#ive been playing a lot the last two days though and its like every time

[hassianlovebot]

is anyone else having trouble finding palium again? i swear every time i check the usual spots there's never anything there. ik they added more nodes around the map and i've run into them a few times, but finding multiple nodes in the usual spots is not working rn,,,

[obliviousriki]

I finally finished Future Connected. The game has been out for over two years at this point

[rrxnjun]

potential • z. chenle

pairing. zhong chenle x fem! reader genre. rich kids au, childhood friends au, friends with benefits au. angst, fluff, suggestive. word count. 20k (20.079) warnings. alcohol consumption, swearing, mentions of sexual activity, sexual innuendos, a heavy make out session or two, use of lyrics from ariana grande and sarah close and masking them as my own words a/n. why do we call it a rich kid chenle au when he's a rich kid irl. anyways for the fact that this was one of the most spontaneous fics ive ever written it sure did take a lot of time to execute. took a lot of inspo for the lifestyle from the sky castle kdrama so if its not accurate dont @ me bc ive never been rich LMAO

playlist. in my head – ariana grande ; successful – ariana grande ; nonsense – sabrina carpenter ; supermodel – måneskin ; that's what i like – bruno mars

You saw his potential without seeing credentials. And maybe that's the issue.

August 28, 2020 – somewhere in the Bali sea, 1:27 AM

The music is loud. The weather is humid.

Wrapping up the summer before your senior year, dancing around in the bar of the cruise ship in the middle of the ocean, one last stop before your 28-day cruise around Southeast Asia is over, the loud music from the bar rings in your ears as you dance around, a glass of expensive Mendis coconut Brandy swirling in your hold. The taste of the alcohol on your tongue burns, not quite used to the burning sensation in your mouth– this is one of the first times you’re drinking, since your parents were always big on prestige and acting classy. Your parents went to sleep, though– excited to explore Benoa tomorrow, to immerse themselves in nature and explore Bali’s temples and heritage. You, on the other hand, took this as an opportunity to party– accompanied by none other than your parents’ friend’s son, who grew into the position of your childhood best friend solely because his and your family have always been close, choosing to spend vacations together; a relationship that was mostly fueled by the immediate closeness of you two during the summer breaks and ski trips to Swiss Alps every January.

And while you’re no stranger to pearls, charity events in your parents’ mansion in Hong Kong, golf courses in Miami and fashion shows in Milan, growing up in the world of designer bags and prestigious titles, you feel quite stranded in the middle of the sweaty teenagers, all of them with the same social status as you, drinking expensive alcohol and swinging your hips to the EDM music playing through the speakers. It almost feels like this is the first time you’re able to enjoy yourself without anyone’s supervision, screaming at the top of your lungs into Zhong Chenle’s face as he laughs at you on the dance floor, and truth be told, you could care less about the pictures you’re going to take for your Instagram tomorrow, showing everyone just how good you’re doing and how much fun you’re having on your lengthy cruises around the continent, because somehow, even though the bar is clothed in gold and you feel a bit like in The great Gatsby, this feels like the least pressuring part of the whole trip.

“We should go to parties more often!” you scream into Chenle’s ear, taking a sip of your Brandy as you twirl yourself around him, the straps of your sparkly spaghetti-strap tiny top falling off your shoulders in a moment of carelessness, your thoughts somewhere completely else. You may be 19 years old and insanely wealthy, but that still doesn’t mean you are experienced in the art of partying– quite the opposite, actually, having to always seem cultivated and presenting yourself in a way that would suggest that your family is high on prestige and recognition– so to finally be surrounded by people your age, dancing along to the music and jumping up as you all chant the lyrics to Barbie girl by Aqua (how ironic) feels quite ecstatic.

“Like our parents would let us,” Chenle rolls his eyes, lips almost pressed against the shell of your ear as he makes sure to get close enough for you to hear him.

Sighing at his argument– knowing he’s absolutely right, but also hating the fact that he had to ruin your mood by stating it out loud– you shake your head as you down the last bits of your drink, putting the heavy glass onto the tray of a waiter that’s passing by to gather the rest of the empty ones scattered across the shiny tables in the corner of the room. Your brain is starting to get a little fuzzy and you can’t help the giggling escaping out of your throat whenever your eyes meet Chenle’s, the flush on the boy’s cheeks hinting at the fact that he’s not any better at handling his alcohol than you, having just as much experience in heavy drinking and partying as you do. 

You’re only 19 years old and you don’t know a lot about the world. After all, you were brought up in a family that always did everything for you– you never had to move a single finger. You never even had to clean your room, because your parents had people that would come by every morning while you were in school, just so you could arrive home to a tidy place when you were done with your lectures. You went to a private school, so you were always surrounded by people with a status similar to yours. You spoke about your tutoring classes that cost more than groceries for a middle-class family a week, you talked about your trips abroad, and if you had time, you even went shopping with your classmates after school before your driver picked you up and drove you back into the suburbs; your neighborhood guarded by a gate, the asphalt behind it so much smoother than it is in the rest of the town.

You never got to experience partying like this– only gaping with an open mouth when you saw those scenes in the movies you watched on Netflix in your own private movie room. And if you’re being totally honest, you never imagined enjoying such a thing. You never had the experience, so you didn’t really yearn for it, but now that you’re here, surrounded by loud music, experiencing the weird emotional feeling that comes with being in a crowd screaming in joy at the same time first-hand on your own skin, you don’t think you’ll be able to go back to how you were before.

This is not how rich kids party. At least not when their parents are around.

“You’re gonna be hungover tomorrow morning,” Chenle mutters into your ear when your eyes light up at the sight of more alcohol, contemplating on getting another drink, just because. 

“And you’re not?” you tease him, pointing to his glossy eyes and lazy walk, his legs tangling with each other every few seconds from the haze he’s been put in just by having a few drinks. The sight is quite funny– the ever-so composed millionaire son is now a troubled mess in your eyes; one wrong step and he could ruin the image his family has spent years to build up, but it doesn’t seem like either of you care, tripping over your feet and lounging at each other in the middle of the dance floor. 

Feeling like you’re playing a dangerous game, hanging off his neck and swaying your hips to the rhythmic beat, you gape into his blown-out eyes and desperately try to get your brain straight. The more you drank and the more you spent time in Chenle’s close proximity, the less you were able to control your emotions and the weird thoughts in your brain that have been slowly eating up all your notions for quite some time now. Gaping at his plump lips and feeling his palms burning at your hips, his fingers ever-so-slightly hovering above the curve of your ass, you’re finding it hard to concentrate on the music or on the words spilling off his tongue, his voice never shutting up even in the loud bar. You always told him he talks too much, but he doesn’t seem to mind– he seems to actually take much pride in his annoying tendencies, talking your ear off on multiple occasions even when you tell him he should probably stay quiet for at least a minute, so your brain could recharge.

Truth be told, you listen to him most of the time anyway. He always talks and you always listen, rolling your eyes at the snarky parts and giggling at the jokes; so the fact that you suddenly can’t focus and just desperately want him to shut the fuck up must be the effect of all the alcohol you’ve been drinking tonight. 

And your next step might as well be the main consequence of the coconut Brandy as well– because even though you’ve been dreaming of his plump lips on yours for quite some time now, you’ve never actually dared to act up on the desire. But your intention to make him go quiet seems to be working when the train of words stammering out of his mouth is cut off, a surprised noise trailing out of his throat when you kiss him on the dance floor; and to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to mind your weird sign of protest to his endless talking– quite the opposite, really, as he lets you take the lead and taste the mix of alcohol in the Long Island cocktails he’s been drinking the whole night off his tongue, your hands mindlessly trailing up to thread themselves into his hair. 

This is not your first time kissing a boy– you once pecked Song Eunseok on the lips when the two of you sneaked out of class one day in 9th grade– but you never once kissed anyone with such passion and desire before. You’re not sure where you got all the courage from and you’re also not sure where you learned all of this– but it must be working, with how heavily Chenle’s breathing when you finally let go of his lips and he rests his forehead against yours. In no time, he’s chasing you down again, drunk not only on the alcohol now as he tilts his head to get closer, one hand resting on the side of your neck, just a few inches below your jaw, keeping you in place. 

“You should learn how to shut up,” you mumble against his lips, breathing heavy as you break away from him again and open your eyes to meet your gaze with his. The music is still loud in your ears, but you swear you hear a static noise somewhere in your brain, a tingle in your fingertips making you feel like you’re about to have an out-of-body experience. Your drunken brain is not allowing you to ponder about your actions that much, not letting you think and contemplate the fact that you just made out with your childhood best friend on one of the most expensive cruise ships, drinking alcohol you weren’t supposed to spend so much money on, and maybe that’s a good thing– because there’s nothing stopping you in having the time of your life, no overthinking making you doubt your next steps and no feeling of shame or regret making the whole experience bitter as you dance pressed against your companion, letting him press short, yet daring kisses to your lips as time passes.

“I think I’m good,” he snickers, when the music suddenly cuts out, an announcer telling you that the bar closes at 2 AM and that this song is the last for the night.

Sighing in disappointment– because who even knows when the next time you’ll have this opportunity will come– you let Chenle lead you out of the bar, his hand glued around your exposed waist. Your walk is a little loop-sided and you two almost smash into the glass door (doesn’t matter that it’s automatic and it quite literally opened in front of your figures). Soon enough, you’re met with the golden interior of the cruise walls again, the design a little vintage, yet still luxurious, reminding you of the movie Titanic. Tripping over the doorsteps, hands getting caught on the red, velvety curtains hung around, you giggle at every word that comes out of Chenle’s mouth, bodies slowly, but surely getting closer and closer to your suite bedrooms. You’re quite sure your parents could hear you talking outside in the hall, but you choose to not ponder on what they would think of you if they saw you in this state too much, instead making yourself believe that they’re long asleep and won’t be woken up by your voices resonating through the quiet space. 

“So I guess this is where we say goodnight?” you mumble, hanging off Chenle’s neck. His breath smells of the vodka-tequila mix when he hovers over you, bodies off-balance pressed against the cold wall just outside of your bedroom. Flashing you a grin, face looking close to a cheshire cat, he nudges your nose with his, a quiet hum landing to your ear, not heard by anyone.

“Or we could stay up a little longer.”

Squirming under his touch, his lips softly, yet still a little uncoordinatedly landing on yours, you waste no time in unlocking the door to your room– even though you have a bit of trouble with finding the key in your small purse, even surprised you haven’t lost the bag somewhere in the middle of the night– letting your childhood friend in to your space at the suggestion, your clothed bodies falling to the soft cushions of the water bed. 

You’re only 19 and don’t know much about the world when you messily undress yourself under your friend’s eyes, blinded by the glints in his deep chocolate orbs when he looks at you from above and attacks your neck with kisses. And you usually don’t regret much, considering yourself a responsible individual, always rethinking everything and making sure it’s the right choice, but when you look back at this day now, you don’t really know if sleeping with Zhong Chenle on a cruise around Southeast Asia was the brightest idea of yours, considering the mental turmoil it’s gonna cause you on the way.

Well, at least you can say you lost your virginity somewhere in the middle of the Bali sea, and at least that’s something to boost your ego with, am I right…? 

July 12, 2007 – Tokyo DisneySea, 2:21 PM

If anyone asked you for your favorite childhood memory, you wouldn’t have a hard time picking one. Sure, one would think you have too many pleasant memories to choose from, so realistically, you should take more time to pick and weigh the value of each one, contemplating if the trip to Rome was a happier memory than the summer you spent in Los Angeles when you were 10, but you are 100%, completely in tune with the fact that if anyone ever asked you this very question, the words falling off their tongue with interest and enthusiasm, no judgment and no hidden intentions behind their question, you’d have an answer ready with a smile on your face.

You don’t hold much emotion to your past memories. You’ve been on more vacations than you can both count and remember growing up, and so even though you do think the pictures you took in Italy came out good and your skin glistens prettily in the warm sun, even though you do think you experienced a lot of fun while going to the Target for the first time with your nanny– the woman your mum hired just because your parents were too busy with their business meetings the whole time you walked the streets of Los Angeles with the new woman you were supposed to trust with your life at the ripe age of 10– you wouldn’t say any of those memories are as close to your heart as the trip you took to Japan with the Zhong family when you were 6, the summer before attending first grade.

This was the year you and Chenle watched the Pirates of the Caribbean together for the first time, and even though it wasn’t in the initial plan, you two spent hours and hours and hours  of the flight persuading your parents to take you to Tokyo Disneyland, because you heard from his cousin Yizhuo that you could meet Jack Sparrow if you went. While your plan didn’t exactly work and the two of you didn’t get to go to the large theme park– because your parents were busy, mostly traveling because of business and so they didn’t have the time to arrange it, the amount of sulking you two did when you arrived to the rented house in the expensive part of Tokyo to the teenager that was supposed to watch you two for the time being was enough for him to take you two on a short train ride to the twin of the famous theme park– the Tokyo DisneySea. 

The 15-minute train ride you three took to the theme park was your first, and also last time you ever rode such a mean of transport. All you were used to were expensive sports cars and limousines– you never imagined that people took such transport even every single day, at times. You and Chenle were so immersed in the journey that it was hard for your babysitter to get you out of the train, your small, excited bodies almost tripping over your own little feet as the raven-haired boy dragged you through the streets of Maihama station. 

You could see the towers of the park and you could smell the salt from the sea even from a distance. The whole atmosphere felt magical, giggles often erupting out of your throat as Yuta– the boy your parents hired to watch over you for the day– bought a bubble blower from one of the stands and blew out bubbles you two chased around and tried to pop before they got to the ground. There were no expensive cars in sight, no people dressed in suits and designer shoes– well, except from the two of you, but you couldn’t quite grasp the idea of how much your attire cost at that age yet– and you felt truly, insanely happy. The adults that always watched you when your parents went to business meetings were stern and serious, never letting you have much fun, but today was different, and you find yourself wondering why your parents even let you be babysat by a reckless teenager in the first place. He was 16 at the time– 10 years older than the both of you– and when you look back at the day now, you think it was the time pressure that brought your parents into hiring him. You bet they paid him a lot of money, hell, you bet they even lended him a credit card he could use to entertain you two for the whole afternoon, and even though you found him using it a few times, you didn’t think he spent just as much as all your previous babysitters did. 

Not that you knew the value of money back then, after all. Maybe the fact that you couldn’t tell how much money everything was worth back then is what truly made the whole day so carefree and happy for you.

You were children of wealthy Chinese business owners. You always had everything they saw in your eyes– you didn’t even have to say it out loud and it was held up to you on a silver platter. This day, though, you didn’t even have to use that much money– if you truly compare it to other vacations your families have been to– and you can’t help but think it’s ironic how despite this fact, this day is still your favorite childhood memory. 

The Tokyo DisneySea was catered to a more mature audience– even serving alcohol in the premises, a thing no other Disneyland does– but even though you were just 6 and couldn’t drink and there was no Jack Sparrow waiting for you in the streets of the theme park, you and Chenle had a blast. Maybe it was a good decision on Yuta’s part to take you to the DisneySea instead; it catered to your Pirates of the Caribbean needs perfectly despite it not being the initial theme. The ships and wooden coasts and harbors were enough for your imagination to create stories about pirates in your head, the three of you attending various rides and screaming at the top of your lungs together over the course of the afternoon.

“Wanna go to the Tower of Terror?” Yuta asked you, his toothy grin on full display as he dragged you two to the scary ride when you finally got to the American Waterfront. 

The teenager was wearing a black muscle top with L’arc en ciel written on it– you found out only a few years later that it was a japanese rock band– and with his long, black hair falling to his forehead, he looked just like the person that would enjoy scary rides and horror movies. You, however– you weren’t prepared to get scared by green ghosts and eerie music. Not at 6 years old anyways, although you doubt you’d do better on this day.

If there’s one thing you need to know about Zhong Chenle, it’s the fact that he’s a lover of horror. And Korean dramas. But mostly horror– a few years later, when you were both the age Nakamoto Yuta was when he brought you to the Tokyo DisneySea, your friend came to a Halloween party dressed like the clown from IT and managed to jump-scare you every moment he physically got. There was no surprise in the small boy liking the idea of attending the scary ride, and no matter how hard you tried and protested, there was no use in you saying no. Because the two of them wanted to go, and you, quoting Yuta, ‘couldn’t just stay alone outside’, so you were pretty much forced into the darkness of the Tower of Terror, your small body pressed against Chenle and Yuta’s– you refused to sit anywhere but sandwiched between the two in the middle of the cart– shutting your eyes close when the scary music started playing and you could feel the anxiety forming in the pit of your stomach.

You trembled the whole time, panic resting in your beating heart, and somewhere along the way, you found yourself clinging to Chenle’s small hand, squishing it so hard he screamed at you in the dim lightning of the ride. You didn’t let go, though– that’s what he gets for dragging you along– fracturing his bones wasn’t in your concerns, if it made you feel more secure and safe.

The fond memory of the day ends with the moment the scary ride is over and you finally get out of the darkness– with Yuta having to carry your out of terror half-paralyzed body from the cart. To this day, you still don’t have a clear outlook on why this day is your favorite childhood memory, but you think it might be the mix of Chenle’s excited laughter as he scared you every two seconds after the ride, the apologetic hug he enveloped you in after you almost burst to tears the third time, the taste of the sausage Yuta bought you two for dinner, the taxi ride to the rented house you had to take in a rush before your parents got back from their business meeting, and the melodic voice of your best friend when he sang you the opening theme to the Pirates of the Caribbean before you two fell asleep on the same bed in your hotel room.

Either way, despite the terror, you don’t think you’ve ever had this much fun ever again. 

When you peed the bed that night, your parents decided to never hire a teenager to look after the two of you again. From that moment alone, there was less horror, but also less fun.

May 5, 2019 – tennis courts in Jinqiao, Shanghai, 4:17 PM

One would think that growing up with Zhong Chenle would put him into a position of your almost-brother. And while you did agree with the statement on most days– like when he laughed so hard that snot came out of his nose and almost fell into your lunch plate when you were 15, or when he shot you with his paintball gun so hard you had a bruise on your knee for three weeks when you were 17– you think you’re starting to slowly outgrow this phase. 

Zhong Chenle is no longer a brotherly figure to you when you two pick up tennis at the ripe age of 18. 

It wasn’t either of your ideas, of course. Tennis is not a sport a teenager just suddenly picks up one day because they’re interested– at least not when you’re incredibly wealthy and can pretty much afford any other hobby in the entire world. No, it was the idea of Chenle’s mother– because, quoting, ‘the kids barely go out these days, they might as well pick up a sport!’ – and with the copycat tendencies of your dear mum, you were dragged along into it as well. And so now, during the finals season, on top of that, you two have to go play tennis on one of the private tennis courts your families rent for three hours a day every Friday afternoon instead of studying or focusing on getting your stress out of your body doing other, much more enjoyable things.

“You know, you look a little too excited for someone who hates playing tennis,” Renjun– the neighborhood kid (your parents being business partners for quite some time now made you and the short boy become friends somewhere along the way)– states, snickering as he lays on one of the benches on the side, his own tennis racket thrown carelessly on the ground as he watches the two of you running around the court, playing.

“I only do it because I’m bored,” Chenle mutters under his nose, sending the little yellow ball over the net with much force, making you run to the other side of the court. 

“And I only do it because I need to prove to him that he’s not the best at everything he tries,” you add, sending the ball back to your friend. 

“Just say you want to impress him and go,” Yizhuo– Chenle’s cousin from his mother’s side– teases you from the bench, sitting next to Renjun. Her remark doesn’t go unnoticed by you as you send the yellow ball her way after her cousin passes it towards your side of the court again, aiming precisely for her forehead but missing, earning yourself a terrified yelp out of the girl when she scootches closer to the boy next to her.

“That’s totally not what’s going on, but sure,” you roll your eyes at her when she throws the ball back, but you don’t feel interested in continuing the game anymore. Tiredly walking closer to the two sitting at the little shaded bench, wiping the sweat off your forehead, you try hard to not think of the snarky remark that was sent your way. 

Is it really that obvious? Because sure, you’ve always found Zhong Chenle to be your brother figure over the years of growing up– but there’s something about the humid air of the tennis court and his competitiveness that have you eyeing him when he takes a sip from his water bottle or when he adjusts the hairband sitting on his damp forehead. He wears shorts that reveal his calves very nicely, and when you play 2 on 2, you find yourself focusing less and less on the game– earning yourself a frustrated yell from Ning Yizhuo herself as she plays along your side– and more and more on the Gucci tennis shoes adorning his feet as you scan the boy up and down, his figure growing taller and taller each passing day captivating you in a sense you’ve never quite experienced before.

“I can’t believe my mum dragged you all into this shit,” Chenle giggles when he sits next to Renjun on the bench, following you to the shade. There’s only 20 minutes left in the time your parents rented the court for and you figure that you can spend that time recharging your energy instead of playing the boring game. 

“Not me,” Yizhuo says, “she made my mother feel bad about not signing me up for any sports. You know, your mum’s pretty persuasive, especially when it comes to looking good in front of everyone. If it wasn’t for my mum, I wouldn’t be doing this shit,” she complains, shrugging as she adjusts her ponytail that’s always sitting neatly on the crown of her head.

“I love the fact that Renjun here is the least athletic out of all of us, but he is the only one here willingly,” you snicker, earning yourself a chant of amused laughs at the spoken truth. Now, nobody forced Huang Renjun to come play tennis with you every Friday– but the fact that he doesn’t have many friends in the neighborhood was what made him come along, too bored on his own and with nothing to put his attention to. He doesn’t like playing much, but everything’s better than sitting alone at home, am I right?

The three of you gossip about everything and nothing– the new family in the neighborhood, especially, because Renjun saw their son last Sunday and found his outfit absolutely atrocious (“You’d think people with money would at least know how to dress well, but no. That’s not the case with that Wen Junhui guy.”). The time passes by quickly, and when the timer on Chenle’s phone goes off, signaling that the three mandatory hours at the tennis court are finally over, you all stand up and walk over to the gate, shoes dragging along the sandy surface of the ground with much tiredness. At least you’re getting some cardio in…

“Is your driver coming to pick you up?” Chenle asks as you pay goodbye to your friends, both of them getting into expensive cars waiting for them at the parking lot. Turning to him, you hum in agreement, suddenly shy under his gaze. It’s not even summer yet, but the May sun is already harsh on the skin, getting redness to spread along his cheeks, only further sculpting his handsome bone structure you’ve grown so familiar with over the years. 

“What about you?” 

“Told my mum I’ll walk home instead. It’s not like it’s only a 20 minute walk anyway,” he mutters, rolling his eyes at the irony of you having to drive home despite living only a few meters away from him, in the same wealthy neighborhood. You grew up together, in the same mowed lawns, in the same green labyrinths of your families’ villas, in the same high ceilings and golden accents on the interior of your houses. After watching him from the corner of your eye, you start to wonder about what changed between the two of you that made you so weak to him now, that you’re both 18. Did he change? Was it the fact that you were now both adults? You don’t think that’s the case– because even though you were 18, there were no more responsibilities waiting for you than they were the years before. 

“My driver can take you,” you say, kicking the rocks below your feet, “well, unless you want to walk home alone instead,” you add, noting his previous sentence.

You see him take a sip out of his water bottle, shrugging at your suggestion. Chenle’s not a fan of inefficiency, no matter the fact that you can afford anything you could ever want. It’s a quality of him you find quite strange some days, but you don’t ponder on it too much. 

You’ve known each other since you were in diapers. And after replaying all the memories you have with the boy in your head, you think that your 18 year old self isn’t so stupid for falling for him. See– you’ve got to know a lot of men over the course of your life. Many tried to get with you barely before you even grew into an adult, seeing the vision of money and the social status you could give them. Some, on the other hand, never gave you back the attention you were giving them. All relationships you had in your life were blinded by the imaginary price tag you always carried around with yourself, and so everything always stayed surface-level and plain. No wonder you fell for Chenle– no matter how long it took you to get to this part of your friendship– he’s the only one that ever showed you his true self, he’s the only one that ever trusted you enough to go deeper in conversations with you and treated you like a real human being. You know him well and he knows you well; he’s like a book you always find yourself rereading, excited to find that your favorite characters always stayed the same. At the end of the day, you think you were always meant to fall for Chenle.

Standing under the blazing sun, you wait for your driver to get to the tennis courts. You wait for 10 minutes, then 15– and when you get a little too overheated, Chenle offers you his water bottle and mumbles something about being on time. When the time passes 45 minutes after your driver’s supposed arrival, your friend turns to you with a glint in his eye, a grin sitting on his annoyingly handsome face.

