her it’s a secret.” 

He chuckles at her before whispering, “why do you think she’ll ask for?” 

She giggles, leaning closer. She puts a hand over her mouth as she whispers. “Number 22.” 

Chenle refrains from gasping, “Huh?”

“She talks about him but she never wants to tell me who he is.” She explains. “But I think if she had a rock to grant her wishes, she would wish for him.”

Chenle takes this moment to look over at you, studying your side profile as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, helping your little brother with his food. 

That’s when it hits him. He realizes that this isn’t what he planned it to be, that the bet he set up with his friends had gone too far, and that if he himself had a magic rock for his use… he would wish for you too.

-

“Thank you so much for the food, it was delicious.” Chenle says, rubbing his full belly to emphasize. Your mother chuckles. “It was my pleasure, Chenle. You can come back anytime you want, you are always welcome here.” 

“I definitely will, ma’am.” He says with a lopsided smile before shaking your father’s hand firmly. You can already tell by the way your father affectionately claps his hand on his shoulder and smiles at him that he too has taken a liking to the boy, like your mother. 

“Y/N.” She says sternly, turning to you who currently battled to avoid Chenle’s eyes. You hum. “Be polite and walk Chenle to his car, please.” 

You grimace subtly, not wanting to be the awkward air that would come with being alone with him. You want desperately to say no, but the gaze your mother gives you tells you that would mean trouble for you. 

The basketball player notices your hesitation and looks down sadly at his sneakers, remaining that way as you lead him to the front door of your house. Its then that Chenle looks up to the view of the back of your head, his hand twitches in want to smoothen out the ahi at the back of your head for you. 

You catch Chenle mid dilemma as you turn to face him, gesturing towards the open door. His eyes shift from you to the door. And to his car, he thinks about the ride home and how once he gets home it will just be him and he’ll be alone. 

He doesn’t want to be alone. Strangely enough, he wants to be with you. 

“Chenle?” He hears your soft voice. Your eyebrows are furrowed as you watch him stand there, unmoving, with a look of confusion. He looks into your eyes and realizes you’re waiting for him to walk through the door first. He does so, head tilted down. You follow him out the door and close it behind you. 

You trail behind him until he reaches his car, however, instead of getting in like you expected him to, he turns abruptly to you. His eyes are glossy and startled at the sight of them. “Do you-“ He pauses, hesitating. “Do you wanna go for a drive?” 

“A drive?” You ask, watching him fiddle nervously with his keys. 

“Yes.” 

“Right now?” He nods firmly. 

“I don’t- I don’t think my parents will let me go out this late.” You say, wrapping your arms around yourself to combat the winter wind. Before saying in a quieter voice, remembering the events that took place earlier that day, “And I thought you wanted to be alone.” 

Chenle feels guilty upon hearing your words. Knowing you felt hurt by his words from earlier. He shakes his head, stepping closer to you. “No. I don’t. That’s the last thing I want right now.” 

You see something in his eyes that you had never seen before. Exhaustion mixed with sadness and worry. The usually mischievous happy go lucky look nowhere to be seen amongst all the turmoil you found looking at him. You immediately grew more concerned. “Chenle…” you say, he looks away momentarily. “I’ll- let me ask my parents.” 

-

Much like many times before, you’re sat in the passenger's side of his expensive car. The scene has become common, except the ambiance is different. Chenle doesn’t attempt to start conversation like he always does, instead, he just stares forward blankly. Occasional tears rolling down his pale cheeks which he wipes away as soon as they appear, you are itching to ask the boy what is going on in his pretty head but decide against it once you remember how that turned out earlier. So you keep silent as Chenle presses harder on the gas causing the streetlights of the empty highway to become a blur above you. It momentarily impressed you how fast his car could go, however, once you look over at the boy, you see his state. Chenle has strings of tears running down his face, snot dripping out of his nose and even his hair is sticking to his forehead due to his excessive sweating. 

“Chenle, maybe we should pull over.”

He doesn’t seem to hear you, only pushing further down on the accelerator. Fear and concern enters your bloodstream as you watch him become a version of himself you’ve never seen, a version you didn’t even think existed. You reach over took him and rest your shaky hand on his arm. Upon feeling your touch, his head snaps to you and he hits the brakes abruptly causing your entire body to jolt forward. “Woah!”

Chenle’s chest heaves as he sees how scared he has made you. “I’m- I’m sorry.”

“Pull over, Chenle.” You say sternly, pulling your hand away and instead of doing what he wanted to do which was pulling your hand back to him, he does as you told him and park his car on the side of the road. The two of you sit in silence for what feels like forever, until you hear a sniffle come from Chenle’s side of the car. Looking over, you notice how he is hunched over the steering wheel, crying.

“Chenle?” You use the softest voice you could muster. “Chenle, what’s wrong?”

Your immediate response is silence. He takes in short choked breaths, it seems like every breath he takes causes him to fall into a state of agony. 

“I think-” he said, voice quivering. “Y/N, I think I’m a bad person.”

The sentence confuses you. “Why would you think that?” 

“Because I did something terrible to someone I care about.” He answers, you note that he is not able to meet your eyes. It scares you. “What did you do?”  

“I can’t-” He says breathlessly, his hand fumbling to open his car door. Stumbling out, watch as he makes his way around the car, leaning against the cement railing with his head in his hands. 

You watch him in momentary shock before following him his actions and getting out of the car as well. You carefully approach him. “What is going on with you?” 

Chenle sighs, pulling his hands away from his face. “I had a fight with my mother this morning, and everything was just piling up and I guess that was just the last straw.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I just… everyone expects so much from me.” He breathes. “My parents, my friends, my teachers, everyone at that damn school!” The railing in front of him takes the blows of his frustration. “And I don’t think i’m as good as they think i am, i'm not worth it.” He looks over at you and you immediately straighten at the sight of his red face. “Like you, Y/N. You’re so good to me, so nice and sweet. I don’t deserve it. Especially from you.” 

You don’t know what he means by that. Chenle knows you don’t know but he stays silent. You take this as your chance to speak. “I’m not only nice to you because I want to be. Because you’ve always been nice to me too, Chenle.” You dare to step closer, into his bubble. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, it would be impossible to meet everyone’s expectations so just be yourself… that’s enough for a lot of people.”

Chenle’s mouth speaks before he can stop it. “Is it enough for you?”

To forgive me? To still be the same after you realize what I’ve done. 

There is a silence that follows that one sentence, Chenle avoids your gaze nervously, he doesn’t realize that your silence is the product of your racing mind. The mind that is currently trying to find the words to describe what is happening in your heart. You ultimately decided that the best way to go is the truth. 

“You know… I kinda had a crush on you all throughout high school, which is kind of embarrassing but that’s not the point,” you start, “the point is that I had this perfect version of you in my head. Of what you would be like. And then when you came up to me that day… I didn’t know if I could talk to someone who wasn’t the Chenle I knew up here.” You take the liberty of poking a finger against your temple. “But I did anyway, and I realized you were nothing like the Chenle I saw in my head…”

Chenle chuckled sadly before commenting, “Ouch.” 

“You were better than him.” Chenle’s gaze snaps towards you in shock, you look forward. Too afraid to meet his gaze. “Nicer, funnier, and way more handsome than I thought up close.” You chuckle, having made the comment to help him feel better. “So yeah. I would say you are enough. More than, even.” 

“You really mean that?” 

For the first time you make eye contact, you furrow your eyebrows to try and make your sincerity as apparent as possible. “I do.”

He knows you do and that mends his heart as much as it breaks it into tiny pieces. He wants nothing more than to pull you towards him and smash his lips onto your own, but he also knows that it will only worsen the situation that is yet to come. Still his hands reach before he can stop them and reach to cup either side of your face. 

Your heartbeat is running at an unearthly speed, Chenle can hear it but knows his own is probably the same. Betraying his common sense, he leans into you until your lips are almost touching, the top brushing enough to have you wanting more. You think he’s going to kiss you and close your lips tightly. However, instead of his lips, you feel his hot breath when he utters the words: “I’m sorry.” Before removing his hands from your face and backing away. 

You can’t say the action didn’t cause a hurtful blow to your feelings but you also knew Chenle was in a tough place right now. You smile at him. “You don’t have to be sorry.” 

Chenle hates how you smile at him when he does things that hurt your feelings. He hates that you’re so considerate and nice to him despite what he is doing to you behind your back. He hates that you will find out one day and that you’ll hate him as much as he hates this. He hates that he doesn’t want to lose you, and that in the end he probably will. 

-

Friday is a holiday, so you don’t see Chenle the day after he took you on a late night drive with him. (You wrote another letter that night). In fact, you don’t hear from him until your phone chimes Saturday morning, Chenle’s name above a text message.

22 [9:15am]: hey

22 [9:15am]: I hope you’re good :)

22 [9:15am]: I just wanted to let you know there’s a party at my house tonight

22 [9:16am]: if you want

22 [9:18am]: actually, I really want you there so…

22 [9:20am]: please come.

You read the texts over a few times, it dawns upon you that you've never seen Chenle’s house. Sure, you’ve heard from classmates who had gone to his huge parties that it was extravagant as can be, resembling a hotel lobby rather than a house. The thought of being in his home made your hands sweat. Still, you remember how anxious you were to see him, especially after the other night, and you find yourself typing a reply of confirmation before tossing your phone to the side and walking to your closet to find something to wear for tonight. 

🏀

As soon as your parents drop you off in front of what was easily the biggest, brightest, classiest house you’ve ever seen in your entire life, you get the unnerving urge to go home. 

The abundance of people did nothing to help the creeping anxiety, the stares of some that briefly trained on you before whispering something to their friends. You couldn’t help but feel out of place. That is, until you see a familiar face. Jisung walks up to you with his hand wrapped around his girlfriend’s. “Hi!” He calle brightly as the girl waved friendly. 

“Hey guys!” You try to stabilize your voice. “How’s the party?” 

“Honestly… it kinda turned sour once some lower class men came and started to get wasted.” Jisung chuckled out, his girlfriend nods in agreement as she grips his arm affectionately. You smile when he looks over at her and smiles. There’s a part of you that feels envious of the relationship the two have but most of your thoughts surround how happy you are for the two. “We’re probably leaving soon anyway.” Jisung adds on. 

After getting over your monetary panic of having to be alone once again you nod your head, smiling at them. “Okay, I’m going to try to find Chenle.” They nod and bid their farewells, you sigh out loud as you walk through the crowd once again, searching for the blonde hair of the boy you so desperately need to calm right now. 

“I heard that she is the one Chenle left Ava for?” You hear someone say. 

“No way! Chenle wouldn’t stoop that low, plus I heard Ava broke up with him.” 

“Either way, I don’t understand why he would be hanging with her anyway, he probably feels sorry for her. What a loser.” 

It’s strange how you can hear their comments over the loud music that causes the walls to vibrate. You feel like vomiting as your insecurities take over and another sweaty presses against you. You push them away and run the rest of the way, not looking to find Chenle anymore just wanting to get out of here. You find what you hope is the bathroom and open the door, running inside and shoving the door closed, chest heaving.

“Y/N?” You hear from behind you, you turn around in shock and make eye contact with the red faced boy you spent your whole night looking for. “Chenle.” 

It’s then that you realize that he’s not alone. Across from him is an equally red faced Ava, eyebrows furrowed and lips turned down in a frown. 

It dawns upon you that you might have just interrupted something. 

You look between the two before averting your gaze back to the floor. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Hands grabbing the door handle and turning it quickly in a desperate attempt to flee the room. Completely deaf to the , “Wait!” That leaves Chenle’s mouth as you leave the room. 

Soon enough your back in the sea of sweaty drunks, trying to stabilize your voyage to the front door. To escape the stormy waters this night has caused your nerves. 

And you almost make it, had it not been for the harsh shove you received that sent you tumbling onto the floor. Suddenly, the people around you become giants and their huge feet stomp around you, threatening to squash you under their sneakers as if you were an irrelevant bug. 

Your shaky legs prevent you from standing up, and you only realize you’re crying when you feel a tear run down the side of your neck. No one seems to notice you’re there and you suddenly remember why being invisible sucks. 

It feels like ages have passed when you feel hands gripping your arms and lifting you onto your feet. Chenle’s voice sounds distance even if he’s barely an inch away from you. “Are you okay?” 

“I think-“ you say, shakily. “I think I’m having a panic attack.” 

Chenle takes your head and shoves it into his chest, making sure to keep a hand over your eyes as he leads you through the crowd. “It’s okay.” He whispers. “Everything is going to be okay.” 

He repeats the sentences over and over until you two reach a quieter place and you hear the door of a shutting door and the music becomes muffled. 

Chenle keeps a hand secured around your head as he holds you for a few more seconds before slowly letting you go. 

“I need you to breathe with me, okay?” He says. Before you can think, you nod. “In through your nose.” He demonstrated, you follow. “Out through your mouth.” 

You continue this until the beating of your heart has slowed down and you don’t feel like you're physically suffocating anymore. Instead, you feel tired. Chenle must have noticed because he ushers you to lay on the neatly made bed behind you, tucking you in before you had time to protest. 

🏀

It takes a whole ten minutes for either of you to speak, you half expected Chenle to leave after throwing this blue blanket over you, instead, he sits at the edge of the mattress and picks at his nails. Kind of like he wants to say something. 

“Thank you for helping me.” You speak first. “I don’t know what went wrong.” 

Chenle sighs, “I’m sorry for not finding you, I just- I was-“ 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain.” You interrupt, remembering where he was when you finally found him. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, still you know it’s not your place to question him. “I should get going, anyway.” You rush to slip on your shoes only to be stopped by Chenle. 

“No, it’s not what you thought it was.” He starts. You avert your gaze from him in fear of what he had to say. “Ava and I ran into each other earlier and she was just going off about how horrible I was in front of everyone. I think she was drunk, but she was causing a scene so I wanted to take her somewhere where it wouldn’t cause a commotion. I didn’t want to bring her in here so I just took her to the bathroom” He says, “We got into a bit of an argument, and that’s when you walked in.” 

“It’s-“ 

“She told me she wanted to get back together.” He blurts out, like he was getting something off his chest. 

“Oh.” Is your reply.

“Obviously I said no.” He says, almost expectedly. He doesn’t know that the knot that was tightening in your chest loosened a bit at his words. He watches you for a bit before speaking again. “What- what’s on your mind?” 

The question catches you off guard. You don’t really know what’s on your mind, the messy twister of thoughts going too fast for you to be able to reach in and grab a coherent thought. Only one thing pops up and you go with it. 

“Is this your room?” 

Chenle is silent for a second before he says. “Uh, yeah? Yes, it is.” 

You hum, laying on your back once again. It’s then that you notice the glow in the dark stars Chenle has stuck to the ceiling of his room, identical to the ones in your own. “You have stars on your ceiling.” 

He chuckles embarrassingly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’ve lived here since I was a kid my grandad put them up there when I was young and I just never got around to taking them down.” 

“I have the same ones on mine.” 

“Really?” He asks. But he can’t help the shift his heart takes as he thinks of the two of you laying under the same glow in the dark stars every night. 

Before he knew it, he was walking towards the light switch and flicking it off. The lights shine to their full potential over you. It eases you a bit, until you feel the bed dip next to you and you smell his close proximity to you, feeling the warmth coming his shoulder where it touches your own as you lay side by side. 

The silence is comfortable this time. 

“Do you ever have panic attacks?” You ask suddenly. 

Chenle shakes his head but remembers you can see him, “No.” He whispers, as if someone would hear him. “But Jisung does sometimes, so I learned some techniques to be able to help him through it.” 

You smile into the darkness. “That’s nice of you.” You lower your voice to his whispering tone.

Suddenly words are absent and the two of you just stare at the stars to the ceiling. 

You know it’s weird, that after the other night, you are lying in Chenle’s bed beside him like nothing happened. Like you had always been there. You wondered whether you should be glad or scared that you feel that way.

Beside you, Chenle is having his own dilemma. On one part, he feels relieved that you’re safe now, that no one can hurt you now that you’re here with him. He feels comforted that you look so at home in his room, blending in so well it almost sends his head reeling. (Partially the reason he turned off the lights.) On another part, he feels so scared that he wants to think you blend in and that he wants to tell you everything in his head. That he wants to let you in, when he knows he shouldn’t. That he felt concern in his veins when he saw you in such a panicked state earlier, and all he wanted to do was tuck you into his chest and protect you forever. 

Why did he want to protect you forever? 

He turns on his side, you feel it. His breath fans on the side of your face. You turn to his darkness, staring to where you knew his face would be. 

“Can I tell you something?” He says, it’s too late to take it back now, since you nod. “The other night when I ate dinner at your house…” he starts, “I was in such a bad place, And I never thanked you for putting up with me and having me over for dinner, it made me feel so much better, you know before everything blew up in the car.” 

You furrow your eyebrows at his words. “That was actually my mom’s doing, but I will make sure to tell her you said so.” 

Chenle shakes his head, kissing his teeth. “No, that’s not it. It was because you were there, Y/N.” 

You hold your breath when he said that, not replying. Chenle takes his own in an attempt to calm his rapid heart. “Spending time with your family kinda made me feel like I was a part of something special.” He confesses. “Something you were a part of.”

An unsteady exhale tumbles from your lips, his statement doing a number on your heart. “What… what are you trying to say?”

This is it, Chenle. Tell her about the bet, confess what you did and fix everything before things get too serious and you break her heart. Tell her the truth! 

‘The truth’ Chenle thinks. ‘Okay.’

“I like you, Y/N.” You don’t see that he is squeezing his eyes shut even if the room is pitch black.

“What?” You say in disbelief, even if the butterflies have already started erupting in your stomach. 

“I like you.” He repeats. “So much.” 

You stare in his direction in a state of shock and happiness. Meanwhile, Chenle beats himself up in his mind, taking your silence as a bad sign. “It's okay if you don’t want to be a thing or anything, I just thought, you know, since I like you and you like me… Liked? Is that past tense?” 

Your head shakes and causes a ruffling noise against his pillow. “No, it’s very much present tense.” 

The warmth pressed against your shoulder disappears. And you hear Chenle’s footsteps throughout the room, suddenly the world turns bright and Chenle walks back to the bed. Now with the light on, he can see the blush on your cheeks and the small smile you wear. He smiles back at you, but he feels bad. So, so bad. 

So bad that leans down to lay over you, kissing your breath away. 

It's only after the momentary surprise that you begin to kiss him back.

His lips are rougher than you thought they would be, but still held some pillow like softness you expected. His hands hold your cheeks as he dips down further to bring his lips closer to yours. 

Now you totally understood why everyone was so crazy about kissing. It’s the best thing ever, and you never want it to end. However, breathing becomes an issue when you kiss someone, you learned. Chenle is the first to pull away, keeping his face a barely centimeters from your own, your breaths meet in the middle. 

When you finally open your eyes, you are met with Chenle’s worried ones already watching you. You immediately frown. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask. Are you a bad kisser? Does your breath smell? Does he regret it? His response is unlike those, shocking you when the words leave his mouth. 

“I don’t want to break your heart, Y/N.”  He looks away from you. His body is still positioned above you, the position being one that makes it hard to avoid your eyes (and one that is even suggestive).  Still he tries his best, that is, until he feels your soft hands cradling his cheeks just as he has been doing to your own just a few minutes ago. 

“Chenle, look at me.” You say, though your voice is wavering. He obliges. “Why are you worried about that?” 

“I just-” You can tell he would look away if you weren’t holding his head in place, he can’t hide his eyes now. “I’m just afraid I'll do something to hurt you and that you’ll hate me.” He says, which isn’t the whole truth but is also not a lie. 

“Why would I hate you? I could never.” Chenle wants to scoff sadly when you say that but you cut him off. “I’ll promise to not break your heart if you promise to not break mine.” You extend your pinky in between your faces. 

Chenle winces internally, feeling like he already broke your heart. And he is more scared now that it’s real. That you like each other and this probably makes you guys a thing, that he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings like he knows he will. But he also thinks about the fact that he has never felt this way with anyone else, that you were the first girl he ever felt comfortable enough with to let in his room, that you have glow in the dark stars like him and that it kind of feels like you’re split-aparts that have finally found each other. The longer he could keep you by his side, the better. 

That’s when he decides to let himself live in this world, at least while he can. He wraps his pinky around yours and lets your thumbs touch, sealing the deal.

He doesn’t have time to regret his decision because you lean up and catch his lips before he can think of anything but you.

🏀

Two weeks later, and most of your days have been spent much like this one. Chenle’s arms wrap protectively around your middle as you read the messages on your phone. One being a reminder from the president of the student council about the special dress code for Valentine’s Day. 

You turn in Chenle’s hold and meet his sleepy eyes, he smiles. “Did you see what the student council is doing?” 

“Mm?” He replies, you turn your phone to him. “A dress code?” 

“Yep, white for single, pink for complicated, and red for taken.” You say, bringing attention back to you phone. “I’m glad I look good in pink.” 

The statement confuses Chenle. “What do you mean pink? What is complicated?” 

You startle at the awareness and worry on his voice compared to the sleepy mumbles you were getting just moments ago. “Well… I mean, you never asked me to be your girlfriend.” 

Chenle freezes. You were right, he never did because part of the bet was to have a girlfriend by Valentines, it made him feel as though he wasn’t a complete asshole if he hadn’t completed the bet. “You’re right.” 

You watch him expectedly, but receive no response. Holding back a sigh, you bring your attention back down to your phone. 

“Are you upset with me?” His soft voice meets your ears. 

You shake your head. “Of course not, why would I be?” 

“It’s not fair to you that I keep you waiting.” None of what I’ve done to you is fair, he thinks. 

You reach up and stroke the hair that frames his face, smiling softly. “I’ll wait until you’re ready, Chenle. You know that.” 

It scares him how soft you are, how warm and safe he feels when he’s with you. That’s when he decides, it’s best if he waits out this week and lets himself live like this longer, even if it’s for a bit. 

“Kiss me.” He whispers. And you do. Pushing your chest flush against his, making sure every part of your body touches his own; remaining like that until you are sure you have blisters lining your lips from how much you’ve kissed him. 

The two of you end up hotly panting, you straddled over his lying figure. Chenle looks up at you from where he is before sitting up, suddenly, you feel the warmth of his hands tug at the edge of your shirt. His eyes ask for permission, which you reply to with a nod. 

You’re nervous. Very much so. You wonder if this will be the first time you have sex or if anything else will happen. 

Chenle lifts your shirt off your head and places it next to your body. “Is this okay?” He asks, his big innocent eyes looking up at you. 

“Yes.” Is the only answer you can formulate. 

The boy maintains eye contact with you as he says the following words. “Do you want to take off mine?” 

Your face flushed red, you can feel it. “I-if that’s okay with you.” His answer is in the form of his hands leading your own to the hem of his shirt, before letting go and putting his arms up. Your hands are shaking as you grab the clothing, slowly pulling it up, exposing his pale abdomen inch by beautiful inch. 

You smile at him as his head finally reappears from the whole in his shirt. “Hi.” You say, he smiles.

What he does next is something you didn’t expect from the lead up of events, unlike anything you’ve seen in erotic movie or read about in novels. 

He wraps his arms around your waist and pushes you down to lay next to him, he then pulls you towards him so that your the heat of your torso melts into his own. He shuffles until he is as close to you as he can get, only then is when stops moving. Resting his cheek against your own, you feel his breath on your ear. 

