#let’s be real it’s also a very real fear of Failure

[dundeelemonade]

cause like there’s something screwy with my brain or whatever that makes dying in a game scary, to the point that i can’t even proceed far enough in botw to figure out how to handle my first guardian, and i have a long list of games that i own and haven’t played more than an hour of because i just really don’t like dying! and i just want to know how get over that hurdle.

[risestarkiss]

Being Baby Blue

Rise Ramblings #313

Leonardo Hamato is…an interesting individual.

As a middle child, he doesn’t have to shoulder the responsibilities of the oldest, nor is he fawned upon or babied over like the youngest. Therefore, he ends up having more of a lackadaisical approach to life.

In his free time, instead of training like Raph, Leo can normally be found reading comic books.

And for good reason! Someone has to be up on the latest issues of Jupiter Jim and his space odysseys.

But, other than being a Jupiter Jim superfan, who is Leonardo Hamato?

If you ask Leo, he's...*takes out a list*: “Primetime,” “First,” “The Best,” “Number One,” “The Champion,” or some other iteration of all of the above.

...Huh. Anyways...

Of course, the first thing Leo would tell you is that he's the team's "Face Man."

As the "Face Man," he’s the one that turns up the charm when they need to schmooze their way out of, or into, something.

He's the face of the group! It's a very important title, right?

Well, in this scene with Hueso, we learn what Leo really feels about his place on the team.

"There's no team with just a face man." "I'm nothing without them."

Hmm. If he thinks that he is nothing without his brothers, then what's the deal with all of this "Number One" and "Champion" talk?

I believe that Leo is exhibiting a form of Reaction Formation.

Reaction Formation is a primitive defense mechanism that involves transforming one's unacceptable feelings or emotions into the opposite.

"Solicitude may be a reaction-formation against cruelty...romantic notions of chastity and purity may mask crude sexual desires, altruism may hide selfishness, and piety may conceal sinfulness."

Leo has been creating these grandiose titles and this larger-than-life persona for himself as a means to cope with his feelings of insecurity, his anxieties, and combat his self-deprecation.

Gee, forming a larger-than-life persona to counteract their suppressed feelings also reminds me of someone else we know…

But, I digress...

Behind the fabrications, his insecurities, who he pretends to be, and who he wants to be, the real Leo is still on display, starting as early as the first episode.

He's attentive, he understands the team's strengths and weaknesses, he assesses situations, he comes up with great plans on the fly, and he is a voice of reason.

These are all the characteristics of a great leader.

However, something happens when he’s actually appointed as such.

There he goes again. He's cocky, arrogant, and act's as if he's unphased even by the prospect of loosing his brothers. If this is Reaction Formation, then what is he trying to mask with these behaviors?

Previously, he was masking his insecurities, his anxieties, and his self-deprecation, but with the faces he pulls when he thinks no one can see them, I want to say the newest emotion is fear.

He is terrified of being the leader and floundering under his new responsibilities. He's scared of the consequences of his actions, and what those consequences may mean for his brothers. However, instead of voicing his insecurities, or communicating with his team, he doubles down and falls back into old habits.

The "Face Man" persona is turned up to an 11, and things get worse and worse until...

His greatest fears have been realized.

He has failed as a leader. He has failed his brothers. He has failed to stop the invasion, and they are all going to die because of his failures.

Now he's faced with the harsh reality of his own mistakes, thus he finally faces himself.

"It's scary to be responsible for the lives you protect, your team...your family. But we do it anyway because that's what it means to be a hero."

He may be speaking to Raph, but he's talking about himself.

His words are his true feelings, the same feelings that have been holding him back this entire time. By opening up, he's able to surrender to himself and let it all go.

And it's the breakthrough we all have been waiting for.

What Leo doesn't know is that through letting go, he's able to become the true face of the group he is destined to be.

He's the face of hope.

○○○○

Previous | Being Big Red

Next | Being Purple ○ Part One • Being Purple ○ Part Two • Orange, Baby!

Finale | Being Hamato Yoshi

[forlix]

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kim Kyeyoung «kyeyoungkim@snu.edu» To: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to hit his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall. Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that. “What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation. 

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.” 