“Wanna walk home with me instead?”

And the truth is, you don’t find yourself disagreeing. And you also don’t find yourself hating the walk up the hills of the neighborhood– no matter how tiring it was to your already exhausted limbs– and you don’t find yourself complaining about the lack of AC or the vehicle driving your ass home to your, admittedly, too big of a house. Chenle entertains you with his talks– because he always talks too much for his own good– and when you stop paying attention to him and lose track of where you’re going, he drags you back to the sidewalk by your hand and your fingers stay interlocked when he teases you about the fact that you almost got ran over by a white Cadillac. 

“Listen, there’s this song I think you’ll like,” he hums when you’re 5 minutes away from your house, pulling out his phone out of his back pocket and opening up the Spotify app. He plays you a song by Ariana Grande, singing along to the lyrics of the chorus. His voice goes thin when he tries to mimic the singer’s voice, dragging along the english sentences of ‘it feels so good to be this young and have this fun and be successful, i’m so successful!’, irony seeping from his tone. Your hands are still intertwined as he swings them back and forth and you don’t even really care about the subtle implication of the lyrics he’s singing– because it’s Chenle, and despite being just as wealthy as you, he’s no stranger to calling you a snob. 

When you’re 18 and walking back from your weekly tennis endeavors, you can’t help but feel the fluttering in your heart when your friend twirls you around in your driveway, your white tennis skirt childishly fulfilling your unsaid dreams of becoming a ballerina, before he walks to his house standing on the opposite side of the road. 

You don’t even care that your poor driver got fired by your mother right after she realized he forgot to pick you up from the tennis court as much.

October 17, 2020 – a charity evening, Shanghai, 9:11 PM

Your whole life so far has been guided in the aura of money. When you were little, you didn’t realize it as much– your young, undeveloped brain couldn’t phantom the fact that your annual trips to Italy and summer vacations at yachts and in the Paris DisneyLand weren’t a normal occurrence to everyone. You couldn’t understand the value of money, and you think that maybe, you never truly will. Because you were born fortunate, never having to worry about a single thing, always living in wealth and with gold around your neck. 

The closest you are to understanding just how much money your family truly has is at the charity evenings you are forced to attend. Walking around, mostly bored– because truly, you didn’t have much of an idea just how much money you’re sending to the unfortunate parts of Africa and what the whole thing even has to do with you, when the money wasn’t really yours in the first place– you try to at least look through the flier your family made for the event, reading through the carefully crafted sentences, feeling at least a little sorry for everyone that doesn’t get to live the way you do.

“Isn’t it funny how this is the only way our families can present themselves in a good light?” Chenle mumbles when he reads over your shoulder, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.

Turning around to look at your companion, you furrow your brows at his snarky comment. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we give to charity so people don’t hate us as much,” Chenle shrugs, taking a sip from the champagne poured in a tall glass you’re pretty sure your mother spent hours and hours picking out when renting this place, just so everything could be perfect. 

“It’s just jealousy,” you say as you walk side-by-side with the boy, the expensive fabric of his white button-down hugging his body in all the right places, leaving you light-headed when you let yourself indulge in your thoughts for too long and stare at the curves of his forearms. It’s been a few months since you slept with your childhood friend– and while you must admit that you regretted it a little when you woke up in the morning, with a hangover and sore limbs, you also didn’t regret it as much as to turn the offer down when it was next brought to you. And the next time, and the next… 

“You think?” Chenle asks, and his interest in your answer seems genuine.

“Yeah,” you nod, shrugging to yourself, “we have more money than any of them ever will, so it’s only natural for people to feel jealous and talk spiteful things about us.���

Chenle hums at your answer, licking his lips before he looks you dead in the eye, the smallest glint of irony shining from behind the dark orbs, making you shrink under his gaze. “It’s not like it’s hard work anyway,” Chenle mutters, “if it wasn’t all stolen money, at least the charity work wouldn’t feel as fake.”

You stop in your tracks at the comment, furrowing your brows. “Stolen money?”

The boy next to you snickers at your clueless eyes. It’s no wonder you never really cared about the source of your family’s wealth– you were born to it, so you never had a reason to doubt it. And truth be told, you never really complained either. You don’t think anyone in your place would, really. You just accepted it the way it is, and you never asked any questions. For all you know, your parents are hard working business owners– you bet their money is well deserved for the amount of effort they put in– so to hear that it’s stolen money, from someone who is in a similar position as you, on top of that, you can’t believe your ears.

“I mean, they’re business owners. Let’s not act like both yours and my parents don’t meddle with the taxes at least a bit, sweetheart,” he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, “if I were all those people outside of it, I’d hate myself too.”

His words do little to comfort you. They do quite the opposite, really, and even though Zhong Chenle has no proof to show you of the fact that your parents might have at least a bit of dirty money on their hands, you can’t say you don’t trust a word that comes out of his mouth. You start to wonder if you’re that gullible– and who is the one lying straight to your eyes now, if it’s your friend or your parents– and you start to believe that you’d trust everything Chenle tells you, because that’s just the relationship you have with him. He could do anything and you’d follow him to the end of the world. It takes years to build that bond, and so even know, although you have the urge to scream at him for talking such things about the ones that brought you to this world– this perfect, shiny world– you find yourself holding back, the bubble around you bursting in a second, although you spent 19 years of your life living in the fake glory and bejeweled experience. Opening your mouth to ask him more about the matter– to get yourself out of the confusion you’ve been put in with just a few sentences uttered out of his always too-honest mouth, you turn to the boy when a man with a camera approaches the two of you, asking to take a picture of you.

And you comply, because what else are you supposed to do? This is how you’ve been raised. You smile for the pictures, you grin when you find yourself in the magazines, you nod when people recognise your name, you greet people with a polite nod, because you never know when someone wants to make business with your parents and you wouldn’t want to ruin good opportunities for them, would you?

With Chenle’s arm around your waist, your body instinctively leaning into his touch, you smile for yet another picture for the portfolio. Sometimes you feel like a princess– with everything it takes; both the royal responsibilities and the special treatment. More often than not, you find yourself enjoying the spotlight.

“Now they have proof that we were here,” Chenle mumbles into your ear, his lips gently brushing the smooth skin, “wanna get out of here? This party doesn’t look as enjoyable as the last one we went to,” the boy references the time you spent together at the cruise ship, with both the screaming on the dancefloor, and also the aftermath in your room, making heat puddle in your cheeks as you swat his hand away before it gets too low on your back in front of everyone in the room.

“I have to give a speech, but… maybe later?” you look at him, innocently batting your eyelashes at him, when the boy shrugs and takes a step back, downing the last drops of champagne from the expensive looking glass.

“I’ll be waiting back home,” Chenle says, “I bet our parents will stay until this all ends, so we have plenty of time for ourselves when you decide you’re tired of the gala.”

He disappears out of your sight the moment after, putting the empty glass onto a tray of one of the waiters carefully walking across the room, his back escaping out the front door. If you squint hard enough through the glass, you could see him getting into one of the sports cars he got from his parents for his 18th birthday– the vehicle driving off in the hands of his driver for the night, since he just had a glass of alcohol– and leaving you alone in the world of faux and feathers, fulfilling the responsibilities given to you by your mother. And for the first time– not only because you hate giving public speeches– you so desperately want to follow him, getting out before midnight like Cinderella, never attending another one of these evenings ever again. 

You don’t, though. You’re an obedient daughter.

And when you call him up from the entryway a few minutes after midnight, his rough hands welcoming you to his bedroom by undressing the thousand-dollar Tiffany dress you wore to the event– being the aftermath of his previous words or not, you start to think how ironic it is that your attire for the evening cost more than than the monthly rent of the people you were giving to in your speech. 

After a while, your words turn bitter.

March 23, 2020 – South Cape Owners Club, Namhae-gun, Gyeongsangnam-do, South Korea, 1:17 PM

“Did you really have to choose the most boring thing to do for your birthday?” Chenle mutters under his nose when all of your parents stride forward to get another hole in one, beads of sweat appearing on your foreheads as you stand directly under the midday sun. 

“This wasn’t my idea, okay?” Renjun huffs, carrying his golf equipment with him, the silly-looking golf gloves tugged right off his hands when his parents are no longer in sight. “All I wanted was to visit my grandma, but they decided we needed to do something special for my birthday, and when I couldn’t tell them anything I’d like to do, they dragged everyone to play golf.”

“I was thinking more like… clubbing and then crashing at your grandma’s place overnight, but okay…” Yizhuo snickers, watching as all of your parents joyfully talk between themselves, their conversation rarely leaving business matters as they play golf with as much enthusiasm as one can have while focusing on this boring sport. You don’t really know who made this game and why they made it– you can imagine seventy thousand different ways you’d love to spend your afternoon doing instead, more than a half of them supposedly more mundane than the sport itself; but you still know you’d enjoy even sitting down and getting ice cream better than having to pretend you’re interested in, what Chenle called, rich-people-only sport. 

“Maybe I can sneak a bottle up into my room later, but I’m not promising anything,” Renjun shrugs, sighing to himself as he takes out his phone from his back pocket and shakes his head at the sight of the time appearing on his screen. You’ve been at the golf course since 10 AM, and with how interested in the game your parents seem to be, you’re not leaving any time soon either.

Not really engaged in the conversation– because Chenle once told you you complain too much (you truly thought he was the one doing so, but you believe pretty much everything that comes out of the man’s mouth, because he’s mostly right about things) and you think you’ve done your fair share of complaining on your way to the golf course in the first place– you look around, trying to find a thing that could occupy your attention instead. Finding anything fun to do while playing golf may just be the hardest thing to do, but when you notice your companion Chenle missing and his figure appears striding towards your small group in a golf cart, the vehicle going full speed (even the barely 40 km/h looks like it could kill when he seems to not give a single damn about running you over), and suddenly, your mind is occupied enough.

Screeching when the golf cart barely misses your figure, you jump to the side and watch Chenle laugh from the driver’s seat. His malicious instincts barely ever leave his body and the operation of a golf cart is seemingly bringing out the worst in him– thank god he barely drives anymore– and you can’t help but laugh at his little stunt when the cart comes to a sharp halt and he waves you three over with a motion of his hand.

“Hop on, motherfuckers, we have places to be!” he says, all of you following his footsteps and jumping into the small vehicle– you in the passenger seat, next to Chenle, and Renjun and Yizhuo taking the two seats on the back. Once you’re all in, the engine grunts with the speed Chenle’s intending to get to in the weak thing, the atmosphere shifts into one with much more fun and adrenaline– because you know you’re not supposed to ride the carts (not this fast anyway) and when your parents find out, you’re gonna get in a lot of trouble. No, you’re not going to get grounded– you’re not a kid anymore– but the silent treatment and nagging from them about being well-raised and respectable members of society is enough to leave you scared of their anger for the rest of your lives.

“Slow down, I’m gonna fall out!” you scream when Chenle takes a sharp turn, the golf cart almost toppling over on the green grass. 

“I got you, don’t worry,” he notes, one of his hands loosely falling to your thigh to keep you in place, your skin heating up even more from his touch now, enjoying the hold but also fearing the eyes of your friends from the backseat. Your earlier terror is quickly erased with another sharp turn the driver takes– having much more things to worry about now, surviving being one of them– and when he zooms past the group of middle-aged people standing a few meters ahead of you, you already know you’re in big trouble.

Now you’re gonna get scolded for abducting a golf cart. When it wasn’t even your idea in the first place.

Well, that’s something to worry about later.

Chenle drives with the cart all over the golf course, the vehicle providing you enough entertainment for the next few minutes until you get tired of the ride. Looking over at him on your side, gaping a little at the view of your childhood friend driving the cart with only one hand, the other one still securely glazing your thigh, you almost choke out with how attractive the strange sight is to your eyes. Forcing yourself to focus on the road– and thank god, because if you didn’t hold to the side of the cart now, you’d surely fall out despite Chenle’s reassuring words and his hold on your leg– when the man cuts through a small hill in the golf course, the vehicle jumping up and falling back down making you scream in terror mixed with just a bit of excitement.

“Fucking hell, at least warn us before!” Renjun screams from the back, followed by Yizhuo’s amused laughter. You can only imagine Renjun’s almost fallen out, and even though the mental image looks hilarious, you really don’t need him to get hurt today, because he wouldn’t shut up about it for the next 8 working days. And it’s his birthday, after all– you wouldn’t wanna ruin it by having too much fun.

And so, with a last giggle escaping the boy’s throat, Chenle brings the golf cart to a halt, the vehicle stopping far enough from your parents to not get scolded immediately for making so much ruckus at the golf cart, the four of you enjoying the silence, still recovering from the wild ride. Smiling fondly to yourself and gaping at the boy next to you again, you suddenly grow appreciative of him. If it wasn’t for his wild nature, you would still be sulking somewhere on the golf course, pretending to enjoy living your snobby life alongside your parents. You bet even Renjun himself will find this moment captured in his brain as a core birthday memory, and the more you stare at Chenle’s side profile, the more you want to hold his face in your hands and thank him.

“Ew,” you hear Yizhuo’s voice from behind you, bringing you out of your thoughts. Looking back to see what she’s referring to, you watch her gaze landing on Chenle’s hand playing with the flesh on your thigh, heat suddenly rising to your cheeks in being caught in the exact position you feared a little while ago. 

“What–” Chenle snaps his head back at his cousin, while you quickly shrug his palm off your skin, but it’s too late now– you’ve been caught in the act and now you can’t do anything to erase Ning Yizhuo’s memory.

“You know, I thought you two were cousins at first. Like, from your dad’s side, I mean,” Yizhuo sighs, shaking her head in disbelief at the two of you, her comment not doing much to ease the situation either. Chenle seems to be confused at her words, his face scrunching up as he glares at the girl.

“We’re not,” you note, clearing your throat and looking at her with a glare, mentally praying for her to drop the topic.

“Yeah, thank god,” Chenle adds, and you should’ve expected him to make the situation even worse– it’s Zhong Chenle, after all– but his next words shock you and leave you gasping, mentally killing him right here and in this moment, “that would make a lot of things weird.”

“Ew,” Yizhuo repeats, and suddenly, that perks up Renjun’s attention– the boy previously facing the other side of the golf course and not paying you three much care– as he looks around and watches you with confusion in his features.

“What are you talking about?”

“That they are–” the girl takes it upon herself to explain her findings, but she’s quickly cut off by a sound of a middle-aged woman screaming through the place, her small figure striding towards the golf cart.

“Zhong Chenle, what do you think you’re doing?!”

And with that scolding tone, the previous topic is dropped. Thank god.

June 12, 2020 – Zhong Chenle’s room, Shanghai, 11:21 PM

A hand stroking through his hair, smoothing back the bangs and revealing his forehead in the dim blue of the neon light in his room, you lay on your side next to your friend Chenle, a blanket carelessly thrown over your half-naked middles to shield you from the breeze. You hum a song under your breath as you play with his locks, the black disappearing between your fingers like sand, eyes carefully watching his tired expression. 

If you thought hard enough, you could see the little boy you first met at your parent’s conference room when you were 3 materialize in front of your eyes. His cheeks were chubby and he was short, waddling behind you almost a head less than your size, and his voice was thin as he asked you for your name. From that moment on, you knew you were supposed to stick together– and while your parents were the first relative to bring you two together, you didn’t mind always being glued to each other’s hips. 

When you look closer at him now, it’s hard to see that boy in him. Harder than you expected, if you’re being totally honest. Don’t get me wrong, you can still see in his features– even though his cheekbones are more prominent now and his jaw is more chiseled, lips plumper and his figure built more firmly than when he was a little boy– but there’s something about his demeanor that completely changed over time. He seems less enthusiastic, and while one would think that it’s just him growing into being a more laid-back and relaxed person– he’s not a kid anymore, after all– you think there’s something more to it, you just can’t quite put your finger to it. 

Seeing him close his eyes every once in a while, lids falling under the weight of his tiredness and the comfort your gentle strokes through his scalp give him, you feel your heart clench with all the care you’re currently putting into the boy, and all that you’ve been putting into him throughout your growing up. After so many years– after getting so close and intimate with him– you don’t think you’d be able to let the boy go, and just the sheer image of ever losing him or leaving him behind leaves you trembling with anxiety. 

And so, despite being afraid of ruining the calm atmosphere that comes after making love to him, you speak up with a weak voice, contrasting to what you’re logically supposed to feel after getting to know the news this morning– just because you have to know. 

“Lele?” you mumble, hearing him let out a hum, his voice sounding as if he’s half-asleep, but you know he’s listening to you. “What are your plans… after you graduate?” you ask. The day of graduation is coming faster and faster towards you, the years you’ve spent at high school finally fulfilled after all the effort you put in on your finals.

“Dunno,” he replies, eyes barely opened as his arm that’s been previously laid on the mattress in between your two bodies moves to your hip, fingers drumming over the soft skin, “why?”

“Just wondering…” you speak, voice barely louder than a whisper. The boy stays silent– his eyes once again closing on themselves as you continue to play with his hair. One would think he’s fallen asleep, not awake enough to have this conversation, and you would even believe the fact and let the conversation go, thinking you’d find another time to dwell on this topic, but then, as a surprise, his voice startles you from your deep thoughts when he curiously inquires you, the hand on your hip steadying.

“What about you?”

Taking a deep breath in and out, a smile battling to take over your lips, you lick your lips in the heartbeat that comes before your answer. Swallowing your nerves– because even though you should’ve told him the moment you got the news this morning, you’re somehow stressed out about the action of doing so– you open your mouth and finally break the rules to him. 

“I… I got to Yale,” you say, on your toes. The joy and relief you felt this morning when you saw the email appear on your phone screen is daring to creep into the way you speak to Chenle right now, but you’re keeping it in. Not letting yourself scream and shout the accomplishment from the rooftops, you look at the boy, not a change appearing on his face at hearing your announcement. “I got into their business program,” you add anxiously, waiting for him to say something– anything– to your news.

As your friend, he’s supposed to be happy for you, isn’t he? He’s supposed to hug you now and squeeze you and tell you how you’ve done a good job and that he’s proud of you and that he’s cheering you on in your dream. None of it comes, though, as he only hums and nods at your sentences, not even bothering to open his eyes to look at you when you oh so excitedly talk to him about your life goals. 

Something inside of you breaks just the tiniest bit, your mood falling as you anxiously chew on the inside of your cheek.

“Are you not gonna say anything?” you demand, halting your movements through his raven locks, averting your touch and looking at him curiously.

You watch him as he finally opens his eyes and looks at you with an empty look, licking his lips before humming again and asking you in a tone of voice that barely meets interest or excitement. “So you’re gonna be a businesswomen like your mum when you get your degree?” he asks, nodding to himself.

“Yeah,” you answer, clearing your throat. You’re a little confused at his weird stance towards the topic, but you battle out a tight-lipped smile. “I’m hoping for it.”

He hums again, the noise seemingly enough for him to consider it a valid conversation holder, a deadpan: “Good,” leaving his lips after a second, making you furrow your brows in confusion and utter disappointment. This is not the way you imagined the conversation to go– this is not how you wanted it to go at all.

Heaving out a sigh, you tug your arm to yourself, contemplating on speaking up– knowing you’re just gonna make everything worse if you do– but doing so anyway. “That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“I mean, what else is there to say?” 

Looking at him in disbelief, your face scrunching up in various different emotions, all mixing into one– disappointment being the dominant feel, you think, you scoff at him. This is not Zhong Chenle as you know him, and sure, he hasn’t been the most overly-excited, cheerful individual these past few months, but you still think you deserve at least a bit of praise for the achievement of getting into one of the hardest universities to get to in the world, no?

“I don’t know, you could… congratulate me, I guess…? Tell me I did a good job, I dunno… would be nice,” you mutter, snickering once more to prove your irritation with the man.

“Oh,” he says, looking genuinely surprised, taken-aback, even, “well, congrats on the legacy admission, I guess,” he says, nonchalant, as if his words aren’t a dagger to your heart each second that passes, your blood pressure rising as the reality downs on you that he’s being serious and that this is not a sick joke.

“The legacy admission?” you repeat, eyes big and shocked, your whole body moving an inch away from him on the bed without you realizing.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, not a bit caring about breaking you from the inside, the humiliation slowly creeping from the tips of your fingertips to the depths of your soul.

“So you’re saying I went through the whole admission process and put in so much effort only for you to say that I got in because of stupid legacy?” you chirp, gazing at him with sharp eyes, blood boiling from the impact of his words. “What legacy are you even talking about?”

“Don’t act like you’re not a nepo baby,” he snickers, rolling his eyes.

Gasping at his words, baffled at the unexpected reaction, you stand up on the bed and stare at him with sharp eyes. At a loss for words, you stutter a little when you speak up again and utter out the next words, hoping to hit him where it hurts. “Like you’re not?”

“Never said I’m not,” he shrugs, “don’t have a problem with admitting I am.”

“So you’re saying I only got to university because of my parents,” you get out, glossy eyes scanning his peaceful figure, “so you’re saying I’m not smart enough to get into Yale?” 

“That’s not what I said–”

“But you implied.”

“You only hear what you want to hear,” Chenle sighs, as if he was tired of your antics, which only makes you more furious at the whole interaction.

“No, Chenle–” you stutter, his name rolling off your tongue as if it was meant to stop him with hurting you even more for discrediting your efforts, yet, you can’t find any more words to say to him as you stare at this limb body laying on the soft mattress of his king sized bed, shaking your head in disbelief.

Standing up from the bed and scattering around the room for your clothes, ignoring the way putting them on in front of him makes you feel like you’ve been stripped away from all your dignity, you hurriedly come to the door of his bedroom, almost forgetting your phone that you gather on your way out from the messy desk in the right corner of the room. 

“Where are you going?” he asks monotonously, watching you move through the place.

“Home,” you bark out, running your hand through your hair as you walk back to the door, ignoring the hot tears pricking your eyes at the feeling of your whole entire world collapsing in on you when he mourns from the bed.

“Don’t be mad, it’s not like I said anything bad…”

“Goodnight,” you snap, not bothering to look back at him as you escape his house in the middle of the night, running through the street to your house much earlier than you anticipated, wiping at your cheeks with angry palms. 

This is the first time he disappointed you, and you can’t tell if that felt worse, or if it was the excitement slowly and painfully stripping off your bones, making you feel like you’re running around without your flesh, completely see-through for everyone around.

June 27, 2020 – IFC Mall, Shanghai, 4:33 PM

“Do you think this makes my ass look extra hot?” Yizhuo asks, gaze shifting from you to Chenle to Renjun, the four of you currently in one of the designer shops at the mall. Leaning on the wall, arms crossed on your chest and chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shrug, not a word escaping your mouth.

“I’m your cousin, I’m not looking at your ass like that,” Chenle mutters under his nose, sighing as he takes a seat on one of the expensive looking sofas situated in the changing room, resting his head against the neck rest and closing his eyes in what seems to be tiredness or annoyance– either of, or both mixed in, equal parts.

“Oh come on, I need to know!”

“It does look super hot, Yizhuo, now can you–”

“So you are staring at my butt!” Yizhuo excitedly yelps, pointing a sharp finger towards Renjun, a bright grin settling onto her lips when the accused boy stutters, cheeks reddening at her comment.

“You literally asked us to, for fuck’s sake!”

“You could’ve refused, just like Chenle did,” she shrugs, smiling to herself in victory. If anyone was listening to your conversation right now, they would surely have a lot of questions you wouldn’t be able to respond to. Hell, even you’re confused half of the time you hang out with Ning Yizhuo– what the hell is going on in her head?

“He’s your family, of course he refused,” Renjun mutters, shaking his head as he drags a hand through his hair in despair.

“Whatever you say, Renjunie,” she chirps, closing the curtain behind her and changing back into the pants she wore when she got to the store in one swift motion, leaving the boy puzzled with her next words as she walks up to the counter, “I’m only buying those because you think I look super hot in them, just so you know.”

Paying for her things and escaping the store, the rest of you tagging along, you notice the boy aimlessly trying to forget about the whole situation, and his prayers were listened to, after all, since Yizhuo seems to drop the topic after teasing him so much, turning to you instead. Walking alongside with you, leaving the two boys a few steps ahead, she nudges you with her elbow, raising up her brow in question.

“What’s up with you? You haven’t even tried anything on,” she notes, “and we both know you’ve been eyeing that new LV collection, so there must be something bothering you.”

Sighing, hating that the girl knows you so well– that, or you’re being awfully obvious– you roll your eyes in annoyance and try to shrug the topic off. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“Well, that’s obviously a lie. Is it something with Chenle? You two are usually all over each other, so–”

“It’s not about Chenle,” you snap, cutting the poor girl off, “so drop it.”