“I just want to be close to you, to hold you.” 

Just like that your heart is full to the brim once again. 

-

It’s the night before Valentine’s Day and Chenle is restless. He had decided tomorrow would be the day he would tell you everything. He would come clean and the two of you would start over (right?). He had practiced what he was going to say for hours earlier that night, wanting to have the perfect words so that his message got across to you. Still, even with all that practice, he knows there’s no guarantee that you won’t hate him. That you will swear him off and never speak to him again, when he has become so fond of you. The thought makes his hands ache and toes curl in an angsty feeling. 

After tossing and turning for nearly two hours, he finally gives up on sleeping and opts for looking at the stars stuck to his ceiling. He wonders if you’re awake right now. If you’re thinking about him while looking at your stars. He imagines your messy hair and pajamas and smiles softly to himself. “I miss her.” He says out loud, to the darkness of his room. 

Suddenly, everything happens in a flash as he throws his covers off himself and marches to the closet, pulling out his favorite red hoodie, grabbing the Valentine’s Day gift he had gotten you days ago then he’s in his car. Desperate to get where you are. 

-

It’s nearly 1am when you hear the knocking on your window. You had just begun to fall asleep when the noise startled you awake. 

Upon inspecting your window cautiously, you gasp when you see Chenle’s blonde hair. The window opens with a click. “Chenle! What are you doing here?” 

What is he doing here? “I just wanted to see you.” 

His words flutter your heart. “But it’s 1am, on a school night.” 

“I know that, I just…” he scratches the back of his neck because in reality he doesn’t know why the hell he even came here in the first place. “I had to give you something.” 

He extends the bag in his hand out to you. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

The bag contains two items, the first being the red hoodie you had seen Chenle wear many times before. His smell reeked off of it, causing you to nearly die of delight. “Wear this tomorrow.” He says. “Cause you’re mine.” 

You don’t know that his heart hurts for you, he pities you for being the one who causes him to lose all self control and make decisions that will hurt you in the long run. He feels so sorry that he couldn’t wait until tomorrow, that he just wanted you today, now. Before you get the chance to hate him. To run away. He wanted you to be his. 

You say nothing to him, only smiling bashfully as your cheeks matched the color of his clothing item. You look into the bag and see a black box that would be the second item. “What’s this?” You say to yourself, smiling up at Chenle. You open the box to reveal a beautiful necklace with a pretty pink diamond hanging off the end. You gasp. 

“Chenle, I can't accept that.” You say, closing it. You knew the necklace probably cost more than your house, you felt guilty taking it. 

“Please accept it. I bought it for you. I want to see it on you every day.” He seizes the opportunity to reassure himself. “And yes. It cost a lot, so that means we have to continue seeing each other, hm?” 

“Chenle…” you say. 

“Please.” He says in a way that makes you wonder if this is only about the necklace. 

“Okay.” 

You pivot and allow him to clip the chain, you turn to him and catch his reaction to the jewelry resting against your upper chest. “How do I look?”

Chenle’s eyes study the necklace before looking into your own. He smiles somewhat sadly as his arm reaches up to stroke your own. “You look beautiful.” He whispers. “Just like I knew you would.” 

You can’t put your finger on it, but something about his demeanor is unsettling. “Chenle, is something wrong?” You ask, to which he shakes his head weakly, but the sad look on his face tells you otherwise. You figure it had something to do with his family and refrain from asking. Instead you cup his cheek to provide him comfort, he leans into your touch and shits his eyes momentarily. “I love it. Thank you.” You say in a quiet voice. Chenle watches your features move into a soft smile before impulsively leaning forward to peck your lips. 

“I’m so happy.” To be with you, to be yours. “Let's be happy together for a long time, okay?”

You don’t say no.

-

The next morning you arrive before every other student to school. Chenle’s red sweater rests on your figure as you reach your locker and take out what had been heavy in your mind since last night. The letters. You were going to give them to Chenle and ask him to be your boyfriend. Sure, you were nervous to do so, but you knew Chenle was someone you wanted to have in your life for a long time. That's why you slip the envelopes decorated with his name one by one into the vent of his locker. 

You remember thinking this would be the beginning of something great. 

You were wrong.

🏀

There’s a pep in your step as you make your way through the halls after school clad in Chenle’s red hoodie, heart eyes searching for the boy. 

And for the first time in probably ever, you wished you wouldn’t have found him. You wished you didn’t have to see Chenle pressed up against his locker with his hands resting on Ava’s hips as she kisses him roughly. 

“Oh my god.” You say, voice small but enough to catch Chenle’s ear. The boy immediately pushes Ava away from him and turns to the sound of your voice with pleading eyes. 

“Y/N-“

“Look who showed up!” Ava interrupts, turning fully towards you. “I was wondering when you were going to come looking for him like you always do, I bet you’re glad it’s over, right Chenle?” 

The way the boy looks away from your eyes to shift his guilty gaze to the floor makes you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “Chenle what is she talking about?” 

When the boy remains silent, Ava’s high pitched voice answers for him. “Well, since he doesn’t seem very talkative right now, I’ll just tell you myself.” She clears her throat, as if setting the scene, your hands are starting to ache. “A month ago, our darling Chenle made a bet with his friends after our break up, you know as boys do, they said he couldn’t get another girlfriend before Valentine’s Day. Obviously, Chenle’s competitive self took that as a challenge and it’s obvious that you had been in love with him for like ever so you were the easiest target.” 

The way the world stops spinning isn’t like it’s described in all the romance novels you read, it’s not the good kind that makes you feel like you're floating that nothing could stop you, it’s the kind that weighs you down and makes you feel dizzy, causing you to stumble. This is what you feel when you ask: “Chenle… is this true?” And the boy just stares at you, for a second before looking away once again. 

“Of course, it’s true. He was even showing me the pathetic love letters you wrote to him.” She motions to the stack of letters in Chenle’s hands. You gasp, feeling like every last bit of you was torn apart. The thought of them reading the deepest tellings of your heart and laughing at it, all when you wholeheartedly believed that the boy you spoke about in the letters was finally all yours.

When he wasn’t. He was never yours. But he wanted you to think that. 

“Oh my god,” you run to him and attempt to rip the letters out of his hands only for him to hold on tighter. “Let go, Chenle.” 

“Y/N, please-“ 

You can’t help the sob that creeps up your throat as your attempt weakly to shake your heart out of his hands. “Please, let go.” 

Chenle watches you cry before him and feels like that the act of ripping his actual heart out of his chest would hurt less than this. 

You take this moment of weakness and rip the letters out of his grasp, before running down the hall. 

-

It’s only when you feel a hand grasp your shoulder and spin you around that you realize that Chenle has followed you all the way out to the parking lot. 

Seeing him caused every bone in your body to ache, and the contractions in your heart were hard to ignore. “Wait, okay? I need to explain somethings to you.” 

“I don’t want to hear your explanations! I just want to go home.” You realize that you probably sound like a bratty child but you couldn’t care less. 

Chenle nods, “Okay, then let’s go.” 

“Not with you.” 

Chenle can't help the dagger that the sentence shoots into his heart. “Then I’ll say what I need to say right here!” He exclaims, trying to mask his pain with anger. “It’s true that I made a bet with my friends to date you the day I first drove you home, and it’s really shitty of me, I know. But I had just broken up with Ava and everything was so messy and I just wanted to make her feel bad so I said yes. “ He pauses, “I said yes and so I went to you since I knew you liked me-“

“Jesus,” you wince, embarrassment creeping up your throat and clogging it up. Your eyes water as you think of how truly fucked up the situation is. 

That day, one month ago, you were right to question Chenle’s intentions. No, he didn’t admire you or see you the way you saw him, you were just easy bait. And everything has been a lie. “I can’t- I can’t do this.”

Chenle tries to stop the tears of guilt that threatened to leak from the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

“No you’re not.” Your bitter words are a shock to Chenle, he had never heard you use that tone with him (or with anyone) before. “You’re not fucking sorry.” Tears of humiliation and frustration run down your face and Chenle wants desperately to cradle your cheeks in his hands, but thinks he might never be able to after this. “It might not have been a big deal to you Chenle, but you were my first kiss, you were the first guy who ever took me on dates and drove me around in his car, you. And I thought you were the first boy who ever liked me.” The smell of him you once loved reeks of the hoodie covering your body, however, instead of feeling welcomed and happy you feel like it’s creeping up the sides of your neck and suffocating you to no end. You groan as you grab the hem of the article and rip it off your body, leaving you in a flimsy t-shirt to combat the winter cold. 

Chenle sighs, “I know you’re mad at me but you’re going to get sick if you walk home like that. It’s cold.”

You scoff in response, “Lucky for you then, because you don’t need to worry about me anymore.” In a quieter voice you say. “I was probably just a burden to you this whole time.” 

The boy immediately opposes the statement, “You were never a burden, I liked hanging out with you. I care about you.” 

“Only because it helped you win that stupid bet, and to make your ex jealous!” You exclaim, finally looking into his sorry eyes. He looks tired, you almost falter in your stance before putting up the wall separating you two that had always been there before the day he drove you home. 

You wished he had never approached you, because the Chenle in your dreams would never do this to you. 

It’s in that moment that you feel the weight of the dove on your neck, your finger move to unhinge it as you place it on top of the hoodie resting against his chest. You watch his jaw tense as he looks at you. You make eye contact one last time with the blonde haired boy in front of you, Before sadly turning away. 

“Y/n please,” it’s the weakest you’ve ever heard his usually booming voice. “Don’t leave me like this. What about our promise, huh? You’re breaking my heart right now.” Chenle knows the attempt to get you to stay is pathetic and desperate but he’s at a loss of what to do. 

Angrily, you spit. “You broke my heart the moment you approached me that day so I guess that promise was made to be broken wasn’t it?” 

Chenle watches you walk away with your arms wrapped tightly around your shaking body. He sees as you walk past a trash can and dump all your letters into it, wiping your tears and starting your journey to the bus stop. 

And he would never share this with you, walks up the trash can with tears in his eyes and reaches into the garbage, picking out every letter in there. He figures it’s the only piece of your heart he can manage to save for himself. It’s proof that the hate you now hold in your heart for him was once love. 

Even if he ruined everything. 

-

You never knew they called it heartbreak because your chest physically hurts this much. At times you feel like throwing up, at others you want to throw all your belongings across your room. The pain was almost unbearable at the beginning, embarrassing and hot flashes of anger running through you constantly as you think back to that moment.

You don’t go to school that Monday, telling your mom you were feeling sick. Which isn’t entirely a lie, especially when you see Chenle’s car pull up outside your house that morning. You feel like throwing up again. You’re angry at him. So so angry that he thinks things will be the same after what he did. That he thinks he can pull up at your house and drive you around after completely breaking your heart. 

You pull the blinds down as your mom comes through your door. “Honey, Chenle is here.”

“Tell him to leave.” You seeth, tears running down your face. You wipe them away frustratedly. “Tell him to never come back here, Mom.”

Your mother watches with sad, sympathetic eyes. Before nodding solemnly and closing the door on her way out. 

Due to a strange urge, you peek through the blinds and wait to see him walk out your driveway. He does, dragging his feet. Much to your dismay, he stops suddenly and turns to face your window. You immediately step away in the darkness of your room, away from the light and Chenle’s eyes. 

-

Three weeks pass, things at school remain the same for the most part. You hang out with Donghyuck like you used to. You try your best to not look over at the athletes table even when you feel Chenle’s eyes on you. However, somethings do change, you no longer spend your class time daydreaming about a certain blonde boy, or writing love letters on the back pages of your notebook about how pretty his eyes look when they catch the light. Instead, you stare out the window of your classrooms, wanting nothing more than to be in your room away from everyone once again. You sigh and look away from the window momentarily before looking up again. You startle as you see Chenle on the other side of the glass. Watching you with eyes that looked like they had a lot to say. You shudder  when you take in the bag under his eyes and exhaustion written all over his face. You want to believe it’s because of you, you hope it is. You hope he can’t sleep at night thinking of you. Nevertheless, you remember what happened on Valentine’s Day and realize you were probably too insignificant to him to have caused him to be this way. 

He softly smiles at you, bringing his hesitant hands up to wave at you, only for you to avert your eyes away from him and to the teacher at the front of the room. 

Chenle looks down dejectedly before continuing his walk, meanwhile you sit at your desk, wanting to escape more than ever. 

-

Three days later, your mother informs you that you have a visitor. “Tell him I don’t want to see him.” 

“It’s not Chenle.” She says before confusedly adding: “He said his name is Jisung.” 

Jisung? What the hell is he doing here? “I’ll be down in a minute.” 

When you finally get down stairs Jisung smiles awkwardly at you before gesturing towards the door. “Do you like milkshakes?” 

-

“What is this about?” 

The words that say heavy on your tongue the whole car ride here finally leave you as you sit across Jisung at Billy’s. He sips his milkshake before clearing his throat to speak. “How have you been?” 

You’ve been really shitty. “I’ve been fine, I guess.”

Jisung hums, rubbing his hand together before sighing. “I guess we should just get straight to the point, then.” He pauses, “Have you spoken to Chenle recently?”

While you figured this meeting had something with Chenle, you still sit up straighter when you hear his name. You clear your throat as if this is a kind of declaration. “No. I haven’t spoken to him since Valentine’s day.” You don’t want to ask about him, so you try the next best thing. “Why- why do you ask?” 

“I haven’t seen him since last week.” Jisung says, something in your stomach doesn’t sit right. “He’s been missing practice, which he never did, and he’s not answering any of my messages or calls. And the pre-final game is tomorrow and no one has heard from him.” 

His words are bazar. Basketball is unarguably the most important thing in Chenle’s life, why would he risk this chance of winning the championship like this? “He hasn’t spoken to me either, sorry.” You say, but your mind is fogged with worry as to where the boy could be. Jisung remains silent for some time before he clicks his tongue. 

“I know what happened between you two.” You avoid his gaze and feel blood rush to your cheeks. “And I think you’re right for not talking to him after that.” 

How could he say that about his best friend? Still, you nod. “But I think you only know a part of what’s really going on here.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, yeah. The whole thing started as a bet, but after a few weeks Chenle told me that something changed. He said he didn’t want to do the bet anymore, that he felt guilty for using you like that because he ended up really really liking you Y/N and I’m not just saying this because he is my best friend or anything but I think when the time is right, you should give him a chance.”

You finally look up at him and realize upon feeling a tear trail down your face that you were crying. You wipe it away quickly and sigh. “I don’t know, Jisung. He really hurt me, I was so embarrassed I felt like I could die.” 

“Sometimes we make stupid decisions.” The ‘we’ reminds you of the story of Jisung and his girlfriend’s love story that Chenle animatedly told you about one night you stayed at his house. You remember wondering how someone as sweet as Jisung could do any of those things, and how his girlfriend could forgive him for any of it.However, you knew the love they had for each other in their hearts was more than the anger due to his actions. You wonder if the attachment you have for Chenle would ever be enough. 

Jisung reads your mind. “I think he loves you.”

Your eyes become wide as planets before you scoff in disbelief. “Don’t say that.” You say, weak hearted.

“He does! While you two were still a thing he wouldn’t stop talking about how cute you were, how good you are at basketball and how you have the same glow in the dark stars on your ceiling that he does.” 

What? You didn’t think cared enough to talk about you or to remember those details. “He told you that?” 

Jisung nods, “And a lot of other things, but I don’t think we’ll have the time.” 

“He… he never told me he loved me.” You thought Chenle had just come into your life as a lesson to always be on your guard, to never let anyone in and protect yourself above others. But now… you wonder if you meant more to Chenle than you thought.

“Take it from me,” Jisung says, “sometimes those 8 letters can be the hardest to say.” 

🏀

Once you’ve parted ways with Jisung, (who offered to drive you home to which you politely declined to, telling him the walk home would give you time to think) you make your way home on your dirty sneakers and think about what Jisung said. 

It’s hard to believe that Chenle would actually say those things about you, while knowing he was playing you. You wondered if it really did change for him like Jisung said, and if he really felt sorry like he was telling you that day in the parking lot. 

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t realize the familiar car parked in front of your house until you hear the voice your heart has been longing to hear for weeks now. “Is Y/N home?” 

You bolt to the nearest bush and duck behind it, close enough to hear their words but far enough that Chenle and your conflicted mother are unaware of your presence. “Oh, I’m sorry sweetie she went out a few hours ago.” 

“Oh.” You flinch when you hear the disappointment in his voice. “Can you tell her I stopped by?” And that I miss her, he wants to say but you don’t know that. “And please give this to her too if it’s not too much trouble.” You hear shuffling as Chenle hands whatever it is he wanted to give you to your mom. 

“I will, sweetie.” Your mom says. “And Chenle?” There's a pause in which he hums. “Get some sleep, honey.”

You can imagine that Chenle throws her his signature polite smile, “I will try, Ma’am.” 

It’s not longer after that you hear his sneakers against the steps of your porch and see him get into his car. You have a perfect view of him from where you are. Watching as he frustratedly runs his hands through his hair and throws his head back against the seat. You don’t know why you feel sorry for him. You know you should be angry but after what Jisung told you, you need to stop yourself from going to him. 

-

You contemplate if even looking inside the bag is a decision. 

It sits in front of you neatly on your bed where you had placed it after your mother handed it to you with a worried: “He looks so tired, Y/N.” Which caused hurt to arise in your heart. 

The bag is a bright red one, the type that usually is full of candies and sweets, maybe flowers. You want to know what is inside manically, but you're afraid about what this would mean for your relationship (if you could even call it that) with Chenle. Is this his final goodbye or is this him trying to get you back?

You had to know.

Upon opening it, you are shocked to see a pale yellow envelope with your name written in Chenle’s messy handwriting on top. You grab it with shaky hands, the texture is different somehow, because for the first time ever, this letter was meant for you.  

Inside, there is a loose leaf paper much like the ones you had sent to him neatly folded. Your heart beats in your ear as you finally see the first words, you breathe in deeply and read away.

“Y/N, 

       I thought for a long time about what I would say to you in this letter, I’ve been sitting on it for three weeks trying to find the right things to say that would convince you to forgive me before I realized that they all sounded tacky and cliche when I read them back. So, i’ve decided to just go with the truth. It’s true that at first I wasn't honest with you, that I only approached you to complete a dare my friends had given me that day and I won’t make any excuses because I was such a huge asshole to you. I was just so hurt that day because of Ava and I wanted to make her feel like shit so bad, I wanted to hurt her like she had hurt me and I used you to do so, Y/N. But after I approached you and started spending time with you,I started thinking back to all the times I would look at you when the sun came in through the window in the English classroom before I had even spoken a word to you. I bet you didn’t know I did that, did you?” 

You didn’t, the you at that time would’ve freaked out if she knew though.

“I remember thinking you were so pretty, that you were untouchable to me so i just never tried. But something changed when i got to know you, i realized that you were the coolest person i’ve ever met, that you were real and that you were there with me whenever i needed someone. No one has ever made me feel so safe and comforted. I became selfish with you because I never wanted it to end. I didn’t want to tell you because i was scared you would hate me do you hate me? The night before valentines i went to your house because i planned on telling you everything the next day, i wanted to see your happy eyes just once more just in case i ruined everything. On Valentine’s day, when i got to school and read your letters. You wouldn’t believe how happy I was to read all the wonderful things you said about me. I was so happy that you held me as close to your heart as I held you to my own. I was going to tell you everything after that, i was going to confess and tell you that i couldn’t go another day with this secret. I was going to tell you how i felt but Ava stopped me, she told me she knew about the bet and then she kissed me and that's when you showed up. I’m so sorry you had to see that, I’m so that i used you like that. I’m sorry that I took advantage of you but I want you to know that I meant everything I told you, I loved spending time with you, and being with your family made me feel so special. I remember thinking we were split aparts and i know that sounds stupid but i really want you to know that i meant it. And every kiss we shared and every time I held you I felt it and I really really really mean it when i say that i loved you. I loved you so much that I didn't ever want to lose you.”

The past tense makes your chest tighten.

“I won’t tell you to forgive me, but your spot on the bleachers looks so empty without you. The pre finals are tomorrow and i would love it if you came, to cheer me on like you used to. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to but I wanted to give you something that would portray how serious I am about this. That if you are willing to come cheer me on with a part of me with you.”

This when you reach into the bag and pull out the item that once laid underneath your letter. The 22 of Chenle’s basketball jersey stares back at you, you gasp as you hold the fabric in your fingers. You had watched him run around the court with this very jersey plenty times before, you knew how much being number 22 meant to him. You were grateful he would trust you so important to him, you really wanted to grab his face and tell him that. Instead, you finish reading the letter. 

“You make me feel brave. And I will forever be sorry for what I did to you, but I mean it when I say I loved you I still love you. 

Please come.                                                         - Zhong Chenle.”

He loves you! Present tense. You could almost jump from joy. You want to see him, tell him you love him too. A million times if you can. You want to say that you forgive him for everything, that you have felt incomplete without him these past few weeks and the Chenle you made up in your mind was too perfect anyway. 

-

Chenle sighs for the upteenth time the next afternoon as he stretches along with his teammates. He tries his best to take his mind off of you for the time being, at least until after the game is over, he needed to focus but he found it very hard when he began to wonder what was going through your head when you read his letter, and if you were coming today.

He startles when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Hopeful, he turns. His hopefulness fades away when he sees Jisung standing before him. 

“Damn don’t look too sad to see me.” He jokes. Chenle shakes his head

“It’s not that…” Chenle explains, biting his lip nervously and subconsciously looks toward the bleakers where your empty seat was. Jisung gets the hint. 

“Chenle,” he says. “It's okay, she’ll come.” 

Chenle wants to ask him how he is so sure, that if he were you, he would hate himself too. Instead, he nods at him and readjusts the waistband of his shorts on his hips as the coach calls for the team to step out onto the court. 

People immediately start cheering for the players as they come into the view, girls go crazy in the stands and the members’ friends and families cheere enthusiastically from the side lines. The players smile and wave at their ‘fans’ doing a lap around the court to warm up and high five audience members. 

Chenle can only bring himself to smile half heartedly and wave weakly due to the fact that your spot on the bleachers still remains empty. 

He sighs out again, puffing his cheeks as the referee finally calls for the first round. That’s when his adrenaline starts pumping and he feels a bit better. 

The game goes on. 

-

Chenle’s jersey is only a bit big on you, almost fitting like something that would be your size, still, you try to pull it down over your hips in a nervous habit. You finally made it to the game, having fun late due to traffic. The spot you usually sit in is occupied by a woman holding a baby, so you decide to stay and watch from the sidelines, standing. 

The first time you see him, he is running across the court so fast he becomes a blur. You only know it’s him because of the head of blonde hair you see in the blurry image. He looks breathtaking as always, his hair being pushed away from his face by a sweat band being an addition to his look you wouldn’t mind seeing again. 

His sneakers squeak against the floor as he gets in position to shoot. You cross your fingers, but something is off. His eyebrows are furrowed in something that doesn’t look like concentration, but more like worry. His legs give him the impulse to jump up and soon enough his arms are shooting the ball towards the basket. You watch in disappointment as it hits against the rim and bounces back at him, he catches it with a frustrated click of his teeth. 

The audience has already begun whispering, having never seen the star player miss a shot. 