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «ndaldello@pvm.com» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. But only sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It really fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I’ll genuinely commit homicide if I have to do all this again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[spidey-webs]

The real tragedy of the whole “Batman contingency plans” thing escaping containment into the wider cultural zeitgeist is that it’s become completely divorced from the original context of, you know, the Tower of Babel story-line happening after a beloved member of the Justice League did in fact go mad, become all-powerful, and destroy all of reality.

Which is devastating because it loses so much when you take Hal Jordan out of it! In both adaptations and fan discussions!

Despite only being mentioned by name once in the story, Hal haunts the whole narrative in how unspoken he is. The whole theme of the story is the failure to communicate and how it destroys trust, and an essential part of that is how the whole League won't (and can't) talk about Hal.

When Kyle finally tries to bring him up, Wally shoots him down. He is the forbidden topic at the heart of the League's breakdown of trust!

When the contingency plans plot is removed from the context of Hal's fall from grace, isn't proceeded by a JLA founding member doing what was supposed to be unthinkable, Bruce's actions lose their emotional core. It becomes just "Batman is the coolest and smartest and also a huge untrusting asshole" instead of "Bruce was already on the knife-edge of crippling paranoia regarding his powerful allies, and then one of those same allies started slaughtering people and he couldn't do a thing to stop it, confirming all his worst fears and sending him right over the edge"

You take Bruce's feelings of very personal betrayal out of the equation. He's not operating on just hypotheticals, but fears that were heartrendingly justified!

Bruce claims the reason for his plans on some past mind-control incident, but Clark calls Bruce out on it being an excuse.

Maybe that's how it started, but there's a reason the fail-safes aren't against mind-control and possession. The fail-safes are ways to permanently stop your friends should they willingly or unwillingly become a threat.

And they both know it. They've argued about Hal several times before.

Bruce has a lot of unresolved feelings about Hal. He's still hurting.

The contingency plans are not some cold, clinical necessity. They are the product of pain.

I think all readings and tellings of the Tower of Babel should be followed by the JLA/Spectre story.

It provides the necessary emotional conclusion to the unspoken conflict! Because they finally have to talk about it! They heal the broken trust! Bruce admits how much Hal's betrayal hurt him and his faith in heroes, and gets past it! Instead of letting a former and potential future threat be eliminated as his fail-safes say he should, he invites the threat back, even if he can't guarantee it won't happen again, because he chooses to believe in his friend!

The contingency plans are a cool and interesting concept, but again, you can't just...take Hal out of it. You can't make it about some evil alternate versions, or about Clark. By doing that, you lose the most heartbreaking part of the story. Batman isn't in the right or the wrong, but he's not heartless. He's brokenhearted.

[sanakiras]

TIDAL WAVE OF LOVE

PAIRING — choi seungcheol x reader

WORD COUNT — 1.3k

SYNOPSIS — even the strongest of people break sometimes. you’re used to hiding your feelings; your boyfriend is there for you when everything gets too much.

TAGS — angst, self-esteem issues, fear of failure, mc has a bit of a breakdown :(( but also a lil comfort

NOTE — cleaning out the drafts bc i have too many 😭 this is wayyyy shorter than my usual works but i still felt like posting it <3 i had a very stressful semester in uni before the summer break and i came across this video on twt of coups giving wonwoo a little comforting squeeze which i found very endearing sooo that kinda became the inspo for this!

the moment he calls out a greeting to you from his kitchen, you close your eyes for a moment. it would’ve probably been wiser to have gone home instead of his place.

you greet him the same way, hoping he doesn’t hear the crack in your voice.

“how was your day?” he asks you once he’s returned to the living room, giving you a kiss.

you press your lips together. “fine. nothing special.”

the first thing he notices is the lack of eye contact you make with him. you’re also being considerably less touchy with him than usual, which he finds strange.

“everything okay?”

“yeah.” you put up a smile that doesn’t appear genuine in the slightest.

he figures you could just be in a bad mood — but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

he knows for a fact that it’s not with the way you’re trying real hard to hide your face from him. you only do that when you’re upset about something.

“baby, talk to me.”