“Did he say something stupid? I know my cousin, come on. I can slap some sense into him, sweetheart, just let me know–”

“Please let it be,” you insist, tone of voice almost a little too sharp for your own liking, but it seemingly does its job as your friend only shrugs and takes a sip out of the coffee you all bought when getting to the mall, catching up to the men a few steps in front of you, talking about basketball.

“Well, if you need to talk to anyone about it, you know where to find me,” she says, and joins the discourse with her cousin and the boy she’s been teasing for whatever reason for the last few weeks instead, leaving you to trail behind them like a lost puppy, deep in your thoughts.

It’s been a few weeks since you last talked to Chenle. He tried reaching out to you a few times, sending you texts to ask what you’re doing that day to see if you wanna hang out. It seemed that at first, he didn’t really understand that he upset you. After you continued to ignore him even on graduation day, only greeting him and sparing him a few words, he seemed to get the memo as he let you deal with your emotions by yourself instead. You were never given an apology– and truthfully, knowing Chenle, you didn’t even expect to get one in the first place. But still, it’s been bugging you and you couldn’t get his words out of your brain, because you know you can’t do anything about them– if this is the image he has of you, the opinion he created, you don’t think you can talk it out with him in the first place.

“Everything okay back there?” Chenle asks, looking behind at you. His eyes are big and honest, and you find yourself nodding to his caring question. Sparing him a word seems like too much effort right now, and so when he offers you a tight-lipped smile, you don’t have enough energy to reciprocate it.

“Princess Yizhuo here has sore feet, so we are calling it a day. You wanted anything from the mall? I can stay behind with you and go get it,” he continues, his words jabbing into you only reminding you more of the days you spent ignoring him. Realistically, he should be mad at you for it– maybe you even wanted that to happen so he would ignore you instead, giving you the silent treatment, but this is your childhood friend Zhong Chenle we’re talking about. He talks too much in situations where he should shut up instead, and that’s exactly what’s happening in this very moment as well.

“I’m good,” you note, shrugging as you throw the empty coffee cup into one of the bins on your way, your small group now escaping the mall and getting to the parking lot.

Walking towards Chenle’s Zenvo TS1 parked in the corner of the parking lot, you hear the chatter of the group resonating in your ears, not really engaging in the conversation yourself, but choosing to listen to feel included anyway. It’s not their fault that you’re not in the mood, and frankly, you’re glad they even invited you to the outing in the first place. Everything’s better than being left out in your books, even if it means forcing yourself into social interaction. 

“My driver should be here any minute,” Yizhuo smiles, waving at Renjun currently getting into his Porsche Cayenne that he got after you all arrived from his birthday trip to Korea. Watching the boy drive off– while listening to Chenle bitching about his driving (he does have a point though, the poor boy almost crashed into a pole on his way out) – you feel a nudge to your elbow, making you turn to your friend.

“Wanna get back with me, neighbor?” he asks, eyebrows raised in question. 

In any other circumstance, you wouldn’t miss a heartbeat before answering. But now, you ponder on the question for a bit– you got to the mall with Yizhuo, having hanged out with her at her place before– but now that she’s getting a drive home, there was no use in you tagging along with her, since you live quite far from her house. Getting a drive home from Chenle is the most logical solution, after all, and that’s why you find yourself nodding.

Jumping to the passenger’s seat, waving at Yizhuo still waiting for her driver to get there– it should take only about 5 more minutes, with the speed her driver can get to when called– you silently gaze out of the window on your way back, not sparing the boy next to you a glance. He seems to not mind, carefully taking turns and waiting at the stop signs and red lights on his way to your neighborhood, humming along under his breath to the songs on the radio instead to fill the silence. You spend the ride chewing on your cheek, nerves eating you up from inside just at the sheer fact of being in his close proximity again, yet still being so painfully hurt at the feelings he expressed the last time you hung out one-on-one.

His car smoothly gets to the parts of the town that feel more rich– houses growing bigger in size, the gates taller in the sky and the lawns mowed more carefully, with more fancy bushes in the yards and pure-blood dogs running around in front of the gates. After a few minutes, your neighborhood appears in front of your eyes, his car driving past your house and into the Zhong property instead, making you furrow your brows in confusion and annoyance.

“You could’ve just stopped in front of my house so I could get out, you know,” you hum, sighing when he turns the engine off. 

“I was thinking we could hang out over at ours for a sec,” he shrugs, turning his face to you with a hopeful glint in his eye, which you dismiss with an annoyed huff and a roll of your eyes, reaching towards the door handle to get out and walk over to your house instead. 

“Come on, Y/N,” he calls for you, “are you still mad?”

“No,” you snicker, shrugging as you move towards the front gates, his figure quickly catching up to you as he grabs your wrist, halting you in your movements.

“I’m sorry. Let me make it out to you?” he mumbles, looking at you with eyes big and deep like honey, and suddenly, you’re a putty under his touch– just like always, you cave in– as you sigh, following him inside. You don’t miss the victorious pep in his step as he leads you inside, his hand still in contact with your arm, only letting go when you get to his room and he leads you to sit on his bed.

“Wanna play something?” he asks, thrusting a PS5 controller into your hands, not really leaving you much room for disapproval. Grunting and rolling your eyes at him, you watch as he opens up It takes two, your characters running around the split screen trying to figure out the way around.

The silence between the two of you is cruciating, suffocating, even, as neither of you have enough courage to open up the topic again. Tugging at your bottom lip, biting off the dry skin up to the point it bleeds, you sigh and turn to the boy again, putting the controller down. “Is this your way of making it up to me?” you ask.

Cocking his head to you, he shrugs. “I mean, I had a different idea, but that’s up for a discussion…” he mutters, the suggestion of his words making you roll your eyes at him, in disbelief of the fact that he still has the audacity to tease when he knows you’re clearly upset with him.

“Okay, I’m… really sorry, okay?” he says when he registers your mood, sighing to himself and running a hand through his hair. “I kinda fucked up, and I realise that. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re stupid, or anything– come on, I always cheated off you on exams, after all– so, I just- it came off wrong, is what I’m tryna say,” he concludes, looking at you hopefully, his face seemingly in tune with the words coming out of his mouth.

Humming, you shrug, not really knowing what to say. The apology settles a little in you, noting that at least he acknowledged that he fucked up, and so you pick up the controller again and avert your gaze from him. Seeing as his character refuses to move, you look at him from the corner of your eye, raising your brows in question.

“So you forgive me?” he asks, licking his lips in nerves– the action making your eyes travel down to the plump rosiness, involuntarily following his action. His glistening mouth has your gaze wandering around his body, eyes focusing on things you’ve been purposefully ignoring the whole day– the way his forearms show off in his short-sleeved shirt, the way his hair is parted in a way that shows his forehead in the most strangely attractive ways, and also the ever-so casual demeanor of the male. Chuckling to yourself, you shrug, taunting him.

“I dunno,” you mumble, “how can you make it up to me?”

And again, Chenle gets the hint– he’s not stupid, after all. 

Slowly lounging himself towards you, making you drop the controller to his sheets, you close your eyes in expectancy of his touch, already so used to the rhythm of his lips against yours. His hand holds your jaw in place, firm kisses pressed to your yearning mouth, you try to remember the way his touch feels– just in case you have to give it up soon again– a selfish action of your body as you thread your fingers through his hair. 

Lips ghosting over yours, he snickers against them as he speaks. “You taste of blood,” he notes.

“Shut up,” you mutter, taking matters into your own hands as you lock yourself to him again, pressing shaky, hurried kisses to his lips. 

He finds a better place to attach them to, though, as he gently pushes you towards his mattress into a lying position, traveling towards your jaw and your neck. His touch never stays long enough to leave a mark– at least not in places visible for everyone to see, saving you a lot of explaining to your parents and your friends– but the kisses still leave you breathless and yearning for more, hands traveling down his back and humming in pleasure.

“Missed this,” he speaks against your skin, breathless, “so much.”

“Missed my body or me?” you ask, a hint of bitterness on your tongue.

“A bit of both,” he smirks, gently sucking on the skin of your collarbone, leaving you to squirm under the feathery touch. Hands traveling up under your shirt, his fingers trailing across your belly and the curve of your hip, you’re left shivering under the contrast of the heated atmosphere and his stone-cold hands, giggling when he presses an unusually sweet kiss to your cheek in between the more risky ones.

“And which one did you miss more?” you tease, locking eyes with him as he hovers over your body, plopped up by an arm on either side of your head.

His eyes glimmer as he stares you down, cocking his head to the side. “I miss when you didn’t talk,” he says, leaning down again and taking your breath away with a kiss, a displeased grunt meeting his lips as you disapprove of his snarky comment.

In the sheer second where you two break away for air, his hands undress your top, leaving you under him just in your underwear, a position you two have found yourselves in a number of times before. Still, it leaves you shy away under his hungry eyes, only relaxing again when his raven locks tickle the underside of your jaw, lips attaching to every inch of your now exposed body, not afraid of bruising the skin you always keep covered, out of everyone’s eyes. Sometimes, you yearn for him to plant a lovebite to your jaw, to the juncture of your shoulder and your neck, wanting to show them off to everyone and claim the boy as yours– you know you don’t have that power, though, when Zhong Chenle will never be yours and the bruises of desire are always hidden away from everyone, like a dirty little secret; much like what you two have going on in the first place anyway.

“You know,” he mutters against your skin, in between the kisses that have now grown lazier, “I was starting to get a little crazy when you ignored me. That was a first,” he says.

Snickering, hands once again finding their place in his locks, you shrug. “Was the first time you deserved it.”

“Does my opinion really matter to you that much?” he asks, chuckling as he presses another kiss to your skin, to a place a few inches below your collarbone.

“We’ve been friends forever,” you say, “‘course it does.”

“Well, then you should’ve known that as your friend,” he huffs, lips pressed against your skin, “‘m not looking down on you.”

Humming, you let him work his magic as his lazy kisses inch closer to the fabric of your bra, his other hand playing with the fabric of it, twirling the little bow in between your breasts in his fingers as he leans on one of his plopped-up hands, looking at you from the side. 

“Guess I was just more curious about what you wanted to do after school, y’know,” you say, the conversation flowing despite his hands all over you, “before you called me a nepo baby, of course.”

He chuckles at your remark, rolling his eyes at you as his finger trails up your side, your skin growing goosebumps under his touch. “Dunno yet. Why do you care?”

“Wanted to see how far we’re gonna be,” you say, the moment suddenly growing more intimate. The relationship you two have was never inclusive– you two had sex sometimes, sure, but you never once told each other this was more than that. You two were just mere fuck buddies, childhood friends that found sexual attraction in each other somewhere along the way, and while that was enough for you for a while, you found yourself growing anxious of the fact that he was never going to be fully yours. And with the growing anxiety– the smallest remainder of your worries that overtake you in the middle of the night sometimes– your throat closes up on itself when you choke out the next words. “Wanted to see how much time we have left together.”

His hand settles on your hip, his eyes bearing into yours with a newly found heaviness in them. Furrowing his brows, he licks his lips in nerves before speaking up. “Well, I’ll always be your neighbor, so you can find me when you come back. Unless we move, y’know…” he jokes, an airy laugh coming out his lungs that doesn’t meet the expected intention of easing the situation.

You chuckle– but there’s not a hint of lightheartedness in the gesture, quite the opposite, really– as you avert your gaze from him, your head lollying to the side when you try to hide your slowly, but surely growing red eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

The hand on your hip squeezes the skin under it, his figure now fully hovering over you again, eyes desperately wanting to meet yours. A finger gently pressed to your chin makes you turn your head back forward, his worried gaze bearing into you, and for a moment, you two only stare into each other’s eyes, frozen in time. 

And again, Zhong Chenle isn’t stupid. 

But for a second, he acts like he is. 

“What are you talking about?” he chuckles. “You’re scaring me.”

And when you don’t give him an answer, but instead chew on the inside of your cheek– another place to bleed after you bite down too hard from the nerves crushing you from the inside– he seems to finally get the hint, an airy laugh full of disbelief meeting your ears. Having figured it out, still, he speaks it into existence– as if he needed a confirmation; 8 words tormentingly escaping from between his swollen lips.

“You don’t have feelings for me, do you?”

Sniffling, you shut your eyes close at the question, your silence a clear answer to your childhood friend as he peels himself off you, the feeling of cold air on your exposed skin like a painful slap to reality. You stay like that for some time, mentally counting seconds, each hammer of your heart in your chest like a threat to your existence. Finally, the silence is broken by a determined, yet a little weak sentence coming out of Chenle’s mouth.

“I think you have to leave.” 

Numb, you follow the orders.

July 25, 2020 – Ning Yizhuo’s room, Shanghai, 6:11 PM

“So I was right all along?” Yizhuo snickers, eating from the bowl of almonds she has settled in the free space between her lap and her crossed legs, staring at you with the hydrating sheet mask on her face. You heave out a sigh at her comment, rolling your eyes as you fall back into her soft mattress, shaking your head in disbelief.

“That’s all you got from this conversation?” 

“Almost,” she mumbles, but nudges you with her foot right after, “I’m joking. I was listening, I’m just… shocked that I was actually right and that you were fucking my cousin all along.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not happening anymore, so you don’t have to be disturbed,” you grunt, wondering why you actually told the girl in the first place, regretting the decision perhaps the most right now. Yes, she did bug you for the last few weeks about the reasoning behind your attitude, and the fact that you refused all the invitations to hang out with your friends in fear of seeing Chenle were starting to get a bit suspicious, so you figured you can’t hide it anymore and that Yizhuo was bound to find out either way sooner or later. And still, you think you needed a bit of girl advice too.

“‘m not disturbed,” she mumbles, voice suddenly considerate, “I just- the whole situation is all kinds of weird and fucked up right now.”

“Tell me about it,” you chuckle, the bitter taste on your tongue never leaving despite trying to drown your sorrow down in sweets. “I fucked it up, Yizhuo.”

“Now, that’s just not true,” she sighs, putting the bowl of almonds to her coffee table and laying next to you, reaching for your hand and swinging it around in failed acts of encouragement and affection. “It’s not your fault he freaked out and made it weird.”

“I made it weird!” you mourn, breaking away from her grasp and dragging your hands through your hair in frustration, the feelings bundling in your stomach making you feel like acid is just bound to shoot out of the crevices of your insides, throwing up from the stress and despair. “I’m moving across the world the next month and I won’t see any of you for a long time, since Jun is moving to Korea and you’re gonna work in your parent’s company as well as going to uni here, and instead of spending the last moments of summer break together, I fucked it up and made everything weird and awkward just because I had to fall in love with my childhood best friend. While we’d been fucking. Isn’t that fucking great?” you huff, closing your eyes shut with the tears threatening to fall down your cheeks at your own words falling from between your lips.

“We are spending time together right now, though,” Yizhuo tries to cheer you up, her pout heard in her tone.

“There are millions of different ways you’d love to spend your time with me instead of moping because of your cousin,” you note, sighing, “and I don’t even fucking know what he’s gonna do after summer break, and now, I won’t get to know.”

Yizhuo grows quiet next to you, suggesting the thickening atmosphere. Turning on your side to see your friend with her eyes glued to your figure, you chew on the inside of your cheek. She sighs, preparing herself for the mental tangent she’s gonna bring you on, and reaches over to smooth down your messy hair. 

“You know, Chenle never really liked… this life,” she says, shrugging, “he hates shopping, he hates hearing about investing, he hated traveling so much when you and your family didn’t tag along… At every family reunion, he just hid away in his room and never got out, because he found the whole situation snobby and fake and all those adjectives I’ve never really thought about calling my own relatives. He… he…” she licks her lips, trying to come up with the right words to say, “he sees the world around us with different eyes, and I don’t think he’s happy with it. So don’t- don’t be mad at him for not really… going anywhere with it, okay?” 

Furrowing your brows at her, you shake your head in confusion. This is perhaps the first time you really realized Chenle’s view on things– it’s not like you haven’t heard his annoyed rants about all the prestige and over-the-top lifestyle you all have, but that’s all you thought it was. Annoyance– because at the end of the day, your life is comfortable. You wouldn’t want it any other way. If money moves the world around, you were the one walking through every hallway, all opportunities opened up in front of your eyes; and you don’t think you’d enjoy your life more if you had a bit less money. Chenle, on the other hand, seems to be quite the opposite. His joy is not determined by money, and for the first time in your life, it seems like you’re getting what he’s been talking about your whole life, the words you heard but never truly listened to. It was right in front of you the whole time, but you never saw it, and now that your eyes have been opened, you find it hard to deal with the revelation.

“But what is he going to do?” you gurgle out, confused. 

“I don’t think he knows either,” Yizhuo shrugs, “he’s… figuring out things, I suppose.”

Chuckling, you shut your eyes in despair, thinking for a bit, but still failing to grasp the situation. “I don’t get it. He- he could have everything, but he’s just… throwing everything away? He could move across the world, he could start his own company, he could buy a house or work or study, but he just won’t,” you ramble, “I don’t get it.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Yizhuo shrugs, “but he sees it a different way.”

Laying flat on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling, your friend clears her throat and awkwardly shuffles around her sheets. “And at the end of the day, even though you’ve been friends for forever, I think you’re just in love with the version of him that you’ve created in your head. The version that you’re trying, but cannot fix,” she notes, pausing for a moment before proceeding,  “the only person you can fix is yourself.”

And maybe, Yizhuo’s right. Maybe you fell in love with the Chenle in his sports car, Chenle in the golf cart with his designer clothes on, Chenle on the cruise ship sipping on expensive alcohol. Maybe you fell in love with the version that has the whole world in the palm of his hand, the version of him that goes to Yale with you and rents out a luxurious apartment in the middle of the city, kissing you behind the tall windows, watching over the busy streets– the version in your dreams, the version you wanted to achieve.

But what about the version of him that walked you to your house after tennis class? What about the version of him that cuddled you in his sheets, the version of him that fell asleep soundly when you played with his hair, cradled your fingers through his scalp? What about the version of him that scared you in the dark, because he knew you get creeped out too easily, the version of him that ate cheap sausage with you in Japan, the version of him that studied with you and brought you to your bed when you fell asleep at the table? What about the version of him that cried to Disney movies with you, the version of him that danced with you to the tunes of One Direction in your room when you were sixteen, the version of him that threw rocks on your window in the moonlight the night you turned seventeen, wanting to be the first one to wish you happy birthday before slipping inside of your room in the middle of the night, only to fall asleep seconds later, huddling your sheets?

Did you make that up? Was that not him in the first place?

And maybe, there is a discrepancy between the dream you’ve made up in your head with him, the idea of you two staying together, trying to fix the view he has on the world you two live in, but at the end of the day, none of it was a lie. 

And maybe, Yizhuo’s right; you should change the way you view things to match Chenle’s better, because at the end of the day, maybe you’re the one too blinded by the gold and silver around your neck to see the real issue here.

August 2, 2020 – Lehai Villas, Baicheng, China, 10:15 PM

When you finally see Zhong Chenle after the night he kicked you out of his bedroom, both of you are a mess. 

You’re a mess in the more subtle sense. Your dress is neat, the jewelry on your neck was carefully picked out days before, the heels enveloping your feet are one of the most comfortable ones for you to walk in, since you prepared yourself for being on your feet the whole evening. Your makeup is fixed on your face, earrings dangling off your ears and your purse matches the outfit perfectly; your hair in a fancy updo that you even drove to a hairdresser for, all so that you could look flawless for another one of your parent’s gatherings. Their business partner’s son is turning 21, and while it doesn’t look like that big of a deal, they are celebrating the fact that Mark Lee is now one of the shareholders of their company– and in your world, this is the most moving moment of the child’s life.

You’re a mess in the more subtle sense– you keep looking around, restless, not really paying attention to anything anyone is saying. Aimlessly humming and picking at the skin of your cuticles, you try hard to both catch a glance of your friend, and to also avoid him at all costs. The reality that Zhong Chenle is a mess too hits you only when you finally see him– his tie loose on his neck, a grunt escaping his throat that you can hear from all the way to where you are, his walking a little wobbly and his hair messy as he runs his hand through the sprayed-down locks, his composure disheveled and so obviously out of the place.

And you want to stay away, you really do– to let him deal with his own things by himself, to pretend you weren’t cautiously looking for him all evening– but when he picks up another glass of alcohol from one of the tables and downs it in one go, cheeks getting rosier by the minute, you wonder how far you can let him go until he gets into trouble with his parents; and suddenly, you’re on your feet, just like you expected, dragging your figure closer to the one you’ve been trying to avoid.

“Don’t you think you’ve drunk enough?” you mumble when you appear behind him, his shoulders slouching at the tone of your voice. When he looks around and catches your eyes, he snickers to himself, shrugging, before he makes a face full of disgust at your remark.

“We’re celebrating, aren’t we?” he says, “Mark Lee’s a big man now, taking all the responsibility for a company that’s so great, and he loves the job so much,” he continues, over-exaggerating every word, “and we’re here to celebrate his birthday! Have you… seen the motherfucker anywhere, by the way? Would wanna congratulate him on… the thing…” he trails off, dramatically scratching his head as he speaks the last words.

“Chenle–”

“Right! We are celebrating a guy we don’t even know, or seen the whole evening, but that’s so great, because at least we have all this alcohol–”

“Okay, you’re getting out of here,” you snap, shaking your head at his antics and digging your nails into his forearm, dragging the boy out of the crowded place before he throws a tantrum. With how his voice was getting louder and louder, a few figures turned to watch your exchange, and you can’t imagine the turmoil this will take on him once his parents find out– it’s better to get him out of there before he messes up even more badly.

His feet stumbling on the stairs outside, he mutters something under his breath as you drag his half-limp, half-stubborn body through the enormous land. The gardens are full of fairy lights and adults talking to each other in hushed whispers, laughter erupting out of their put-together figures every now and then, and you take some time before you finally manage to find a silent corner in one of the carefully mowed gardens, Chenle’s complains silencing after a while, admitting his fate.

Carelessly throwing his body towards one of the benches, the lighting dim in the corner, you watch as he takes a seat and looks at you with defeated eyes, the emptiness behind his gaze breaking you on so many levels you didn’t even think you could master; Zhong Chenle is a mess– has been a mess for a while now, and you didn’t notice– you didn’t do anything about it until now.

“What happened to you?!” you yelp out, voice betraying you somewhere towards the end of the sentence, sounding more desperate than you intended. Eyes scanning over his slouching body, you notice him playing with his fingers in his lap, an action of calming himself down that he’s picked up after you slapped his hands every time he tried to bite on his nails growing up, and you take a few steps around the place, running your fingers through your carefully styled hair. 

“Don’t scold me like my mother,” Chenle grunts, rolling his eyes at your composure.

“No, Chenle, because I don’t get it,” you shake your head, looking him dead in the sparkless eyes, “I do not get it.”

When he offers you no explanation, rather just gazing your whole body up and down, eyes half-lidded, you presume he’s a bit out of it– the alcohol truly hitting his system now, making you result in a little tangent of yourself, because you presume everything’s better than his parent’s scolding, and maybe he just needs someone to wake him back to reality. “What happened, Chenle? What the actual fuck is going on lately? You don’t speak to anyone about it, you don’t tell me, out of all people–” a snicker leaves his lips to this, making you huff in frustration, “you don’t tell anyone how you’re feeling, and it’s eating you up from the inside, and believe me when I say, Chenle, it’s pretty damn heartbreaking to watch.”

Looking at him, you’re offered nothing but silence. His cheeks are rosy and puffed up from the alcohol, his frame is small– opposed to the power stance he usually takes– and you don’t think you’re getting a conversation from him any time soon. Ready to give up, you shake your head at him and scoff. “Okay, fine. You don’t have to talk to me, since you have an issue with the fact that I care about you more than I should,” you snap, agreeing to be petty with him, if this was how he was gonna play.

“I don’t talk to any of you, because you wouldn’t understand,” he says, voice almost a bit annoyed, tongue dipped in bitterness. 

“We grew up together, Chenle. Our lives are pretty much the same, why the fuck would you think that I, out of all people, wouldn’t understand?” 