One of his teammates comes up to give him a fist bump of comfort, Chenle accepts it but still holds a troubled look on his face. The thought crosses your mind that it might  be because of you, it troubles the organ in your chest as much as it warms it. You notice he keeps glancing at a certain part of the bleachers, this is when you know he meant everything and that he surely is waiting for you. 

“Chenle!” You yell, trying to get his attention.

The boy doesn’t look your way, your voice getting lost in constant shouts and chatter from the people in the crowd. You try again, louder this time. Nothing. 

You groan frustratedly, the boy continues the game the best he can, but he’s out of it. You hate to see him like this, a deep hurt in your chest rising up. You cheer for him as loud as you can, deciding it would be better to wait until after the game to see him. 

As the game is coming to an end, Chenle appears to grow more and more tired and absent. Nevertheless, his team scores the winning point and the audience goes wild, including you. Chenle smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

 You can’t wait to hold him and tell him you forgive him for everything and that everything is going to be okay, and be with him for real this time. To have him be yours and be best friends against, go on nightly drives and have impromptu dance parties, to lay on his bed and count the plastic stars on his ceiling, to kiss him and be close to him. 

And for it to be real.

🏀

Chenle can’t help but feel dejected when your seat was never taken by you. He should’ve known this would happen, that is true but there was a fraction of him that thought you would read his letter and realize how sincere he was, he thought there was a part of you that knew it had been real and there was no way everything he said could've been made up. But he was wrong, and now as he packs his gym bag to go home, he faces the consequences of his high hopes. 

He’s mad, practically throwing his belongings in his bag, he almost throws his phone in the trash can next to him when he hears the ringtone go off. Chenle answers it with an irritated, “What?”

“Hey.” He recognizes your voice that same instant, still he pulls his phone back and makes sure its your caller ID before speaking again. 

“Y/N? Oh my god, hi!” He clears his throat  before repeating himself. “I mean, hi, hey.”

You hold back a laugh, noting his nervousness. “I’m sorry for calling so suddenly.” You decide to tease him, although, unbeknownst to him, you wear standing about 20 feet behind him after finally finding him in the now that the crowd of people has dispersed after the game. 

“No, don’t worry about it. I was actually…” Chenle flicks the zipper of his bag with his nervous fingers, “I was waiting to hear from you.” 

“Were you?” 

“Yeah, I wanted a chance to talk things out with you and uhh… i'm sorry if me asking you to come out to the game was too much or if it made you uncomfortable I didn’t-“

“Chenle.” Your voice cuts his rant short. You internally marvel at the fact that you aren’t the one caught in a nervous ramble for once. “It didn’t make me uncomfortable. I’m here.” 

“You’re here?” Someone clicks in his mind as he frantically looks around him in an effort to find you. When he does, his eyes turn soft and a smile takes over his face. “You came.” 

You nod at him, feeling a bit overwhelmed when you finally make eye contact with him. There are people between you too, Chenle begins to close it as he walks forward. “I did. I just wanted to tell you that I missed you.” 

“I missed you more, I swear on it.” He replies.

Your eyes burn, you wipe them and lighten the mood. “And that Curry would be sad to see you so out of it at a game.” You click your teeth jokingly. “What do you think he would say if he saw you like that cause of a girl?” 

He laughs, “I think he would understand, after I tell him how amazing you are.” 

You blush. “I also wanted to tell you that your jersey smells like you, and I like it.” This makes him beam, speeding up his footsteps that carry him to you. 

“Is that it?” He asks, jokingly. 

“And that I love you, Zhong Chenle. Not the Zhong Chenle that I had a crush on for 3 years and not Number 22 but you. The rawest versions of you. I love all of it and that i forgive you for everything.” He slows his pace in shock, his chest heaving. 

“You mean that?” His voice is wavering and you can see the flush on his cheeks from how close he has gotten. Suddenly, he is taking big steps until he is directly in front of you. He puts his phone down and his pretty eyes look directly into your own. 

Chenle’s face is hopeful, happy and lovestruck. He whispers: “You love me?”

You can only nod, overwhelmed. Chenle smiles wide, you can almost see his molars and his eyes disappear. “Say it.” He says, in a wondrous tone. 

“I love you, Zhong Chenle.” 

“Oh my god, yes!” 

And he’s kissing you, arms wrapping around you and pressing your body against his, his finger grip at the jersey on your body and he moves his lips against yours. Every memory that you have ever shared, every kiss, every touch, and every laughing fit come to your mind. It’s all you can think about as you think about this boy. You don’t think about the bad part, because that doesn’t matter anymore now that Chenle is yours and you are never letting go.

-

4 months later; Graduation 

“Chenle! Come on!” Jisung yells as he sees the boys floppy newly dyed orange hair amongst the crowd of people. 

You were all posed for a picture, blue cap and gowns adorning your bodies and your parents huddle you together for a picture. “I’m coming!”

Your boyfriend appears from the crowd with his cap in his hand along with a giant bouquet of flowers. He walks directly to you, extending it with a smile. “For you.” 

Your friends start squealing, playful hitting you and Chenle and your parents smirk at each other at the portrayal of young love before them. You cover your face with your hands to hide your blush. Chenle laughs and hugs you to his side. 

“Y/N! Chenle! Pose for the picture!” 

The two of you run to where your other friends are posing, haphazardly getting into the frame and posing crazily. 

The air is full of laughter and youth as the sun begins to set on your time in high school. For a moment, you’re too busy basking in the presence of the relationships you have developed while in there that you forget you won’t be seeing these people every day like you had been for so many years. Or that your lives might take completely different courses and things won’t be the same after this. Instead you allow yourself to enjoy this moment. 

🏀

You do think about it when you are on your way home though, in the passenger’s seat of Chenle’s car. His hand holds yours over the gear and he smiles to himself while humming along to the songs on the radio, unaware of the internal conflict going on in your head. 

It wasn’t until he parks outside your house that he realizes that something is wrong. 

“What is going to happen to us now?” Is your reply to his questioning. Chenle’s eyebrows furrow.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean-“ you collect your thoughts, “high school is over, and we’re going to go to college and we will be so busy and what if-“ 

“Whatever you think will happen, won’t happen.” 

You look at him, offended that he could dismiss your worries so easily. “You don’t un-“ 

“I do understand. You’re worried that now that we won’t see each other every day that we’re going to drift apart, right? And that we won’t be together, am I right?” 

You nod silently. 

“Y/N, how many times am I going to tell you that I’m crazy in love with you? I won’t let you slip out of my hands, baby. Not again.” Chenle says firmly, sincerely. His eyes widen so you can see right through him and know he is telling the truth. 

His pale hands come up to cup the sides of your face, making you face him. Your tear filled eyes meet his own. He brushes away your tear that rolls down your cheek. “I’m sorry, I was just overthinking.” You say.

“Don’t be sorry.” Chenle shakes his head, leaning forward to kiss your cheek lovingly, letting it linger for a few seconds before pulling back. Smiling upon seeing your smiling face. 

It happens in a flash, now that the moment was right. Chenle gasps, starling you. “What?! What’s wrong?!”

“I love this song!” And he’s turning it up all the way on the car radio, rolling down the windows and stepping out. “Come on, Y/N!” 

You don’t let him see the pure happiness on your face that you wanted to mask with annoyance. Chenle dances on the sidewalk crazily and you laugh in the passenger’s seat. You decide it was best to not let your boyfriend embarrass himself alone, wiping the excess of your tears and step out of the car. “M’lady has arrived to the dance party!” He exclaims. 

And as you start dancing wildly together, the sun begins to set causing a golden hue to fall over your features. Anyone watching the scene could either think that you’re crazy or they will see what is really there: split aparts that have finally found one another. 

Chenle thinks so too, he stops dancing for a bit to catch his breath and just watches you. He remembers the pain it took to make you his, how much you both cried and the beginning of the relationship was far from ideal. But there is no doubt in his mind that there are not enough glow in the dark ceiling stars in this world that will amount to the love he harbors for you in his chest. He was so happy that he had met his split apart, he couldn’t thank the universe enough. 

This when he reaches forward and spins you around to face him. His chest against your own, you feel the rumble of his words from his chest when he says: “I’m so glad I found you.” And then he is kissing you, and the ground seems to melt away from your feet. You’re floating hundreds of feet in air and forget to take a view of your neighborhood from up here because Chenle is all you can think about. Because he makes you feel this way. You whisper in between kisses, he smiles knowingly, he feels it too. 

“We. 

Are.

Off.

Our.

Feet.”

[sepublic]

Happy Birthday to The Owl House!

           Honestly, I’m… REALLY shocked to think back on how it’s been a year? It’s been a full, actual year, since that first episode?

           I remember when The Owl House was first announced around early 2018. Something about it, the premise, the characters from that one poster we got; It really drew me in, and I kept track of the show’s progress in eager anticipation. Whenever Dana released art of Luz, Eda, and King, I was ecstatic- And when the show was delayed to 2020, I was dismayed.

           Then we got our teaser trailer; The opening them, the end credits, even a little sneak peek! I remember speculating a lot about Luz and all of the other new characters we were introduced to, such as Willow, Amity, and Gus- And then we got more and more trailers in the days leading up to the show. I wondered about Luz’s home back on Earth and where her family was, I listened intently to the Hooty and the Parliament music video, finding an almost melancholic, weirdly nostalgic (despite having never watched the show yet) vibe to it- Whilst also avoiding looking at the screen and seeing all of the various clips it offered, because I wanted to be surprised! It was two years of anticipation, two years of wait for this show- I’d never looked forward to a series before like this, last I can recall… So having this content FINALLY come out, seeing these characters in animation, hearing their wonderful voices! My soul was vibing, it was time, it was coming after all this time…!

          Eventually I finished Infinity Train Book 2, the same day that The Owl House premiered… I was blindsided when I woke up to the first episode’s release online, in full- I was already planning to wait until later to watch it on television, so having it permanently accessible from the internet was such a pleasant surprise! And the show… The show, man- That premiere caught me off-guard with how much I enjoyed it! I knew I was looking forward to this show, but still…! It blew away my expectations, and even now, has continued to; It was like my personal investment and attention had paid off so patiently well! I even got a DisneyNOW subscription so I could watch each new episode ASAP, the day it premiered, hours before it aired on television!

           I remember scouring Tumblr before the show officially premiered, and there was understandably very little- A few pieces of fanart here or there. And when the show DID premiere, for a while there wasn’t really much of a fandom- There was barely anyone, in fact! But I can remember a few notable blogs who have been around since the beginning… Me, I got invested into this show. I found myself really enjoying Lumity as a ship, especially since I resonated with both characters in it; Luz was such a ball of sunshine that brightened my day, and Amity really spoke to me with her more introverted, top-scoring personality. When the show hit its mid-season hiatus, I remember not handling it too well, as I got impatient and frantic in my speculations- I wanted so badly to learn more about these characters, see what happened- Get a look at Emperor Belos (then known as Bellows by the fandom), etc.

          I wrote my Bile Coven piece in preparation for Halloween, even got to know a mutual or two over shared theorizing! I kept track of Dana’s updates, and even had people come to my blog, of all places, to send asks! It was and still has been such an engaging part of fandom for me… I recall impatiently waiting for the Owl Pellet shorts and freaking out over them- And when Adventures in the Elements leaked early? I LOST MY MIND, I remember postponing something I was supposed to go to, just so I could watch the episode- And it was so good! Then I started wondering and hoping the rest of Season 1 would come out, and well- It took a while…

          And when Season 1B’s trailer came out, I was all over it; Scouring every possible frame, freaking out over the Grom screenshot, and appreciating the influx of new fans! It was amazing to watch The Owl House go from a relatively minor and obscure fandom, to becoming so much more mainstream and populous! I got into Rebecca Rose’s channel, I began writing more meta and posts about the show, as well as little recaps for each new episode. I feel like my blog really took off from here, as I got to interact with more and more people who shared this mutual love of The Owl House, and I was so ecstatic to see more content and buzz about it!

           My mind was solely focused on The Owl House, it was one of my huge hyperfixations, even moreso than during Season 1A’s run- I remember being anxious about Enchanting Grom Fright, wondering if we’d get queerbaited… But NO, Amity was in love with Luz! She canonically had a crush on her, a girl in love with another girl- And I loved it because Lumity was a special comfort ship of mine! Then Amity was confirmed lesbian… It was amazing! And I found myself SO invested, so inspired by the show and its characters, and all of the little allusions to things, the foreshadowing, the moments here or there that made so much more sense after a new episode.

           This show inspired me creatively- It got me to write some of my personal favorite fanfics, and I was and still am so touched by whatever feedback I get from them! The Owl House really got me to write, to obsess over characters and analyze them, to look at motifs, to think about worldbuilding… It’s been such an artistically enriching experience, both the show and the fandom! I remember despairing so terribly when Agony of a Witch came out, the genuine betrayal I had when Lilith revealed the truth- Because I’d been legitimately endeared to her character beforehand, even formed a sort of ‘trust’ in a sense… And like many others, I agonizingly anticipated the season finale, the much-needed emotional reconciliation!

           I remember how the episode titles were revealed, bit by bit, and how I and others speculated on what they’d spell out! I remember when the fandom obsessed over the Witch’s Apprentice game and its relics, for clues and new lore after each episode, the little hints here or there! I was freaked out by characters like Belos, who lived up to my hopes and expectations- First being alluded to by name, then his amazing appearance… And then his voice and mannerisms and everything about him! And when the Season Finale came out…

           Well, there was relief. But there was a bittersweet emptiness- That it was over! The first season was over! There was a celebratory triumph, of course- We finally wrapped up the first, major arc of the show, the first batch of episodes that had been worked upon, the whole thing now unveiled and appreciated! But I was a little dismayed because a part of me KNEW a hiatus much longer than the previous one was ahead of me, and I did not handle the mid-season hiatus well. Of course, then Dana had her Reddit AMA, and the charity livestream; Both of which NOURISHED me creatively, and have helped to fill out the wait! To carry out my momentum, to not flounder about in hiatus; I invested myself into more meta, into various posts, etc. I read fanfiction that genuinely floored me, obsessed over fanart, etc.

           I supported the show’s release on Disney Plus, ecstatic to get this kind of ready access. I revisited past episodes and characters, looking at them in a new light, appreciating things; Like Luz’s relationship with fantasy… King’s surprising development, all of Eda’s little hints and clues. There’s been an emotional catharsis with these characters for me- And I genuinely feel like I’ve been a lot happier lately because of this show! I’ve met so many other blogs and gotten to know them, seen their ideas and displayed mine as we appreciated one another… I even remember doing another blog’s fanart prompt prior to the show’s release, in preparation!

           I feel like The Owl House has genuinely given me a new appreciation for meta, for fandom and analysis… For headcanons, for writing my own stories and contributing my own ideas and speculations, etc.! It’s contributed SO much joy to me as a hyperfixation, and rapidly risen through my blog as my most frequent tag! And even as I explore other fandoms and hyperfixations, both then and now, especially to pass on this crippling hiatus… This show holds a VERY special place in my heart for me. It’s really made me feel for these characters, the love and sadness, the excitement and sense of comfort… Its love and emotions, angst and found family, lore and speculation, it hits so hard to me in a way that other media hasn’t!

           It’s provided representation- Such as canonically queer characters, or protagonists who speak so well to the neurodivergent experience for many people! I’ve had delight in seeing people suggest Amity as autistic, when before Season 1B, I lowkey headcanoned and saw her as such- So seeing more evidence for this resonated deeply in my heart! I remember all of the discussion about King as a character, the confusion and talk about whether or not he WAS a King of Demons, when that first announcement in 2018 had made a similar claim… I looked forward to Eda and Lilith’s relationship, speculated on who cursed Eda, and remembered when I’d considered the Blights as a potential culprit! I remember thinking about Hooty, wondering what his deal is- And thinking then and now about that Owl Deity mural in the Owl House! Watching Luz’s development as a character and as a witch, seeing her become more proficient with magic until it finally pays off with her squaring up against Belos, and wounding him- I’d never felt so proud of a character and their progress before!

           There’s still so many more questions and mystery, lore… as well as just genuine character interactions, to look forward to! I think The Owl House is one of my favorite shows of all time… It’s deeply touched me as a person and creator, and I genuinely strive to create something even close to this one day. This show has inspired me, made me laugh and cry, compelled me to creatively make content; It’s introduced me to a wider fandom that I genuinely feel like a part of, had me meet other mutuals… It really is something special to me. And while I am eager for Season 2, I also want to appreciate what Dana Terrace and her crew have already established. I love this show’s art style and animation, the designs and overall weirdness of its characters- I love speculating and thinking about them, getting more and more details, and so forth.

           If it’s for a better product, I’m fine waiting for Season 2. And honestly, I love what we already have, and I’ve done a lot with so many people. I’ve even looked over supplementary materials and stuff posted by the crew or news articles, in my need for content… And I love every bit of update, art, and/or acknowledgement of the show’s hiatus, and Season 2’s development! There’s so much to look forward to… And there’s so much that I’ve enjoyed, after plenty of anticipation!

           Thank you @danaterrace, and everyone who worked on this- For everything. It really is crazy to reflect on this entire year, to realize it’s been a full year since that first episode, since that first premiere that lit up my world like Luz’s light spells; And it feels like such a milestone that we’ve reached! I look forward to what comes next, and I also intend to keep appreciating and cherishing what we’ve already gotten. Here’s to this show’s second year, people- It’s been such a journey to look back on and remember each step, each phase, each particular moment and stage… And I can only imagine what will come next! This show has SUCH a special place in my heart, and has made me feel in so many ways I haven’t before!

           Happy Birthday, The Owl House! You’ve earned it!

[danteinthedevildom]

yes! i hate it when people say belphie doesnt care for mc, this is a personal opinion but i feel like even if we werent related to lilith (and somehow we came to life again) he would be close to us, and try. seeing how the people he cares about the most react to someone he thought was just a human dying would probably push him to get to know MC. i know some people also think and argue that beel sees MC as a replacement for lilith too; but i know 100% he doesnt, he hasnt been able to verbally talk about his sisters passing to anyone, i mean almost right after she died belphie was taken away and beel assumed he was in the human world on "buisness", so for beel to openly talk about lilith with us as much as he does it feels special. i know he sees mc as their own person because of how much hes able to share with us, beel talking with mc about his feelings means hes able to finally move on, not to say that he'll forget about her, but he knows hes ready to finally stop beating himself up for it yk? i feel like people were also conflicted about seeing belphie as someone who cares for mc, especially the 180 he does when he finds out we're liliths relative; but belphie has had so much trauma, seeing the person he loved the most die, being separated from his brothers for years and years, etc. he was locked away with his mental illness for a long time, the anger bottled up and he took it out on mc, of course it explains it but it doesnt excuse it, you can still continue to hate belphie idc but i feel like he loves mc more than the other brothers do because of it, its the same thing with beel, mc allowed both of them to cope and talk to them about their sisters passing, yk?

Honestly the whole of Chapter 16 and associated fallout is p. controversial simply bc of it being us that it happens to; the game's written for us to imprint on the MC, and because of that, some scenes - like Belphie's betrayal and his glee at having killed MC - becomes very, very personal. It's very easy after that to become biased against a character, because there's genuine emotional scarring that we're left with as players that the game then just... fails to acknowledge to its fullest. (Which is why we get so many "MC might have forgiven Belphie but I haven't" fics on AO3.)

But to say that Belphie doesn't care for MC is just. Wrong. And I can def. get your annoyance on that!

He didn't care for MC to begin with, yes; MC was a random human he knew nothing about, a ticket to freedom and the first step into enacting revenge for something he's carried with him for millenia. They didn't matter to him outside of that because he never got to see them - or spend actual time with them - outside of the short visits they could afford to update him on their pact progress. That's undeniable.

But to say that he still doesn't ignores the entire point of the Lilith revelation. Being related to her gives Belphie something to connect with MC over. It gives him a reason to overcome his hatred of humanity and to bond with MC in general - which is selfish, yes, and kind of shitty, true, but so much of Belphie's (admittedly misplaced) anger comes from being a survivor of an incredibly one-sided war and (arguably, in his mind) the reason Lilith died to begin with. Because Beel saved him instead of her.

It's not like any of them were ever given a good way to cope with the trauma of the Fall, or Lilith's death. It's not like any of them even knew her actual fate until Chapter 16. Belphie's way of coping was to become apathetic, and to try and place the blame onto something he could take action against.

To him, that meant humanity. Because she fell in love with a human. Because they'd already fought God and lost, so he wasn't going to get closure there - but maybe ending the cause for her death would help the hurt.

He hated humans because of Lilith. In the realm of good story-telling, the best way to end that hatred is likewise through Lilith. Stories are best when they have that cyclical nature to them - especially since it can then transition into Belphie overcoming his trauma (and Lilith's death) through humanity.

So, yeah; it's a selfish reason to get close to someone, to take back the really horrific thing you were going to do, but all of Belphie's anger stemmed from the Fall and what he perceived as her death. Finding out that she didn't actually die? That she became human - became the very thing he wanted to destroy - and lived out a long life? That she had children, and that her family line is still alive in MC? Of course that's going to stop him dead in his tracks. And of course he's going to want to get close to MC, the last remaining fragment of the sister he's dedicated his entire life post-Fall mourning.

Belphie's an incredibly apathetic character by nature. He doesn't care about a lot of things, and everything he cares about is overshadowed by how much he loves Lilith. He needs that connection to get him out of his natural apathy. He cares about Lilith above all else; he'll care about MC at the drop of a dime if they're anything to do with her.

But that's not a bad thing. It means there's an opportunity for him to genuinely get to know who MC is, in a positive light.

It's an opportunity for him to try and make a connection with MC that simply wouldn't have existed otherwise, and through them, to finally, finally put his memory of Lilith to rest. And he does! He gets to know MC, gets to know why Beel adores them so much - outside of just being "Lilith's descendant" - and ends up loving them for who they are.

He puts his hatred of humanity and his single-minded attachment to Lilith behind him, and he still cares for MC. He wouldn't do this if he'd really not formed some sort of bond with them before that point. If he only cared for them because they're a fragment of Lilith, then they'd mean nothing to him once Lilith wasn't such a fervent part of his daily life.

I think the game's just... really bad at showing that, however. You put it really well when you called it a 180, because in all honesty? The game glosses over it much too quickly, and doesn't do a totally good job explaining the logic behind why he'd change his mind so fast.

There's not enough time spent on allowing MC - and the player - to overcome the emotional wreckage of Chapter 16 + fallout. We're not given the chance to process it before Belphie has, to build up a natural relationship with him that transitions slowly from him seeing MC as a Lilith-connection to him seeing them as their own, defined person. It's way too easy to still be emotionally hung up on it while he seems perfectly fine and dandy.

On your bit abt him overcoming it even without the connection to Lilith - I agree tbh! There is a lot Belphie would do for Beel, and I genuinely think seeing how against him Beel is after killing MC, even if they're brought back to life, would ruin him. Belphie being locked up, trying to convince Beel that he was doing the right thing, only for Beel to disagree with him and show genuine anger/disgust, would knock the world from under his feet. If he thought trying to hurt MC would make him lose Beel too - if Beel pleaded with him to just play nice, because he can't choose between them both, not again - he'd likely (albeit begrudgingly) postpone his intended revenge plot.