“about what?”

the response comes out snappier than you meant it to. you two have been together quite a while — so he’s come to know that you tend to get a little colder and distant before the dam breaks.

you look at him so briefly to the point where he’d miss the motion if he blinked. the expression equals a silent apology.

of course he always does his best to give you whatever space you need. that being said, he’s also come to know you get into your own head a lot, and sometimes there’s someone who needs to pull you out of it.

you bite your lip in a pathetic attempt to hold back your tears. “it’s fine, cheol, just let it go.”

“well, i care about you, sweetheart. what’s going on?” he’s persistent but gentle about it. you have a habit of keeping your feelings to yourself and hardly ever letting anything out, which leads to everything just piling up and making things worse.

“i don’t wanna talk about it.”

the lump in your throat begins to rise.

“i can see that, but you’ve clearly got something you need off your chest. are you okay?”

you don’t show anyone when something’s wrong unless they mention it first. and even when they do, you’re hesitant.

it’s an exhausting way to live, but you still choose to do so.

it’s one of the reasons why you hate crying. your glossy eyes always betray you.

then you make — what you consider to be — the mistake of looking into his big, worried eyes once more, and you just completely fall apart in front of him.

the tears begin to flow before you can even comprehend it.

“it’s just—god, i don’t even know why i’m so fucking emotional, i just—” your breath shudders, the mildly angry expression that was previously on your face now nowhere to be found, “everything’s been so stressful recently, and i’m scared i won’t pass my classes, and i feel like such a slow learner compared to everyone else—”

he’s rubbing your back, just allowing you to you let everything out. he keeps quiet.

“i feel fucking fragile. and weak. every little thing is just too much right now. i’m sorry, i feel stupid.”

he lets you cry into his chest as his arms are wrapped around you, one hand softly rubbing the back of your head. “don’t feel stupid, baby. you can vent to me, always.”

the sound of your heavy sobs hurt him, because he feels like you’re always so hard on yourself, but he’s glad you’re releasing them. it’s healthier to let it all out than to keep it in.

“it’s just like i can’t breathe, y’know?” you mutter in the crook of his neck, subconsciously wetting his shirt with your tears, “i can’t take a single break ‘cause i’ll fall behind. i’m so tired. i feel like i’m not even smart enough to take the damn course, let alone pass the fucking test—”

once he feels like you’re about to start hyperventilating, he moves back to let him look at you. “long breaths. you’re okay, just breathe with me.”

he purposefully takes long, deep breaths, counting the seconds out loud to guide you, and it works. your breathing is steadying bit by bit, sobs faltering, melting into soft hiccups and numbness.

with dried tears and a slightly hoarse voice, you let out a sigh. “i just hate feeling so incompetent. for once, i’d love to feel smart. i wanna feel like i’m able to keep up as well as everyone else does, y’know? i’m… i’m procrastinating everything and i don’t know how to change it. it all sucks.”

“it’s not easy, baby. don’t be too hard on yourself.” he presses a swift kiss to your skin, and you hold him tighter, as if he were to slip out of your hold if you didn’t.

“it’s not easy for me. it is for them.”

“there’s nothing wrong with that. would you think differently if someone in your class had to put more effort into passing the course? you wouldn’t, right? because at the end of the day, you both make it to the finish line. that’s what matters.”

deep down, you know he has a point. you put the pressure so high on yourself, yet don’t apply the same logic to your peers.

you don’t really understand why.

“and you say it’s easy for them, but i know for sure that they put more effort into it than you might think. trust me. you’ll get to where you want to be, one way or another. if you take a little longer to do that than a classmate, who cares. it’s your life. i know you’ve worked so hard—” he twirls a strand of your hair between his fingers, “even if you don’t pass that class now, it won’t be the end of the world, and there’ll be another chance. you’ll get there.”

now there’s just a few last tears running down your cheeks. “except i’m worried that i won’t.”

“you will. and once you do, you’ll be happy that you got to that point because you worked hard and deserve that success. if not today, then tomorrow. yeah?”

you take a deep breath, exhaling slowly, the last shudders of your breakdown bubbling to the surface as your heart rate finally slows back to normal. “yeah. thank you.”

to show your gratitude, you give him a hug, which he happily embraces, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“anytime. i’m here for you.”

even the strongest of people break — but they can still pick up the pieces and start over.

do your best (but maybe not sometimes) <3

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[mari-lair]

Teru doesn't deny this world is better than the last one, he doesn't look angry that everything is great here, nor does he try to deny it by going "is all fake!" or "is not my world!" he looks pensive, distracted.