“See, that’s the thing,” Chenle catches you off guard, charming in with an argument barely before you are able to finish the sentence, “our lives are pretty much the same, yet you love it. You fucking love it, all of you do– you love waking up in your little fancy bedrooms, doing great at school because if you don’t, your parents are going to threaten you with disowning you– and what else do you have if not your parents wealth that you coincidentally, also despise at the same time? You go shopping to your favorite mall with your equally wealthy friends, because you’re not allowed to befriend people that are lower class– that would just look fucking embarrassing in front of your parents’ contacts, wouldn’t it? You go to charity events and birthday celebrations of a guy you’ve never seen in your whole life before, just because someone told you to– and don’t you dare tell them you won’t go, because how the fuck are they gonna look all pretty in front of their business partners if their only son doesn’t attend a celebration of someone inheriting a share from their parents’ company– a thing you’re supposed to do as soon as you turn 20, if you don’t attend university they picked out for you instead. You go on fancy holidays and take pictures in front of all the attractions, and it doesn’t even feel special anymore, because you do this every month– and the only time you ever felt alive was when you were drunk and making out with someone that you shouldn’t even think about in that way in the first place, because it’s your parents’ friends’ daughter, and at the end of the day, they would just love the fact that we were together, because that could strengthen the business bond they have– the only reason why they’re friends in the first place, and I’m so fed up, I hate it, I despise it–” he stops to take a breath, his eyes getting glossy,

and suddenly, you’re helpless, you’re falling apart– because the issue is so much bigger than you anticipated and you don’t know how to do anything about it.

“And I don’t fucking feel real, Y/N, I don’t, and I don’t think I ever have, because I just wake up in the mornings and then somewhere along the way, I realise I’m alive and I laugh, because how could all of this be real? How could the money be real? How could anything be real, and– and it’s so confusing, because I should be grateful, but I’m not, because I can’t even fully grasp it,” he breathes, tears now streaking down his cheeks.

It feels like the whole world stopped for a moment; it feels like you are in a movie and someone pressed pause. You stare at him, you blink, and you pray for something to send you strength to deal with this, to tell you what to do or how to comfort him– because this must have felt so alone, and you can’t stand the image of Chenle ever being lonely.

Opening your mouth and closing it, you gasp for air. No words feel suitable for this kind of conversation, and so you just chime towards him– despite all your best assumptions– and hold him. Because at the end of the day, what helps more to ground someone back to earth than human touch?

Pads of your thumbs wipe at the teardrops strolling down his cheeks, every contact with the salty liquid hurting you, cutting through your skin like razor blades– because Chenle never cries, he never feels like something is worth indulging in enough to bring him to tears– and when he catches his trembling bottom lip in his teeth, you break; pulling him towards you and threading your fingers through his hair, the action once lullying him to sleep now used like a broken mantra– please be okay, please relax, please let me hold you until you’re glued back together again.

“I dunno what to do,” he shrugs, his head resting on your stomach, voice burrowing itself into the fabric of your expensive dress, “dunno where to go. ‘Cause Jun’s leaving, and Yizhuo’s gonna be busy with everything, and– and you’re moving across the fucking ocean, and I’m just– I turned everything down, because–” he says, voice breaking, and you shush him with a pat on his back, touch growing more affectionate.

“It’s okay,” you hum, “I got you,” you say; words he once told you at the golf cart, looking after you, or in the hotel room back in Japan when you were 6 and falling asleep, still scared of ghosts appearing in your bedroom– and you believed them, you always did, because Chenle was always there when you needed him– so you only pray he finds comfort in the sincere phrases, because what more is there to offer him?

His breathing grows steadier as you continue to play with his messy hair, his hands gently allowing themselves to wrap around your thighs, your standing figure shelved between his legs, and he laughs to himself, the whole situation kind of ironic to him now. “I don’t even know why I’m crying. ‘m kinda numb, you know, so it doesn’t even really hurt in the first place,” he says, and you wish you found the same humor in it than he did– or at least the bitter sense of soothing yourself with irony– but you can’t. Looking down at his body, latched to you like a lifeline, you wonder how you could ever leave him there alone, to deal with the burden by himself. How could you ever move so far away from him?

“My parents wanted me to go with you,” he starts, the sentence sparking up something inside of you, but he doesn’t pull away and meet your eyes when he continues, foreshadowing a sad ending to your hope, “they said I should study business at Yale as well, that it’s a great opportunity.”

You don’t reply to him, choosing not to push him. After a sigh, he continues. “And I didn’t get in, because, naturally, I was too stupid for it in the first place– no, I was–” he says when you gently slap the back of his head at the comment, “but then they paid the dean and suddenly I was allowed to go. Can you believe that?” he snickers bitterly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Bad mouthed you for a thing I despised in myself, when you were the one that got in fair and square in the first place.”

“‘s okay,” you mumble, compassion dripping off your words.

“And I turned it down, ‘cause I hated the fact that they did that. I was okay with studying the fucking business program, even though I despised it, I was okay with moving across the world, because at least you’d be there, y’know, but I couldn’t bear the fact that they did that to get me in. I think I was too ashamed, too embarrassed, because they had to pay for me to get there, but– I don’t know…” he trails off, and you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“It’s okay to take opportunities that are presented to you, Lele,” you mumble, “I know you hate it, but you can’t change who you’re born to. The best you could do is to not waste all of this,” you say, trying to find a source of light in the deep abyss of his thoughts.

You try hard to solve the problem– to offer him a solution that could work, that could let him forget about the pain for at least a second– to wake him up from whatever deep thinking that got him into this mess. You try hard to solve the problem– but you don’t know how to deal with it. All you know is that you’re trying to pick up the patterns; you’d fit in his skin if you could, you’d crawl in and fix everything– but at the end of the day, as Yizhuo said, the only person you can fix is yourself.

“Bought,” he says, fixing your mistake, “opportunities that were bought for me. I couldn’t do it,” he says.

Huffing, indulging in a spare second of your own pain– a spare second of the despair eating you up from the insides, the helplessness you’ve been feeling ever since you were forcefully kicked out of Zhong Chenle’s life– and you didn’t even tell him you loved him in the first place before he got stuck in the fire of the woods; before you two started acting like it didn’t matter and always ended up in feuds– you mumble a comment, voice barely louder than a whisper, but he can hear it because of the closeness of your bodies in the few stray raindrops that come over you two once the clock strikes midnight.

“We could’ve lived together, you and me,” you say, “us against the whole world,” you comment– a childlike yearning spilling out of your lips, “we could’ve gone to Yale together and you’d figure something out along the way. Maybe– maybe you’d find a purpose if you moved, we could–”

“Y/N,” he shushes you, uttering out your name, finally breaking away from you as he looks up and gazes into the swimming pools of your eyes, shaking his head with a faint smile, “‘s okay. It wouldn’t have fixed anything anyway, it– it wouldn’t have helped.”

“But–”

“You can move, Y/N, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause you’re taking yourself with you.”

August 20, 2020 – the backyard of your childhood house, Shanghai, 11:11 PM

You were never really that good at science– sure, your parents demanded you get good grades in every subject and your private school put quite the pressure on your education, but even though you always managed to pull satisfactory marks in exams, your understanding of the logistics sometimes lacked; you were much better at humanities or business-related courses, hearing enough at family dinners to find out your way through the lectures and apply the facts into examples from real life.

So, if anyone asked you how many stars there were in the universe, you wouldn’t be too confident in your answer. You wouldn’t know how to apply the Milky Way as your model– since it was said that it has around 100 billion stars alone– and multiply the part by the amount of galaxies in the universe– approximately 2 trillion– to get a number somewhere close to 200 billion trillion, also called 200 sextillion. 

You wouldn’t know how to do any of that, or how to even count this amount without a calculator, so you’d take a more liberal arts approach– literary, even– and say, that on August 20, 2020, at 11:11 sharp in your backyard, gazing on to the deep, dark sky and wishing for a star to fall so you could propose a selfish wish that could change everything, there’s still not more stars there than in Zhong Chenle’s eyes when your gazes meet after your friends leave for the evening, leaving you with your neighbor completely alone.

And it’s strange, seeing him like this– maybe because you didn’t even realize how used to the dull and emotionless Chenle you’ve been all this time– but it warms something inside of your heart as you take a hesitant step towards him, the first one out of the whole evening, and take a seat next to him in the corner of your terrace, sighing to yourself.

“You actually came,” you note, seeing as he turns to you and furrows his eyebrows at you in confusion.

“Should I not have? I mean, by the text you sent me, it seemed like you wanted me here, but if I misread the situation, I can go…” he snickers, teasing you just the slightest as he nudges you to your side.

You hum, shaking your head in disapproval. “No,” you say, “I just… I dunno.”

“Expected me to ignore you?” 

“Kinda,” you admit, snickering.

“Damn,” he giggles, “that’s fair, though. Considering the previous events, and all.”

Rolling your eyes at his composure, finally getting used to the old Chenle– the one that teases you over the smallest things, the one who doesn’t let his emotions show in his face– you watch him as he takes a seat on one of the rattan sofas and you follow him, body slouching next to his, feeling his head gently rest on your shoulder in the mere moment of silence between your two figures.

“Wouldn’t let you leave without seeing you for the last time,” he says, voice quiet and vulnerable, “god knows when I’ll see you again.”

“Chenle–”

“Just because you don’t want to talk about it doesn’t mean it’s not real,” he snickers, already knowing where your words are going– you’re going to try to stop him, tell him you don’t want to think about it right now, on the last evening at your house for the near future. 

“I’d rather not think about that, y’know,” you huff, frustrated. The anxieties of leaving everything behind are clenching on your insides right now, holding you back from moving freely and with enthusiasm, and you wonder– if you knew how this would feel all those months ago– if you knew how terrifying and painful the whole process could be, would you still apply to Yale? Would you still want to go?

“Okay,” he dotes, tone of voice casual, like it’s not a big deal. 

“Okay? Just like that?” you snicker, surprised at how easily he gave the topic up.

“Yeah. Don’t wanna make you sadder.”

Sitting in silence, you realize there’s so many words you’d like to say to him. You’d like to tell him just how much you’re gonna miss him and how you regret ruining the last few months you two had together, and how you’re sorry your feelings scared him to the point where he felt like he had no one to confide in. You’d like to tell him how you built a future with him in your brain, carefully placed him into your reality, only for him to break away from your grasp and go his own way, and how much it hurts, but how you’re always going to support him in whatever he chooses, because you care for him more than your little heart could take. You’d like to tell him how you’re gonna call him every day to check up on him, how you’re gonna send letters and press a secret kiss to each sheet of expensive paper you’ll get downtown, wishing he could feel the essence with the growing distance between you two. You’d like to ask him to visit you often– he’s gonna have more time on his hands, and god knows money’s not the issue. You’d like to selfishly tell him you find it hard to deal with the distance, and how you wish he wouldn’t find somebody else while you’re gone, and how you so dearly hope that somewhere in there, your feelings are silently reciprocated, but hidden away in fear of everything falling apart once again.

But instead, you don’t say anything. You tend to wait for him to speak up first– he’s always had a problem with talking too much in the first place, after all.

And he does– you can still predict his next moves. You know him that well.

“I’m gonna miss you, though,” he sighs, catching you off guard by saying something from the list of your silenced words, “don’t think that I won’t. Or that the way I’ll miss you is different than the way you’re gonna miss me,” he speaks, tone of voice laced in honesty and sincerity, his words heavy with the essence of what he’s never going to say out loud– or so you think.

“In what way?”

“I’m not gonna miss you like a friend misses a friend,” he says, “and I don’t mean the sex,” he snickers, brightening the mood with his comment.

Rolling his eyes at him, you feel him lift his head up from your shoulder, forcing you to look at him and meet his starry eyes again– the damn starry eyes that always make you spill the truth, because god knows you cannot lie to him– and you find yourself scanning his features, the structure of his bones you fear you’re gonna forget when you’re away, so desperately wanting to lock your lips with his for one last time, because when you come back one day, you may not have the right or chance to do so anymore. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, not a hint of teasing in his voice.

“You know why, Chenle.”

“Can you say it out loud?” he demands, and you shake your head– maybe it's best if the words are left unsaid. Doesn’t matter if they’re hanging in the air, for everyone to read.

“Why?”

“You know how I feel about you,” you snicker, “don’t make me say it out loud.”

Because even if you told him you loved him, it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make it all better, it wouldn’t make it all good– no matter how hard you wish that it would. 

“Okay,” he nods, agreeing too fast again– and with that, he smiles, the gesture so soft and sudden, and there you are– you’ve got a caving heart in your open arms, and Chenle takes it, carelessly choking out the hushed confession, “I’m in love with you. If you don’t say it, I’m gonna, because… you deserve to know.”

Heart sinking into your stomach, you watch him, frozen in your place, for a while. Your eyes carefully scan every curve of his face– the curve of his lips, the curve of his cheeks, the hood of his eyes, his brows, the thousand stolen galaxies in his orbs and mouth glistening like honey, inviting you in. Snickering under your breath, you choose to not give in to the temptation.

“You’re only saying that because I’m leaving tomorrow,” you say, shaking your head. 

“Maybe,” he agrees.

And you know that– you know that if you weren’t leaving, he wouldn’t tell you that he loves you. He wouldn’t allow himself to be this vulnerable, he wouldn’t tell you how he feels about you, because he had all this time– all those months and weeks spent with you in his bed, and you know his touches weren’t just shallow desire– and he never once said anything. He didn’t do anything about it, and now that there is nothing more to do about it, nothing that could change the trajectory of either of your lives, he chooses to speak it to the universe; because it doesn’t change anything, it can’t possibly do so– and so he doesn’t have to fear the consequences, he doesn’t have to fear the attachment that comes with such confession.

And for a minute, you think it’s selfish. You think it’s laughable, ironic, even, but you accept it. 

His hand reaches for yours, interlocking your fingers with his when he launches you forward into him, arms gently enveloping your body when your head settles itself to the curve of his shoulder. You stay like this for a while, in his hold again, breathing in his scent and trying to remember it for weeks and months before you’re able to smell it again, letting out a nosy question out of your lips– and truly, you don’t know why you do so, when you know the answer to it already anyway. Maybe you just want to hear it again.

“So… you do have feelings for me too, after all?”

He stays quiet for a while, before he softly laughs into your hair. “Yeah,” he nods, “but it doesn’t matter, ‘cause you’re leaving for Yale tomorrow, aren’t you?”

And he’s right– you are. Thinking for a while, feeling him place a shy peck to the crown of your head– the only kiss you two allow yourselves at this point of time– you come to the conclusion that  even though you love him, care for him like you’ve never cared for another before, you wouldn’t change a thing about your plan– wouldn’t change the trajectory of your whole life, wouldn't stay in Shanghai, wouldn’t drop out of university, wouldn’t stop everything because of him, because in a way, you strangely have it all figured out. 

And he doesn’t.

And you pray that one day, he’ll find the purpose in all the potential he holds in his hands.

[carmenpeach]

hm okay something thats been on my mind for like over a year now. sometime last year? or maybe closer to almost 2 years(!?) i started taking antipsychotics cause i just couldnt stand the paranoia anymore it had been ruining my life and i just could not function as a person and i was sick of the daily panic attacks. but like i thought "if i dont like how this makes me feel, i can stop and just go back to being crazy" and obviously i wasnt enjoying it- mostly it made me feel really numb to enjoyment and i found that my special interests were just becoming background noise for me at most and it was really hard like i didnt wanna draw or even play games it was like "wake up go to work come home smoke weed go to bed repeat"

and it was like my stuffed animals quit feeling like sentient and started to feel like just objects and it made me feel sick. like my toys had always been alive in a way and then suddenly they werent, but thats definitly not the reason i was so distressed being sane, since i know that special objects are bound to over the years not feel like friends etc etc <- mentally ill whatever. it was like there was a sudden wash of clarity over me and i hated it.

like it was like i was split in two in a way, and this is the part thats hard to explain unless you personally know the feeling. a lot of schizophrenic people have this feeling of like another person/ self residing in the back of the head or spine. and it gives this sense of paranoia, of being over your shoulders or under your skin just beneath you. and until a few years ago i didnt know this was something other people felt sometimes, and it was terrifying just feeling this entity of sorts possessing me in a way. i had felt it ever since i was a kid (maybe 9? for sure became a hard issue by the time i was 12 though so you know. early schizophrenia if not life long) but i never mentioned it to anyone for a variety of reasons, primarily because there was this feeling that if i outwardly acknowledged it, then it would know that i knew about it, and it would get me. whether that was killing me, torturing me, pulling me into another dimension, or taking over my body. and after 2 decades it just became part of my every day life, this thing within me that would always look for an opportunity to torment me in some unknown but inhumane way. and it was just this all consuming feeling, even feeling its thoughts inside my head, and not being sure where i ended and it began, and i accepted it as just a part of me for better or for worse.

and so starting antipychotics, they did their job and i felt "normal" and i was sleeping regularily for the first time in my life (would lay awake for hours and hours ever sinde like idk 3rd grade. 5 hours a night max usually and then that was plagued by nightmares. and of course the constant hallucinations and delusions in the meantime made sleep even harder) and i even felt less of that endless anger inside of me. and i hated it. it was like after being on it for idk maybe 2 weeks or a month or something i just suddenly in the day felt this clarity wash over me and just like that, the spine creature was gone. it was quiet upstairs. and ive felt hollow ever since. i quit the medication not long after but ive felt the same. its like it got mad at me and left to teach me a lesson for trying to toy with it. and ive been a half human ever since. its spacious in my body and in my mind, used to holding two people and now its just one. and ive spent so much time trying to induce epiosdes and just hoping(?) it comes back, but it hasnt.

its like im being forced to live as a human when im not. "being human" is this like aspect ive always struggled with, like im not gonna go into it but ive been forced to live as a non human my whole life, and every time i start to feel that feeling of "maybe i could be a person" something fucking outlandish happens and kicks me back down. i feel like a cartoon character the way everything is such a "yeah this sort of shit would happen to me" moments all the time. and like in a weird way, i always had this "evidence" i was a non human, with this otherworldly thing living inside of me and it was me.

for a long time i thought of it as the "original" me before all the events in my life forced me to create a new version of myself, and that it hated me. like i was one person ripped in two, and the part you have now (carmen) is the "active" "half" but its only half of a full person. but the other half certainly wasnt a person either. ive had many theories of what it is/ was, but knew i would never know, all i knew was that i could never acknowledge it. and its funny cause knowing that "its just schizophrenia" doesnt ease that feeling. its hard to explain. but what im getting at is that ive spent the last two years learning to navigate myself as only a fraction of what i was before.

its interesting cause i wouldnt say the insanity is gone, every now and then paranoia rears its head and certain topics that would make me have an episode will still freak me out. but i can walk past mirrors now (mirrors were always a 100% episode inducing thing) and i still sleep regularily and ive been eating stable too. but its still with this feeling of hollowness. im used to there being two people inside my body and now its just one, and its too spacious and its almost like i get lost in there. only one set of thoughts in my head, only one person looking through my eyes, only one person controlling my arms. i always felt like an alien and thought i always would. and i found great joy in embracing my schizophrenia rather than hiding it as some terrible secret. and it was the best thing i ever did for myself, was finally being open about my psychosis. ive made so many meaningful connections to other psychotic people, and im so happy ive met ppl that helped me understand myself and that im not the only one that feels this, and also that ive helped other people realize their own psychosis too.

i thought i could play pretend at being a normal person and go back to myself if i didnt like it, but i ended up staying this way. i know its not impossible for that feeling to come back maybe, but my god its horrifying to lose it the way i did. it feels only the more recent months ive started to adapt to being the only me in my body, and to feel like i could maybe be human too. yeah it was scary, but on the other hand now its kind of lonely in a really weird way, and not something i thought was possible either, i can still feel the impression where it was even as it fills in with my own shape now.

[basiliskonline]

I just finished a Court of Fey and Flowers by @dimension20official, it was absolutely amazing, hands down the best AP I have ever seen, or imagine I might see.

You can find it here.

As someone that is strongly anti-D&D 5E and Anti Wizards of the Coast, it took me a long time to give dimension 20 a chance, and I will strongly suggest that anyone in that same position give it a shot.

I am gonna talk about it below the cut here, cause this will likely be long, this will be things I both liked and didn't like.

So i'm gonna talk abit about my feelings and experience with games and APs, because we're all different, we all like different things in a TV Show and by extension those variable preferences would also expand to APs. So I want to give you a little bit of information about where I stand as I explain my thoughts. Sorry if this gets very SEO Recipe lmao.

If you don't care about all that, skip to the next bold line, however if you are gonna comment or argue or whatever, at least read the context first and then probably don't do that.

I've been gaming for 30+ years, I started very early, and i've played definately dozens, probably hundreds of different games. D&D doesnt even rank in that list, I didn't like it much as a kid, when i grew up and it was 3/3,5 I hated both it and pathfinder with a passion. I played 5E for a bit but its lackluster and very poor design led to a game of boring mechanical options and choices that quickly grew old. And if I was gonna play a narrative game, i wouldn't be playing D&D in the first place. 4E is the only edition of D&D I've actively enjoyed.

I was an immense Critter during Campaign 1 and partway through Campaign 2. Like... "my wife and I have Critical Role quotes engraved on our wedding bands" critters.

But I quickly fell away from both Critters and Critical Role, by and large Critters is the worst fandom ive been apart of (and I was a SuperWhoLock back in the day) and the CR cast talks a lot of nice ideals and backs them up with absolutely nothing but lip service. I am now, tbh, somewhat uncomfortable when I see any of them on my timeline.

Dimension 20 is the first AP my wife and I have tried to watch since CR (we find most APs to be unwatchtable in most situations, just our own preference), My wife was curious about seeing Brendan as a DM after watching him on Game Changer, so we watched Mice and Murder (it was fun, and good, but has NOTHING on aCoFaF), and then on a suggestion moved to watch aCoFaF).

Last piece of the puzzle, WotC is a fucking nightmare company that has harbored some of the worst pieces of trash imaginable (though tbf that is not unique to them, its a major "large/old ttrpg company issue". And I quite frankly would love to never have to hear or see about anything wotc ever does ever again, preferably because they burned down and everything they ever made goes with them (this sadly means I would lose 4E but sacrifices must be made).

Things I like about a Court of Fey and Flowers

The first thing I love about it, is its a very role play heavy AP, and it centers on matters of Political fey intrigue, and that is done so masterfully by every single player and by the GM. (I absolutely avoided D20 because of the DnD/WOTC connection, but I in retrospect absolutely understand the whole "Season of Aabria" that was going around now).

The characters were thrilling, dramatic, sneaky, nuanced and hilarious, and the storyline was gorgeous and beautifully made, allowing the players to make their own messes and their own relationships and romances. So much romances.

I absolutely loved that I didn't have to see dnd 5e be played most of the time. This is something, and one of the only somethings, you'll see me talk about in the "don't like" section, so it is strangely enough both. The system was changed and mostly ignored that I almost never had to see dnd played, the AP is so heavily social and rp and during the state of the AP only had two very very short combats that were more priority on the social implications of the combats than the combat itself. Overall it could have used any system and done what they did, but mostly I didn't have to see 5E played and that made it pretty solid, despite "being 5E".

I also love Brennan Lee Mulligan's Captain KP Hob, a very good bab and the first and only Bugbear PC ive seen in an AP (and I love me some Bugbear)

Thing's I didn't like about a Court of Fey and Flowers

This is gonna stay light, because really there wasn't much. The only thing really is that the system, while ostensibly "5E" the system was so lightly applied, used or stuck to that the game could have used almost literally any other system to better affect and I absolutely hate that they still gave 5E and WOTC some sort of props/bandwidth by barely using the system but still selling it as DnD.