And he'd try to stay bitter, and for a long time he likely would - but then he'd see how happy Beel is with MC around, and how much it means to Beel that they seem to get along, and how much Beel opens up to them about Lilith, and he'd start to... reconsider. Just a little. Just a bit. Moment by moment, day by day, until he realises that MC isn't a replacement for Lilith, but that they bring something to the table that the brothers have been missing for a long, long time.

Which would afford Belphie the moment of catharsis; where he finally, on a quiet night, opens up about the Fall. How he felt, how angry he is, how helpless. How much he misses her, how the pain and hurt consumes his every thought. And then the player would get the chance to overcome the emotional strain with Belphie, showing him that his anger shouldn't be aimed at humanity when his Father is the one at fault, and Belphie, very quietly, admitting that they're right.

It could work, and work well. It's just a point of finding - and hitting - the right story beats.

On the topic of Beel - honestly, the concept that he sees MC as a replacement for Lilith is just... I personally couldn't imagine it. I can see how someone else could - being her descendant, the attic sandwich club, their little escapade together once Belphie's back in with the family - but that includes seriously misreading/ignoring a lot of Beel's character arc/development.

Beel talks to MC about Lilith and Belphie way before he knows anything about their relation to her. He sees a lot of her in them, yes - he mentions this a few times, I think, in relation to little things they do - but he also sees a lot of what he wants to be in them - which is best seen in their ability to defend both himself and Luke, which be very subtly compares to his own inability to save both Lilith and Belphie.

To Beel, MC stands as something a little idealised. MC is everything good he saw in Lilith (as well as some of the things he loves most about Belphie), and everything he wishes he could have been. MC is a reason to be better, stronger, more capable - both so he can protect them the way they protect others, and so he can feel as if he's on their level.

But that doesn't mean he sees them as a replacement to the people he's lost. It's arguable that he's projecting, sure, I'll admit that; he sees things he misses most of the people he's lost in MC, and I'm sure forming a bond with them helped him cope while he was without Belphie. But MC is still always MC to him. They're always still their own person, and someone he cares for because of that fact.

Beel cares too much about his family to replace them with someone else. Lilith meant too much to him as a person for him to look at MC and actually see Lilith. He misses her, not the idea of her. He feels guilt that he couldn't save her. His trauma revolves almost entirely around the failure of (self imposed) duty and the subsequent loss of life. His Survivor's Guilt is the main reason Beel can't put her memory to rest - because he's constantly haunted by the thought that he could have saved her.

His trauma, the way it is, does not create a setting where he would believably see MC as a replacement for Lilith. He's all too aware that she's gone. He's all too aware that he lost something he can never get back that day. Her memory is special to him, and being unable to talk about her hurts him because that's a bit like killing her off for good.

MC can't replace Lilith, even being Lilith's descendant, and I genuinely can't believe that Beel would even want them to. He's so defensive over Belphie and Lilith, even just over the memory of them; to suggest that MC could replace one of them I feel would anger him more than anything. Not only because it's an insult to Lilith, but because it's an insult to the person MC is. To the person Beel admires.

With just how much he cares about Lilith, I think Beel's enhanced attachment to MC is more the steadfast defence of her lineage to make up for what he couldn't do for her. He still sees MC as their own person, it's just that now... now he has a chance to make up for what he failed at before. And bit by bit, he can learn to forgive himself. Can learn to stop blaming himself for something that was never his fault to begin with.

Belphie and Beel have a special relationship with MC because MC is a direct link to Lilith that helps them overcome their individual Lilith-related traumas. They're naturally going to be closer to MC due to this, yeah, but that's... not the only reason they're close to MC. To try and push down everything they feel and do with MC to "it's only because MC is Lilith's descendant" is to. Well. A) make an incredibly unsatisfying story and character development, but also B) completely ignore that MC helps them bury the memory Lilith. MC helps them move on. Their care and love for MC is what helps them finally let go - to stop living in the past, in hurt, and to finally take a step forward to a future without the weight of Lilith's death constantly burdening them.

Like. If Solmare had just spend a little more time on these two, that might be clearer. Because it's definitely there! And it's why I love Belphie and Beel so, so much. But it's also fully understandable why some players still really dislike Belphie, or why they're not convinced that Belphie/Beel see MC as anything outside of Lilith, bc the game does kind of fail on that a little by rushing a bit too much. Just. Aagh!! You know?

I could honestly go on abt them for hours. So I should prolly stop here before I go on too long adfgh.

[dragonseattofu]

Spaces Between My Fingers (NEO TWEWY fanfiction)

Summary: Neshiki NEO reunion. NEO TWEWY spoilers. Everyday for two years after Neku’s disappearance, Shiki sits behind Hachiko talking to what looks like herself, her hand securely in another that she can feel but can’t see. Warnings for depression and panic attacks. Check source content for Ao3 link.

Preview:

“Great work on the presentation Misaki-san!”

“Excellent job as always Misaki-san! Have a wonderful evening!”

“See you tomorrow!”

Shiki smiled and nodded at the outpouring of compliments from her staff as they filed out of the conference room. It was her last meeting of the day, and she was exhausted. Never in a million years could she have imagined being the youngest CEO of any clothing company, much less her own brand at the age of eighteen. But, being young didn’t make the responsibilities of a trending brand owner any less tiring. On the bright side, the remainder of the evening was all hers to spend at her own pace.

With that in mind, Shiki gathered her laptop and papers under her arm, turned off the lights and closed the door behind her. She retrieved her messenger bag from the coat rack in her office, pulled the keys from the front pocket, and said a habitual goodnight into the empty space before locking the office for the night.

The soft tapping of rubber on carpet filled the empty hallway on her way to the elevator, the sounds of mindess instrumental music soothed her tired nerves on her voyage down from the eight floor. Slow clicking of gears moving, and the opening the heavy metal doors woke her from her stupor, gesturing light apologies on her way out as more bodies piled into the elevator.

Fresh air filled her lungs as she finally reached the ground level, going westward toward the neighborhood coffee shop where she’s a regular, and the barista started mixing her drink before she could even fish out her wallet. Condensation on the side of the plastic cup collected at her fingertips, leaving a wet smudge on the door as she exited, her sneakered shoes guiding her in the direction of a statue, faithfully waiting for his master that will never come.

Shiki takes a seat behind Hachiko, and looks down at her watch. 19:01. She chuckles, she’s a minute late. She pops an earbud in her ear, and rests her right hand, palm up, on the side of the seat next to her, and waits. She takes another sip of her drink, licking her lips, savoring the overly sweet beverage on the verge of crystallization.

A couple walks by talking about dinner plans, and a group of female students discussing Prince’s recent social media posts pass by as well. A shiba stops in front of her, tilting its head to the side for a brief moment, almost as if he sees something that others can’t, before his owner tugs him along.

Her breath catches and she waits for a split second before she feels a slight shift in the wind around her, an even lighter pressure on her palm. She exhaled, relishing the feel of the spaces between her fingers filling, and she smiled.

“So, I had another productive meeting today....”

She speaks for about an hour into the wind about how her day went, what her last conversation with Eri was like, even about her new not inanimate pet, Mrs. Mew. From afar, most people think she’s talking to herself, those closer assume she’s on the phone. Little do they know that they are both wrong, but that hasn’t stopped her from coming to Hachiko everyday, and speaking into the void as if she’s carrying on a conversation with a long lost friend.

She’s not exactly sure when she started doing this, but it became her way of, well, grieving. After a couple months of blissful dating, getting to know one another outside the confines of a death game, she had sort of … fallen in love.

Only for that love to be suddenly ripped from her with nothing left but a note, from a not so helpful composer. The first couple of days were devastating, she didn’t leave her bed, she wouldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. The weeks thereafter weren’t much better. Eri, and Rhyme were constantly by her side, making sure she didn’t end up in the hospital for malnuritionment. Beat showed up soon after to smack some sense into her, mostly figuratively.

Beat slammed open her bedroom door, Eri and Rhyme trailing behind yelling at him to calm down. His usual sympathetic expression was replaced with one of impatience and frustration.

“Shiki, enough of this. Get up and go eat somethin’!”

An empty gaze was his only response. He growled, stomping into her room and ripped open the curtains, beams of sunlight showering her floor, her bed, her listless face. In the light he could see that she lost a significant amount of weight in such a short period of time. She was already lean before, now her face began to look sunken in from the starvation and constant darkness. Beat suddenly felt another overwhelming wave of emotion sweep over him.

“This is ridiculous, girl, ya can’t keep goin’ like this or you’ll…” He choked up; he didn’t complete his thought; he just couldn’t. Rhyme and Eri lunged forward to try and hold back the blonde as he grabbed Shiki by the front of her shirt, pulling their faces closer, glaring at her with an intensity he didn’t think he would ever use on her.

Her world shook as droplets fell onto Shiki’s glasses. She could feel Beat shaking from his grasp, his usually clear cerulean eyes were stormy, almost like the sky had broken. A lump formed in her throat. She forgot through her heartbreak that other people might also feel the same pain she was feeling. Sure, she was his first partner, but Beat was also his partner too.

For a tense moment nobody moved, Beat stared into Shiki’s eyes hoping to get his message across wordlessly, Eri and Rhyme holding onto Beat on both sides to restrain him. She had every right to grieve and her pain was more than he could ever imagine, but Beat needed her to know that she wasn’t alone, and that he was there for her, if she would let him. He couldn’t afford to lose her before he got the chance to save him.

Ever so slowly, Shiki moved her one hand over Beat’s. She grabbed a fistful of his jersey in her other hand. For that excruciating week, she went from feeling anxious and depressed to just numb. Now she felt relieved that there was someone else who understood this persistent gnawing ache in her chest. Brotherly simpleton Beat wasn’t being sympathetic to her heartache, but rather empathetic in her mourning.

Her face started to prickle, as the wells that had dried up started to free fall again. She moved to grab Beat, nestling her head into his chest and just … cried. He rested his large hand on her head and hugged her tightly, supporting each other in this moment of catharsis. They stayed like that until Shiki passed out again.

When she came too, Beat, Eri and Rhyme stayed with her that day to make sure she consumed something.

Sometime in the afternoon, Eri decided to attack Beat to get some measurements for a pants design. Big muscular Beat hiding behind tiny Rhyme who was doing little to nothing to protect her older brother from the teen designer wielding a measuring tape going too close for comfort to his ... particular body parts. Shiki graced them all with a smile none of them saw in days.

Big brother Beat decided to have all his meals with her that day forward. Eri said that she could handle this, and found him to be a nuisance, but he didn’t care. Slowly Shiki’s appetite and strength returned, more places ventured outward, even the whirling of her bobbins clicking could be heard throughout the house.

Everytime she had a relapse, a brief moment of chest-tightening, her breath catching, she’d reach out and Beat would be there, embracing her until the panic attack subsided.

With her good days and her bad days, Shiki decided to go back to school after taking a month of absence. Eri got her back into the sewing club, pelting her with designs to keep her busy. The distraction was helpful, almost becoming necessary.

Sometimes she’d go to the skate park, sitting on the bench watching Beat and Rhyme do ollies in front of a setting sun. She would sketch out pieces inspired by the skaters, a little black cat signature adorning each one. Rhyme uploaded some of her designs and completed outfits on a popular social media platform, and named it Gatto Nero with her permission. Sooner than later, Shiki had a following of over one thousand, then five, then over ten approaching twenty. It also helped that her best friend was an influencer and modeled everything Shiki made.

Before anyone knew it, Shiki was approached by the founder of Jupiter of the Monkey, who was impressed by her work, and offered her an intern position while she was still in school. With more tasks to keep her busy, everyday slipped by faster and faster, and the relapses became more infrequent.

A year had passed since his disappearance, and Shiki never really forgot, more so distracted herself with other things to keep her busy on a day like today. After classes, Shiki would go to her internship to work on a couple of assignments and with her last meeting with her supervisor over, she headed out to catch the train home.

She slowed her pace down when she passed the 104 building, mindlessly loitering near the window displays to check out the trends. The Scramble Crossing was busy as usual, and she found herself wandering closer and closer to the statue of Hachiko.

Shiki stared at the bronze canine, her mind drifting to the promise she made quite a long time ago. Realizing she wasn’t in a rush to go home anyway, she took a seat behind the statue.

“Well Neku,” she hesitated, having not uttered his name in almost a year, “it looks like I didn’t keep my promise to be here everyday waiting for you to come back.”

“I-I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.” She could feel her anxiety bubble in her throat, like digging at a wound that had scabbed over and was threatening to bleed out again. Thinking of him was painful, but she realized then that they did have a lot of memories, wonderful, happy memories that she had forgotten in her grief. Memories that were hers to hold onto for as long as she wanted them. Shiki could feel her heartbeat slowing down, the tension in her body subsiding ever so slightly.

“I hope that you’re alright somewhere out there,” she said into the open space in front of her, “I-I miss you.”

Just then a slight touch graced her hands on her lap, but when she looked up, no one was there. The ticking of the crosswalk signs, the pattering of shoes on asphalt, and the shouts of last minute sales continued on as if time and sound hadn’t stopped for a moment. Not exactly sure what she was doing, Shiki raised her hand out in front of her, and a second later, she felt a resistance, an air of familiarity filling the spaces between her fingers effortlessly.

Shiki jumped up in surprise, her bag holding Mr. Mew clattering to the floor before whispering, “...Neku?”

An invisible thumb tapped the back of her hand lightly. She couldn’t hear him, she couldn’t see him, but she could feel him. He was probably in the UG, but for some reason, she could tell he was standing right in front of her.

She sobbed, “Is that really you ---?”

“Shiki! Why ya cryin’? What happened, yo?”

The connection was lost as Beat skated up to her, visibly concerned, looking for some clue as to why his best friend was crying in public. He pulled out a crumpled cloth handkerchief from his back pocket, a gift from Rhyme that came in handy more times than he thought it would.

Shiki continued to stare at the open space, trying to make sense of what had just happened, grasping for what she thought was remnants of a lost love, but the sensation was gone. Whatever was there, it wasn’t there anymore. Even if he was in the game, she shouldn’t have been able to touch anything in the UG. Her mind raced with different jumbled thoughts. What was that? How did that happen? Why now?

“Earth to Shiki!” Beat waved his hand in front of her, successfully snapping her out of her trance.

She looked at him, accepted the handkerchief and dried her tears. Whatever that was, talking about it would only land her another session at the doctor's office. She knew Beat would believe her, but after her long painful year of recovery that he had witnessed, she doubted he would be open to the thought of dredging that wound up again.

Shiki didn’t trust her words, so instead she reached over and hugged him. Without hesitation, Beat returned the gesture. When her sobs had subsided, he gently asked, “let’s bounce?”

In an overprotective brotherly way, he kept his arm around her shoulders after retrieving her bag from the floor.

“Yeah.”

The next morning, Shiki found the day dragging on. She was on autopilot at school, and her assignments at her internship were more clerical in nature, requiring very little brain power. Anything not immediately due would be tomorrow’s problem.

She rushed out of the office building, crossed the scramble and stopped in front of the metal statue. Shiki held her breath as she sat down exactly where she was yesterday. Her muscles tensed as she inhaled deeply.

“So I might be losing my mind, and everyone will think I’m crazy but if you are here, if-if you’re really still here, I’d want you to know that … I miss you Neku.”

For an agonising moment, nothing happened. She wasn’t really sure what she was hoping for. Was everything yesterday just her imagination? Was she just feeling sentimental and willed the tactile sensation into reality?

After a couple more minutes of fruitless imagination, Shiki was about to give up and leave when she felt something, no, someone, grab her hand. Frightened at the sudden contact, Shiki looked down to see that nothing was there, just the fortune lines on her open palm and her silver pinky ring. Yet someone was there, holding her hand in a way she hadn’t felt in so long. She smiled as her eyes began to water.

“It’s you isn’t it.” She said more confidently, though she felt nothing of the sort. A light tap on the back of her hand was her only affirmation.

“I have so many questions for you, but I’ll save them for when you get back. The only one I need to ask is w-will you be back?” She tentatively prodded the air metaphorically, hoping she hadn’t pressed her luck. Another light tap had her smiling once more.

“Beat’s going to kill you if you ever make it out of the UG. Rhyme’s not going to stop him. Eri hates your guts for leaving me.” She chuckled at that. She felt her hand move slightly, almost as if he sat down next to her. He brushed his unseen thumb over her knuckles.

A couple of people passing by looked at Shiki as if she wasn’t having a completely one sided conversation with herself in broad daylight. She honestly couldn’t care less. She rambled on about random things, hoping to catch him up on the entire year he had missed, only the good things because she wasn’t quite ready to talk about the bad ones. She would have continued well into the night if her phone hadn’t rang.

“Girl, why you don pick up ya phone? I’ve been tryin’ to reach ya for hours!” Beat shouted so loudly into her phone she had to remove it from her ear.

“Shiki, where are you?” the smaller girl gently inquired, seemingly having pulled her brother’s phone away from him before he crushed it, “he was about to call the police if you didn’t pick up.”

She could still feel their hands interlocked, but reluctantly replied, “I’m at Hachiko, Rhyme. Tell Beat I’ll text when I leave and get home.”

“Beat wait -- , nevermind he just left. We’ll come pick you up. Just stay there. See you soon!” The phone line clicked.

Shiki sighed, “Beat and Rhyme are coming to get me. It won’t be long before they show up.” She paused, wondering if she could ask what has been on her mind, if the fates were on her side today.

“I’ll promise to be here, everyday, waiting for you to get back to the RG. Until then, can you promise to meet me here, everyday, until I can see you again?” She knew this went against the rules of the game, but the game had dictated her happiness for long enough. If there was any chance of being with him, invisible or otherwise, she would take it.

Her hand moved again, this time their fingers separated, but not completely. His pinky finger wrapped around her silver ring, the same one she wore during the first game, and a new promise was made as they gently shook on it.

And then he was gone. Her hand tingled from the absence of his light touch. She thought she could see faint sparkles from where she presumed he had been sitting. When the Bito siblings found her shortly after, her dazed expression had them both worried, but then a genuine smile broke out on her face as she proposed they go have a light dinner before heading home. Rhyme and Beat looked at each other, communicating through their eyes that they had no idea what had happened, but were glad Shiki’s original spark had finally showed up all the same.

That had been two years ago, and everyday of those two years Shiki spent pretending to talk to someone on the phone instead of an apparition. Everyday for two years of updating his shadow on her daily life routine and not being able to ask him how his day went. This arrangement wasn’t perfect, but just knowing that he was alive, even if they were on separate planes, meant that there was hope she would see him again. Even as the weeks went to months, and months went to years, everyday, he would faithfully show up, and they would hold hands just to exist together behind the symbol of loyalty and patience.

“Tomorrow’s my big collaboration presentation to the executives of Jupiter. Eri and Rhyme are going to be there. We could honestly all use the distraction after what happened with Beat. Please look out for him in the UG? Times like this I really wonder what’s going on with the game now and how many people I have to lose to it before it’s satisfied…”

About two weeks ago, Beat magically disappeared. Shiki was going to his classroom to invite him to lunch with her and Eri when she saw a student in his class hand Beat a pin of some sort. They were trending for a while now, but they reminded Shiki too much of the game to want one for herself. Trauma, bad luck, she wasn’t really sure, but she wanted no part in it.

When the student handed it to Beat though, he vanished into thin air. She dropped her bento and unceremoniously ran into the classroom. Shiki demanded what just happened, when Beat’s classmate just looked at her, his eyes dilated for a second, returned back to normal, and looked surprised. She again pressed on for an answer, to which the student had no idea who or what she was talking about.

It was almost as if Beat’s entire existence was … erased. When she realized that she wasn’t getting anywhere, she ran to the first year classrooms and shouted for Rhyme. Shiki couldn’t imagine why this was happening again. She finally was able to talk to Neku again and now her pseudo brother, Beat, was missing.

Despite the inner turmoil she was feeling, Shiki had enough sense that day to ask Neku if he’d seen or heard from Beat. It was difficult to communicate when the only responses she got were taps on her hand but she managed to find out that Beat was indeed in the UG, even if Neku hadn’t seen him personally yet. Rhyme had a look in her eyes, almost as if she was looking beyond the plane of the RG and was preparing her next move. Rhyme said not to worry, she was going to track down her brother down one way or another.

For the past two weeks, Shiki had a few depressive relapses. Even though she had her coping mechanisms, her rock was gone. Rhyme was working on her military grade computer system to find Beat in the UG, and Eri helped keep her distracted with work. But it wasn’t the same. It helped that Neku was there for her everyday though, like today.

“Well that's all I have for now. Please keep on eye out for the skaterbrain, and wish me luck on my presentation,” she felt a tap on the back of her hand, “till tomorrow.”

As predicted, Shiki was a ball of nerves during her presentation, but she warmed up at least a quarter way through. It helped that she knew most of the execs from her internship days at Jupiter, and were impressed with her work. The collaboration looked promising for the coming days. Eri and Rhyme, both of her founding Gatto Nero board members, ushered her to leave for her date while they settled some details, promising to meet up with her afterward. She felt like she was on top of the world after that meeting, and was bouncing happily to the coffee shop to grab her customary celebratory drink before heading to Hachiko.

What she saw standing behind the statue made her drop her drink and had her flying across the scramble. She barreled into the boy, causing his headphones to fall into his hood. He took a step back to steady them both before bringing his arms around her.

“Hey Shik’s, did ya miss me tha much?” the blond boy flashed a mischievous grin.

“You idiot! I’m so mad at you! I’m going to sew your feet to the ground if you ever do that again!” Shiki screamed at him, throwing fists into his lean chest to demonstrate how mad she really wasn’t.

“Gah girl, when did ya get so strong?” Beat shrieked, trying to hug her again to stop her from hitting him.

“I missed ya too, now stop hittin’ me yo!” She pouted as she squeezed him tight. She had gotten so used to his hugs, she really missed them.

“I got a surprise fo ya.” He pulled away from her so she could see who was behind him.

She stopped breathing. It was like her lungs and heart decided to shut down at the same time, leaving her body to scramble on how to save the rest of her. Her hands tingled from the lack of oxygen as she stared at his face, the one that had matured, but never really changed after three years. He sported his boyish smile, not hidden behind a collar, the ones she admittedly had forgotten about but made her stomach flutter all the same.

“Hey Stalker.”

She could tell that he was nervous, the same nervous energy he had when they started dating years ago. Shiki had dreamed about what their reunion would be like, what she would do when it happened, what she imagined he would say. It wasn’t that, and she wanted to punch him for it if she could just MOVE.

But she felt paralyzed, and he was getting even more nervous from the silent treatment. There were a couple of people she didn’t recognize around them, but all she saw was Neku.

Growing impatient, Beat slapped Neku on the back so hard he fell forward, catching his balance before he could fall into Shiki. When he was close enough she reached out and grabbed his hand, with all the familiarity she had gotten used to for two years. Then he tenderly touched her face, wiping away her tears.

“I’m home.” He said gently.

She managed to mutter, “welcome home,” before he sealed his promise with a kiss she had been waiting too long to return.

OMAKE

“Phones get a room bro! We got kids ‘ere!”

“Yeah Neku-san get some!”

“We aren’t that much younger than you”

“I believe that I am older than all of you. And with that I bid you all farewell as I am in jeopardy of major spoilers. I must get the new EleStra DLC immediately!”