He isn't conflicted/disgusted/betrayed, as he was at the start of the arc.

He looks mostly sad now.

Cause the world still isn't all that real to Teru. He is still processing it.

But he does enjoy what it has to offer. He is doing this cool mix of being uneased by how different from his reality it is, and treating it as his playground completely detached from his old timeline.

He also had time to think, he understands Akane can't protest or fight the keepers if they want the world to change, that he has no control over what changes.

Akane has no control over anything. Teru has no control.

Look at this mental image.

They are just little game pieces at the mercy of these giant and monstrous keepers. His friends (Akane and Nene) are put as fellow helpless humans to be messed with by said monsters.

And Akane can't even defend this cynical view.

As a keeper of the present, he has more faith in the keepers goals of protecting humans than Teru, but his faith in them is still very low, he isn't even looking at Teru in the eye when he tries to say they are not that bad.

Cause Akane's own view of Kako and Mirai's power to rewrite reality is a scary mess of uncertainty.

There is no way the guy that keeps saying "supernaturals don't understand humans" with the keeper as his main reference, and "They are the biggest threat for the school" is on board with Kako and Mirai's rewriting system.

But he has no choice.

It's either getting a key and having some idea what is happening or being a completely helpless and oblivious stand-by.

This arc seems to be shaping itself to be all about control.

The big difference between their fears to me is the consequence of failure. They only have three days before powers outside their control overwrite Teru's memories and trick him into believing this timeline is real and there was never an old timeline to miss.

So Teru would lose something 'real', a world he loves, every time the clock keepers moved the pieces to a new reality, and while Akane memory mechanics are still vague, I am still assuming he never loses his memories, otherwise he wouldn't be able to do his job as the keeper of the present well and check if the new worlds are stable, what changed compared to the old one, and so on.

Letting things stay this way means Teru would be forced to lose a world he would eventually believe is real constantly, unsure if the next world will be worse for him, while Akane would be forced to not have a stable home, stable friend group, stable anything.

[fatuismooches]

More Neuvillette thoughts, as requested by people in my inbox.

He is a traditional man, and he wants to court you in the proper way that someone as lovely as you deserve. The only problem is that he isn't actually sure of the way humans do so. Sure, he's seen other people do so, but sometimes it ends up in failure and rejection. And he sure does not want to ever see a dissatisfied look from you directed towards him. So Monsieur Neuvillette will head to the library to borrow a book regarding the principles of courtship. (Everyone is sworn to secrecy if they happen to see. Though the Melusines already know who the lucky person is.) He will genuinely start to worry if you don't show signs of reciprocation or happiness so please indulge him, he's trying his best.

Taking him diving. This doesn't really seem like a Neuvillette thing to do but when he's in love with you I believe he will actually consider your suggestions just to please you even if they seem a bit ridiculous. Why diving specifically you ask? Because he looks like an otter and you also want to show him those cute otters in the ocean to prove it. Even before the romance stage, you are probably Neuvillette's first real friend. No one else has the courage to speak to him as openly as you do. And he does not find it disrespectful, no, he realizes that he quite enjoys it. He doesn't realize how lonely he is without you until a mere day passes without seeing you.

Being besties with Furina. If you manage to catch the attention of the grand Chief Justice, you are sure to get the same treatment from the great Archon herself. You may be nervous at first but if you can deal with Neuvillette you can probably see her confidence isn't all that real and something she uses to hide her fears. Regardless just be her friend because Neuvillette is tired of dealing with her. She confides in and trusts the two of you very much. Furina will also let you in on some secrets of the Chief Justice, don't tell him though.

Expect to be spoiled with riches. I mean he is probably really wealthy and you are his lover so isn't it natural for him to treat you to expensive things? Though if you feel overwhelmed by the sheer amount of Mora that he's spending on you just tell him and he will dial it back a bit (just reassure him that you really do love his gifts because he'll probably be a bit nervous that they're not good enough.)