[terraliensvent]

guys i think civ isnt satan (edit: they lied)

EDIT: please see this post, civ played everyone like a fiddle and blatantly lied about having nothing to do with the pet species deletion. keeping this og post up to show how dedicated they were to painting their narrative

so, a few screenshots relating to their bulletin were given to me (you can see my initial thoughts here)

now as with all breaking news there are revisions to be made with new info

(all screens can be found in this imgur gallery, may be out of order because imgur is dummy stupid)

so it turns out, civ and coy actually werent contacted prior to the decision. i do agree this could have been handled differently and there should have been more of a discussion around it, HOWEVER im more inclined to the side of current terra staff. for one, they came to the decision of one adopt every two months for each staff member as compensation for their work on the team. their reasoning for cutting down coy and civ's amounts is to be fair to everyone especially considering coy and civ arent actively working on the species anymore. i dont necessarily agree with the decision to cut customs though, since people have to actively seek them out for that and its more akin to a comm service. i also want to note that i can understand why terra staff wouldnt want to negotiate about the number of adopts with civ and coy, considering that this is how it went last time

you can see in the imgur screens the original terms, notably that civ and coy collectively were allowed to make 12 adopts a month. i can see how it would be seen as unfair to not be able to be compensated as much as the people who left the place to die.

throughout the screens it seems civ is being a lot more reasonable, i think more discussion should have been had with them and after introspecting, it probably wasnt right for them to be banned, however, i dont see why they couldnt just be unbanned. i think that theyre getting lumped in with coy severely here and truthfully that isnt fair to them. i dont know how i would go about the downgrade from 6 to 2, but what i do know is they were being pretty polite about it

coy on the other hand...

throughout the screens they just seem to keep throwing salt into the wound, working through loopholes and being petty just for the sake of it. their behavior i would argue is still deplorable, and their unwillingness to work constructively is probably the reason why they and civ werent included in the discussion. ive gone over coy a million times before, these screens just keep hammering the point home

besides that, there are a couple other things to note:

Tycho's lack of presence

Tycho (furthermore referred to as cal) diverting the discussion to others is something that has happened before, and can be a point of criticism against him, but honestly my personal opinion is that shit happens sometimes. cal has very valid reasons to want to pull away from the discussion, especially with the myo compensation event he seems to be giving his best despite the situation. i am willing to give cal a lot of leeway when it comes to being stressed because we have seen the work that he and his team are putting in. i mean ffs we already have new pet species concepts not even a day after the old ones were removed. hes got a lot on his plate, and coys un-reasonability and demanding things be done NOW would drive anyone crazy even if they werent already dealing with species AND irl responsibilities. you could argue that cal shouldnt be in a place of ownership if he cant take the heat which is a valid criticism, however i think that hes a fine owner, good even, its just that these situations keep popping up one after another and he just cant keep up. these arent things that normal species owners deal with

"disgusting"

so regarding these screens (because i know some civ/coy whiteknights are gonna try and use it to excuse all their actions)

listen, was it the most professional way to respond? no. but also: (assuming it was cal who said these) i would argue this is a totally valid argument. granted, probably not to be directed at civ, but still valid. if i was dealing with the same continued problems from people who arent supposed to even be a part of the project anymore, i would have blown my lid way worse. this comment isnt even that egregious to me, its just that civ and coy have created such an echo chamber that any criticism is seen as sacrilege, and given cal's previously mentioned stressors its completely understandable for him to react harshly when they have to deal with coy drilling up his ass and being petty for no reason

civ's final words

the screens speak for themselves here. i do think there are some things to be criticized relating to civs bulletin (particularly comments painting them as this poor sad puppy dog tossed in the rain) but ultimately they are not as much of a villain in this as coy is. best course of action honestly is to just leave them alone, they were pretty professional in the screens and just seem to want to be done with it

final verdict? coy is an ass. civ kind of isnt. it could have been done differently but i really understand why it wasnt. cal needs a break. new mods are still doing good in my eyes.

and terravent fans eat good tonight

[canonicallyobserving911]

okay okay okay so hear me out your canonical observations have me canonically observing the show as well and can we take a quick second to talk about the symbolism between both of eddies kitchen scenes in 6b as well as the fridge pictures that he has added as of this season??

in the first kitchen scene in 6x12, the house and kitchen are flooded with warm light, the music is light and typical for non-serious ambience within the show. eddie's demeanour is much warmer as well, and buck is on the left hand side of the couch when he falls asleep. eddie is much happier while taking care of buck after his nap, his house feels how it usually does when buck is involved in a scene- warm.

in the second scene during 6x15, the house is dominated by cold light and eddie's kitchen is viewed from the same distance as before, but now eddie is alone with chris. he made smores for chris like they used to with his mother, and he made three. this is also after buck confessed that natalia, a woman he had been on a single date with, seemed to see him in a way no one else could, not even buck. eddie went from thoughtful and vulnerable to cold and upset when buck brought up his interest in her. eddie seems to feel buck is moving on without him, like hes being left behind my everyone. he spent so much time learning to be okay alone but now he is alone and hes afraid. the photos on his refrigerator emphasize this. they are new photos that werent there last season IIRC. on the left hand side of the door is a photo of eddie holding christopher, where on the right side there are two photos- the middle is one of christopher alone and the right most photo is from shannon and eddie's day at the beach with their son. shannon's photo fell and drew eddies attention to what is lost, what is gone, but the question of what is still left on the fridge, what is left in the photos. see, buck has been looking for his 'couch', but eddie has had a lot of focus around his fridge, imo, which has me very interested. we've also been seeing eddies kitchen from a totally different angle than before over and over this season, which i doubt is a simple coincidence. its always a scene that starts in eddies living room on the couch that moves into the kitchen with his fridge at the dead center of the shot, then back to the living room, emphasizing the connection between the two spaces.

anyways ive lost my whole damn mind and i think it is Your Fault

Thank you @fireh0es for the ask and it includes a very interesting topic, Eddie's refrigerator. IMO, the entirety of Eddie's home includes many things that are gentle reminders for the audience regarding Eddie's past, present and future. The pictures and their placement are just the tip of the iceberg. I agree with you with regards to the comparison of Eddie's refrigerator, the room lighting between the living room and kitchen along with the difference in Eddie's mood in both episodes.

Eddie's usually stoic and even though he's been in therapy for more than a year now and he's become more open about his feelings; when the way he feels about Buck comes into play, every aspect of Eddie's home should be taken into account because his home is where the family he chose will be living. I've already completed a post about Eddie's home and how it will be the place Buck calls home in the future (linked here). Also, I've already posted about the significance of their couches (linked here) and I've posted about Eddie being afraid to tell Buck he loves him (linked here). When all of these things are combined, Eddie's home is the place that tells the audience where he is with regards to what his heart wants and how he's feeling.

Now let's review the things hanging on the front of Eddie's refrigerator.

While watching 6x15, I noticed the pictures hanging on the doors of Eddie's fridge were different from the ones that were there in 6x12. So, I got curious and zoomed in on the scene from 6x15 to see if I could determine what was different.

6x12 "Recovery" 6x15 "Death and Taxes"

In 6x12, there were only three pictures hanging on it, baby Chris, Eddie and Chris from 3x15 "Eddie Begins" (when they were preparing to leave El Paso in 2017) and a picture of Chris and Shannon from 2x10 "Merry Ex-mas. Chris' school calendar was also on the right side in 6x12 but in 6x15, more pictures were added. The largest picture on the right appears to be of Chris and maybe some of his classmates but the picture of Chris and Shannon from the day they spent at the beach wasn't there before 6x15 (see below for more information on where it came from).

The smallest picture on the top right appears to be from 2x10 and I deduced that from the clothes Chris and Shannon were wearing in it. The picture on Eddie's bedroom dresser in 5x13 "Fear-O-Phobia" has Chris in his red pajamas and Shannon in the white sweater with black/blue stripes on it just like they're wearing that day and in the picture from Eddie's bedroom. It's small and it looks like she's looking at Chris but Eddie's not in that one the way he was in the one on his dresser.

Now the picture that fell to the floor in 6x15 when Eddie opened the door was the one that caught my attention because I remembered it wasn't previously in the kitchen. I remembered seeing it in an episode from season 3 and it was in the living room. Previously, it was in a frame by the front door and the scene I created the GIF from was included at the end of 3x9 "Fallout".

Since Eddie recently moved the picture from the living room to the door of the refrigerator, it seems like he's thinking about MOVING ON again the same way he was thinking about it in 3x9 after his steamy and sexually charged kitchen scene with Buck. In 3x9, Hen's monologue at the end of the episode was about moving on and Eddie looked at the picture of Shannon and Chris when he was getting ready to take Chris to school.

It appears he was ready then especially since he gave Buck huge heart eyes in 3x10 "Christmas Spirit" and since he changed his will after 3x15.

Now that he's ready to move forward with his life and he admitted he doesn't want to be alone anymore, he's dealing with the idea of moving forward and possibly confessing his feelings to Buck but once again something stopped him and it appears to be Buck's comment about the way Natalia sees him (which the audience knows is a bunch of malarkey).

He doesn't want to be alone but he's still scared of having his heartbroken. Shannon broke his heart once and he's used Chris as a shield for years to protect it but now that Chris is growing up and has asked for more independence, Eddie has to focus on Eddie and the things he wants for himself. He thinks Buck's moving on without him (HE'S NOT-see the post I'm going to submit after this ask has been posted for more info) but based on his comments at the cemetery he believes it to be true.

Basically, Eddie wants to be with Buck, he's in love with him and he has been for a long time. He was wearing his therapy sweater/hoodie while he and Chris sat at Shannon's grave in 6x15 which could mean he had a session right before they went or he was planning to go to one after they left. Either way, he may have discussed his feelings about Buck with Frank but he was reminded of dying alone when Marie said it and it scared him. IMO during their conversation in the cemetery, Eddie was trying to see where Buck was mentally and he thought he got his answer when Buck mentioned Natalia (he misunderstood).

This got way longer than I intended but like I included at the beginning of this response, I agree with you about the lighting in both rooms, the pictures hanging on the fridge and Eddie's mood. All of those things are related. Hopefully Eddie and Buck won't keep waiting to confess their love for each other because they're both in a place where they understand life is a gift (Buck) and tomorrow isn't promised especially now that neither of them want to die alone (Eddie).

[starg1rlie]

hihi! hope youre doing well! ♡ ive never done one of these ask games before but they seem sups cute so i thought id give it a shot ! 💍 for scara please !!

im ambivert!! i really enjoy talking to people and love being around them! id describe myself as a rather calm and go with the flow. im a very patient person and like to see the brighter side of things. im a very physically affectionate person and generally just a pretty happy person 😭 i dont really like confrontation all too much but i will engage in some teasing if i know the other person is okay w it. unfortunately im also the victim of being a HUGE sappy hopeless romantic too 😔 i really enjoy writing :> music and nature are huge inspirations for me and are a big part of my life ! i also draw quite a lot too, it helps relax me and i love making things. i hope you have a great day and thank you for your time! <3 (apologies if this is too long! ^^;;)

(hello, my apologies for taking so long to get to your request, i hope that you haven't been waiting too long...i got a bit sick and i lost my motivation to write, since i dont feel like i'd be pushing out anything worthwhile for my readers at the time, but here i am <3 hope you enjoy)

biking around the city

its dangerous, he says, and yet, he still goes along with it. you first suggested it as a way to get some fresh air (as if the two of you couldn't receive fresh air from the front porch of your house), and he agreed, only because he knows how much you enjoy taking in the scenery of mother nature. of course he didn't expect for you to ask him to hold hands while doing so. if he had, he'd have refused to accompany you and would probably force you to do something else inside the house that wasn't quite so dangerous. he went along with it anyways, linking his fingers through yours as the two of you biked around the neighborhood for a bit. then scaramouche insisted the two of you head back, because it was getting late and your parents would probably murder him if he kept you out for too long.

he'll play the piano in the middle of the night

even though his mother had previously forced him to learn how to play the piano, he still secretly enjoyed it, despite all the smacks to the hand he received from his instructor. he hadn't played in a while and he felt a little nostalgic one night, so he plopped himself down in front of the grand piano, flipping the cover open and letting his fingers brush against the piano keys. slowly, he dipped into a simple melody he first learned, then ascended into a more complicated tune. all the while, he never looked up from his work, playing and playing until he played the last note. a clap startled him and he jumped up from his seat, whirling around to face you. you didn't tell me you played the piano, you'd say as he came over to wrap his arms around you. that's a one-time thing, he replied. only it wasn't; he started playing more and more every night, and you, upstairs in the bedroom, would listen contentedly under the covers, happy that he continues to play.

introduce him to romance

he legit hasn't had a single romancic occurence in his life (poor boy), and does not understand how you can be so sappy and romantic all of the time. so when you sat him down one night, scaramouche couldn't help but feel a little skeptical about the whole ordeal. romance wasn't his thing, not really, anyways. but you tossed a copy of "to all the boys i've loved before" and left him to "do his thing". a few hours later, you hear sobbing from downstairs and rush to see what's the matter. why are you crying? you asked him, rubbing a hand soothingly over his back. this book is so fucking sad, he'd say, wiping at his runny nose first and then his eyes. honey...it's a romance book...you replied, a little confused. i know. it's so fucking bad.

he'll teach you how to waltz

scaramouche isn't much of a dancer himself, but since there is a formal dance coming up at his school, and he wants to take you as his date, he practiced for weeks on end, ever since the school announced the dance. when he finally felt good about his performances, scaramouche invited you to his living room and placed a hand over your waist, the other gently clasping your hand in his. together the two of you swayed around the room until you collapsed into an exahusted heap, erupting into giggles. what's this for? you inquired, gesturing at his tuxedo and neatly combed hair the next day. what did you think i asked you to dance with me for last night? he shot back, re-adjusting his tie. we're going to the dance. with that, he promptly drags you out of the house to drive to the dance.

listens to your onslaught of playlists

it seems every day you manage to make a new playlist for him to listen to. him? he prefers indie pop and would rather slit his throat than listen to anything other than his chill music. however, since you put time and effort into the playlists, he'll scroll through it and play some of the songs in there. eventually, he'll find his head bobbing along to the songs and will scowl to himself, ripping his headphones off and glaring at his phone. your playlists...aren't as bad as i thought they'd be, scaramouche said the next day. his eyes narrowed just a bit. but we'll be talking more about your music taste in the future.

he'll organize a hike and picnic

since you seem to love nature so much, scaramouche mentally mapped out a plan for taking you out one weekend for a hike, and then a picnic at a pretty area, even going so far to take the scenic route instead of the shorter route. backpack and picnic basket in tow, he'll determindely hike up the hill with you, even though his feet are killing him and he'd much rather be relaxing back at home, watching riverdale. when the two of you finally reached the summit, he keeled over on his hands and knees, gasping and panting heavily. nope, this man is not in shape. want some water? you offer him, holding out a bottle of cold water for him. scaramouche accepted it gratefully and gulped half of it down before swiping at his chin. you're lucky that i decided to go through with this, otherwise we'd be rewatching riverdale again at home, he said pointedly, wiggling his index finger at you while he tried controlling his breathing.

[computerpeople]

that being said, if he is ever working on something hes deemed important himself, hes a workaholic. the last thing he is is a lazy person. juno is not lazy like, in the SLIGHTEST. he is always doing something, and a problem of his is he gets stuck in these manic hazes where he spends days without feeling tired or sleepy and just goes without sleep, sewing, painting, writing, playing, cooking, cleaning. he's always CLEANING something. in the server im currently playing him in (though i dont play him often right now, ive been burnt out on him for a bit) hes really freaked out because he is currently trying to help the town recover from a horrible, horrible attack by the eldritch gods his dad made a pact with to keep the town safe before he died. juno nearly died in this attack, but due to his pride he's kept that a secret, so everyone in town assumes he sat on his ass and did nothing to help them or protect them, and then when they finally got to shelter they saw him getting drunk off his ass, proclaim he's abandoning his position as mayor and basically sing and dance and shut everyone out after it. they don't know that he tried to offer his body and soul up to protect them, and he refuses to tell them, especially now. juno is not a very empathetic person but he does care about people a lot, he sees himself as someone who HAS to be a loving and kind "god" to the people below him. a huge part of his personality is "i have all this power, its my duty to share anything i can to make someones life easier because i have said power" but the thing is, in every single au no matter what, he is simply young, and naive, and very spoiled, and has never been shown what real love looks like. typically he ends up smothering people, with his "help." he works tirelessly to try and help and is just so fucking shitty at it.

one time he made a whole fuckjing meal and a half for two characters after hearing that they were having a hard time and needed help, and haf walked it over to their house all the way from his as a surprise. in his head, this was a nice thing. it was! until he walked into their house at 9pm unnanounced without texting or knocking and just walked into their house in the dark and got pistol whipped because literally the two characters had just returned back from a KIDNAPPING and were on edge, which he knew, and then HE WAS MAD AT THEM FOR HITTING HIM BC HE WAS DOING SOMETHING NICE. hes insane im sorry

[benjaminsblog]

Past week(ish)

The day after my return from Canada a joint-birthday celebration was held for Mum and me, and I sufficiently slept off my jetlag to enjoy the festivities. My aunt’s card alerted everyone to the fact that the two birthday-havers had reached a combined innings of 100, which was cute (nice to be thought of as the younger one for a change)!

I celebrated my actual birthday a couple of days later, which was more low-key. I’m past the age of feeling obligated to make my special day a memorable one – sometimes I may celebrate it a little later or earlier (like this year) – but I did at least treat myself to a visit to the cinema. I deliberated between Deadpool 3 and Borderlands before picking the latter; it’s based on a videogame series of which I have played the first two, and the basic recipe is explosions + colour = fun. I surmised it would be hard to make a bad film with these ingredients, but I could not have been more wrong. Although that may have been because they barely used those ingredients; it was one of the dullest films I can remember seeing, and I was hugely disappointed at this humungous swing-and-a-miss. I had the entire cinema to myself which I initially thought was a boon rather than an omen – apparently everyone else got the memo. I at least cleansed my palette by having a stellar birthday meal out with Mama at Gogos, a South African restaurant in Windsor. My ‘espetada’ (Afrikaans for skewer that stands*) was delicious.

* inaccurate - both in language and translation

I met up with Josh the following day for 9 holes at Lavender Park, after a warmup on the driving range. We were impressed and intrigued by the addition of touch screens in every bay, housing myriad mini-games and challenges that would have been a very enjoyable activity all on its own! After destroying Josh at everything that didn’t resemble a game of Top Golf, we went for our actual round and I won that rather handily, too! After fully sending my drive off the first tee straight onto the green, I already considered my round a good one, but I played a few more peachy approaches before the day was done.

The following following day, I travelled into London to help Sam celebrate his birthday (aren’t August babies the best?) at a cocktail bar called Havana Coco, along with 300 other people**. I arrived on the dot of 7pm as advertised even though I wasn’t trying particularly hard to be punctual – I figured that people would start rolling in when it was convenient, and I was correct, although I didn’t have to wait long for the guest of honour to arrive. Sam insisted on buying me the first drink of the evening as I’d arrived first, and after a very British but good-natured argument (“no, allow me!” “I insist!”), I consented. It was happy hour which resulted in two cocktails being placed in front of me, and we managed a bit of a catch-up before the rest of the throng turned up.

** slight exaggeration

I was a little nervous that the rest of the evening would not play to my strengths – unfamiliar faces/surroundings + lots of alcohol) – but I had a great evening to my surprise and relief! I had complete faith that all of Sam’s friends would be lovely, but I was worried that everybody would already know everybody else (e.g. old school friends) and I’d find myself on the fringes. However, I had several lengthy chats with some entirely new acquaintances and a few more with some faces I did recognise – namely Erdoo & Ive who came out to Madrid with Sam last year. One of the new faces – also called Sam – even bought me another drink despite another British standoff, which meant I somehow ended the evening 3 for 0! I was actually disappointed when it came time to leave, only forced to do so because I had to catch the final train home before work the following following following day…

I returned to Stockley Park for what seems like my once-a-year visit to cover a Premier League match from the safety of a studio. As it is such a rare occurrence for me, I always turn up earlier than required to re-acclimatise, which was noted and appreciated by the supervisor. I watched Tottenham put four past a hopeless Everton side in what was unquestionably the most boring 4-goal match I’ve ever seen, as strange as it may sound! Even though I felt a touch of drowsiness creeping in, I resolutely maintained my focus until the end, but as soon as I made it home via 300 buses*** my head hit the pillow.

*** I think you get the gist

I had a very good night’s sleep, which was just as well given that the following(x4) day – A.K.A. today – I spent the entirety of it travelling to/from York, not to work on a job, but to collect the van that had been up there covering the horse racing! It is one of the C1 vehicles in our fleet (i.e. heavier) and thus requires a C1 licence to drive it; almost every operator has one, but due to the crew including a few freelancers who are not obligated to assist in driving the vans, there was no one left by the end of the week to bring it home. Therefore, it fell to me to take a bazillion trains**** up to York Racecourse simply to get in D11 and drive it straight back down the M1. I then had to make my own way home which took another 3 hours (oh to still be living in Hemel), meaning my door-to-door journey lasted over 14 hours.

I daresay I’ll sleep well tonight, too!

**** This one is actually true

[rqlaji2]

Hey I know ive been dead but I went to 2 more they might be giants shows

15th i went to first avenue the first time. I havent even seen purple rain. I went on a walk every other day for the past month but it was surprisingly (sarcasm) not enough to prepare me for standing up for two hours straight. I saw the first first ave show was apollo 18 and while narrow your eyes is the best song ever and the guitar wouldve been astronomically fun i thought about it and if I actually got to choose which two i saw it wouldve been these. Now that I write that though my flood show was about a quarter mink car. But did your flood show have wicked little critta. No.

And so im up on the balcony i am directly outside the owners box, I have to get out of the way a fair amount which maybe helped a little with the pain that comes from standing in one place for two hours. But im wondering which one will be the comfortable show and they come out and i don’t even cry or anything like the first time im just like hey its those guys i know. Im a little far away and i need an eye exam yesterday though so maybe thats why. Anyway they come out and they play subliminal and im like AHHH cause its the best song ever. Actually im with a guy I do like a lot and I havent gone to too many shows, but I am so shy at the beginning a lot of the time..so maybe not AHHH but okayyy!!! And inside im like AHHH yknow? I wish snail shell was later in the set/i was less really fucking shy because I dont remember going crazy for it and I shouldve. SNAIL SHEEELLLLL. I listened to the venue song like two days before, it is so funny and great. More like mid james ensor. Its ok though cause it segues into the famous polka which is the best song ever. HEY! Im legitimately getting chills thinking about the famous polka, its so good. I always love slightly country tmbg and i have all of one single out of jail scrobble i didnt even recognize it 😭 in my fake fan era. Ah this was my first mesopotamians, so classic. More else pleaseee. Oh god spider was so good, so much more cacophonous than the recorded one. First flans doing a silly voice moment i can remember seeing, i love it when they do silly voices. Dirt bike might be my favorite tmbg song ever. You may have already noticed a theme with this post where i call every song the best song ever but I am not joking here, it might just be my favorite ever. I clap for all but I never cheer for the horns, and I wonder if that makes me a bad person, especially when dirt bike without horns would be shit. That intro is sooo perfect . A self called nowhere kicks total ass. Spy literally gets better every time I see it oml, I could not stop laughing at the back in black bit. SPY x16. The end of the tour is the best song ever, just so so lovely.

Man its so loud in here is really another contender for genuine serious most favorite tmbg song, I love it so so so so so much. Theyve played it at all my shows except the bowl, it wouldve been too powerful. I am so grateful for all the actual shows having it though, actual best song ever even if they play it a little different! Please compare my all time top played song man its so loud in here with all time 1 scrobble out of jail. (I really do not dislike out of jail, I dont know why I havent listened to it. I dont remember how it goes. John henry is my second favorite tmbg album. I dont know whats wrong with me.) When will you die just makes me think about how nothing will ever top the hollywood bowl when will you die, what a surprise and also great song. Doing the working undercover for the man sha la las in a crowd is so fucking cool!!! OH IVE HEARD ALL OF FINGERTIPS LIVE TWICE NOW, HOW MANY PEOPLE DO YOU KNOW WHOVE HEARD FINGERTIPS LIVE NOT ONCE BUT TWICE. I have to mention cloisonne, idk what to say about it but I heard cloisonne live, lmfao <3. Where your eyes dont go is so spooky and awesome. Brontosaurus is so great. Doctor worm is the best song ever. Letterbox is the best song ever. Last song of the night was no one knows my plan and they did not even make us conga. You may be thinking, no particle man? No istanbul? Well this ran long so im making a part 2 LOL

Also during the course of this show I sweated fucking tons, I was like legally an ocean. Anyways

[salaciousslut]

R&B is one of my top genre's as of lately 🤭 i would love any R&B recs you have<3 I'm better with change now but i struggled for a while!