“Boss, wait, we got to celebrate our victory, come back!”

Notes: Full disclaimer, I haven’t finished TWEWY NEO yet, I’m starting the third week now. I’ve spoiled myself, so I sort of know what happens, but a lot of what I do know is out of context. So take this story as you will, it might not make a whole lot of sense, and might be completely off, but I’m excited that when I do finish the game, how my headcannons will have matched up! Or don’t!

That also being said, I starved myself from reading other fanfics on the Neshiki reunion because I didn’t want it to unintentionally change my headcannon and I also wanted to write without feeling like I was copying someone else’s ideas. If my story is similar to someone else’s, it’s purely because great minds think alike. An example of convergent evolution if you will. (I will be devouring those fics very soon though).

Notes regarding the story-wise: I like found family tropes, and I wanted to make it clear that Beat and Shiki’s relationship are purely brother/sister related if I haven’t already. If you have other shipping goggles on, have at it in this judgement free zone. This story was inspired by this idea I had of Shiki sitting behind Hachiko holding hands (I love hand holding. I wrote two other fanfics about that) with Neku, who is transparent being in the UG, just smiling at her while she talks about her day even though she can’t see him. The miracles of love and friendship traverse all planes right?

Anyway, if you’ve read this far, thanks for listening to my Ted Talk and I hope you enjoyed this Neshiki food I’ve haphazardly prepared in like 7 hours.

[senadimell]

Fic writer tag game thing

I was tagged to do this by @rockymountainrattlesnake--you rock!

How many works do you have on a03?

5 at the moment. Someday I will finish the Martha Jones character study I’m working on...

What’s your total a03 word count?

107,733 officially, but one of those is an exerpt taken from a longer fic, which puts me at 105,782, and then we’d need to subtract out the poetry exerpts in Promises, so...

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

HA.

But I have Promises to Keep

The World in Ten Seconds

Growing Where Planted

Suspended Between Moments

Black and White are Also Colors

The order seems very logical.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Pretty much always. Sometimes I forget and write back months later, but I get really enthusiastic when people like my work (I swear I will answer my inbox soon!) Most of my stuff involves some degree of character analysis, so I enjoy continuing that discussion in the comments. (And compliments make my day, not gonna lie.)

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

That would be The World in Ten Seconds, I think. Looking at my work (published and unpublished), it’s a lot easier to be angsty when I’m doing an analysis-focused piece, because those tend to be snapshots in time. Narrative stories tend to end on a more hopeful note.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

But I Have Promises to Keep by virtue of being finished. It’s not totally happy, but there’s a lot of catharsis in there.

Do you write crossovers? if so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Yes because my brain connects dots fast enough to make even a kangaroo court cringe. However, I haven’t published/finished any. I do have a Discworld/Doctor Who piece that’s a meditation on death, survivors, and moving on. The title will involve the word “Grandfathers.”

Then of course there’s the Q/Master epic enemies-to-lovers that I don’t have the guts to write.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No! Very grateful for that. There was one awkward incident involving a commenter shaming non-commenters, but that’s behind us now.

Do you write smut? if so, what kind?

Nope.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? 

Not that I know of...? Seems unlikely TBH

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

well...there was that one Eragon set-in-Alegaesia OC epistolary back in high school...

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

hm hm hm hm. So I’ve found that I really like very very close platonic intimacy, except that sometimes looks like “you are the most important person in my life and I would die for you but we haven’t put a name to this thing we have and we don’t really kiss etc. but we might hold hands/cuddle/whatever and it doesn’t mean anything and I know random mundane things about you like your shoe size or soda preference (did I mention I would die for you?)” which sounds kind of like shipping? 

So I’d have to say Nine/Rose or angsty Ten/Rose, with an emphasis on healing (see: RockyMountainRattlesnake’s Polyergus, A Wretched Ark, Terminarch, V762CAS’s Than All the Blue in the World).

I usually stick more or less with canon in most fandoms--if it’s not there, I don’t/can’t imagine it happening since romance is kind of weird and foreign to me. I tend to go for established relationships rather than “will-they-won’t they” stuff (Tevye/Golde, Vimes/Sybil etc. Though if we’re going musicals, I do actually like Elphaba/Fiero. I’ve never read anything about it, though.)

OH! I forgot! I don’t know if this counts, but I’m obsessed with sixbeforelunch’s Vulcan OCs, T'Lin and Veral, in the Pi’maat series.

Also the very specific way Erik/Christine works in Antiquarianne’s Phantom of the Opera piece The Sum of Earthly Happiness.

What’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish the Grandfathers piece...it’s Discworld-primary from a stylistic perspective, and uh...I am not Terry Pratchett. I want to finish it, but I’ve got to be in the zone (reading a lot of Discworld stuff to get a feel for the style) and have SO MUCH PATIENCE because mimicking him is like writing poetry, if poetry was an accepted form of forced confession to be read for ridicule on live TV.

What are your writing strengths?

Purple prose.

yes i know that’s not supposed to be a compliment

.

Seriously, though I do tend to wax fruity in my writing, and I have a lot of fun with it. I think I’m also pretty good at writing conversations and arguments.

What are your writing weaknesses?

hehehehe

kill your darlings.

Editing? Who is she?

Which is funny, because I also do that stupid thing where getting words-on-paper is more painful than drawing a fishhook out of the fish’s throat when it’s mangled deep in the flesh. Is it perfectionism? I don’t know. Not in the anxious sense, certainly, because I can’t be chuffed to do a line edit before publishing. It’s more like I have two modes:

“Susan mad Grandfather confused insert Wrinkle In Time reference exept Uriel weird out of context IT vs keys of Marius brains fight”

or

“He’d known what Jackie was going to pull before Rose even passed on the invite, and he went and acted like Rose’d saddled him with an old ticket stub fished from her pocket. Trifling. Something you tossed in the first bin you saw.   You think pretending it was only ever ‘her choice’ will wash away the guilt when you finally kill her?

That and...actually writing. Lost my mojo a while back and haven’t been able to get back into a routine since. Balancing life stuff and creative hobbies is a work in progress.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think I generally would limit it to well-known exclamations or phrases for the most part. I’m familiar enough to use some Mandarin and not utterly fail, but I know I don’t have the rhythm or grace of a native speaker and it’s not something I have in mind to pursue right now.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Hm. Fortunately that is all tucked away in hand-written notebooks before I got perfection-scared off of writing past the 7th grade. I’ve been doing the whole fanfiction in my head consciously since 2nd grade, but the first stuff I think I wrote down was either Snape stuff or Eragon/Alagaesia stuff. Not exactly worldshaking.

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

The World in Ten Seconds! Gah, I’m so proud of that thing. Also I really adore Black and White are Also Colors, though some of my favorite bits aren’t published yet. That one’s a lot more idiosyncratic...a lot of infodumping about color and language and ideas in translation. I’ll probably get the next chapter of that up before I’m able to start working on Growing Where Planted.

Tagging (feel free to answer or not as you have desire or energy--also I’m sorry if I have misremembered your fic-writing tendencies or lack thereof) @pazithigallifreya​ @phoenixrisesoncemore​  @forever-food-and-fandoms​@loupettes @elialys  @onlycosmere​

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E92 (Jan. 28, 2020)

This week’s guests are Laura Bailey and Marisha Ray!

Announcements: At 4 PM Pacific on February 4, season 2 of All Work No Play premieres! Pre-sale tickets for autographs and photo ops for C2E2 are available now via Epic Photo Ops! Lots of “super-secret but majorly exciting announcements” to come this week on the website!

Episode 92: Home Is Where the Heart Is

Stats for this episode: it has been 69 episodes, 6 levels, and 212 Exandrian days since the Nein last saw the reformed bandits. The Nein haven’t killed anyone since episode 86, a campaign 2 record (Laura: “I know, I’m aching!”). Jester cast her 50th Guidance spell this episode (on herself), and it’s been 50 Exandrian days since the Nein last partook of a bottle of Lionett wine together in Trostenwald.

On initial expectations vs. reality for their characters’ fathers: Laura: “I had no notion of what he was going to be. I literally wrote that he wooed my mom, that he wore lots of rings on his fingers, and that he went off to get his place ready to come meet him, and that was all.” She notes that she knew Jester was half-water genasi, but she wasn’t there the first time they met the Gentleman to ask any leading questions. Marisha: “I had this struggling panic for a while. I didn’t know how he was going to play him. There was a strong possibility in my head that my parents were great, and were just like, ‘We were trying so hard, we’re so sorry.’ It was pretty crazy the way he actually played it. And it did feel like, he sucks, yeah, okay, no.”

On Fjord’s heart-to-heart with Beau: “I felt like Beau and Fjord had good pirate-ship bonding time. It’s been a bit since Beau and Fjord checked in, so that was a cool Fjord-Beau moment that was nice to have, like, we’re still bros, it’s great.”

Jester just wanted to make Beau feel better, especially as she realized that she’d been a little oblivious in cheering about how great her dad was: “It was so crazy, the minute we got there and you reverted back to the initial Beau, the first Beau that we met, and then even further past that. It just killed Jester to see that.” Marisha notes that the moment when Jester pulled Beau aside, she was about to lose it: “I tried to work Beau in a direction of growth, and getting to a point where she’s not angry and snappy and just fucking lashing out at people. So Beau’s going to try to keep her cool, and then I was literally sucking in the air, and you were like, ‘Come here,’ and that was just enough to get the reset button and the calm. She’s not in a place to forgive her parents, but Jester talking about the poison of holding on to all of that was kind of what, I was like, okay. I can use this in that moment to not have to make it about forgiving my parents right now, or ever, but to be able to start to heal and separate from that and that past. And for Beau to forgive herself.” Laura, after the game, was worried that it came across as Jester trying to get Beau to forgive her dad, and Beau notes that not seeing even a fraction of the effort the Gentleman has put forward kind of wiped that possibility out.

Beau’s grown a lot since she was last home. “The Mighty Nein has helped Beau trust in other people around her and come out of her shell and learn how to control her outbursts and her blaming other people and her anger. That’s so far from the Beau that was in that house.” Marisha was actually startled at herself when Beau snapped at Nott over the horse. “It was immediately all those bad thoughts were coming back, so it felt like Beau was on the verge of reverting.” Laura: “Nothing makes you fucking regress to your childhood mannerisms and behaviors faster than going home.”

Jester believes that “love is stronger than anything else”. She knows her parents still love each other, so “any of those other crazy things, they can work through.”

On whether Beau’s dad is really worried about her: “I think he cares to the extent that anyone cares about anyone’s general safety. I think he’s concerned about himself first, and what he has, and then I think he’s concerned about Beau next, after that. But I don’t know, maybe I’m being incredibly harsh. But there is, to this point, that element of what’s the twist.” Laura notes that she got a really high insight check on Beau’s dad. “There’s a reason that I was like, maybe give him open ears” at that moment.

Cosplay of the Week: a very detailed Molly! (GalacticLeah, photo by Fricbergsean)

On potentially leaving the Lionetts destitute if they destroy the hag, Laura and Marisha say, in unison: “Fuck the Lionetts.” They note that they’ve got the resources to make sure T.J. will be fine, and that’s all that really matters.

Has Jester forgiven her father? “I don’t think Jester’s angry at him. She’s very empathetic. She’s very good at going, okay, I see it from your side. And I think she was afraid more that something bad had happened to him. Obviously, if he could have returned, he would have, because he loved her mother so much. So I don’t think she’s angry at him. I don’t think, necessarily, she doesn’t think he’s perfect, but she’s making the best of the situation. I think she’s just happy that he’s around. Make up for lost time.”

Brian asks about how different it is to be supportive of each other and exploring backstories in this campaign versus with the last campaign’s more archetypal characters. Marisha: “It feels like the campaign has been very muddy and not black-and-white. The same for every person’s individual backstory issues.” She notes that there’s a lot more ambiguity. Laura: “Vex wasn’t empathetic. She was sympathetic sometimes, but sometimes when Keyleth was going through something, Vex was like, come on, get your shit together.” Brian notes just how different everyone’s characters are this time around. “It’s awesome!”

Laura notes that TJ ran up to Beau and called her sister, which means that they’ve been talking about her consistently for him to recognize her. “So there is a level there.” Marisha notes that Beau has very mixed feelings about her mom, too. “She’d never offer support, or want to challenge Thoreau.” So now she’s wondering if her mom has been quietly talking her up to TJ, or if it’s both of them. 

Fan Art of the week: Beau and TJ! (by ItsMalenyLopez)

Jester’s perspective on the Gentleman’s partners: “You can sleep with people, but don’t form a fucking relationship with them. That’s the difference.”

Marisha, on working with difficult topics on the show: “The audience goes away in the moment. Yes, it’s hard, yes, it’s cathartic, and yes, it’s something on a whole other level. It’s why roleplaying games are so fucking awesome, because they allow you to do that.” Marisha notes that she has a great relationship with her own parents, but getting to explore is interesting. “It’s hard to describe.” Laura: “There’s a safety there, to be able to dive into these places.” Marisha: “With all of these issues, these issues are skinned, but the root of them are often very relatable issues that everyone goes through. So there is a certain amount of catharsis to that. So while I personally had a good relationship with my parents, I’m accustomed to feeling shut out, feeling misunderstood, going through psychological abuse, all of those things. And, of course, everyone knows someone who has probably experienced those things first-hand, so you can get a sense of understanding in some ways, but there’s layers of everything that you’re doing that can totally think back to things that were from your life.” Laura: “I think that RPGs are so great for just humanity in general, because it really makes you see things from another person’s perspective.” Marisha: “It takes time. I don’t recommend anybody try to do something like this out of the gate with your first game.” Laura: “No, I mean, we’ve been playing this game together as a family now for eight years. And we’re just now getting to stuff like this. All that time of building trust and being able to know, okay, if I go to these levels, I’m going to have the support of the people around me.” Marisha: “The whole thing is a trust fall.”

Jester’s opinion on the M9′s worry about the Traveler’s cultishness? “Well-meaning but paranoid.” Before leaving the Lavish Chateau, she barely told anyone about the Traveler, and they all just accepted him as her imaginary friend. “She knows he’s godly. She knows how powerful he is. There is a little bit of ‘Oh, that’s weird,’ seeing how other gods deal with their... constituents?” Laura notes that she has absolutely no idea what Traveler-Con is going to be like.

Beau has always been aware that her tattoo has the jade/tarot connections with her father as well. “That’s why Beau was so salty with Molly when he was trying to tell fortunes from the beginning. It’s all layered. Didn’t intend for it, but jade just happened to be the one that boosts wisdom.”

Marisha and Laura both note that defeating more traditional enemies can be easily resolved in a way that can be used to block out the things that are really bothering you. Family issues, on the other hand, usually don’t have a simple resolution.

[propertyofwicked]

Your a-z s are so good!! Omg you’re so talented☺️ could you possibly do one for George? We would all love that💕

thank you anons for these requests. im quite busy atm so im sorry if other requests take a while and thank you for being patient with me.

a-z of dating george mackay

a - argue

neither you or george are shouters, instead you go very quiet when something goes wrong or upsets either one of you. george would huff and mumble, until one of you grew the balls to talk through the issue. you’d be sat on the sofa and he’d just come and sit facing you, taking your hands in his and press his lips to them softly. this was his way of saying he was ready to talk.

b - body (his favourite body part of yours)

george loves your lips and your cheeks. he loves watching you talk, how your mouth moves and he loves how effortlessly your voice tumbles out. he loves how your smile grows when you laugh, small dimples forming in your cheeks - it was enough to make him smile with you. he loves to kiss your lips and your cheeks. whether it was a quick peck here and there or when he’d push you up against a wall and kiss you till you couldn’t breathe. he loved to kiss your lips till they went redder and more plump. 

c - care (caring for each other when you’re sick)

when george is ill, he pulls you back into bed anytime you get up, claiming he’s cold and needs your body warmth. whilst you’d comply, you also had stuff you needed to get on with. so you’d sit next to his sleeping figure, trying to quietly type on your laptop or write into your notebook. when you’re ill, george waits on you all day. he’d constantly ask if you needed a drink or food and if you’re being sick, he’ll follow you to the bathroom and hold your hair back. he’d gently rub small circles into your back and carry you back to your bed, when you were too weak to walk alone.

d - dates (what do you guys do?)

being an actor, george loves to take you to the cinema to watch new films that he’d seen about, or heard about at awards nights. sometimes, you’d go and see films that his friends or previous co-workers were in. you’d share popcorn and he’d let you rest your head on his shoulder whilst his arm was wrapped around your shoulders. afterwards, you’d maybe go out for dinner or to a coffee shop, and he’d love to have a discussion with you about the film, what you liked and didn’t, the directing, filming, acting. by the end of the evening, the entire film would’ve been deeply analysed by the two of you and you’d have it no other way.

e - engagements (how he proposed) 

he’d take you out to dinner, to celebrate your birthday or anniversary, and after the meal, you’d take a walk back to your flat or the car. but, then he’d take a diversion and say he just wanted to show you something. next thing you know, you’re standing on the rooftop of the cafe you met, staring up at the stars. whilst you were looking away, he’d get down on his knee and then cough slightly to gain your attention. he had planned a small little speech, which went the window the moment you turned around. he tells you how much he loves you, what he loves about you, what he sees in the future for you two, and you can’t help but say yes. 

f - friends and family (do they like you/him?)

george’s family were initially weary of your relationship. not because they didn’t like you, but because of how long george spent away from home working. they feared you would both end up ending it soon because you couldn’t cope. as soon as they met you, however, they saw how relaxed george was - different to his typically stressed exterior. when he was away, his mum invited you round for dinner, and his sister was similar in age, so you had a lot in common.

your family feared he would be a distraction from your studies, but once they saw your relationship thriving, they had no fears. your dad liked that he was politically aware and into football, whilst your mum liked the fact he was active in feminism (#pussypower)

g - gifts

when george went away for filming, he’d bring you home stuff. they could be really simple, such as local delicacies or fridge magnets. something simple, that was a small reminder of him every time you opened the fridge. 

h - how you met

you met in a cafe. you were sat in the corner, typing away at a script you were working on, nothing official just something that kept you occupied. he happened to take the table next to you and notice you furiously typing away your ideas, jotting down notes in the book next to you. he stood up and walked over to you. 

“um, hi. i’m george.”

“hi?”

he told you about him being an actor, asked what you were working on and then asked to read. he complimented your work, and you gave him your number to “keep him updated and ask for advice”. he made a habit of going back to the cafe every day that he could, just to see you. he’d take a seat opposite you and didn’t mind when the two of you sat in silence. 

i - intimacy (how often are yall getting down)

oh that man may seem innocent, but he will take you any time, any where. when he came home, the first thing he’d do is take you to your bedroom. he’d go slow savouring the moment - similar to how he would be the night before he had to leave. and the morning. and maybe before he got in the taxi. and then maybe he’d send you some suggestive texts. he lead you to toilets at awards shows for a quickie, or just lay you down on the sofa and go to town. 

j - jealousy

when you come to set, some of his male co workers got a little bit close. when you were gone, they’d make jokes to george - he laugh outwardly but inside he was seething. it was easy to feel jealous of people you interacted with when he was away, much as it was for you to be of him working with loads of people, that his character was physically intimate with. however, it didn’t take much for either of you to remind the other of your love ;)

k - kinks

idk if this is a kink but hickies. george loves to litter your neck, chest, stomach and inner thighs with small bruises. he loves seeing a quick flash of the marks whenever your shirt rides up, or your towel exposes a few. he very much loves to mark his territory, as much as likes to see marks you’ve left on him. 

l - long distance

a lot of your relationship had been spent long distance, with him working away for 1917 and then the history of the ned kelly gang. every night, you facetimed, till one of you fell asleep, but you’d mostly just do your usual evening routine, just hundreds of miles apart. you’d cook your dinner at the same time, shower, and then sleep. it felt as if you were together, just through a screen. you were obviously limited to what you could do but there was many things you could do to replace what was physically missing. it didn’t take a massive toll on your relationship, but george found it really hard to see you struggling and knowing he couldn’t be there to help - and vice versa. 

m - moving in

george asked you to move in, over facetime, whilst he was away filming 1917. he said he wanted to come home to your face every evening, and his flat wouldn’t feel like home without you there. his flat was closer to your uni/work place as it was, so even though you were quite early on into your relationship, it was ideal. whilst he was away, you kept the flat in order every time george came home, he damn near welled up at the thought of you being there waiting for him, in difference to the usual cold, empty flat. 

n - nights out 

being a student, you went out a lot with your friends. often when george was away, so he’d be delighted to wake up to barely legible texts from you. when he was home, however, the two of you found yourself going to a local pub with dean and some of your other friends and taking part in the pub quiz or darts. sometimes you’d just watch the game that was on.

o - open with each other

initially, you both found it hard to talk to each other, but as all good people do, he had a catharsis. he broke down, relaying all his stresses onto you, to which you comforted him and talked him through it. he can sense when your bottling it up, and even though you’re not massively open with him naturally, he knows when to ask you to talk, and you do, knowing he will be there to support you.

p - pda

george isn’t a massive fan of pda, but he would hold your hand when you walk through town, and when you accompanied him to award shows, his hand would be firmly stationed on your lower back, his fingers rubbing small circles. he’d press soft, small pecks onto your cheek, or your forehead or sometimes, just the simplest act of raising your hand and kissing your knuckles softly would be enough to comfort you. 

q - questions (what you talk about late at night?)

you talk about your day usually. it’ll start of as being, “i cant sleep” which will then turn into either one of you starting to talk about something funny that happened or just an overview of how your day went. this would go on until you managed to fall asleep, you soft breathing lulling george into his own sleep.

r - reproduction (do you want kids?)

george wants kids, in fact he definitely has notes on his phone of baby names that he wants to bring up with you. however, he respects your decisions and only wants what you want. he lives by “her body, her decision” but it is something he will ask you one night, casually. to which you respond however you feel.

s - surprising (what surprised you about him)

he loves to dance. if a song is playing in the background or on the radio, he’ll stand up and dance. in the kitchen, he’ll take a wooden spoon and sing into it. then take your hand and twirl you around. he loves to slow dance with you under the stars and he loves to rock out with you, with air guitars and all.

t - together (what you do together)

as said before, you watch a lot of films and programmes together. you also write a lot together, carpooling ideas into scripts or stories. his imagination is phenomenal. sometimes, you’d go on road trips, and he’d have control of the aux. he’d play songs to you, to see if you knew them, and he’d serenade you with ABBA non stop. anything you did was made 10x better when you did it together.

u - under the influence (drunk vibes)

drunk george is the softest man alive. he just wants to cuddle and tell you how madly in love he is with you. he’d press kisses all over your face and then pull you in close, to squeeze you tightly. when you’re drunk he loves to watch you get up to your antics, only intervening when it got dangerous or illegal. drunk together was a whole other force to be reckoned with. you’d both be doing stupid stuff until someone else had to step in. drunk you and sober you were both madly in love with george, just sober you was more willing to show absolutely everyone.

v - vacations

george definitely takes you to an island somewhere, like malta. or maybe he’d take you to a greek island. you’d spend the entire time exploring the city or the local markets, soaking up the local atmosphere and the sun. he’d defo get all artsy, taking photos of you from behind as you walked, the sun shining down on you angelically. 

w - wedding

the cutest wedding ever. no cap. outside, in summer. you’d chosen a outside area, like a greenhouse kinda room, surrounded by the most beautiful flowers. the reception was afternoon tea in a little marquee. the next day, you had a family meal, where your two families came together to celebrate the two of you.

x - xray (when he’s hurt)

let’s say he injured himself on the set of 1917. a piece of rubble in the bunker scene fell and trapped on his arm, cutting it wide open. whilst it didn’t put him completely out of working, it did require him to go to hospital for stitches. it happened that you were on set on these days so accompanied the whole way. you held his hand as the nurse gave him stitches, and though he didn’t look scared of the needle, you could tell he was slightly panicking at the size. you walked with him back to the trailer where dean sat waiting, laughing slightly has a pale george sauntered up to him, you pulled into his side.

y - you (a random headcanon) 

imagine that you both innocently take a shower together. “saving water” or something like that. george would spend his time massaging shampoo in your scalp and then brushing his fingers through it as the water washed it out. he’d turn around and you lather him in soap, your hands rubbing his shoulders, tense from a week of working. it wasn’t much but it was the little things that allowed the two of you to wind down at the end of a busy week.

z - zzzzzzzzzzzz’s (sleeping routine)

whilst you wouldn’t admit to being tired, george would watch you as you sat next to him, your eyelids falling heavy and your blinks getting longer and longer. he’d stand up himself, then hold out his hand for you to take. you’d follow him up the stairs and whilst he was brushing his teeth, you’d change into your pyjamas and then you’d swap. as you wander back into the room, george would hold out his arms for you to climb into, your head burying into the crook of his neck. nights like this, it was easier to fall asleep quickly.