You really are such a good friend sweetheart<3 also wtf!! Its so cool that yall live in the same apartment complex as one another! Im a lil jealous they get to hang out with you so easily</3 🫣 I ended up drinking two bottles of soju with my friends since we bought a fee bottles and then decided to hang out at someone's house rather than actually go out. I think it wouldve been so nice to have you in my lap tonight. I know you wouldve taken any and every shot i gave you<3 i barely managed to get away from my friends all night

For reals, I hope we both get better with expressing ourselves this year!<3 and i low key call it that too 🫣 but ive been able to cry a little more and actually talk to people how i feel a bit better these past few months :)

Maybe one day when im less shy i'll send you my discord and we can call and talk for a bit?<3🥺 i know you sound pretty, like its just obvious to me like of course a pretty princess also has a cute voice<3 like i know you make pretty little sounds<3 also my stitch impression is a little out of practice so lemme work on that a little more<3 hehe

Lemme know if you like it, i could use some constructive criticism on how i smell since sometimes i think its a little strong. But i know saving up a little would be nice to just spring for some polo red🤭

Im jealous!! Ive been wanting to get myself a candle warmer!! Ive just been so broke lately i havent been able to :( and im also guilty of that!! But trimming the wick also reduces the amount of soot accumulation so im on top of that with my candles 🫣 i dont burn them a lot though! Also that guy was fucking stupid, the person's supposed to like it otherwise whats the damn point?? I'd feel honored if you were moaning cause it felt nice, but then again i was taught to love women<3

I'd love to cuddle with you!! Some ppl do find me intimidating though im not gonna lie. I got like dead eyes until you show interest in my existence, but i think its cute that my height wont intimidate<3 i would love to cuddle with you and your lil blue cow devil stuffed animal ☺️❤️ and im 22, so basically an exact year give a few weeks 🤭

i get soo nervous rec'ing songs so maybe later hehe!!

omg i love soju so much!! i typically have 2 bottles before im drunk tho hehe so keep them coming! but i hope you had a fun and safe night last night!! wish i could come and take care of u this morning too. so i can have a bit of a lazy day

yes discord someday! dont be a stranger okay? youre always welcome into my dms whenever you feel comfy! plus i love calls and stuff! i just love listening to people so i send voice messages all the time too.

hehe yes i love my candle warmer!! i wanna spoil i and buy u one now!!! and yes i love wax play! it just makes me sooo happy and giggly and i think its so pretty!! especially on my tits and stuff. he was stupid anyways. really a low point in my life when i was talk to him.

noooo i also have a bit of a resting bitch face so i understand. plus! ill let u be lil spoon if u want too! i like both big and lil spoon so we can take turns! and cuddle with your shark too!!! cant leave him out of this!! hehe 22 thats perfect! come here and lemme spoil u

[permanentclawgrip]

okay this was originally part of my roommate rant post but imma do it separately because its more of a critique of a mindset:

I do not understand rapid completionist collecting culture

i know what youre saying, "eve, what the fuck are you talking about that makes no sense" let me explain

theres probably a proper term for it but I've noticed a worrying trend specifically in online spaces recently of rapid completionist collecting culture. basically a subculture of wider collectors which focuses on the attainment of a "complete collection" as fast as possible and often with a disregard for the actual content of what they are collecting. i have seen posts about this in comic collecting forums. ive seen similar kinds of posts on video game forums. my experience with it has been through my roommate though, who i will kind of vaguepost about (nothing new for this blog tho).

My roommate, who we'll call Adam (not his real name) for the sake of brevity, has a real strange relationship with these cultures. I first noticed it soon after i moved in with him, when he decided to watch every publicly available tv show and movie that marvel has made,,, ever,,, including every ,,, single ,,, saturday ,,, morning ,,, cartoon. this small feat took months. all catalogued in a nice tidy spreadsheet noting the runtime of them, the episode count of the shows, which storylines were adapted (iirc), and his overall rating (again iirc). this was not a months long project because oh he only watched an episode or two a day, no not at all. i would leave for work with some x-men cartoon playing in our living room and come home to fantastic 4 playing instead. every day. hours upon hours. it was not a simple, "oh one day ill watch them all eventually". it was a dedicated marathon of back to back to back marvel. it honestly completely burnt me out on all things superhero just being in proximity to it.

so what is there to take from this? "let people like stuff!" "its just a show why are you so mad?" well its hard to put my finger on it to be honest without sounding pretentious or hyperbolic. ill try my best...

in just a second...

first lets get pretentious!

i personally find this style of engaging with content to be very shallow. ive always kind of had a bone to pick with background watching, having a show on while doing some other task, but this is different. while background watching is annoying imo, most of the time people are doing so with shows that are kind of built for that (think sitcoms or light dramas) where you can kind of tune in and tune out on a whim and the point is more on the other activity that the show is the background stimulation for (i.e. homework, sewing, cooking, hanging with friends, etc.). in short, when background watching, the point is not to really watch the show. so that should be the polar opposite to what my friend was doing, right? nope! all these stats and all this time, just to usually be playing destiny or scrolling through DiscussingFilms' twitter posts for most of it. this is a recipe for not really getting anything from these shows.

secondly, the binge model is kind of horrible for story engagement or thematic understanding. there are very few stories in long form media which adapt well to binging. it has been discussed before, so im not going to re-litigate those arguments here, but suffice to say that binging is bad actually. pair that with these shows mostly being background fodder and it just strikes me as profoundly pointless.

Maybe I just have different wants from my media than others, but i usually like my media to have a point beyond just "it looks cool" or "it belongs to an ip i like". spin offs dont really excite me unless theres a reason for it to exist beyond just "hey look at this cool side character! guess what? theyre a main character now!" yes a lot of good stuff has come from "spin off" series (look at puss in boots: the last wish as just one example), but their mere existence will never excite me. i prefer to really watch movies or tv shows that im interested in: dim the lights, grab some popcorn, and set aside time to really engross myself in every detail. its not for every show and it is a little time consuming, but the depth in every piece of art that you learn to see is so worth it. but maybe thats not everyone priority.

okay now lets get hyperbolic!

im not going to sugar coat this and itll sound weird, but i see a lot of similarities between this kind of hyper obsessive yet shallow fixation and some very very disgusting subcultures online. and i dont mean that because i dont understand them. i mean that because i am sadly referencing many of the boys and young men who fall down the alt-right pipeline through porn fixation. if you do not know what i am talking about, youll have to trust me on this because i do not think that anyone should look these things up on their own because good god every trigger warning possible applies if you look at some of these peoples accounts. they make my stomach churn and i am pretty resilient to things. basically for those who dont know, what im referring to is a subculture of predominantly young men who become obsessed with porn and porn stars to the point that it is all they can think about. if this is giving hints of incels, it should because the venn diagram is actually just a smaller circle within a larger circle. their obsession and incel nature leads them to the expected political and social beliefs: misogyny, transphobia, grooming, forced marriage, etc. truly some of the worst humans.

now is this a leap? admittedly yes. but i dont think the comparison isnt without merit. the initial actions are the same and both lead to heavy levels of social isolation. sure you have your in group that understands every reference you make, but beyond them, you become stunted. that social isolation is the most dangerous fuel for a man to have.

overall thesis

i could write at length about this topic (and who knows i might one day) but ill keep it brief for now. in short, this trend of hyper obsessive binging that ive seen is extremely confusing to me at best and potentially dangerous at worst. i wish i had a way to break people's habits with this kind of thing but sadly i do not know how.

[peachesandmilktea]

𝕭𝖊𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝕭𝖑𝖚𝖊 𝕾𝖊𝖆 [𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝐼𝐼𝐼]

Click here to see the full art!! I had to crop it and my heart BLEEDS. Shout out to @obsidianne-art / @beware-thecrow for being the best wro/co-writer/artist this earth has ever seen.

Part I. Part II. Current Part. Part IV.

Captain Shigaraki is a merciless pirate, a terror over the seven seas, a monster of a man who fears neither god nor man. You’ve sworn to take him down and bring him to his knees under the crown’s justice, and you would have, if only he hadn’t discovered your most well-kept secret.

TW: Lots and lots of horny thoughts, enemies to lovers, Shigaraki Tomura is bad at feelings, smut to come soon.

If some days were lazy, others were busy.

They were long, hours stretching for what felt like an eternity, minutes ticking with the speed of years. Tomura would spend them hunched over his desk, crimson gaze trailing the length of a stupid document or another, all to try and tear any information from them that would grant him victory against his enemies. If you’d been his greatest one, that didn’t mean you were the only opponent he had to face, and others would take your place as long as you remained on his ship.

And so, he calculated. Made plans. Thought every little thing through so that he could maintain the rule he held on the sea in the palms of his murderous hands. There was still the uncertainty of you, though, one he couldn’t theorize for he didn’t know the true extent of your loyalty to your fleet. Would you betray them, then? Would you disavow the fate you’d chosen for yourself, and take the one he offered instead? Or would you turn from him, stab him in the chest when he expected it the least and leave him for dead in your wake?

The perspective left a bitter taste on his tongue.

He wouldn’t let you betray him, but the thought that you might was enough to make a migraine birth beneath his temple. It was a dangerous game the two of you were playing, a cutthroat waltz just as sharp as a blade. A single misstep could mean doom for either one or the other, and Tomura wasn’t planning on being defeated so soon.

At least not before uncovering each and every last one of the secrets your eyes held, whenever they caught his gaze.

With a sigh, he pushed the last of the documents away from him, as far as possible on that worn-out desk of his — after so many hours spent studying each and every word those stupid papers held, he would have gouged his own eyeballs out rather than see another trace of ink on a crumpled sheet. A slight pain pulsed beneath his skull, remains of the migraine the mere thought of you had given him, and he resolved to take a break, albeit a small one.

Before duty called again and pushed him back towards those cursed documents, he stood and strode towards the door for his cabin, eager to take a deep breath from the night breeze surely blowing through the sails of his ship. The wind was cold that late at night, and the fresh air made him feel anew, just like the faint clamor of noises he could hear from the higher deck, right above his cabin.

“The coat, the hat,” Sako’s voice mused in the distance, barely loud enough for Tomura to hear. “Are you planning on stealing our dear Captain’s whole wardrobe?”

“Stealing would imply that I got them without permission,” you replied, matter-of-factly. “The coat was a rental, and the hat I earned, fair and square.”

Tomura didn’t mean to eavesdrop — had it been about anyone else, he would have climbed the stairs towards the higher deck, where the whole crew was gathered in the light of a few candles like every evening, and joined the conversation. But this time, it was you talking about him, and curiosity wrapped around his heart like a prickling blanket, sinking its claws into his thoughts as mercilessly as a wild animal. Instead of either going back to his cabin or making his presence known, he simply leaned against the doorframe without a noise, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened.

“You should ask for his blood next,” Toga chimed in, tone as cheerful as ever. “Make a little vial that you could wear on a necklace or something. That would be the cutest thing.”

The sea breeze carried the sound of your laugh like a song.

“It’s probably full of diseases,” Dabi said, always so sour in the way he spoke. “What the hell do you see in him, for you to be so smitten with that mug of his?”

The question made Tomura roll his eyes, an annoyed sigh spilling from his lips.

But he’d studied you long enough that he could picture your reaction clear as day, without even seeing it — you would frown, throwing a glare at Dabi, your gaze terrifying enough it could make a grown man weep and then, you would bite your lower lip in a soon-to-be-unsuccessful attempt at holding back the jab you were dying to throw at your opponent. It would be insulting, it would be cold, it would be devastating, because you were as violent with your words as you were with your blade, and Dabi was the main receptor of the rage you kept so silently tucked in the depths of your mind, concealed beneath a soft little smile and eyes full of gentle kindness.

But silence stretched, and for a second, Tomura wondered if Dabi had managed to shut you up — or if, perhaps, you shared the tattooed man’s opinion on his appearance, a thought that filled his chest with pure, overwhelming dread.

“It’s just…” you started after a few seconds of hesitation, some type of uncharacteristic shyness pulling at your words. “He’s…”

Tomura waited with a frown, desperately wishing you could get it over with faster.

“He looks like… moonlight.”

Moonlight.

What the hell did it mean? If he’d been confused by your words or behavior before, that was a whole new level. Was his skin too pale? Was his face too covered in weird little spots, damaged skin that was rough to the touch here and there? Did he look like a creature of the night, a monster that found shelter in the shadows only?

“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard!” Toga sang.

“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard,” Dabi mocked.

The sigh that crossed your lips was so loud even Tomura could hear it.

“You don’t understand,” you said, almost indignantly. “It’s the kind of light that’s just so soft and gentle, you want to bask in it. There’s a kind of comforting loneliness to moonlight, as I think there is to him. Maybe to me, as well.”

You marked a pause, and Tomura noticed he’d been holding his breath.

“And he’s just as pretty as the moon. I could stare at him for hours.”

He raised a trembling hand to his face in the desperate hopes to conceal the searing blush that he felt creeping over his cheeks. It burned underneath his skin, making even more heat birth in the depths of his chest, a fire that he didn’t know how to extinguish. Slowly, he turned back towards his cabin, taking the few steps needed to get inside, and closed the door behind him, drowning the sound of your voice into the silence of his quarters.

He hadn’t been supposed to hear that.

He wished he hadn’t, because now, a thunderstorm was raging in his heart, threatening to rip out of his chest, pulsing beneath his ribs as it called your name. The feeling was as painful as it was exhilarating, and it stole each and every breath from Tomura’s lungs as it settled deep inside his entrails, never to be chased away.

“Moonlight,” he murmured for no one but himself, some kind of awe pulling at his voice as the word rolled on his tongue.

If he was moonlight, you shone brighter than the sun.

He longed to reach for you and bask in your light, to let your warmth fill his harsh, rotten little heart, to lean into your touch, ever so gentle. He would cradle your face in clumsy, rough hands as pale as the moon and you would smile, sunlight made flesh, until he felt like he could die for a chance to get a taste of your lips, of your skin, or more.

And maybe you’d let him.

Or maybe he’d get burned on the way.

Either way, that was a pain he was eager to feel.

—

Each breath after that felt like diving into dark waters, devoid of any knowledge of the monsters it contained. Tomura wasn’t easily impressed — not by syrens, not by seastorms, not even by your blade as you had wielded it against him merely a few weeks before. He was a man made of sharp edges and clever wits, a proud leader who’d learned to swallow every hint of fear or worry before it could clog his lungs, his throat, his thoughts.

Yet, you made him feverish.

It was an unknown evil that spread through his entrails and made a home there, like a dire, overwhelming need. It was a stash of desires, some gentle and some sickeningly filthy, all catching fire in a burning inferno whenever your eyes lingered on his face. He now knew your thoughts about him, and he’d never felt less like moonlight than since you’d referred him as such in that conversation that was meant to be secret from his prying ears.

Act on it, Tomura, the voice of a ghost whispered in his mind. Just take. Anything you want is yours to have.

But he wouldn’t, because the mere thought of it was a liability as long as he didn’t know where your loyalties lay. You’d called him better, and he hoped he was — or at least, good enough to swallow his own desires and cravings until he knew you wouldn’t stab him in the back on your way to his bed. For his own sake, and the sake of his crew.

It wasn’t easy, though.

Thoughts plagued his mind like a disease, and he sometimes wished he were as reckless as he used to be, lifetimes ago. It would be so easy, if only he just gave in, if only he decided to put his trust in you at last, his fateful enemy turned faithful companion. He would only have to hold out a hand and reach out for you, and how nice would your skin feel under the touch of his callous fingers? He’d dreamed of the taste of your lips, the whimpers that would cross them as he took you, of a thousand ways he’d tear each and every cute little sound from the safe comfort of your mouth.

He took a deep breath in a vain attempt to shake those images from his sickened mind, instead doing his best to focus on the task at hand — the sharpening of his sword. The stone laid on his thighs as he sat in his cabin, the blade moving in quick, dangerous moves and leaving a trail of iron dust in its wake. It was mechanical, and not difficult enough to clean the filth from Tomura’s mind, no matter how much he silently pleaded his own heart to turn from the thought of you.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Hey, Captain, I was wondering—”

The sound of your voice echoed in Tomura’s cabin when you pushed the door to it, at the same time as the blade slashed through his palm. He cursed himself in silence, barely stifling an annoyed groan as he took in the cut — it was a big gash, deep and dark, enough to make blood drip in rivers down his forearm, staining his clothes, splattering on the wooden floor.

Maybe he’d been underestimating the extent of his little weakness, if the mere sound of your voice was enough to startle him so.

“Careful with that blade,” you said, but the words weren’t mocking. Instead, you eyed him with quiet concern. “If you hadn’t slashed me once or twice already, I’d even think you were clumsy with a weapon. Or is something on your mind, perhaps?”

If only you knew — he couldn’t tell you, wouldn’t tell you, though.

His mind was playing enough tricks to torment him without you barging into the scene as well. You wouldn’t be cruel with it, he knew, and that was what made the perspective so damn dreadful — you’d be gentle, you’d be kind, you’d whisper sweet nothings in his ears like you’d done unknowingly last time, and Tomura wouldn’t be strong enough to keep your thieving hands away from the filthy, darkened heart that lay in the safe comfort of his chest. If he knew how to fight opponents by thousands, he’d never faced such a threat, and who was to say he was cold enough to withstand the desire, the need he felt should it be requited?

He ignored the thought once again.

“Nothing,” he replied, the sourness in his tone barely concealed. “Nothing’s on my mind. What were you wondering?”

“If you’d let me patch you up,” you simply replied, striding your way towards him. No matter the words, you weren’t asking for permission, he knew, and despite his wishes that you would simply turn and leave him to his misery, you still sat on his desk right beside him, eyeing the cut with careful attention.

“Since when do you have nursing credentials?”

The jab was stupid, but an amused smile reached your lips.

“I had to learn to heal myself, for both shallow and deep wounds,” you explained. “Can’t exactly go to the navy’s infirmary with these.”

You gestured loosely to your chest, and Tomura instantly averted his gaze.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look—

No amount of self control was enough for the way you leaned towards him from the desk you were perched on, grasping his slashed hand between gentle fingers. His eyes wandered then, despite his cold resolutions, on the soft, silky skin he could make out beneath the fabric of the shirt Toga had lent you. It looked inviting, mesmerizing, fascinating, and he wondered if it would mark easily under his touch, bruise in the shape of his fingers, or redden with the brand of his teeth.

When you slightly turned to study the wound more closely, the piece of clothing slid just a few inches along your shoulder, letting Tomura peek at the cut he’d given you, right underneath the cream-colored fabric. It started near your collarbone and ran lower, lower, lower, in places he wasn’t yet allowed to see but could picture and imagine just as well — places he wished he could claim again, with his mouth instead of his blade this time.

“It’s not that deep,” you commented. “This should be enough.”

In a careless gesture, you pulled at the piece of fabric that held your hair together. It wasn’t luxurious enough to be called a ribbon, not old or crumpled enough to be called a rag either, just somewhere in between that. Most of all, it smelled like you, like iron and blood, like seawater and vanilla.

You wrapped it around his wound and Tomura watched, almost entranced, as your fingers brushed against his, gentle and warm and kind. He wondered what else those hands of yours could do, the mere thought of it making too-hot shivers run down his spine.

He let a relieved sigh cross his lips when you let him go, his hand now all patched up.

But, of course, you wouldn’t allow him any kind of respite.

“Want me to kiss it better?” you asked, eying the results of your work with slight amusement.

The perspective had him grit his teeth in a vain tentative way to keep a grasp on his self-control. It was only half-effective.

“What?”

You simply shrugged in response, but the look in your eyes didn’t seem to reflect the filth of the thoughts that were swarming his own mind — he saw nothing but gentle innocence in those irises of yours, the type of kindness you’d accustomed him to.

“My mother used to do it when I was younger, before she died. Always said a kiss would make anything better. I figured you hadn’t ever experienced that, given your upbringing.”

Tomura’s only memories of a gentle touch were fleeting, blurry, from a past that had unfolded long before he became the pirate Tomura Shigaraki. He hadn’t ever been kissed kindly after a cut, had never been caught in a loving embrace, nor felt a heart beat against his as he let himself melt into the warmth of someone’s tender arms. All because he didn’t even consider it as something plausible for someone like him.

But now, as you slowly grasped his hand in yours once again, he found that he wanted to. Desperately.

And so, he nodded.

“Alright. Do it quickly before I change my mind.”

Because it was dangerous, it was risky, it was a liability. But every single hint at worry that had clogged his mind before faded into a cloud of dirty smoke when you raised his hand to your lips and kissed him there, right in the crook of his wrist, a mere inch below the beginning of the cut, concealed beneath the piece of cloth that smelled like you.

Fire burned beneath his flesh at the touch, so soft and gentle it felt like the kind embrace of a warm summer breeze. It was short, fleeting, gone as soon as he’d felt it, and he almost wished he could beg you to keep going, or at least return the favor, and not only on your wrist but on every single inch of skin you would allow him to touch.

The stupidest idea flashed in Tomura’s mind, but he chased it away with a shake of his head — no, he wouldn’t try and bribe Dabi to get him to punch you in the lips just so that he could make you the same offer. Mostly because Dabi would rat him out at the first opportunity, despite being the only one of his crew members who would accept such a deal.

“There,” you said. “Wait and tell me if it worked, okay?”

You stood up and made your way to the door, your now untied hair gracefully framing your face. The sight made Tomura wish he could pull back one of the strands behind your ear, letting his fingers brush against your cheek as he did so.

“I doubt it will,” he simply replied.

As you laughed, mentioning something about dinner being ready and left him there, closing the door to his cabin behind you, he stretched his hand, searching for the pain that should pulse through the wound there. But instead of the prickling of the cut, the only thing he could feel on his skin was the memory of the soft touch of your lips and so, maybe you’d been right.

Maybe he hurt less than he did before.

----

We're slowly but surely getting there with their relationship hehe!! Next chapter is a bit spicier and then we get to the smut, it's already written 👀✨

I'll post the next chapter as soon as I get enough comments on this one hehe 💕 (People tend to comment only the last chapter of a fic but I need my fill for each of them djsndsnjkjsk)

Please leave a comment, it'll make my day!!

[ladyartemesia]

The Kiss

◐ PART VIII of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Series Masterlist ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Part IV ◐ Part V ◐ Part VI ◐ Part VII ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Hard Mature 18+ (for this installment)

Warnings: this one is a little darker, descriptions of violence, ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming, strong sexual innuendo, discussion of violence relating to ritual combat, possessive behavior, injuries and discussion of injuries, lots of people have, use and are threatened by knives, kidnapping and drugging, its not as bad as it sounds, but it is definitely a bit darker…

Word Count: 4250

Author’s Note: I said it before but it bears repeating...You have no idea what your support has meant to me. Truly your asks and your messages and comments…they made me so happy. You made me believe that people wouldn’t forget about this story. I am so grateful you were able to wait. As many of you know I faced a medical emergency recently and you were all so lovely. The best followers on this site and I MEAN that. As always, my angels @ppersonna @xjoonchildx and  @untaemedqueen​  were (and continue to be) the best betas and the best friends anyone could ask for. My thanks to ALL of you for helping me bring this story to life! I don’t know what I would do without your daily encouragement and your daily support. You guys are the heartbeat of this story. It wouldn’t be here without you.

——◐——

Two Years Ago 

——◐——

Centuries ago the moon goddess stumbled across her human soulmate while he was sleeping. Struck by his beauty, but reluctant to reveal her identity, the goddess began to visit him in his dreams where she could hide her true form and appear before him as a mortal woman. 

In the world of dreams their love flourished and from that blessed union the packs were born…

The wolf nations celebrated this sacred romance every ten years during the Festival of the Lover’s Moon…

The day of the festival was spent eating and drinking and dancing at large parties, but when the sun went down… well—

That’s when things got really interesting. 

On the night of Lover’s Moon the young unmated wolves of the pack were permitted to commemorate this legendary love story in a decidedly scandalous manner. 

The unmated men assumed the role of the goddess’s sleeping lover—they were blindfolded (to represent slumber) and led into a large sectioned off area of the dark forest to ‘wait and dream.’

Unmated she-wolves over the age of maturity (eighteen) took herbal scent suppressors and ventured out into that very same forest in order to anonymously ‘visit’ the young men ‘in their dreams’...

The rules for what exactly that meant were pretty fast and loose which was why Min Yoongi was thanking the goddess and every other deity he could think of that Yunli was still seventeen. 

“But I will be eighteen in two days! Please can’t I just—“

“No. Absolutely not under any circumstances ever.”

“But Yoonji is going!”

“Ji-ah is nearly nineteen and has never been interested in any of the snotty little man-pups of our pack.” He snorted. “She’s probably going out just so she can shove a bunch of them in the lake.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Yunli mumbled irritably. 

Kim Taehyung yawned idly and snuggled into the cozy little pallet he prepared at the base of his favorite tree. The blindfold he and all the other unmated ‘lovers’  wore was made from witchcloth and could not be removed while the sun was down—so he had snuck into the forest earlier to set everything up. 

Now all he had to do was wait until—

“H-Hi Taehyung.”

Oh sh—

“Uh. Hello...Miss.”

Taehyung didn’t recognize the owner of that voice, but he knew for sure who it wasn’t. 

“I was hoping to find you tonight.”

This is not good. 

“Well I’m—I’m flattered… naturally but—”

She touched his hand and he squeaked. 

“I was thinking you and I might get to know each other a little bet—eep!”

The sharp point of a custom blade pressed directly into the unfortunate young beta girl’s pulse point. 

“Are you lost, puppy?”

A heavy cloak obscured the newcomer’s features, but there was no mistaking her meaning. 

Taehyung bit his lip to keep from snorting as the poor she-wolf scrambled away. 