[idgaf-what-you-call-me]

This is the first time, outside of therapy, that I am opening up fully my past, I ask that you remain respectful.

Trigger warnings: Suicide, torture, neglect, alcoholism, … a lot listen you’ve got to be well resourced before you read this. 

I know Dean, because I was Dean. I was raised to be “perfect”, I am so much like my dad, I didn’t have a childhood, I was tortured, I have lost time (dissociation not possession by an arc angel), I am fairly closeted, and I’m finally starting to get better. 

Ever since a very young child, I was raised to be perfect. To look at a 99 and learn what I got wrong before I brought the grade home, otherwise, I was sent to study. I was raised to not be heard and taught to stay in my room. I was raised to not show emotion because anything more than stoic meant that I was an inconvenience. I had “fend for yourself nights” where I had to sort out what I would eat for dinner, and at inexcusably young ages, 5-6 years old. I learned to shoot at 8, and was taken fishing anytime my dad went. I was brought to the construction sites, learned how to use power tools, and eventually had my own set at home. While I wasn’t trained to hunt demons or other things that go bump in the night, I was molded to be just like my dad. My mom wasn’t around much when I was a kid, so I idolized my father. He was like a god to me. As I got older (legal), I even would drink things that my dad approved of like scotch and I smoked cigars. Often praised, “that’s my girl! Look guys, my daughter drinking scotch and smoking a cigar! Where are your kids?” The validation was like a high to me. I was desperate for his approval. Just like Dean. Talked like his dad, walked like his dad, drank like his dad, I get it. 

I was blatantly ignored including being told that I was invisible by siblings. They would hold up a remote to me and say, “you’re invisible” and ignore me. I could leave the house and they would not come look for me. With my mom and dad often gone (usually working or partying we were quite poor), I didn’t have anyone looking after me since I was 4 so when my dad was around, much like Dean, all I wanted to do was make him happy and proud of me.

I was a closeted bisexual, who made so many gay jokes towards my cishet brother that I feel quite a bit of shame as an adult. I repressed every facet of desire I had for the opposite gender because being bisexual really meant that I must be gay. At least that is what Will and Grace told me, and I did not want to be gay. Things were bad enough, I didn’t need to add to my shit pile. By the time I was 12, I had no idea how to feel emotions and I had no idea how to love myself. Most days, now at 29, I still don’t know how to love myself. I am not out to everyone in my family. I don’t feel safe with everyone. All the gay jokes between the brothers, all the Dean is bi subtext, I lived a lot of it.

Torture can take the shape of many different forms but they fall under two umbrellas: physical and psychological. I was subjected to sound torture and sleep deprivation forms of physical torture that have lasting psychological effects. When you live through something like that, you don’t “rebound” in the traditional sense, and I would dissociate. My consciousness would retreat back into itself until it was safe enough to come back.

I dreaded Thursday nights as that is when it would begin. My father would bring home several cases of Michelob Ultra, from the store, and then he would start drinking. My dad didn’t measure his consumption in beers, instead he measured by the case. A form of extreme binge drinking that to this day I still don’t completely understand. While he would drink, his music would get progressively louder and louder until the whole house vibrated with noise. 

There are some songs and artists that I cannot listen to anymore. They’re not songs by Metallica or Black Sabbath, instead they’re by Credence Clearwater Revival, Bob Dylan, Van Morrison and the like. Songs that people dance to at their weddings, sing at funerals, and enjoy on a road trip with the entire family. They are generally described as lively yet not heavy, yet this music was the conduit of 5 years of actual torture for me. I used to say that these were my favorite songs, but it was a way to cope with hearing them at home, and then hearing them play in the car on the way to school the next morning. In my house, the music was played so loudly that walls and floors shook and overwhelmed my senses and ability to sleep, think, do anything but have a heartbeat and breathe. It would last all night. I never learned to “fall asleep” I would pass out. To this day, I can be desperately tired, and able to drive for several hours without being a dangerous driver. Like my body learned to ignore fatigue. “I just need like 4 hours every couple of days,” yeah Deano, I’ve been there.

I would freeze mentally. Almost like a zone out but on steroids. Then I’d look around and things wouldn’t feel real to me. I would look in the mirror and see a stranger. Now I understand that I had developed dpdr as a way to cope. I don’t wish it on anyone.

My mother? She would leave the house and go clubbing. My siblings were 8 years older than me and lived on their own a great distance from where I lived. Besides, I had school to go to on Fridays. So I cooked, I monitored myself, I had to become an adult. I didn’t get to be a kid. My catharsis was angsty and fluffy Harry Potter fan fiction. You can find it on FF.net, RandHrFan I no longer post with that handle. Dean’s were movies, movies that my dad, and I’d wager his dad watched. I also love westerns just like my dad and my grandfather, there is something about them.

When Dean cries and opens up to Sam about his hell experiences, I get it. I’m so proud of him for telling Sam. To some it seems like he’s closed off but he’s not. He’s opening up as much as he mentally can. And Sam listens. Just like my sister eventually did. When Dean gets mad and yells at John and Mary, I’m proud of him, because he is fighting for himself. He knew he deserved better and he didn’t let it go. Just like I have done in my not so distant past.

All the while my parent’s marriage was fracturing and I was mentally declining. My mom began sleeping in my room and in my bed, and I was basically left to sleep on the couch. On days when my dad would drink, and my mom would go out, I could get to be in my room again. I could be on the computer (laptops weren’t a thing yet) which lived in my room. I could connect with the two other friends on AIM, but the reality of my situation I couldn’t escape. I was isolated, didn’t trust my family and I didn’t know how to ask for help.

One day I attempted to take my life. I saw no value in it. What was I doing with my life. I was a broken human who didn’t deserve love, who didn’t deserve safety, who didn’t deserve well anything. So I downed a bottle of pills. I had an iron clad stomach, I wasn’t too worried about not being successful. Except, I sent a goodbye message to a friend, and that friend saved my life. He got a hold of my sister who got to me in enough time to make me throw up. (She was a champ at that, having suffered from bulimia and taught to throw up from no other than my dad.)

I didn’t receive help afterwards. I signed a paper saying that I wouldn’t attempt again and was taken home. (I hope this isn’t how hospitals roll anymore.) I left my house, I went to school out of state and found stability, created stability for myself. But my past still haunted me whenever I went home. So when Dean has a death wish, and gets discharged from hospitals before he’s stable, I get it.

My parents eventually divorced, and I came home to a place where I couldn’t live anymore for a solid couple of months, I couch surfed, and again my mental health took a nosedive, but nevertheless, I persisted. I got my head back in the game, and finished my degree. Chemistry. I couldn’t go back home, because if I did I’d be working for my dad. I couldn’t do that, it was too painful. So I went to grad school. I got my Ph.D. I began to chart my own path. But there was a rage in me that I couldn’t escape. I lashed out at anyone and everyone to hide the pain that I felt all the time. People were afraid of me. I was great at what I did but I couldn’t make lasting connections with others.

When I was 27 suicidal ideations became dangerous, and I got about as dark. I tried to harm myself, and wanted my world to burn. It didn’t matter that I was married, with pets, and owned a home. Nothing mattered. I finally had to decide between life and death, I couldn’t continue in that state. I can say confidently that I would be dead if I didn’t get help that day. I wish Dean had this chance. He gets close to this in moments with Cas when he is honest about his feelings and experiences, he cries, he gets angry, lashes out, but Cas is there for him. From someone like Dean, I’ll tell you Cas being present holds more weight than gold for Dean.

I have been in intense therapy for a year. By intense I do mean more than once a week, regular check ins with her, and the occasional group session. She sends me articles to read, homework, and we do EMDR work, emotional integration therapy, mindfulness, etc. 

It was then that I began to learn that all the rage that I had built inside me was hiding intense fear, loss, and disappointment. The rage gave way to tears, and the tears gave way to a new anger that I could make peace with. That anger comes from the person I am today. The person who fights for herself. Who doesn’t take shit from anyone. The person who says, humans don’t break, vases break, and I am a human. I see a lot of that in late season Dean. He is a fighter. 

But I am still the person who receives a compliment and shuts down, there is still a side of me that doesn’t believe that I deserve nice things, good things to happen to me, but that person is getting smaller. My therapist likes to hit me with compliments when I am vulnerable as I am more likely to believe them. I still react like a dead fish when she says them, and then after the session sob for hours over it. One day my head and my heart will believe the same things about myself. I would have reacted the same way as Dean to that confession. 

When the cards fall, I still know that I can depend on myself before anyone else because I had to. My life as an impoverished, unstable, depressed, neglected, and abused kid says I should be dead or amounting to nothing, but hear I am. I’ve now closely mentored about 20 undergraduate students, a handful of graduate students, and have helped them find their paths in life. I have taught nearly 1000 students. I made a difference with the life that I tried to throw away. 

I have come to a place where I can love my dad. He is sober again, and yes, my love for him does depend on his sobriety. When he is drinking he is not the same person. I wouldn’t call him an A+ dad by a long shot, and hell I am so much like him that at times it makes me sick, but I do love him. I have been able to forgive him. Forgive in the sense that I can make peace with what happened. It doesn’t change what happened or how much it affected me, and I certainly don’t forget, but that isn’t what forgiveness is. I don’t hold the rage anymore. The fact that Dean is able to is personal for Dean, as it is for me, and it isn’t some “family that is what you do” type reason.

I do experience flashbacks when there are fireworks, I can’t go to a movie theatre because of the volume, when people play really loud music in their cars I typically have to peel off into a parking lot and meditate for 20 minutes to be able to drive again. There are some stores that I don’t shop at because their music triggers me. So when Dean experiences those flashbacks, I get it.

There is a belief in the psychology that monster shows help us become comfortable with our dark sides. My dark side saved me over and over again. My dark side told me to be better than them. My dark side told me to fight for me, to adopt a survivor mindset. (If you can’t tell I am a green veined Slytherin and have never been sorted into any other house even by random house generators.) The things I delight in are a bit off color. I cultivate a poison garden, consume way too much true crime, to gore I say give me s’more and so on. Dean gets to experience his dark side, and he has to make peace with it. He makes inappropriate jokes, laughs at it, but he also does talk about it. 

This is the hard part: Just like Dean, I am also light. I love people (vomit), seriously though, they are more precious to me than any earthly possession. Plants bring me serenity. Animals are a comfort and companion in the worst of times. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to protect living things. My motivations come from a place of love and a need to protect others from what I have been through. I know I can survive, but I don’t know if that is true for everyone else.

I know Dean. I was Dean. I see that every episode. Moments when he yells and screams for himself, I cheer him on. Moments where he tries to waste his life away, I understand, and am crying right with him. The purgatory apology guts me, I’ve had to make that apology more than once. The dead fish reaction, hell that is me at the end of a therapy session. I am here to say: Dean is not broken. Dean is strong. Dean is resilient. Dean doesn’t just fight for himself, he fights for the whole of creation. Dean is not a vase. He is a human. 

Oh and John’s taste in beer, much like my fathers, is crap. Don’t drink shitty beer. Also, I don’t drink scotch anymore. I'm a gin girl and I drink *okay* beer. 

I’m the same blogger who does drunk blogging regarding Supernatural on Saturdays. It is a lovely bit of comfort and joy for me and I won’t be stopping any time soon. We will get back to the lovely and light “Dean is Bi he he” commentary this weekend. 

[slouchyslouch]

My 2010s in Records.

10. My Bloody Valentine — mbv

Wrote about mbv on a separate piece.

9. Earl Sweatshirt — Some Rap Songs

Earl Sweatshirt’s Some Rap Songs is a record of mending and therapy. At the beginning of the decade, rap fans saw the 16 year old prodigy create the most technical and distinctive raps unheard of at that time. Yes, a lot of it was jarring and immature, but the potential was there. While debut mixtape EARL was a teaser and an introduction to his greatness, Doris was his reclamation to the rap game after a period of silence in Samoa. I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside in turn spoke for itself. Its morose disposition then made its way onto Some Rap Songs; not quite his masterpiece, but an accomplished period piece nonetheless. As one of the most highly acclaimed rappers in the world today, Earl spills his guts out on this diaristic tape about his relationship with his father and the emotional exhaustion coming from trying to amend it. On “Red Water,” he repeats the same 8 bars on loop as if caught in a recurring dream. “Papa called me chief / gotta keep it brief / locked and loaded I can see you lyin’ through your teeth” he raps in a fugue state, as if coming to the realization that his father was only there for those momentary times of convenience. It’s always difficult to write something that includes family and loved ones. There’s a sense of vulnerability you have to divulge in as well as a catharsis that fulfills one’s desire to let go of one’s agony. The beats on Some Rap Songs run on loose kaleidoscopic loops, production that Earl has mastered rapping over as his idiosyncrasies in his bars do best when complementing them. Thanks to the influence of his buddies Mike and Medhane, he’s learned to channel his eccentric flows onto those beats. “Riot” closes the record with the sentimental instrumental sampling jazz legend, and uncle, Hugh Masekela. It’s feels like a proper ending to Earl’s chronicle, but the events that have transpired will always be apart of his life. At the end of it all, Some Rap Songs will remain forever a tombstone of his anguish.

8. The Spirit of the Beehive — Hypnic Jerks

There’s no other dream pop record this decade that could top this almost-perfect album. The hushed vocalizations of Zach Schwartz and Rivka Ravede offer a quiet intimacy in the dreamscape that is Hypnic Jerks. The title in itself lends to the idea of being half asleep and half awake — to be in an altered state where the real and surreal are just two sides of the same coin. Tracks like “poly swim” and “it’s gonna find you” entrance you into that state of unconscious, while tracks like “can i receive the contact?” and “hypnic jerks” make an effort to wake you up from the sublime. Field recordings filter in and out between tracks, as if you were hallucinating the whole time. It’s when “nail i couldn’t bite” and “(without you) in my pocket” play out that you realize it doesn’t matter what state you lie in. Their lucid pop constructions reward repeated listens to the point of obsession in a somnambulant state. The record’s lack of acclaim only makes it feel like you’re in on a hidden secret. To this day, I am completely spellbound to its sorcery and have yet to unlock its mysteries.

7. Iceage — New Brigade

Back in elementary school, I listened to a lot of pop punk; the kind that was rapturously melodic yet cheesily done and overproduced (Think Blink 182 or All Time Low). Until I listened to New Brigade, I didn’t even realize what true punk music actually sounded like. Iceage was just fucking cool to me. Sure, they had the aesthetic, depicting bloody mosh pits and macabre rune art, but it was truly the music that broke into my spirit, shattering what I thought punk sounded like back in the day. I’d read pieces about their notorious live shows where they would play rapid 15-minute sets in the sunless recesses of Denmark, which only added to the band’s mystique. Upon listening to their debut, I felt musically fulfilled like never before. No more of the whiny, drawn out vocals from pop punk bands. Frontman Elias Bender Rønnenfelt had the kind of angsty drawl similar to Nick Cave’s when he played with The Birthday Party which offered a kind of obscene yet confident instability to his performance. Johan Surrballe Wieth and Jakob Tvilling Pless’s guitars have just the right amount of filth in them — an abrasive attack on your soul while Dan Kjær Nielsen’s drums are played propulsively in classic hardcore fashion — never meant decelerate. The record didn’t offer the tightest instrumental, but that was the point. Iceage have gone on to release tighter and more spectacular punk records consistently over the decade but their debut broke the ceiling of what to me punk could, and should, sound like. From the cathartic breakdown of “White Rune” to the triumphant “You’re Blessed,” New Brigade was the record that gave me that spark, the one that carried me to rotting heights.

6. Frank Ocean — Channel Orange

Channel Orange will always be a classic to my generation. From Grammy-nominated “Thinking’ Bout You” to the sweet and charming “Forrest Gump,” we surf through Frank’s psyche in smooth and effortless RnB. Frank Ocean’s vivid universe is one of vibrant summers and distant getaways. Its colourful motifs paint a pretty picture for us — pink skies, monks in moshpits, peaches and mangos, roofs of mansions, palm trees and pools, Majin Buu. Most people I know around my age know the lyrics to most of its tracks. They’re as infectious as any classic from the past decade. I still remember listening to “Sweet Life” by the beach with a friend before attending his concert on his first tour. Everything felt right in the world when he sang “so why see the world when you got the beach” as the waves crashed over the sand and the summer heat glistened over the ocean. During its release, he opened up to the world to reveal his love for another man in an affectionate Tumblr post. It gave us an appreciation into an artist’s vulnerable identity while breaking the door open for other artists to come out in their own way. Frank later released his masterpiece in Blonde/Endless and a plethora of brilliant singles from his radio show, but the stories and music from Channel Orange will remain forever timeless.

5. Solange — A Seat at the Table

“Fall in your ways / so you can crumble / fall in your ways / so you can wake up and rise” sings Solange, on the introduction to her restorative album A Seat at the Table. They’re words I try to tell myself in times of darkness. Solange just has that ability to let anybody express themselves through her music, to meditate on life’s injustices and pitfalls. It’s okay to be mad; it’s okay to rest and take care of yourself as much as you need to. We just have to rely on each other to get back into the fight. It feels like a lot of my favourite records from the past decade are imbued with themes of darkness and isolation. Fortunately, I still have Solange to let myself vent out those frustrations. Whether it’s the strings on the beginning of “Cranes in the Sky” that remind me to slow down or the horns projected behind Master P’s stoic orations that fuel my determination to keep afloat, A Seat at the Table plays like an instruction manual for self-care, black empowerment, and righteous activism. It’s consoling to know that I’m not alone in distracting myself from everything that’s wrong with the world today. 2016 was such an appropriate time for this record to be released. Solange gave us hope, grace, stoicism, and the ability to heal and recharge. A Seat at the Table may be a personal record to Solange, but as she sings on “F.U.B.U.,” this shit is for us.

4. Chance the Rapper — Acid Rap

It’s odd to say that my favourite rap record of the decade comes in the form of pop rap album Acid Rap. In making this list, I thought about the obvious greats in My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy or Good Kid, M.A.A.D. City. In the end, Chance’s second mixtape brought me more joy than any of those records did. It gave me the cringiest but most pleasurable musical moments with the homies singing along to tracks like “Cocoa Butter Kisses” and “Pusha Man.” Releasing it independently and as a free download, Chance’s spoken-word idiosyncrasies reveal themselves as classic pop rap gems by the end of the decade. Chance’s whole thing was just about pure positivity and having fun. The era of albums I could compare to it was during the release of Kanye’s College Dropout and Late Registration, a time when Kanye (sort of) envisioned the anti-stereotype in rappers, countering the machismo and toxic masculinity found in a lot of hip-hop now and back then (RIP old Kanye). Chance didn’t care about getting bitches or getting money. He just wanted to do drugs with his friends — to trip out on acid and go on a spiritual journey with all of us. Hidden beneath the positivity, Chance still creeps in a dash of realism and humanity on tracks like “Paranoia,” illustrating the life of gang-banging in his hometown of Chicago. It’s the earnestness in his raps that always pulls me back, the flourishes of piano when he raps “I lean back then spark my shit / I turn up I talk my shit / hope you love all my shit / I hope you love all my shit / IGH.” It turns out, as he declares on the outro, Everything’s Good.

3. Alex G — DSU

On DSU, time stops. The cult of Alex G is now cemented in indie rock lore at the end of the decade with eight albums full of hooks, dreams, and shattered spirits. DSU was the first record I listened to by Alex G, and remains my favourite by his despite him going on to release better conceptual records in Rocket and House of Sugar. No track can be skipped or listened to passively. With most of them springing under the 2–3 minute mark, ideas flow in and out without direction but coalesce into an impressionistic and breathtaking work of art. Hints of Elliott Smith and Isaac Brock echo in the duality of harsh guitar distortion and melodious pop hooks. Guitar feedback never felt so comforting as it colours the magnificence of Alex G’s composition. There’s a kind of deep melancholy in each track despite the ambiguous surrealism lyrics, a perfect winter record to listen to alone in your room or walk through the piles of snow in the night. Its murky yet lush production somehow reaches out to you, helps you drown in its depths and remain there for its 37 minutes. Whether it’s “Skipper” fully attuning you to its hushed presence, or the entrancing opener of “After Ur Gone,” I just feel like I want to close my eyes and immerse myself in there for as long as it allows me to.

2. Frank Ocean — Blonde

Frank Ocean’s Blonde arrived as a gift from the heavens. For five years, my friends and I have joked and memed about when the new Frank was coming out — whether it was even ever going to come out. Years after its release, it has evolved into the masterpiece that I’ve always wanted him to create. When Endless came out, I felt somewhat disappointed at the material — although later served as the perfect complement to Blonde — because of its lack of sensual pieces similar to those on Channel Orange’s effortless RnB and the latter record’s penchant for easy sing-alongs. Blonde in turn revealed a similar mood: the spacious vapour that fogged up behind Ocean’s intimate croon, the volatility in his voice that permeated your soul — it felt like an emotional load that was difficult to bare, yet something necessary that had to be experienced. I was just getting into my first intimate relationship when Blonde came out, and it’s made me realize how much I wanted to make that person happy, and that I couldn’t take any relationship I had for granted. I felt heavy after listening to this record. The sadboi hours memes ring true to its emotional weight. I would flutter to the arpeggios of “Ivy” as Frank sings “I thought that I was dreamin’ when you said you love me,” bop to the duality of “Nights,” and shed a tear to the wistfulness of “Godspeed.” I wonder how much shit Frank had to go through to even get any of these songs on tape. It’s okay. I like to think think that by the end of it all, Blonde was the catharsis he needed to spill his heart out.

1. Tame Impala — Lonerism

At the end of the decade, seeing Kevin Parker as one of the most highly-touted producers and songwriters in pop music would be an observation if you had asked me a decade ago, when Tame Impala’s first record Innerspeaker — an expansive work of art that recalled 60’s guitar psychedelia — first came out. On Lonerism, Parker’s music evolved into something even more seismic and innovative in scope. As the name suggests, Lonerism is a product of disaffection, self-defeat, and isolation. I’d imagine it was as fulfilling to other music fans of a type to detach from the world and just get lost in another’s. There’s a part on “Keep on Lying” where an endless guitar solo is played in the midst of a dinner party being played out; that feeling of getting dragged to a party when you were just a kid but just wanted to pop your headphones on and refuse to interact with anybody. According to Parker, he put in the sample to make the listener feel even more alienated. It’s a powerful feeling that lets anyone listening to the record in on that vulnerable sensation. In spite of that, tracks like “Apocalypse Dreams” and “Elephant” still give us astonishing psych rock bangers while pop gems “Music to Walk Home By” and “Feels like We Only Go Backwards” demonstrate Parker’s guitar pedal gymnastics over vibrant hooks. Although Currents has skyrocketed him into the fame and acclaim that he undoubtedly deserves, this record will always be his opus in my heart. I’ve daydreamed enough times to the music where its world has settled into my subconscious. It’s a world that comes from genius, but it’s also a world that invites you in to escape from the idea of Lonerism itself, to have something shared with you in solitude.

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

Episode 120: Storm in the Room

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s even you up there.”

There are certain episodes of Steven Universe that act as culminations to multiple stories from the past. Pseudo-finales like The Return and Earthlings rely on tons of backstory to show how far we’ve come in the series, and big showstoppers like Mr. Greg that do likewise for specific characters rather than the show as a whole. But as our saga continues, we’re blessed with stories that have the same vast reference pool as these payoff episodes without the finality; at this stage, so much has happened that “regular episodes” can also be riddled with nods to how small elements of Steven’s overall journey have shaped his universe. Storm in the Room isn’t about solving problems, but acknowledging them, and because the problem at hand involves the past catching up with the present, I love how much this episode looks back.

We start right as The New Crystal Gems ends, making this the seventh episode in a row documenting a very long day in Steven’s life (granted, one of them is him listening to what his friends were up to on Earth, but he’s still stuck in the Zoo uniform). Connie, glad to relinquish her guardian duties, gets nervous when Dr. Maheswaran doesn’t answer her phone, and Steven tries to relieve the tension in a way that seems insensitive at face value. His insistence on playing games when she’s clearly upset is awkward as hell, but he eventually acknowledges Connie’s feelings in a way that shows that in his own flawed way he was trying to help. The problem is that his version of help involves ignoring problems instead of facing them, and if this seems familiar, Connie completes the reference by practicing a calming breath from Mindful Education: she learned that episode’s lesson, but just like his mother, Steven’s instinct is to push his issues away.

Connie’s reunion with the good doctor evokes the ending of Nightmare Hospital, with Steven gazing from a distance at a mother and child embracing after a scare. But this time we don’t get the bittersweet imagery of his big smile slowly fading as he hugs Rose’s sword; he’s just alone, a background character to something he’s never experienced, all bitter and no sweet.

The tonal shift when Connie departs is stark and sudden. So far the episode has been full of Steven’s chattering, Aivi and Surasshu’s subtle score, and the ambient sounds of crashing waves as Steven says goodbye, but as soon as he shuts the door we’re met with crushing silence. It’s not hard to guess that his cheer has been forced, but it’s still brutal to see the act drop all at once before an extended and largely wordless routine of taking care of himself because nobody’s around to take care of him. We might not know it until A Single Pale Rose, but just like his approach to problem solving, his double life as an outwardly chipper hero that’s secretly suffering is another way he’s his mother’s son.

From the start of this quiet period, we see his discomfort with the portrait of Rose that’s graced his room for the entire series. The last time it’s been this prominent was Rose’s Scabbard, another eye-opening episode about her past, but now it haunts Steven as he makes his way through an empty home, magnified to show how small he’s made to feel by the cosmic scale of his burdens.

Steven briefly heads outside to avoid the picture staring at him through closed eyes, and we get a moment of pleasant rain that earns some murmured approval, but it morphs from the baptismal drizzle of The Answer and When It Rains to the harrowing downpour of Alone At Sea. Only when he’s back inside, with his dinner ruined and nowhere else to turn, does he truly speak. And for the first time in ages, since the era of An Indirect Kiss and Lion 3, he speaks to Rose.

It might be enhanced by the silence preceding it, but Zach Callison’s performance here is tremendous, even for him. Steven doesn’t even have the energy to be angry, he’s just cold and weary as he finally starts verbalizing his negative thoughts. They’re enough to make his mother’s door glow, and he knows as well as we do by now that Rose’s Room is a place of horror as well as wonder, but he steps inside anyway.

It’s so important that Steven admits right off the bat that none of what he's about to see is real, not just because it’s been a while since young viewers saw this place, but to preface the emotional illusion with his mental awareness of its fakery. He isn’t being fooled like he has in the past, but he’s so desperate for this connection that he’s willing to take questionable means to get it. When he asks to see his mom (rather than asking to see Rose Quartz), the clouds form into another image of her with her eyes closed, but unlike the portrait, she can open them right up.

Steven is already nervous when he enters the room, and gets even more flustered at the voice of his mother coming out of the simulacrum. But the illusion is so real that he composes himself, and despite his earlier nod to reality, he’s clearly drawn in no matter how much his head might tell him not to be.

There are tells, of course. Fake Rose Quartz Rose Ersatz is all about what Steven wants to do, lets him win at his video game with a patronizing “Hooray,” and gives a dramatic speech about the value of sports because the only reference point Steven has to her voice is the similar tone of her message from Lion 3. But beyond the appearance factor, there are tricky ways Faux Quartz seems more real than Connterfeit from Open Book: she’s inquisitive about the video game, she’s willing to pull pranks on her kid, and she provides a compelling rebuttal to Steven’s anger that suggests that maybe, just maybe, her room has a good enough grasp of the genuine article that this is more than a simple fake. After all, back in Rose’s Room, the most detailed deception was Greg, the person Steven encounters that Rose knew best.

But before we get into that conclusion and rebuttal, let’s look at the prank. There’s a certain mythological power to yanking a football away from a kicker: Charlie Brown isn’t that different from the likes of Tantalus or Sisyphus in this metaphor for futility, and while it’s obviously a funnier gag than trying to push a bolder up a hill, the inherent sadness of classic Peanuts is inextricable from the laughs. The glimmer of hope has to be built up every time, only to be dashed when Lucy betrays Charlie Brown’s trust, and it’s not hard to see the parallel with Steven trying again and again to understand the truth.

(While I loved my Peanuts growing up, my favorite iteration of the football gag is this spoken word reenactment starring Paget Brewster as Lucy, John Moe as Charlie Brown, and two of my comedy heroes, Paul F. Tompkins and “Weird Al” Yankovic, enjoying the show between them. It’s brilliant both as a tribute and a deconstruction of Charles Schulz.)

Given the setting, it’s inevitable that the situation turns dark. But despite the turmoil Steven endures, there’s a sense of catharsis as he unloads all his angst after spending so long bottling it up. As with Joy Ride and Steven vs. Amethyst, our hero reveals new insights into what’s going on in his head in a way that can’t be done right without saying it outright. His anger is sold by its specificity, and Callison again proves his chops in a damning monologue about all the ways Rose failed the expectations that have been built for him.

Out of the gate he connects her lie about bubbling Bismuth with the hypocrisy of her shattering Pink Diamond while punishing her friend for suggesting it. It’s a problem that was at the forefront of my concerns when the news of the shattering was first told, and while I felt vindicated in the show talking about it at last, it sucks that this didn’t lead to freeing Bismuth to continue the conversation. He’s just getting revved up, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get past how Bismuth was left high and dry for so long when I assess the show as a whole.

The real meat of the rant involves Steven isolating Rose’s biggest flaw. It’s visible from the second episode of the series, which revolves around Steven looking for a cannon that Rose could’ve told her friends about before passing: she has trouble telling the truth. Sometimes it’s negligence, as with the cannon, but often it’s deception. It was so ingrained that Pearl interpreted it as a sign of great leadership in Rose’s Scabbard, and Garnet’s obfuscating attitude before her character development kicks in could be read as an influence of the old boss’s style. So it’s about time that Steven out and calls her a liar.

I love that after so long worshiping Rose, Steven does a full swing in the opposite direction when forced to confront her imperfections. He’s not interested in seeing anything from her point of view, but assumes the worst possible intentions: we go from her causing harm (which is certain) to her intending to cause harm (which is probably not the case) to Steven worrying that he only exists as the ultimate escape option (which is definitely not the case). Even though Rose Quack counters this last point with calm grace, and Steven seems to accept that the tape was telling the truth, it’s hard to trust a character defined by mistruths. We’ll see in Lion 4 that even though he lets her off the hook at the end of the conversation, his doubts persist.

Regardless of the details, Steven’s fate is set. Whether or not she meant for it to happen, he did inherit Rose’s messes, and because his martyr complex has taken root, he’s all set to sacrifice himself at the end of the season. He took the big step in addressing how awful his situation is, which is better than letting it fester the way it’s been doing for sixteen episodes, but the step is perhaps too big. There’s a balance he has to reach for him to truly be happy, but it’ll be a while yet before he finds it, because he’s a fourteen-year-old kid.

After such a heavy episode, it makes sense that we end with some hope. Steven sorta oversells a sense of surprise that all four members of his immediate family have returned, but he’s been through a lot so I’ll cut him a break. We get pizza with the wrong topping, but as Greg predicted in Keystone Motel, Steven has learned to accept all pizza.

Perhaps the most important aspect of Storm in the Room is that it actually sticks. Mindful Education seems to be the start of a new outlook, and Steven does start looking for more answers after futzing around for a bit, but a more apparent shift takes place here that it’s gonna take a while to pull out of. He’s not trying to find the truth anymore, because the sheer scale of untruths surrounding Rose makes real answers seem impossible; plus, the last time he tried his dad was almost stolen forever. So for now, he’ll have to settle with sulking. Thank goodness the show makes it interesting to watch.

Future Vision!

Steven’s discomfort with Rose’s portrait never really goes away; after a couple of years, he decides to store it in Lion’s mane at the end of Rose Buds.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

A heavy episode, gorgeously paced and directed, but honestly it’s such a bummer that I don’t watch it that often, and the conclusion with Steven’s living family feels just a bit too cute for this to crack the top of my list.

Top Twenty

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

Last One Out of Beach City

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Mindful Education

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

Steven’s Dream

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Chille Tid

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Catch and Release

When It Rains

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Buddy’s Book

Gem Harvest

Three Gems and a Baby

That Will Be All

The New Crystal Gems

Storm in the Room

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Adventures in Light Distortion

Gem Heist

The Zoo

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

Know Your Fusion

Future Boy Zoltron

No Thanks!

     6. Horror Club      5. Fusion Cuisine      4. House Guest      3. Onion Gang      2. Sadie’s Song      1. Island Adventure

[the-kiwi-is-not-a-pewee]

3 of Sadie’s arcs throughout TKC - a mapping

@jurakan  I might’ve missed some things but this is as comprehansive as I could make it:

Responsibility/Parents Arc -

This arc revolves around Sadie realizing that when she has to choose between what she wants and saving millions of lives she has to accept that she has to make that sacrifice (this is different from the birthday and dance thing, because she has a third option to do both without a lot of people dying. Is there risk? Yes, more so for the former than the latter because there’s a hard deadline, but it’s not a decision she has to make on the spot like “free your dad and the world will bear the consequences” vs. “bear the consequences and millions of lives will be saved”.) It’s also intertwined with her grief over her mom and the blame she places on her dad for her death and the catharsis she gets from emotionally spilling to him at the climax of The Red Pyramid.

*Red Pyramid*

- “I was determined not to be like them, living in the past. I barely remembered Mum, after all, and nothing could change the fact that she was dead. But I did keep the one picture... But the main reason I’d kept the photo was because of the symbol on Mum’s T-shirt: one of those life symbols - an ankh. My dead mother wearing the symbol for life. Nothing could’ve been sadder”(33). Our first peek into how Sadie feels about her mother’s death. Despite her saying that she was determined to not live in the past like her grandparents, the photograph betrays that she hasn’t quite completely moved on from it. 

- “’...Young man, your father has committed a criminal act. He’s left you behind to deal with the consequences-’ ‘That’s not true!’ I snapped, my voice trembling with rage. I couldn’t believe Dad would intentionally leave us at the mercy of the police, of course. But the idea of him abandoning me - well, as I might have mentioned, that’s a bit of a sore point’”(41). Sadie says it herself here, she’s not quite over what she perceived as her dad abandoning her.

-” “I realized I was crying. I hated to, but shock and fear were starting to overwhelm me. Where did I want to go? Home, of course! Back to my flat in London—back to my own room, my grandparents, my mates at school and my old life. But I couldn’t. I had to think about my father and our mission”(236). This kinda also fits here because she’s putting the mission over what she wants: to go home.

-”’All right,” I relented. “If I had to, then I suppose...I suppose I would save the world.” Horrible guilt crushed down on me. What kind of daughter was I? I clutched the tyet amulet on my necklace—my one remembrance of Dad. I know some of you lot will be thinking: You hardly ever saw your dad. You barely knew him. Why would you care so much? But that didn’t make him any less my dad, did it? Or the thought of losing him forever any less horrible. And the thought of failing him, of willingly choosing to let him die even to save the world— what sort of awful person was I?”(392). This bit doesn’t so much imply she learned how to put the world above her personal wants, but that she already would. Not without hesitation and horrible, emotional conflict, but she’d still do it in the end. It’s more of her discovering this of herself.

-”’To die?’ I demanded. “Isis should’ve helped her. You should’ve helped her. I hate you!” As soon as I said it, something broke inside me. I started to cry. I realized I’d wanted to say that to my dad for years. I blamed him for Mum’s death, blamed him for leaving me. But now that I’d said it, all the anger drained out me, leaving me nothing but guilt... ‘To save the world, would you sacrifice your father?’ ‘I don’t want to,’ I said. ‘Please’”(471). The arc culminates here, with Sadie releasing her pent-up feelings about her mother’s death and accepting that she has to sacrifice her father, that there is no third option this time. She gets her catharsis and overcomes her reservations that were there when she first admitted to Anubis that she’d sacrifice her dad to save the world.

*Throne of Fire*

-”I simply said, “It’s a bad idea.” And yes, it felt quite strange being forced to play the responsible sibling”(216). Sadie being the responsible sibling here... ironically. Trying to stay on track, but at the same time makes the third option so Carter gets what he wants and they also get what they need, even though they’re cutting it close. This isn’t exactly the same situation as her father in a coffin as this isn’t one way or the highway, but it’s her staying on task.

Balancing Old and New Life + Where She Belongs Arc -

This particular arc is more of a slowburn because it spans all 3 books as opposed to the Responsibility/Dad Arc. Sadie grapples with trying to fit her old and new lives together because she doesn’t want to let go of her old one but her new life won’t let her go back. They both bleed into each other in different ways, thus why the balance is necessary. Her old life leaks into her new life in the form of missing her life in London, her grandparents, her friends, etc. Her new life intrudes by, well, not leaving her alone (examples: Babi and Nekhbet ambushing her in London, the deadline, Anubis and Shu showing up at the school dance). The culmination is at the end of The Serpent’s Shadow, when she summons Ma’at out of necessity instead of desperation and doesn’t die from it.

*Red Pyramid*

- “I just stared at him. I couldn’t remember any home except this flat. My mates at school, my room, everything I knew was here. ‘Where am I supposed to go?’”(43). Good establishing point for the start of this particular arc and the attachment she has to her home in London. It’s all she ever knew. 

- “I realized I was crying. I hated to, but shock and fear were starting to overwhelm me. Where did I want to go? Home, of course! Back to my flat in London—back to my own room, my grandparents, my mates at school and my old life. But I couldn’t. I had to think about my father and our mission”(236). The first point I could find where Sadie really expresses that she’s still attached to her old life and missing it is bleeding over into her new life to the point she’s getting emotional. But her new life is preventing her from going back because she and Carter have their mission and she recognizes it as more important. Most of the “missing home” moments are most frequent in the first book, and recording them would just be repeating myself. There’s some on pages 196, 400, and 432 though.

*Throne of Fire*

-”’It’s more than that.’ Emma studied my face as if I was turning into something quite frightening. ‘You seem older. More mature.’ Her voice was tinged with sadness, and I realized my mates and I were growing apart. It was as if we stood on opposite sides of a widening chasm. And I knew with gloomy certainty the breach was already too wide for me to jump back across”(118). A display of how Sadie feels she’s too far gone into her new life to return to her old life with no consequence. It’s here she realizes this, with her new life intruding with Babi and Nekhbet and later her old life having to be left behind when her friends can’t come along for the rest of the mission.

*Serpent’s Shadow*

- “She immediately understood what I needed. Together, we tried to find calm in the Chaos. I focused on the most peaceful, well-ordered moments of my life—and there weren’t many. I remembered my sixth birthday party in Los Angeles with Carter, my dad and mum—the last clear memory I had of all of us together as a family. I imagined listening to music in my room at Brooklyn House while Khufu ate Cheerios on my dresser. I imagined sitting on the terrace with my friends, having a restful breakfast as Philip of Macedonia splashed in his pool. I remembered Sunday afternoons at Gran and Gramps’s flat—Muffin on my lap, Gramps’s rugby game on the telly, and Gran’s horrible biscuits and weak tea on the table. Good times, those were. Most important, I faced down my own chaos. I accepted my jumbled emotions about whether I belonged in London or New York, whether I was a magician or a schoolgirl. I was Sadie Kane, and if I survived today, I could bloody well balance it all”(348). The culmination of the arc is right here, when Sadie finally accepts that she can balance both her lives and who she is. She can be belong both in London and New York, she can be both a schoolgirl and a magician. She can reconcile both parts of her life.

Understanding Carter Arc -

Sadie is the one who understands their sibling the least. And probably holds the most resentment over envying the other’s situation. Both of the siblings have the initial problem of not understanding each other and envying each other for different reasons, but it’s more important for Sadie to understand how much pressure Carter felt, to be strong for his dad and keep up with his expectations. Also Carter isn’t quite so hung up on Sadie getting to spend time with their grandparents, unlike Sadie with their dad.

*Red Pyramid*

- “When you only see each other twice a year, it’s like you’re distant cousins rather than siblings. We had absolutely nothing in common except our parents”(8). Establishes Carter and Sadie don’t really know each other well and thus don’t really understand each other. It’s to the point that they feel their bond is only by blood. Of course, they grow closer as the series progresses, but this is their initial starting point that they have.

- “I sighed in exasperation. ‘Poor boy, forced to travel the world, skip school, and spend time with Dad while I get a whole two days a year with him!’ ‘Hey!’ Carter turned on me with surprising force. ‘You get a home! You get friends and a normal life and don’t wake up each morning wondering what country you’re in! You don’t-’ The glass case next to us shattered, spraying glass at our feet”(133). This technically goes both ways. They both want each other’s lives and it’s a touchy subject for both of them, given how the glass shattered and things only start breaking around them when emotions are high (like the birthday cake). They both only see the pros of the other’s life and not the cons, or they don’t understand the cons.

- “After our last argument in New York, I wasn’t sure how I felt about my brother. The idea that he could be jealous of my life while he got to travel the world with Dad—please! And he had the nerve to call my life normal? All right, I had a few mates at school like Liz and Emma, but my life was hardly easy. If Carter made a social faux pas or met people he didn’t like, he could just move on! I had to stay put. I couldn’t answer simple questions like “Where are your parents?” or “What does your family do?” or even “Where are you from?” without exposing just how odd my situation was. I was always the different girl. The mixed-race girl, the American who wasn’t American, the girl whose mother had died, the girl with the absent father, the girl who made trouble in class, the girl who couldn’t concentrate on her lessons. After a while one learns that blending in simply doesn’t work. If people are going to single me out, I might as well give them something to stare at. Red stripes in my hair? Why not! Combat boots with the school uniform? Absolutely. Headmaster says, “I’ll have to call your parents, young lady.” I say, “Good luck.” Carter didn’t know anything about my life”(170). A display of how Sadie is clearly more hung-up on this than Carter is, considering he doesn’t have an internal rant like she does or even linger on it long. For Sadie, it’s clearly a far more touchy subject but nowhere in here does she consider why Carter wants her life or what he said before the glass shattered. She’s starting to understand him on a surface level as they bond better, but understanding him on a deeper level is not something she’s nailed yet as this shows. 

-”Carter had spoken about Dad as if their travels together had been a great thing, yes, but also quite a chore, with Carter always struggling to please and be on his best behavior, with no one to relax with, or talk to. Dad was, I had to admit, quite a presence. You’d be hard-pressed not to want his approval. (No doubt that’s where I get my own stunningly charismatic personality.) I saw him only twice a year, and even so I had to prepare myself mentally for the experience. For the first time, I began to wonder if Carter really had the better end of the bargain. Would I trade my life for his?”(278) This is when Sadie admits that she’s doubting her previous assertion about how great Carter’s life must’ve been. She begins to understand why Carter wanted her life and how it affected him to be with their dad all the time. It’s a very significant step in understanding him.

*Throne of Fire*

-”And yes, I know that was wrong —but I’d just been inside Carter’s head. I now understood how important Zia was to him. I knew how badly any information about her would rattle him...  One of his darker secrets? Deep down, Carter still resented our father for failing to save our mum, even though she had died for a noble cause, and even though it was her choice to sacrifice herself. Carter simply could not fail Zia in the same way, no matter what the stakes. He needed someone to believe in him, someone to save—and he was convinced Zia was that person. Sorry, a little sister just wouldn’t do”(215). Sadie understands why Zia is so important to Carter, a direct contrast to when he saw her off on her birthday, when he didn’t quite understand why Sadie was so insistent on taking a break. But of course, that doesn’t mean there isn’t some resentment in either situation.

*Serpent’s Shadow*

-”A year ago, even six months ago, the idea of my brother’s being given that kind of responsibility would’ve horrified me as well...  When I had learned his secret name, I’d seen one very clear trait woven into his character: leadership”(327-328). Here Sadie learning Carter’s secret name circles back to her supporting him for a role he doesn’t feel ready for. She almost understands him better than he does himself, and while she does abuse it for some slapstick occasionally, she helps him step up to the role.

[starcunning]

Suffer Me to Cherish You: 20 Nov

Childhood is not from birth to a certain age and at a certain age The child is grown, and puts away childish things. Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.

-- Edna St. Vincent Millay, but not the poem this story takes its name from.

Previously: Week One, Week Two, Week Three Previously: 18 Nov, 19 Nov

Aether burst over her body, knocking her back with such force that she landed upon her back, the glowing water filling her mouth, still gaping in shock. She struggled to her feet, bringing her arms up to grasp the hilt of her sword.

“You almost killed me once,” said Thancred’s voice. “Would you really do it again?” That made her hesitate, but only for a second. “If I had to. If it were really you, you’d know that.” Her sword still at her back, she turned her eyes on Myste. “Stop this,” she said. “I can’t; I won’t; forgive me … I was afraid of what you’d do; I didn’t have a choice.” “There’s always a choice!” she shouted back, the words ringing off the walls of the cave. Somehow—without a body, never having seen his face—she knew Fray was smiling.