“Ji-ah,” he tsked with feigned disapproval, “that wasn’t very nice.”

Min Yoonji grinned as she sheathed her wicked looking dagger and slid languidly into his arms. 

“You don’t like nice girls, Kim Taehyung.”

“I like you,” he whispered breathlessly against her lips. “Nice or not—it doesn't matter to me…” His hands slid greedily over her soft curves—pulling her closer till he felt the beat of her heart against his own. “I’ll like anything as long as it’s you.” 

This was the stupidest idea in the history of stupid ideas. 

Jimin huffed as he struggled to find a comfortable position against the giant boulder he’d chosen as his perch.

Why did I let Taehyung talk me into this?

He could be at home—in bed—comfortably sleeping off the all-day feast he’d indulged in. 

Instead he was out in the middle of the forest sitting blindfolded on a rock in the off chance that one of the she-wolves was out looking for him. 

Not bloody likely. 

Not when prime targets like Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook—and countless others—were scattered throughout the woods. 

“Park Jimin?”

Every hair on Jimin’s body stood on end. 

It was a soft whisper—the speaker clearly didn’t want her voice to be recognized, yet something about the sound sent a curious frisson of interest down his spine. 

He gulped. 

“Yes… that’s me. But if you’re looking for Hoseok he’s just a little deeper in. You probably caught his scent downwind so—”

“I’m not looking for Hoseok.”

Jimin licked his lips and the sight of it sparked a odd curl of heat in the pit of your belly. 

“I don’t know where anyone else is…”

“That’s quite alright.” A muted shuffle of movement reached his ears as you settled down beside him. “I was looking for you.” 

“Oh…” He rubbed the back of his neck idly. “Are you sure?”

Laughter like fairy bells whispered through the air and Jimin felt his heart clench.

Don’t get your hopes up. 

“Who are you?”

You were silent for a long time and then—

“I am someone who owes you a debt. One I have never been able to repay.”

Jimin’s head tilted curiously as he considered your words. 

“I’m sorry, miss… you must be mistaken. There isn’t—“

“You don’t remember.” 

It was a statement—not a question. Your voice was nearer now. He could feel the warmth of your body close to his—though not quite touching. “It was your wolf that saved me. But you had not gone through the Change yet.”

Familiar shame spiked sharply in his chest.

“I’m seven years past the Change...Why have you never mentioned this before?”

“Circumstances prevented me from doing so.” 

There was a cold finality to your pronouncement—which of course did nothing but further inflame his curiosity. 

“Then why come to me now?”

“I’ve come to repay you.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped open. 

Were you trying to—?!

“Oh—no please that-that’s not necessary—I could never take advantage of—”

You giggled again.  

“I am not offering my body, Park Jimin.”

Jimin breathed a heavy sigh of relief then shook his head with a wry chuckle. 

“Well considering the circumstances I can hardly be blamed for assuming you might be. And honestly most men would jump at the chance to—”

“You...are not most men.” 

Jimin’s eyes narrowed beneath his blindfold. 

“Little she-wolf—I may not be wrestling bears for fun or bare knuckle boxing in the town square, but I am still an alpha.”

The weight of his command poured over your body as he spoke the last word. There was no order or intent—he had simply given you a taste of his power. 

Aside from your direct blood relatives, no alpha had ever dared unleash their compel in your presence—therefore you were utterly unprepared for the effect it had on you—

Utterly unprepared for the strange surge of want so potent and profound that it stole the breath from your body. 

It was primal—invigorating—

Sensual.

You and your wolf may not have been entirely connected yet, but she was suddenly quite vocal about her desire to fully bask in Park Jimin’s attention.

A wicked grin played over his lips as he leaned in closer and you could almost feel the soft brush of his lips against your cheek. 

“Did you think I would not desire the touch of a beautiful woman in the moonlight?” he whispered. 

Please touch me, Alpha. 

Your eyes widened. 

Dear goddess. Your inner wolf was turning out to be a shameless hussy. 

“You might desire it, but you are far too  honorable to accept it as payment for a debt.”

Jimin drew back warily. 

You were correct of course. After all he had refused you when he believed that was your intent but—

“How could you know that?”

Evade. Evade now. 

“Well... how could you know I was beautiful? You’re blindfolded.”

He shrugged and your wolf took careful note of the way it made all the pretty muscles in his back and shoulders ripple. 

He will give us such strong—

Oh boy. 

He will do no such thing. Please calm down. 

“Not everything must be seen with your eyes.”

Is that how you found me? All those years ago...

Questions churned chaotically beneath your consciousness but you dared not give voice to them. 

Focus.

“I must repay this debt. Ask for what you want and—if it is in my power—I swear it will be yours.”

Jimin smiled again, but this time it was somehow softer. For a moment he looked almost…

Sad. 

“I’m afraid that the only thing I have ever wanted is not within your power to give...and I dare not ask you or anyone else for it.”

For her. 

He sighed and drew even farther away from you—in fact it seemed like he was preparing to leave. 

No. 

Your hand reached out almost of it's its own accord and wrapped tightly around his wrist. The contact sent a shock of searing heat through his veins and he froze. 

“Please alpha. It is not acceptable for someone like me—” a leader, a Luna, “—to owe another my life and offer nothing in return. You must let me pay my debt.”

Omega, his wolf growled, sweet perfect omega. 

Suppressors may have hidden your scent, but the siren song of an omega pleading prettily in his ear was unmistakable—irresistible…

“What if all I want is your name?”

You sighed deeply. 

“I cannot give you that. My name is… not mine to offer.”

Jimin laughed. 

“A woman I cannot remember with a name I cannot know and whose face I cannot see.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you are just a figment of my imagination.”

It was hard to explain what happened next...For whatever reason his words cut you deeply and you were overcome with the desire—no need—to refute them somehow. 

“I’m real enough,” you whispered, bringing his hand to your cheek. 

Jimin was genuinely beginning to wonder if you were a witch as well as a she-wolf. Being close to you was intoxicating and the urge to draw you in was steadily overpowering every other thought.

“Could I ask you for a kiss, then?”

“You—...You saved my life and all you want... is a kiss?”

The air grew heavier as the strange magnetic pull between you swelled to a silent inescapable crescendo. 

“In Seoul I often searched for someone who could ease my loneliness, yet each time I walked away emptier than before.” His thumb brushed gently over your lips and your eyes fluttered shut. “I have never had a kiss that meant anything to me.”

But yours might. 

It was unclear who moved first, whether he pulled you to him or you surged forward but when your bodies aligned and your lips met his for the first time it was as if you had never been separate from one another. 

As if you had always been deeply—intimately —together. 

The indescribable feel of him lit over your senses like a struck match. It was an ignition in the purest sense of the word— a fiery visceral awakening fueled by a consuming flood of desire. 

Yes, Alpha. 

He might never see your face or hear your name, but Jimin knew he would remember the taste of you for the rest of his life. It was hot and bright like liquid sunshine— a pure relentless light flowing through him where there was once only darkness. 

A soft needy moan rose up from your chest and he growled in primal satisfaction as you melted against him. 

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt of their own accord, desperately trying to bring him closer until he wrapped his arms around you in a heated embrace. 

“Please,” he begged breathlessly against your mouth. “Please tell me who you are.”

The words crashed over you like a bucket of ice —dousing the hazy pleasure of his kiss with a cold bite of reality. Suddenly you were wrenching yourself away from him and your wolf whimpered in misery at the loss of his touch. 

“I can’t,” you whispered. 

And then you were gone. 

“Did someone hurt you?”

You looked up to find Jin taking in your tears with cold fury. 

Twin knives were already gleaming dangerously in his hands and he appeared ready to filet whichever bastard was foolish enough to make you cry. 

“No,” you sniffed—well aware of how pitiful you were at the moment—crying in the corner of your cousin’s kitchen. “I got myself into this mess without any help—as usual.”

Jin sighed and slid down next to you. 

“Tell me.”

“Something happened that I…I didn’t intend.”

“Oh I knew that already. The Luna isn’t supposed to be running around on the night of Lover’s Moon in a forest full of blind horny wolves—“

You snorted and shook your head. 

“You’re absolutely right. I should have stayed away.”

Jin’s eyes narrowed and he wondered if perhaps you had caught Kim Namjoon with another omega. Nothing would be official until after the Change of course, but your bond with him was basically a foregone conclusion at this point. 

“You went looking for someone...didn’t you.”

You nodded miserably—all but confirming his fears. He made a mental note to push Namjoon in the swamp at the next available opportunity. 

“You know... the stories say that a Luna is powerfully drawn to her mate under the Lover’s Moon—that her wolf can sense him even before the Change.”  He reached over and gently began to brush the tears from your eyes. “So it’s not surprising that you sought him out, but it’s not really fair to hold whatever it is you saw against him. There is no relationship between you yet and…” he chuckled, “kisses beneath festival moonlight don’t really mean anything anyways.”

It was clear that Jin had somehow gotten the entirely wrong impression, but perhaps that was for the best. 

No one knew of your connection to Jimin and no one had seen what passed between you. 

Still…

Something about his assessment stung you. 

“You really believe that? ...That a kiss exchanged tonight means nothing?”

“I do.” Jin spoke with conviction. “There’s ancient magic at play in those woods. You can’t always trust what you see—or what you feel.”

“Oh I...I didn’t know…”

After a moment you laid your head against his shoulder and let the last of your tears run silently down your cheek. 

“Jin-ah have you ever wanted something you knew you couldn’t have?”

“Yes.” He sighed heavily and pulled you in to snuggle a bit closer. “When I was younger I dreamed of having a mate just like everyone else…”

The words were so softly spoken—almost wistful. Your heart splintered just hearing them. 

“But… she could be out there—your mate.”

Jin shook his head. 

“When is the last time you heard of a female alpha?”

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Jin…”

“Hey,” he whispered, “don’t waste your crying on me. I’ve long since come to terms with who and what I am.”

“You’re not sad anymore?”

“Well… maybe sometimes I am… but I had to accept that people like us are not like everyone else. Our destinies were written long before we were born.”

“And you believe you’re destined to be alone?”

“Wolves in a pack are never really alone.”

“Yes...but they can be lonely,” you whispered thinking back to Jimin’s words. 

For a moment Jin’s eyes were the saddest you had ever seen them. 

“Well...I suppose they can.”  Then he chuckled and gave your nose an affectionate little tap. “But you don’t need to worry about that. When the time comes Namjoon will take his place at your side and the two of you will build a wonderful life together... Isn’t that what you want?”

Isn’t it?

Your treacherous thoughts drifted back to the boy in the moonlight—to the way your body sang when he touched you and the strange insatiable desire to know him and be known by him in return.

“Please...Tell me who you are.”

A heavy ache settled in your heart. 

You were the Luna of the mountain nations. A true born moon princess. 

You could never be the woman who kissed Park Jimin underneath the stars. 

You were not like everybody else. 

“...Yes. That is what I want.”

——◐——

Now 

——◐——

Jimin’s heart pounded as he tore through the dark paths of the wood with Taehyung, Yoongi, and Jungkook close behind. 

He had never led an attack—had never been trained to command wolves in battle. 

It was his first true test of leadership and he hadn’t even been a leader for twenty-four hours. 

Yet the fears and anxieties that might have normally clouded his mind were notably absent. 

There was only you.

Ironically Jimin owed Namjoon yet another debt—this time for explaining what exactly someone like him was capable of. 

The alpha Jin captured had given up their plan and position after being exposed to Jimin’s unique gifting, so he had a concrete target in his mind… He suspected however, that your captors had taken precautions after leaving some of their men behind. They had shifted their camp. 

But it wouldn’t be enough to save them. 

Jimin didn’t need your location to find you. 

He spent years refusing to look at you, and even then he always knew exactly where you were. He could sense you in any crowd—hear your voice in a thousand.

Once it had tormented him cruelly to be so aware of you. 

Now it was the only thing keeping him sane. 

He followed the connection between his heart and yours like a lifeline and it guided him as surely as the stars. 

The alphas followed him without question. 

If any of them harbored lingering doubts before, they were firmly laid to rest after what they saw at the cottage. No ordinary wolf could do what he had done. 

The Alpha would bring back their Luna and retribution would be swift indeed. 

The drugs in your system kept swinging you in and out of lucidity like a nightmarish pendulum. You tried to shift after the initial nausea faded, but whatever they gave you kept your wolf caged beneath your skin. 

Jimin

The longing you felt for your mate was the only thing tethering you to reality. You could almost hear him echoing in the far corners of your mind—  

I’m coming Omega—hold on. 

I’ll find you. 

Part of you recognized that his voice was likely nothing more than the wistful creation of your drug-addled mind, still you clung to it like the last shred of hope while the minutes (or hours) flew past.

Chaos clouded your thoughts even in clearer moments as many unavoidable concerns forced their way through the haze. 

Jin was at the house with you when they broke in. You had no way of knowing if he survived. 

The men who took you were crass and irreverent. Their eyes followed your form with too much interest and too little respect. 

It was starting to get cold and (due to you nearly dismembering a high council member and needing to be compelled unconscious) you were still wearing a thin white ceremonial dress which offered very little protection from the elements. 

You wondered idly if your idiot captors would let you freeze to death before they accomplished whatever it was they took you for. They clearly needed you for something or you would have been long dead by now. 

None of them struck you as particularly brilliant planners so the mastermind must be somewhere else... 

Frankly the entire situation was as puzzling as it was troubling. Iron Claw had always gotten along well with your pack. 

Technically they were (almost) what the human governments called a vassal state. The presence of a Luna determined the dominant pack in a region and the Luna of the mountain nations had been born into Silver Fang—your pack—for the last thousand years or so. 

Why would they challenge us now? 

The birth of a Luna indicated that the goddess had chosen that pack to lead. Their willingness—not only to kidnap you—but to go against the dominant pack by doing so was alarming to say the least. 

A sudden explosion of movement and sound interrupted your contemplation. Motion erupted all around you—boots pounding on the ground, men falling into their wolf forms, knives being drawn… 

You lifted your head—straining forward to see the source of the commotion—and nearly collapsed in relief when you finally did. 

Alpha

Your mate stood at the edge of the camp flanked by two enormous black wolves. 

A deadly looking jingum sword gleamed dangerously in his right hand. You recognized it immediately as your great-grandfather’s combat blade—the thousand year-old weapon of the Silver Fang Alphas. 

Relief flooded your chest all over again at the sight of it. Only Jin could have given him that sword—which meant he was still alive. 

The black wolves—Yoongi and Jungkook—snarled viciously but made no move to attack. 

Your captors were still scrambling into some sort of combat formation when Jimin finally spoke. 

“You have violated our sacred laws, trespassed in sovereign pack lands, kidnapped a Luna under the protection of our goddess, abducted the mate of the Silver Fang Alpha, and risked open war between our peoples.” He took a single step forward. “Surrender now and I will be merciful.”

The biggest of your captors—a man you recognized as the de facto leader—spat viciously on the ground. 

“You are not my Alpha,” he growled.

A cold—almost cruel—smile twisted over Jimin’s lips.

“Very well.”

Then he dropped to one knee and a massive grey wolf—Taehyung—leapt over his head and tore out the defiant leader’s throat before he even hit the ground. 

Your mouth dropped open. 

Bangtan formation.

Yoongi and Jungkook lunged forward in opposite directions, tackling their targets to the forest floor in a bloody clash of teeth and claws. 

One of the larger Iron Claw alphas half-shifted and charged Jimin but his arm shot out lightning fast, catching his attacker by the throat to send him flying through the air into a tree. 

The next several minutes could only be described as terrifyingly beautiful.

It was immediately clear that Jimin had been holding back when he fought Namjoon. 

He dispatched his opponents with such elegant savagery it was almost art.

You were so mesmerized watching Jimin sensually sword dance his way through a dozen alphas nearly twice his size that you almost missed Taehyung’s wolf rushing over with a dagger clenched between his teeth. 

Luna are you okay? 

You grinned and held up your rope-bound wrists. 

“I’ll be better once you pass me that knife.”

Taehyung nodded once and dropped the blade at your feet before tackling another wolf that was tearing towards the two of you. 

You sawed through the ties around your ankle first then twisted your arms to try and slice through the restraints on your wrist. 

The Iron Claw wolves were clearly no match for Jimin and his alphas. 

Jungkook and Yoongi chased after the few who were trying to run while Taehyung half-shifted to subdue the handful of wolves left alive as prisoners. Only Jimin continued to fight as the last three of your captors still standing took turns being slammed into the dirt by his strikes. 

He was clearly capable of dispatching them, but you were fairly convinced that you would die if you had to stay away from him for another second. The ropes, however, were surprisingly thick and the angle you were cutting them at wasn’t the best. If only—

You were almost free when you saw it. 

One of your captors had pulled a hunting javelin from their supply wagon. He must have hid himself at the onset of the fight, but now he was comfortably concealed by the shadows—and taking aim at Jimin. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. 

The attacker appeared to handle the weapon with familiarity. He was too far back—too well hidden—Jimin would never see him in time—

The last cord around your wrist snapped and you were on your feet, pushing through the combined haze of fury and sedatives to charge the wolf who dared attack your mate. 

By the time he saw you it was far too late. 

Under the effects of the drug your aim was a little skewed but you weren’t Kim Seokjin’s cousin for nothing. 

One clean flick of your wrist and the dagger shot through the air, burying itself between the brute’s shoulder blades—all the way to the hilt. 

His body fell to the ground just as Jimin sent the last of your captors careening into a pile of previously defeated foes. 

For a moment all was quiet. 

Then your eyes locked across the distance and everything around you sharpened to a single whispered word. 

“Jimin.”

He had run non-stop for miles and torn apart a dozen wolves to get to your side—no amount of space between you now was tolerable. 

The sword clattered to the forest floor as he moved toward you—desperate to feel you—to wrap himself around you and know that you were safe. 

What happened next was as natural as breathing.

You opened to him and he lifted you into his arms, taking your lips in a hot unrepentant kiss. 

Fire exploded across your senses, burning away everything but the touch and taste of him. Every part of you was at once fiercely and gloriously alive. Desperate moans passed between you as he licked into your mouth—a dark primal promise of the pleasure he would take between your thighs. 

“Alpha,” you whimpered, too delirious with want to manage anything else. 

Suddenly Jimin’s eyes shot open. His hands flew to cup your face, searching it with a mixture of realization and disbelief.

“You… It was you.”

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[yearningandpatheticaboutit]

SPEAK FOR YOURSELF

CHAPTER 10: YOU SHOULD BE SCARED OF ME

warnings: suicide mention, drugs mention, sa menton

word count: 7111

previous chapter

***

San

when i wake up from my suffocating nap, yaera is tugging on my arm for us to get off the bus. i jump in my skin, looking out into the kind of neighbourhood i only pictured in movies.

my family was never really wealthy, but i know we always tried to do nice things. the houses and the clean streets and palm trees, everything around me just reeks of tax evasion.

"its not a long walk from here," yaera says, her voice sounding muffled. did she sleep in the bus too?

i cant hide my staring as we walk, feeling completely out of place. yaera's been hanging around my shitty apartment so often i forgot where she actually comes from.

it bothers me. i dont know why. sometimes i cant believe this partnership is real. there'd just be so much i'd overlook if all my needs were taken care of like hers are.

if its one thing im tired of, its surviving. just that. i dont remember the last time i had a good day that wasnt ruined by the impact of my fathers decisions.

we reach a white house that looks like something out of old hollywood. yaera stuns me by walking through the gate like nothing. i look around like a kid at a carnival, lost in the fantasy of how nice it must be to grow up around a functioning neighborhood.

yaera takes her shoes off in the front of her door, giving me some home nostalgia. i didnt realize a lot of people did that. i do the same thing, gazing around her sunlit foyer.

"no ones really home besides the maids so we can go straight to my room," she says, then turns around to look at me. "can i get you some juice? water?"

"do you have coke?" i ask.

"im not allowed to drink gas in this house. dont ask."

"juice is fine then."

she leads me to her room. her house has a lot of clocks. everything so simple and white. i pass by a wall on the way to her room, spotting a few baby pictures.

her room is even more bare than the rest of her house. everything i see...i never expected. nothing about yaera ever told me she has such a simple room.

it looks like something out of one of those modern home magazines. no posters on the walls, no pictures, no stuffed animals, nothing at all that showed her personality. not that i was an expert on that. but still.

"go ahead and make yourself comfy, ill be right back," she says and tosses her bag onto the bed. the weird sound it makes reminds me of the things she stole. she wants to sell them yet shes so careless.

i get up and walk around slowly. her room carpet is soft on my feet, better than the rough wooden floor at my apartment. because nothing in her room tells me anything, i go back to that wall.

im nervous because i dont like walking through the homes of others, but something intangible tells me to do it. theres a bunch of pictures of yaera as a preteen and a kid. she looks like a mess in all of them. her curly hair wild and her clothes hanging off her body like she played a rough game. and next to her is the girl identical to her, wearing the biggest smile.

it feels eerie to look at almost. knowing what happened to her.

the two of them are so tight knit, theyre inseparable in every photo. even though yaera is almost never smiling, she always has a hold on her sisters clothes or arm, while the girl looks so out of place next to her brooding twin.

i feel bad looking at it, feeling like im intruding. i hear footsteps coming up the stairs so i quickly run back and pretend to take my books out. yaera comes in a few seconds after, holding a tray of juice and a bowl of chips.

i shift awkwardly as she sets it down on the bed and sits down, roughly pulling at her school tie. her shirt pops open at the top, and i immediately divert my gaze when i catch a glimpse of her black bra.

dont. dont do this to me today. im begging my body to stay in check so she doesnt realize how starved of human interaction ive been before i met her.

"lets leave the studying for later," she boredly says and starts opening her bag. i frown at her, remembering what mrs evans told me.

in one of earlier periods, she basically begged me to tutor yaera, saying she was on the verge of failing and doing pretty much horribly in all her other subjects because she didnt try. if she didnt do well for the next few months, she wouldnt be able to go to any college.

"i dont think thats a good idea," i say, finally looking her in the eyes. her tie is around her head for some reason. "i was serious about tutoring you. it sounds like you really need help. we should get it done."

yaera rolls her eyes. "so im guessing evans spoke to you?"

"i think most people know you arent doing well in school."

"fuck you, san."

i almost smile because of the bland look she gives me.

"im just telling you the facts. what exactly are you going to do in italy?" i ask her. with the lengths shes going to, i know she has to have a plan.

"my grandmother from my mother's side, shes still alive. im going to stay with her. she owns a bakery and will take me in without saying anything."

"didnt you say you wanted to fall off the grid? away from your parents?"

yaera takes a handful of chips and throws it back into her mouth, exposing her chest yet again. i wince internally. i dont know where to look at this point.

"my mother got disowned by her mom a long time ago, when she left the country with my sister and i," she mutters, her tone quieting at the mention of her sister. "my nonna's family immigrated to italy from south africa years ago, so my mom was born in italy. my sister and i were born there too, so my grandmother was really upset when she left with us. they never talk, so i know im safe with her."

"how old were you when you left italy?"

"eleven," she answers, smiling fondly to herself. shes pretty when shes not plotting or wearing her insufferably sly smirk.

"we still go back and forth a lot. because of my parents business. i stay here for school and go back for vacations and holidays."

it must be nice, i think. im surprised shes handing out information so freely. i guess she does really trust me.

"maybe we can visit each other," she suddenly says, the smirk ive seen too many times hanging on her lips again. "when we're both wild and free in europe."

"you know england and italy arent down the street from each other, right?" i laugh slightly, wondering to myself why she would say that.

"so? you know what they say, in europe everything is walking distance."

i chuckle, i dont know why. shes not funny. its embarrassing how a week ago she was blackmailing me and now im eating chips in her room, listening to her life story.

wooyoung would be fuming if he could see me now.

he'd ask me why i was letting in a girl so notorious, so much of a fiend. someone so shady, who isnt at all afraid of danger. and even if she is, thats not gonna stop her at all.

i wont have an answer for him when he does question me. because i dont know why either. maybe im just letting myself have something for once. even if its not the smartest or sanest thing in the world.

yaera takes out the stuff she stole from her bag, snapping pictures of a shiney watch. "people will buy anything online, its crazy," she tells me slyly. "all i have to do is say free delivery and they come crawling like rats to a pizza slice."

so this is what shes been doing for money. "how much does it make you?" i question.

"a lot. i recommend it. even if there isnt a fixed amount, theres no way youre going home with coins."

she leans in to me suddenly, her bra poking open as a gold cross necklace hangs from her neck. i gulp hard. what is she doing?