She drew her blade then, turning it upon the simulacrum of Lahabrea. Their brief detente shattered, Shasi surged forward, her first slash cutting through black leather and pale skin. He was real enough to bleed, to cry out in pain. She could feel the flames of the Praetorium upon her back despite the dank coolness of the cave.

Lahabrea lashed out with tendrils of dark aether, seeking to twine them about her arms, but the weight of her blade gave her momentum; she broke those bonds and turned their loose aether to her own purposes, aetherial echoes of her blade stroke deepening the wounds she inflicted.

“For all you seem to think of Fray, it took you long enough to realize I was the same thing,” Myste said. “What?” Shasi said, throwing herself aside as Lahabrea lunged for her, gauntlets glimmering in the ethereal light of the water. “You were happier, not knowing,” Myste said. Lahabrea’s spells roiled over her skin, boiling away the last drops of glowing water, scalding her. “Why couldn’t you just let me help them? I could make them happy! They would forgive you for your sins!” She let Lahabrea throw himself at her—past her—and brought the hilt of her blade down upon his back with punishing force. The water rippled and shone as he fell into it. “And you have so many sins, Shasi Souleater.” “I would have more if I failed to act,” Shasi said, planting a boot on the Ascian’s back. He thrashed about in the water. “Justice is an excuse—murder is murder!” She looked down at him and she still saw Thancred. She wanted to beg his forgiveness as she put the blade to his neck, but she bit it back and bore down. Blood dimmed the water’s glow, and she held tight to the sword as he went still, knuckles white so that her hands would not tremble.

“We’ve been going about this all wrong,” Myste said, so distraught that he seemed not to notice the stillness of the cave. Thancred’s form—Lahabrea’s form—began to dissipate into the same dark aether that always remained, the afterbirth of Myste’s simulacrum catharsis, and Shasi channeled it back up the steel of her sword and into herself. She could taste lamentation on her tongue. “Rather than go to them one by one and mend them—we can create a world beyond pain and suffering and anguish and despair,” Myste said, the words tumbling from his lips like a desperate prayer. “A world beyond death! A world in which we never need say goodbye again! Don’t you want that?” “Of course I do,” Shasi said. “Or you wouldn’t exist.” “I could do it for you too,” he said, looking at her with shining eyes. “I can’t let you,” she told him, her voice trembling. “I have to stop you.” “I’m not your enemy,” Myste implored her. “It’s not too late to turn back. You are still a good person; you can still be a good person.” She lifted her blade, and said nothing. “So this is your answer?” he said. The water rippled around him, and the shadows of the cave began to coalesce. “I have seen you, as few others have—the darkness that hides in the depths of your soul; the fears you have buried; the nightmares that drive you screaming from your bed.” It was all she’d ever wanted. It was what she’d always feared. “Time strips us of even this bitter remainder—if we let it. So many broken by this world, and then by you. We will not forget them.”

They came out of the darkness to surround her, all the unquiet dead. She saw the soldiers of the Immortal Flames, put to death after Ifrit’s tempering flames. The black and crimson uniform of the XIVth Legion—not a pureblood among them; conscripts all, dying far from home for a cause they hadn’t believed in.

“Woe betide the man who stands against the Weapon of Light, for death will be his reward. Death for him and his kin and all that he holds dear.”

And … there was A’aba, and Aulie. And Noraxia, young Noraxia, who had left Little Solace for duty’s sake. The knights of Ishgard that had followed her unto their deaths, at the hands of dragons or their own kin. The Ala Mhigan resistance fighters—her countrymen!--who had died at Rhalgr’s Reach. Who would never breathe free. Wilred.

“Woe betide the man who stands beside the Weapon of Light, for death will be his reward. Death for him and for his kin and all that he holds dear.”

They did not speak; they did not hurry, only advanced in solemn procession, far too many of them. She could feel the weight of her sins, thick and sticky as tar. They numbered beyond counting; fathomless; endless. She could fight them. She had the blade and the skill; she could fight. But for how long?

“I can free you from this suffering,” Myste promised. “One way or the other.”

She could cut them down. Again. Would that redeem her?

If she won—if she lived—did she deserve to?

Yes, Fray said, his presence crawling up her back, pressing too tight against the confines of her form. You need me. YOU NEED ME! It was no secret at all. “I need you, Fray,” she whispered, closing her eyes. Listen to my voice. Listen to our heartbeat …

“Suffer. Promise. Witness. Reason.” Not the Mother’s voice, but Fray’s. “No dark knight can ever be free for long. Someone always needs us—and who protects the dark knight?” She’d asked him so long ago. “There’s no justice. Just us.”

She opened her eyes to watch the spikes of dark aether shoot through the crowd, disrupting their forms, multitudes becoming a vast cloak of shadow. But the dark was comfort, was protection, and they were her; had always been her. She drew them back into herself, and felt stronger than she had in weeks.

“No,” Myste whispered. “It can’t happen like this. Isn’t she afraid of you?” Fray laughed. “Were you ever?” “Once. When I didn’t understand you,” Shasi confessed. “I’ve been with her this whole time, boy,” Fray said. “I know her better than to think she’d listen to you—she wouldn’t listen to me, the very soul of good sense. And she knows me better than to think I’d betray her. I’m part of her.” She looked at him, in gratitude and in awe, and then she saw his hands were empty. “A dark knight needs a sword,” she told him. “This one was yours.” “And is no longer, but I’ll take it,” he said, wrapping his gauntleted hand about the hilt. It looked right there, even if it wouldn’t be there forever. “Stop!” Myste shrieked. “You don’t know anything but the fight! How can you help her? How can you help anyone? I am offering you peace! Catharsis! A chance to be forgiven!” “It’ll be an interesting fight, at least,” Fray said to Shasi. It was so much easier to focus when she could listen to his voice. “But it’s time to drive the boy out of the game. I can’t stay long.”

The shadows moved, smothering the light upon the water. Her hands were empty. Her heart was full. She was afraid—it was alright to be afraid. Whatever came next would hurt her; would hurt her even before it ever lifted a weapon. She knew that sure as breathing, and she would face it because she chose to. Because she was the only bulwark they had. There were people she needed to protect.

The sword she forged was of her aether and of her will, crimson light pouring from her hands.

It came to her just in time, because when she lifted it, the shimmering clouds of aether revealed the faces of her foes: Ilberd, who had died to free Ala Mhigo; Arbert, who had died to free the First. She didn’t need to look at Fray, didn’t need to say a word; they both sprung into action in the same moment.

The Warrior of Darkness swung his axe like it weighed nothing. How cruel that she should bring her blade of light to bear against him. But it was that or die—not for him but for some false echo of him. And Urianger could not intervene this time.

She was quicker than him, even in water up to her knees, his crashing blow landing in the water with a thunderous splash. He was the greatest warrior of the First, dauntless in her memories. It was no easy thing to land a blow upon him—he caught the first on the haft of his weapon, throwing her aside, swinging for her ribs before she could bring her guard back up. He was real enough to cut her, the blood pouring down her side. She swung for him while he brought the axe about, the curve of the axe head catching her blade, and they locked arms. “You of all people should understand!” he roared at her. “I do!” she cried back. “I would not be half so afraid if I were ignorant!” “To spare them oblivion, I had to kill them! I never wanted to say goodbye!” The memory caught her by surprise, and she was still. He kicked out with one armored boot, driving her back a few steps, her blade sliding along the steel of the bravura, and he shook her grasp off, charging at her. She brought the blade up in time to catch his blow, lashing out with her aether to drive him back. He stinted a moment, long enough for her to catch him with a whirling slice of her blade, to pour herself into the unmending. All the wounds she’d ever seen him take opened like sores upon his body, the stink of his blood filling the air. “I’m sorry, Arbert,” she whispered. She drove her blade into his chest, drinking of the aether that formed him until his form crumbled.

Then she turned on Ilberd, who still harried Fray. Even with the sloshing sound of her footsteps announcing her intent, he did not turn to face her, and she drove her blade through his back. Ilberd died laughing, as he had the first time. “Not really the fairest fight,” Fray said. “I didn’t think you’d mind a bit.”

They turned on Myste, but Shasi did not see him. Her eyes fell instead upon an Elezen man clad in pristine white enameled armor, his blonde hair unkempt, his green eyes uncaring.

She knew him. She would never forget him, nor the way he looked with a spear of aether in his hand.

She could not raise her sword against him. Once, perhaps, but he had died a thousand times in her heart and had never brought her any satisfaction. Perhaps she’d let him make the throw a second time. There was a reunion awaiting her in death, after all.

“Shasi,” Fray shouted, interposing himself between her and the knight of the Heaven’s Ward.

Not again, she thought. Never again, she swore. Remembering her fury renewed it in her; her grief covered her, but the blade in her hands shone more brightly rather than be dimmed by her sorrow. One step, maybe two; the water eddied around her booted feet, swirling brightly behind her as she leapt, higher and further than she ought to have been able to, lifting her blade so that she could bring it down as she landed. Body and steel and foe crashed into the water together, the aether of her momentum, the charge of her horror, channeled down the blade into Zephirin’s body. It tasted like vengeance at last.

But he rose and drew his own blade, broad and heavy as her own, and met her in battle. He was small, for an Elezen, but still taller than her, his blade longer, the force of his blows shaking her arms as their blades met.

Dark knights did not often fight their own. All the memories she possessed told her that. But she had done it once before. She would do it again or die, and the latter was a very real possibility. His blade caught her across the flank, blood welling and then spilling from the wound, trickling down her leg to pollute the waters below. She lashed out in reprisal, her blow opening a black rent in white armor. Fray’s sword clashed against the man’s ribs a moment later, and Ser Zephirin turned his head to look back at the other dark knight.

His focus remained on Shasi, a snarl of contempt escaping his throat with his next blow. She knocked the blow wide, and she heard the clash of steel a moment later. Where she opened Zephirin’s guard, Fray struck, but that wasn’t enough to satisfy her. She met his next overhead strike with her own, thrusting her hilt upward to push him back, into Fray’s blow. In the instant his arms remained raised, she circled, lunging, striking at the gap in his armor beneath his armpit. Crimson stained his side, coated her blade, dimmer than her searing light.

He roared in pain and leapt at her then. She let him overextend, bring his sword down on nothing but water and stone, and lifted one hand to punch him, hearing the crunch of his nose. His next cry sprayed blood everywhere. Fray leapt on his back, driving him to the ground, but he dissipated in a crystalline spray the instant before impact, and Fray landed with a splash.

Shasi pulled him to his feet, moving to protect his side. Her gaze fell upon Myste, who only stared back at her.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Forgive me … I ask, I beg, I pray, but it never comes … forgive me; I only wanted to bring everyone together again. I wanted to spare you the pain of parting.” “No matter how powerful you are, you cannot stop those you love from dying. The pain becomes part of you. It exists in the beating of your heart. In your hand upon the sword,” Fray said. “Isn’t it better never to say goodbye? Do the lost not deserve to live again?” “They live,” Shasi said, “in our hearts and in our souls. In our memories. It would hurt less to forget them, but that’s no way to live.” “Do not seek to lighten the burden,” Fray said. To Myste, or to her. If there was even a difference. If there ever had been. “It weighs as it should.” “But the weight of loss …” “That’s the cost,” Shasi said, “to care for another person. I don’t like it—of course I don’t like it—but I like the alternative even less. It’s my choice to make. It’s where I draw my strength.” “I’m sorry,” Myste said. Fray laid aside his sword, and outstretched a hand toward Myste. The other he offered to her, and she unraveled the blade she’d crafted to take hold of that black gauntlet. “Listen to my voice,” he said. “Listen to our heartbeat. Listen …” There were echoes in the cave of their words, of water lapping at the walls, dripping from the ceiling. “I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you.” “Thank you,” said Myste. “That is all I ever wanted.” Fray gave her hand a squeeze before dropping it, and Shasi opened her eyes. “What happens now?” she said. “Your aether you have reclaimed already,” Myste said, “but … if you could … return me to the crystal. I existed … I exist to protect people from sadness and loneliness. If I could do that for you, I would be happy.” “Myste,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. She fell to her knees, reaching out to embrace him, her face buried against his fragile chest. “I don’t want to kill you,” she said. “You aren’t. You won’t be. Fray and I will just go … back where we belong.” “With you,” Fray said. “In your darkest hour, in the blackest night, think of me—and I will be with you. Always,” Myste promised. “For where else could I go? Who else could I love but you?”

She did not say goodbye as she unmade him, as that face so dear to her dissipated into inky blackness. She could feel the aether that sustained him—and Fray, for he dissolved too—shimmer against her skin, like an embrace. Every breath tasted of clear night air, of the freedom of a boundless vista.

She held him until there was nothing left to hold.

[atomkrp-blog]

WELCOME TO XAVIER’S, SONG DAEHYUN !

… loading statistics. currently aged twenty-two, entering first semester of xavier’s in seoul, south korea. decrypting files… mutant has the following records: strength +4, durability +7, agility +4, dexterity +4, intelligence +6. currently, he is classified under tier omega.

BACKGROUND.

this is a story where a boy eats himself and never spits the flesh out. shrapnel bones and papier-mâché skin against your palate: hemorrhage painting your insides with the color of unrest, carving a private death in the confines of your own ribcage.

the corpses of your sanity taste like copper in your lonely mouth.

licks your lips clean from the residue of your nightmares—                                                           sanity never comes away in a bang.

you partake in the game played between mortals made serpents. your unholy intents, their forked tongues. it’s an all-night dance. the music is an overture of reprised elegies. hands on hips, hands on shoulder blades, hands on throats.

             you come out alive.                            but not intact. never intact.

turn the clockwork around, however, and clasp the zeroes between your teeth.

            o.

your body is a husk, containing the hollow echo of your scream.

             i.

she is the baby’s breath in his summer, counting filaments of the sky through the rim of her sun-kissed dress. when she threads her fingers between his, heat. pooled at the stomach, rusting on his cheeks. some of those afternoons smell like forgotten nightmares, sunk in the collarbones of his daydreams. some of those evenings haze his thoughts in the stained glass of emotions, cracking through his visions. he brings her home and locks his monsters in their caskets.

how the nights end: arched spines, tiptoeing whispers. she washes his mouth with her wine. he is afraid of diluting her insides with acid.

she maps poetries into his skin and he traces the constellation of her teeth. she is made of soft carnage and he, the victim. he doesn’t mind the casualty, cutting his ribcage to let her fingers curl around his heart. she pulses red and he breathes in her dust.

knees to the floor, mouth colored with wishes. there is something different about the way her tongue wraps around the simple word.

darkness descends. you consume her.

             ii.

                                 maybe more than you should have.

she holds the small of your fingers. a smile splinters the pale of her lips. he isn’t smiling. he reads between the lines, catching implications between his trembling teeth. she holds the small of your fingers. he caresses the brittle of her skin.

the silence echoes. her tongue wraps around three syllables, tasting more than a whisper. the silence blossoms and suffocates the room. except for the static noises, always the static noises. it’s a uniform sound that punctures his ears they bleed shards.

you make her a martyr, and him, a fallen soldier.

             iii.

he fills you with his ruins.

her residue. his empty daydreams. somehow the color of the summer sky resembles blood more than sorrow. he keeps bleeding; there’s no scar tissue, just open wounds. he decorates the jutting bones of his knuckles with ire. catharsis comes in the beauty of bruised roses. sometimes when he laughs, you think he’s angry.

             he lathers his mouth with her ashes.

you have her eyes. sometimes he looks into them, looking past you. he stares at them for the longest time.

             iv.

he says you learned fast, breaking sentences into slivers, smearing fingertips with ink. what you failed to learn: your shadows sometimes flicker.

             you fear darkness but it fears you more.

the black is serrated, teeth razor sharp against your jugular. your moments between sleep are painted with ragged breaths and unspoken pleas. there is something moving in the dark.

he believes it’s her, keeping you company.

monsters don’t live in the absence of lights, he says. they live in your bones, gnawing at your sinews. you were born with them inside you.

            v.

what you were born with besides the monstrosity: demise, spelled another way.

                                       you were architected to carry an empire in you.

             vi.

he slips bloodshed into your lullabies.

bruises embody his detonations. he looks tired, but alive for once. you don’t speak when his knuckles rupture the fragility in the dying war. you don’t move when his weary limbs pretend that they aren’t weighted by the lingering ghosts.

it’s a cyclical catastrophe, your feigned innocence. how the nights end: you, collecting his pieces and trying to reassemble his bones.

but they have been too dislocated.

yet you talk to him, talk talk talk until your mouth blooms poppies, trying to keep him alive.

             vii.

there is a pool of moonburst in your head, carving craters and dents to soak them in liquid destructions.

there was a part of you littered with everything soft. you’d like to think of these: bird-bones, tender skin. think of gentleness. think of baby’s breath.

there was a part of you littered with everything soft. what’s left: splinters. these days fill themselves to the neck with digging your nails into your skin. you are a cathedral of burning, tendrils of black billowing from your crevasses. you are a pair of tangled feet on the brim of apocalypse, waiting for darkness to swallow you whole.

when it does, it never spits you out.

             viii.

you don’t know which to sacrifice: your mind, or your body.

                                                      ( or both. )

             ix.

how does it feel, being a stranger to your own body? you imagine that your fingers aren’t yours, standing under the shower for hours hoping to shed your skin off your flesh. the sight of the red and blue can’t be more fascinating.

                                                                     a dissected mind.

you breathe in decay until your lungs shiver. you wear the rust until your knuckles turn gaunt.

            x.

they saw: how your shadows flicker. they saw: how your darkness enshrouds.

             somebody tells you to run, run, run. from yourself.

last time you did, you broke a bone and handed the pieces to them. last time you did, you bruised your mind and the capillaries are still severed.

                             ( but this isn’t a compromise, this isn’t a discussion. )

             xi.

you bite the pomegranate of chaos and swallow the seeds, the flowers blooming in your stomach.

                                             question:

             do you run from the beasts in your reality,                   or do you run from the monsters your invented in your head?

and this is it — the run, run, run. in your fisted palm is a lungful of blood, drained from others’ veins. they call it a sacrifice. they call it an escape. what they actually call it: an exodus. what you actually call it: your carnages. how do you tell bloodshed apart from your fractured facts?

              ( you don’t. )

MUTATION.

he has the ability to become the embodiment of contagion, meaning that he can spread influences accordingly. his state of abilities is dependent on his current mental as well as physical status, although at the peak he can infect up to one kilometre radius, or even more considering the complexities of the influence being spread. his influences include, but not limited to, diseases and insanity, as well as appeal to negative emotions. when it comes to emotions, he finds it easier to amplify than inflict from zero, although the latter is far from impossible. negative influences in the mind are usually formed through the similar systematics of killing serotonin, and sometimes, in more severe cases, inducing necrosis. he’s most educated in terms of disease manipulation, however, compared to the other aspects of his powers.

STRENGTHS.

he can generate, induce, and manipulate diseases — also called disease manipulation in terms of power. while this application greatly varies, it’s highly based on his own knowledge in regards to these illnesses. he cannot inflict what he doesn’t know, and while he can create the diseases, he needs to comprehend the systematic of the diseases: how it affects the immune system, how it affects the body, etc. his understandings about diseases when it comes to this ability are vastly different from that of medical knowledge, and it cannot simply be explained in words.

he can also accelerate and suppress diseases, although healing is a far-fetched idea that he has yet to apply a lot. thus, curing is an aspect least touched upon, rendering it almost obsolete in his deposit. other applications of this are: infection empowerment ( ability to become empowered by the presence of diseases ), pathogen manipulation ( transferral, mimicry, elimination, hypnotic ), cellular disintegration ( to destroy cells by inflicting diseases ), healing factor nullification, as well as mutation inducement, although this one is extremely limited to what might be received by the victim’s dna. poison manipulation — which includes all scopes of poison, including toxin and venom, is also within his reach considering the similar systematics to disease manipulation.

he also possesses a fragment of parasite physiology and virus mimicry, although this is the least harnessed out of the other powers. through his parasitic characteristics, he’s able to tap into genetic memories, and upon touch, replicate an extent of knowledge, despite not much. it’s typically only on the surface, enveloping the conscious. through this, he can read the minds, be they memories or understandings, although this doesn’t last long after the contact is cut off.

in a sense, he’s also bestowed with regenerative healing factor by absorbing someone else’s health, also through direct contact. as for the virus mimicry, while he’s unable to perform anything that alters his solid form, he’s able to execute some of the applications in it, such as rupturing internal organs, although in order to do that he needs to have the victim remaining still — for it takes time. he can also perform cellular disintegration, which relates back to regenerative healing factor nullification, in which he can overpower cellular regeneration.

WEAKNESSES.

he is, by no means, immune to his own powers, and therefore anyone who mimics this power can hit him at his point of vulnerability. he has no superhuman immunity, albeit slightly more enhanced in a way that he doesn’t fall sick as easily, but he’s definitely still able to contract diseases that he himself can spread onto others. the only way to cure himself is by applying his own healing power, which is far from polished. another way to lessen this effect would be through empowerment, although not all diseases can be empowered, and may weaken and eventually kill him instead.

emotional influences are limited to negative scopes only, with the spectrum lying at the corner of fear and madness, and he cannot spread other types of emotions apart from these. it also limits the amplification of emotional states for those around him, where he can only magnify the negative ones as opposed to the positives.

also, in terms of mental stability, he’s slowly decaying considering his powers consume a lot of him. they feed off his sanity, in a way that his emotional responses towards his own influences cause a decline. these powers also rely heavily on his imagination, and most of the time, he feels the imaginary pain of the emotions and diseases before being able to transfer them.

the spectrum of illnesses that he can spread highly depends on the amount of knowledge that he has on said specimens. it’s easier for him to inflict diseases on humans, knowing their specifics of immune system and whatnot, rather than vigils and mutants considering that they vary highly. with the variants, he needs to gauge a measurement as to how much influence is needed to affect them at all.

his power is mostly effective towards those around him as opposed to himself, meaning that while he’s able to apply some of them onto his own benefits, most of it is actually an output. his powers rely on offensive instead of defensive manner, in which if someone manages to replicate and outpower him, he’d be unable to form a defence mechanism. his mimicry might bring some powers inward, but as they’re not as trained as the rest of the powers, they do not work as effectively either.

being mentally unstable also takes a toll on his powers, seeing that they’re reliant on his stability to perform the tasks. it turns into a paradox where his abilities make him unstable; it formulates a never-ending ring of fire, which he knows will eventually consume him mentally. while he can regenerate his own brain cells by the various techniques that he can apply, be it through absorption or empowerment, he cannot fix what’s broken from the sanity for it’s intangible, leaving him with a rotting mind. and unfortunately, his ability to affect emotions are also increasing the volatility of his mental state, further worsening his conditions.

knowledge replication through parasitic tendencies can only be acquired through direct contact, skin on skin without any hindering fabrics and the likes. upon having the contact terminated, knowledge that isn’t obtained in his understandings ( e.g. adoptive muscle memories, as well as other types of knowledge which systematic is foreign to him ) would dissipate as soon as it comes. this doesn’t mean that he can replicate powers either, unless it has something to do with the mind. he can only read memories and thoughts superficially, and although some might be retained depending on how long the contact remains, the majority of it is usually forgotten.