"and i was thinking...if you cant get rid of all the rosies on time...maybe you can just give Miss A the money?" she continues on as if she doesnt realize how hot she is. or maybe she does, maybe shes doing it on purpose.

it takes me a few seconds to digest what she says.

"what?"

"we can dump it, or sell it ourselves for an even higher price," she says excitedly. "we pay off your amount and then just make double it. you know?"

i dont like the sound of it. im not good with finances, which is exactly why i do the rough stuff. its why im known for being the muscle. i still dont know why miss A gave me this shitty job, knowing i had no expertise. maybe she wants to get rid of me.

"lets play it safe for now," i say, stuttering slightly. im taking a lot of risks so this is going to have to wait. especially because i have enough to hide from miss A.

yaeras proximity is so close to me i cant ignore it anymore. her skirt is hiking up as she sits, her long knee highs distracting as fuck. im biting hard on my lip, the strain tugging in unmentionable places. i cant do this anymore.

"your top is a little...wide," i say suddenly.

"huh?" she looks down and realizes. i expect her to go as red as i feel, but all she does is grip her shirt closed and smile crookedly.

"my bad. i didnt mean to give you a show," she jokes. "wanna stand in the hall for a second? i'll put on something else." 

i can never tell if shes being serious when she flirts with me. it feels like everything is a joke or a lie. no ones ever acted the way she does towards me before. i dont know how to deal with it.

i get up and leave, hardly making eye contact. my skin is prickly and hot. i cant be getting affected like this. im such a loser.

my imagination tries causing my downfall while her door is closed. the clocks in her house are ticking and im trying to focus on them instead of picturing her getting undressed. fuck, what is wrong with me.

i reach for my phone, hoping to get distracted. but when i reach for my pockets it isnt on me. i go back into yaera's room, without thinking at all and  her back is faced toward me.

luckily it isnt her bare back. she has a pink tank top on. i lose my sense for a few seconds when she turns around, her top still dangerously low, and my phone right in her hand.

its open.

i fight my glare, i probably just left it open by mistake; but shes looking at me like she wants to kill me. her jaw is clenched, her dark eyes narrowed at me like i kicked a puppy.

"why do you have my phone?" i ask her cautiously.

"why do you have this picture on your phone?" she says back, cold as ice.

my mind goes blank. "what?"

she smiles but its nothing sweet. "yeosang emailed you. he wants to meet you for drugs. now tell me why he sent you this picture?"

oh. the picture of her with that older guy. the colour feels like its leaving my body. oh fuck.

"i-i can explain–"

"i noticed you got it a day after we met. were you trying to get leverage on me?"

im embarrassed. i dont know what to say. but my brain tells me to just be honest. theres no way they can look any worse.

"yeah, i was," i admit. she scoffs and rolls her eyes. "i wanted something on you the way you had something on me. but i dont plan on using that. ever."

"thats supposed to make me feel better?" she questions angrily.

"well, you still have that video of me dealing drugs. do you think that makes me feel better?"

she clamps her mouth shut and bites her lip in frustration, tossing my phone to the bed. i want to approach her but i feel like shes about to kick me out of her house.

she cant be mad. i know its fucked up but i was just getting even. i hope this doesnt ruin everything we tried establishing a day ago. that would be so exhausting.

she drops onto her bed, pushing her hair back as she glares onto the ground. "fuck that asshole, yeosang. that picture is useless anyway."

i frown and finally get the courage to move to sit next to her. "what do you mean?" i ask.

she scoffs again, a forced smile on her face. "because that isnt me. its my sister."

my blood pauses in my veins as i look at her. yaera sighs, the look on her face distant and pained. what?

"but yeosang–"

"is a fucking idiot," she finishes off coldly. "he leaked that picture of her days after she went missing. everyone thought she ran away and was rebelling so brands started dropping her. my parents threatened to sue and he swore to delete it. my parents made me step up and announce that i was the one in the picture so that yasmines name would stop getting slandered. so they called me a whore instead."

she chuckles darkly. "i guess it was easier to believe i was the whore and not her. they werent expecting her to be a bag of bones at the bottom of a canyon."

what the fuck. i bend my elbows on my knees and rub my face because i dont know what to say. yeosang is such a fucking asshole.

"i'll delete the pic," i say heavily. "i didnt know. yeosang said it was you."

"most people believe it is. to this day. but nah, thats my innocent sister in the arms of some guy."

"what the fuck is that angle?" i ask her in disbelief. "it doesnt look like she knows she was being watched."

"i dont think she did," yaera admits frighteningly calm. she reaches for something in her bag, and pulls out the camera she stole.

"i think my sister was being stalked. and i think that person is stalking me too."

"what?" i raise my voice. shes dead serious.

yaera holds the camera towards me, showing me a folder. when i look at the pictures inside, my face goes icy. hundreds of pictures of her at school, smoking, sitting around, completely unaware that a camera is on her. then as i scroll further down, i see the exact same picture yeosang sent me.

the original.

"what the fuck?" i whisper and shake my head. "we have to take this to your parents. or the police. what if this is the same person who killed your sister?"

yaera nearly drops the camera and i swear she looks like all the colour has drained from her face. she feels her head and shivers. "i-i think im going to be sick."

"i'll go get a cold rag. hold on."

i get up but she pulls me back by my shirt, shaking her head. "no please. just stay here," she almost begs.

we have to do something about this. this means the stalker is a student, or even worse, a teacher.

it cant be the guy in the picture, hes older and hes being watched too. it has to be a student, and it has to be someone part of the soccer team.

"did yeosang ever say where he got this picture?" i ask her.

she gulps and shakes her head. "no he said it was sent to him. and because he knows everyone, he was told to leak it. so he did. he thought it was from her or someone else saying that shes safe and alive. but...then..."

she takes a deep breath, and it sounds like theyre getting smaller. her chest is rising and falling harder than usual, a slight whistle in her breathing. i reach for her bag and rummage through it, finding her asthma pump.

"take this," i tell her and hand it to her. she takes two puffs, her breathing harsher than before. shes almost shaking.

"ill go with you," i tell her firmly. "to the police, or to your parents. we can show them this. you might be in danger."

"they wont do anything," she says defeatedly. "the police buried the case and i would just be bringing up old wounds to my parents. so much has happened...they wouldnt believe me."

"but we have evidence right here!" i groan, unable to believe what im hearing. "youre just going to accept this?"

"what do you want me to do?" she snaps her head at me. "do you want us to find this guy? then what?"

i clench my jaw thinking of it. hes probably some sick fuck getting off to pictures of yaera and a dead girl. how fucked up do you have to be to still hold onto this?

"we kill him."

"what?" she looks at me horrified. "what the fuck are you talking about?"

"okay fine, we dont kill him. but lets fuck him up, or get him in trouble. because this is messed up. i can find out who this belongs to. just give me your word and i will."

yaera nods with difficulty, looking like shes choking down sobs. this day has taken a completely different turn, we havent even gotten to studying yet.

my phone rings and buzzes again. i look at it. its the thirtieth call yeosang has given me. i pick up in annoyance and nearly growl into the phone. "what the fuck do you want?"

"fucking finally!" he screams, making me pull the phone away from my ear. "you asshole! ive been tryna reach you all day? you finally out of marino's ass? can i fucking talk to you?"

"what do you need?" i grit out because unfortunately i need this fucker and his money.

"i need you to give me like four bags before saturday. ill pay you today, okay? this shit is addictive im literally shaking and if you dont deliver im gonna fucking beat your ass, okay? im thirsty!" yeosang demands, his voice unhinged and feral.

"when do you need it?"

"did you not hear me? today asshole! drop it at the rockstar cafe near school. one of my girlfriends work there. give it to her."

"fine. ill send wooyoung to drop it."

"fucking thank you. god, was that so hard?–"

i hang up on him and turn my attention back on yaera. shes looking at me with a closed off glint in her soft brown eyes, her lips slightly pouted. i stare at them a little too long, against my will.

"how do you know yeosang?" she asks me suddenly. "or more, how did you start selling drugs to him?"

i cant for the life of me find out why she wants to know that. i did tell her i would let her know anything she wants, so i guess i should be fair.

"he knew one of yunho's guys," i say. "he used to sell him drugs when he went clubbing. long story short, the guy died and yunho asked me to start supplying yeosang instead. he was surprised when he found out we were at the same school."

"and he kept quiet?" she asks in genuine disbelief. "yeosang? the guy who tells everyone with whom and where he has sex? the guy who cant keep a secret for shit? that guy?"

"yunho warned me about him. i have a little leverage on him to make sure he doesnt squeal."

her eyes suddenly light up with that dark, mischevious flare she uses when she wants something. "what kind of leverage?"

"before i tell you, whats your relationship with yeosang?"

"he tried to fuck me," she says crudely, making my mouth nearly drop open. "and he knew my sister. he tried to fuck us both actually. and when i didnt let him he went around spreading rumors about me. he still does it to this day."

okay so she has it out for him. and rightfully so. everytime i hear about yeosang hes out disappointing his parents.

"his scandal is kinda fitting then," i chuckle humorlessly. "he had sex with this girl at one of yunhos clubs. he drugged her drink. yunho has it all on camera."

yaeras face morphs into disgust. "thats not fucking sex thats...he literally...oh my god."

"i know," i sigh. "hes a real piece of shit. yunho had his hands on that. and now it belongs to the gang. he knows if he speaks, his life is over."

"how the fuck did yunho record it?"

"he used to record everything in his club. hes was one sick fuck. there were cameras in every corner of that club. every single one. its how the police busted him. luckily for yeosang, his video already made it out of there beforehand."

yaera shakes her head and grips her hair. "this shit is fucking crazy."

thats my life. shes horrifed. i can feel it. but she wanted this. she wanted to be a part of it. luckily it wont be her forever. i dont know when it will end for me.

***

i tried my best to tutor yaera after the revelation of all the upsetting news. she struggled to pay attention, i could tell. her answers were all delayed and she kept zoning out on the diagrams.

at some point i accept we wont get any work done today. i look outside and see its getting late. yeosang is ringing my phone again, as well as wooyoung. i realize i have stops to make.

i close my textbook which happens to be open on the diagram of the heart. yaera blinks slowly, then sits up when she realizes we're done.

"oh. sorry," she mutters. "i wasnt really a good student today, huh?"

i shrug, its not a big deal right now. "we can try again tomorrow. you have a lot on your plate."

"thank you." she says in the smallest voice. its humble coming from her.

i open my bag and shove my books in and she helps me pack. eventually she hands me the camera.

"you take it," her voice is tired and flat. "do whatever you need to with it. i dont want in the house, im going to stare at the pictures all night and its gonna make me sick."

"ill take it away tonight," i tell her. "you remember the mongols? those guys you met when you followed me the first time?"

"yeah?"

"theyre my dads old gang. they do favours for me sometimes because they feel bad for ruining my life. i can get in touch with mao's niece. shes a hacker. i'll take the camera to her and see what she can do."

"thanks. i'd go with you but my parents are gonna be home anytime soon," she sighs. "be careful."

i swing my bag onto my shoulder and we walk out of her house. we schedule to study sometime on the weekend again, right before yeosang's party.

when we get outside the sky is almost pitch black, except for a faint line of blue over the roofs of the mansions. its going to be a nightmare to get transport this time around. i decide to call an uber.

"i wanted to ask you," yaera says as we wait in silence on the pavement. "theres this thing coming up with my family. like...an event for that photoshoot i did. and i need a date."

i raise an eyebrow. is she seriously asking me to go to a fancy event with her family? me? the poster boy for poverty?

"dont look at me like that," she punches my arm lightly, scowling. "im not into you or anything. i want you to meet the models im dealing to. theyre going to be there."

i narrow my eyes at her. "you want to deal at your parents party?"

"no, san. i wanna see you in a suit and drool over how hot you look."

my mouth hangs open at how completely serious she sounds while saying it. i nervously look away and wipe my face with a sigh, irritated by how easily she affects me. she bursts out laughing and my embarrassment worsens.

"you keep asking me dumb questions. obviously! and dont worry about the suit, ill get you one myself."

i dont meet her gaze even though i can feel her staring at me. "so you didnt mean what you said before that?"

she comes to stand right infront of me, that devious smirk on her lips once again. goddamn it. i fail to look away, not wanting to be intimdated except i am.

"about wanting to drool over you?" she asks lowly, her smirk dripping with smugness. "you want me to mean that, choi san?"

my body is abnormally fucking hot. i hear a horn beep a few feet away and see a black toyota waiting. thank god. i clear my throat awkwardly and tighten my hand on the strap of my backpack.

"i gotta go. i'll text you." i say and scurry away as fast as i can.

yaera waves slowly to me when i get into the car and look at her through the window. i need to keep myself in check, no matter how difficult she makes it.

on the way home i get texts from wooyoung complaining about yeosang and about me taking my sweet time at yaera's house. hes convinced we're having unprotected sex everytime hes not in the room.

my face warms again as an image appears and quickly vanishes from my mind. that wouldnt be the worst thing in the world, right?

no. what the fuck san. get it together. what the hell did you just think.

it was the grief and trauma from seeing yunho get sliced up. im convinced. no way would i be having these disorderly thoughts unprovoked.

the uber drops me off infront of a tattoo parlour, aespa. mao's niece is a tattoo artist here. ive only visited a few times, mostly doing errands.

its evening so the place is shut down, but i know shes here. i slam my hand onto the door and peer through the glass waiting for her to show up. it takes me a few aggressive policeman knocks before she eventually comes strutting out through the dark shop, scowling at me.

she unlocks the door and glares at me. "what the hell? do you pay to knock down my door like this?" she snaps.

"hey, ningning, right?" i say. "im san. you know me right?"

she squints her eyes at me and then clicks her fingers. "ah...that guys kid. i dunno his name. tekken?"

"yeah. can i come in?" i sigh. 

she opens the door and flicks the lights on, allowing me to pass through. her hair is bright red and she has two full sleeves on both her arms. last time i visited she only had a few tattoos.

"im guessing youre not here for a tattoo appointment?" she says and goes to sit on a spinning chair. it accidently slides across the floor and she tumbles out of it. she gets up and smiles awkwardly.

i take off my bag and pull out the camera. "i need a favour. can you help me find out who this belongs to? its urgent."

"mmmmm did you steal it?"

"not important. i just need a name or an address."

she crosses her arms and nods. "that'll be easy. depending on how long this takes me, ill give you a price after."

i scowl. "please dont be unreasonable."

ningning gives me a nasty look. "hey, my uncle owes you favours, kid. not me, i didnt ruin your life. this is not a charity."

i sigh and nod, giving her the camera. i follow her to a backroom that ends up leading to a basement under her shop. she unlocks nearly four doors to get to her station, and i see massive monitors and a sick computer set up that i know costs more than my apartment.

she lets out a sigh and jumps into her chair, taking out the camera. im curious because i didnt even know cameras could be traced back. the police do it, right?

"so how do you do this?" i ask when she starts typing abnormally fast.

she chuckles, and my eyes widen when a bunch of alien code appears on the screens. "come on, even if i explained to you, do you really think your dumbass would get it?"

i scowl. damn it shes right.

"you couldve just said no," i mutter pathetically under my breath.

"serial numbers kid. serial numbers. theyre a godsent gift. also photos. does this camera have any photos?"

"yeah, a ton." my anger returns just thinking about the creep and his 'hobby'.

ningning pulls up the pictures from the camera and puts them onto the monitors. i bite my lip awkwardly when she turns and side eyes me.

"are you stalking someone?" she asks me dead seriously.

"no," i scoff. "im trying to find the stalker. and even if i was, you'd have no grounds to judge me with what you do."

"i may steal and sell peoples information but at least im not a weirdo," she rebuts and sticks out her tongue. seconds later she pulls out a piece of paper and starts writing shit down.

"theres an account attached to the camera. heres a name and address." she hands the paper to me. i frown looking at the name.

"Apple?" i scowl. this feels like a prank. and severely underwhelming. but at least ive got an address. im going to break this fuckers legs.

ningning smiles, sighing as if bored. "too easy. i was actually hoping this would be a challenge. that'll be 50."

i groan in the back of my throat, feeling like im giving out more money than im bringing in. yaera better pay me back for this. i dig into my wallet and give her my paper and it turns out its my last. broke.

ningning sends me a wink as i make my way out. "good luck, Lucky. or whatever they call you nowadays."

wooyoung picks me up a few minutes after, a new license plate on his van. hes honks obnoxiously for me to get in, nearly waking up the entire neighbourhood.

"never send me to plug that yeosang fucker ever again!" he immediately whines when i slide in passenger. "i cant stand that guy. how does he have that many girlfriends and i dont?"

"youre not a rich sexy creep i guess," i tell him and then sigh. "woo, we need to kill someone."

"what?!" wooyoung screams like the human loadspeaker he is. "who? the blackmailer?"

"no!" i snap and glare at him. i pull out the address and show him. "this is the address of the fucker thats been stalking her. including her dead twin sister."

wooyoungs jaw nearly drops. "woah. yeah thats fucked. when and where?"

i look out the window, thinking back to how she said she didnt want me to hurt anyone. i would probably piss her off and scare her. who knows what would happen. she doesnt want me to do things behind her back.

"let me tell her first. but tomorrow after school, we're paying this person a visit."

***

Yaera

it feels like everyday i wake up i feel more and more like trash. the nights feel long. the day feels too early. i know whats coming. its getting bad again.

ive been called depressed by my therapists and teachers. then it quickly became an excuse. an excuse to them i constantly use to be bad at school and everything else. all i know is everytime i think my happiness will last it doesnt.

when i dont feel my emotions, i dont remember them. they become foreign to me, like nothing. but recently ive been feeling a lot. san has made me feel a range of emotions.

sadness, fear, anger. excitement. fucking arousal. he makes me feel the way a cigarette does. which is crazy. i never thought i'd feel anything for anyone like that ever again. not since jongho.

i sit with silent admiration as he approaches me in the parking lot the next day. of course he has his resting bitch face on, but its one of the things i look forward to these days.

my hands are shaking inside my blazer pockets as i lean against the wall, my nicotine addiction not fulfilled for the day because i spent money on hairdye and forgot.

sans eyes shift to my now black hair and an awkward smile (i think its a smile?) sits on his face. "hey. did you get my texts?"

"my phone died," i say. i actually passed out after doing my hair last night, completely exhausted and terrified by the information that hit me. all that and i forgot to charge and bring my phone the next day.

"oh. i guess i have to say this in person then," san frowns. "i got an address and name for you. of the stalker."

my blood feels like cold sludge in my veins and i immediately feel more lightheaded. my stomach churns. "oh," i try to keep a straight face. "thank you."

he sighs and takes out a piece of paper. "before i show this to you. i want you to know wooyoung and i are planning to go to this address after school. you can come with us to confront the bastard. are you okay with that?"

my mouth is dry and i dont even know what to say. i didnt think he would actually find the creep. i dont even know if i can face him.

i nod with difficulty and san gives me the paper. my stomach immediately plunges like a fucking roller coaster.

no fucking way.

"i couldnt get his actual name. this is all thats available on his account." san sounds disappointed. his face drops further when i meet his eyes.

"are you okay? do you know this person?" he asks, hands hesitantly reaching out as if hes afraid im going to fall over.

i just cant believe it. after years and years i didnt ever think this could happen. but it makes sense, doesnt it? everythings starting to make sense.

"this is jongho's nickname," i utter lifelessly. "and this is his address."

"what?" san raises his voice. his eyes turn into planets. "the annoying prefect?? the one that hates you??"

i nod and almost start laughing. i almost start crying too. jongho is my stalker. he was my sisters stalker. i guess i shouldnt be surprised, he was literally in love with her. but me?

why me?

i cant fucking breathe.

it all gets worse. i reach for my asthma pump and it falls out of my blazer and plonks onto the cement. san picks it up and wipes it off, placing it in between my lips.

he pumps it for me, and i would almost consider this romantic if not for the fucked up circumstances we're always in.

"do you want me to hurt him?" san asks me seriously. "because i will."

i shake my head and scoff. "and face a lawsuit? you have nothing and jongho has everything."

san has a terrifying look on his face. "it doesnt have to be me. you know i know people that would make him pay for this."

i dont want him to pay. not yet. i just want him to be honest. i want this to fucking make sense.

"i knew he was fucked up but wow," i laugh to myself, making san more concerned. "imagine he did actually love me all this time? imagine he loved us both?"

"yaera." san sternly says. "process this and lets talk later. we have class. dont say anything to him or breathe near him. he could be dangerous. he couldve harmed..."

the sick feeling sweeps through me and i find it hard to digest. i gag and nearly throw up, but luckily nothing comes up. thinking of jongho, the asshole i cant stand but also one of my first loves throwing my sister off a canyon after strangling her is making me want to off myself harder than i thought.

and the image never leaves me.

even when we get to class, i find myself

lost in my own head thinking about it. i cant enjoy history for the life of me because im thinking of the past. im thinking of my parents that trusted him. yasmine trusted him too. so much. she thought he was fine with just being her friend.

no, im lying. she knew choi jongho wasnt fine with being just friends. i know she teased him with a relationship that would never happen. i know she kissed him a few times, maybe did something more. i know she led him on for years and he never really gave up because he thought they were perfect together. she could be cruel about it, the way she kept him on a leash.

now shes fucking dead.

"choi san!" someone screams, tearing me out of my thoughts as the classroom door roughly swings open. everyone stands up as our headmaster appears in the doorway, with...jongho behind him.

my breath hits a wall when i look at him, and hes glaring straight at san. the soccer coach is standing in the doorway as well.

san stands up awkwardly, confusion lined in his features. "yes sir?"

"it has come to our attention that items have gone missing from the boys lockerroom yesterday afternoon. choi jongho stated that you were the only one he saw hanging around that area at the time. can you confirm?" our headmaster asks, making the entire class fall into hushed whispers.

no fucking way. san is going red out of panic.

"i-i mean i was there. but i didnt steal anything. h-how or why would i?" san asks.

"you're a scholarship student," jongho spits at him like hes filth. "its not farfetched for you people to get carried away at a school like this. youre already here for free."

"excuss me?" mr grüne, my history teacher interrupts with a glare. "choi san is a good student he would never do such a thing. you can ask anyone of his teachers."

jongho lets out a spiteful laugh. "an expensive camera and watch have gone missing, i dont care about his reputation i care about my team. and choi san is the only person i saw at the lockerrooms yesterday!"

"i didnt steal anything," san defends, clenching his jaw as he grips his desk.

"then surely you will not mind us searching your locker?" the soccer coach says. san's face drops.

i hold my breath. i hold it because i know san has the camera hidden in his locker. we were supposed to confront jongho after school.

"i-"

"you cant search his locker," i say, scoffing and bringing the attention on me. "thats an invasion of privacy."

"its school property," headmaster corrects me. san is looking at me like hes internally begging me to stop. but i wont because i need to save him from himself.

"if you think he stole your shit, call the police," i say. jongho clenches his jaw at me.

thats right. you wont call the police because once they find your camera youre fucked.

"this doesnt concern you, ms marino," headmaster tells me sternly. "choi san im going to need you to come with us to give your locker combination please."

oh fuck. oh no oh fuck.

san slowly leaves the classroom and i can see jongho smirking evilly to himself. no way i cant let san go down like this. they'll destroy him. he doesnt know how to verbally defend himself.

"sir i need to be excused," i say and immediately bolt after them. i pull jongho to the side, making him glare and rip his arm from me. i grab him again, digging my nails into his skin.

"what the fuck are you doing? let go." he hisses at me.

"call the search off," i grit through my teeth. "call the fucking search off right now."

jongho chuckles. "and why would i do that?"

"because if you dont i'll take your camera to the police and let them know youve been stalking me and my dead sister," i say. his face crumbles.

in seconds jongho's smug grin shatters into utter disbelief. hes taking too long. san is going to get caught.

"go fucking call it off!" i snap. "tell headmaster your parents found it, say something or else im letting everyone know what a fucked up creep you really are."

jongho runs and nearly trips over his feet as he chases after our headmaster. my skin is pricky because im scared he wont get there in time. im scared san will go down for this. for MY doings.

i let out a sigh of relief when all four of them come walking back and san isnt in handcuffs. but jongho is giving me a terrified look. good, he should be fucking scared.

"i want to apologize to everyone here for interrupting your lesson and also choi san for the inconvenience," our headmaster says. "it was simply a misunderstanding."

mr grüne looks like he already knew san was innocent and san shrugs it off like nothing. he looks at me wondering how i did it. i mouth to him that we'll talk later. jongho drops something on my desk before he leaves, a note.

meet me on the soccerfield after break. i'll explain everything.

A/N: AYEEE NINGNING CAMEO ANYONE? AESPA X ATEEZ CRUMBS?

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