Taking the Melusines out on dates with you and Neuvillette. Both of you are like parental figures to them. It goes from a table for two or a table for a few. It's really cute to see how they eat with their tiny hands, and see how Neuvillette listens to their stories with the utmost seriousness. They will also ask you the questions Neuvillette wants to ask you so he doesn't have to. Also, gently biting and nomming on his pointy ears. Just do it. He's really confused at first (is this what humans do?) but he won't stop you. Moving onto his horns. They are very smooth but I don't think they're hard. You could move and bend them pretty easily which makes it super hard for the judge to keep a straight face. Give them a little kiss too.

Everyone knows this by now but he is an emotional man who keeps his sadness and solitude to himself. Neuvillette doesn't rely on anyone to cheer him up but as time goes on he realizes even the smallest things you do makes him feel better so nowadays you'll have a visitor outside your house in the pouring rain.

[janedoerising]

All these posts where Danny rips Supes a new one for his treatment of Kon el, conveniently leave out that maybe, just maybe Superman had very real justification to be wary of clones.

Does ANYONE remember Bizzaro?

How about Cyborg Superman?

No?

We’re all supposed to gang up on the guy who probably has some clone related PTSD or at the very least, some well earned paranoia. Why would Clark want anyone like that anywhere near his family or personal life, if he couldn’t be sure of their intentions. For all he knew, Lex made this clone a child ON PURPOSE, so clark would have a harder time fighting him.

And Danny would probably get it, He would understand Superman if nothing else. All of Danny’s clones tried to kill him too, INCLUDING DANNI. He could also understand the feeling of being violated by a creepy billionaire that’s obsessed with them, but thats another can of worms.

And obviously Danny could vibe with Connor, because he too, knows the feeling of being seen as less than a person.

If anyone is to blame here it’s Batman and the rest of the League for setting up both my Super Bois for failure. This clusterfuck of a relationship really could have and should have been avoided by almost everyone in the Young Justice/ Teen titans team and JLA members associated with said team.

One, by acknowledging Clark’s fears as valid and not trying to force Conner on Clark before trust could be established. None of them have an excuse, anyone in the Hero biz has and/or knows someone with an evil double/clone/doppelgänger story of some kind. It just comes with the job.

Two, by not getting Connor’s hopes up for a relationship that may never happen because of Clark’s previous trauma.

Three, let Connor know that he is wanted and there are people there for him, even if not by blood (Batman of all people should know how unnecessary blood ties are in family).

So I guess maybe instead of Danny wiping the floor with Clark, MAYBE, reconciliation might be more his thing. Cuz, you know, he’s been there too.

EDIT: went back try and clean up the post a bit.

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

he’s the adult supervision, he’s the voice of reason, he’s a cringefail king, it’s Captain Haddock! Quite a few people asked for a timeline post for Haddock after I posted one of Tintin.

I found the whole idea of the Haddock family curse to be very interesting, and the implications behind it to be pretty dark... cw for alcoholism and childhood abuse. Let me know if you need anything tagged.

To figure out the timeline the evidence for Haddock’s age I found was in an animated adaptation of Explorers on the Moon where Haddock mentions he has around forty years of sailing experience. I doubt he was running around on ships as a newborn so that places his age during the canon comics at around 60ish, give or take a few years, which in my timeline places his childhood during the late Victorian era!

Left to right, top to bottom:

Child - Archibald Haddock had a pretty rough childhood and family life. The legacy of the “Haddock family curse” weighs heavily on him, and so does the alcoholism that runs generationally. His father is often drunk, taking his anger and frustration out on Archibald. Fully believing the family curse, Archibald’s father drills the idea that he is destined for failure into his head. 

Archibald’s only respite is his grandfather, who tells him stories of Sir Francis Haddock and other tall tales from the sea. His grandfather also would take him out on fishing trips, the lochs and the sea being his refuge. 

Teenager - It’s the 1880s and Archibald is left aimless after his grandfather passes away, passing the time by hiding from his father and drinking during the day. He fully believes he has no real future and lets himself get swept up by whatever will come along next.

Young Adult - Archibald decides to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps and becomes a sailor, feeling at home at sea. He cleans up somewhat after befriending George Chester as the two train on the same merchant vessel. Chester drags a reluctant Archibald along into all kinds of crazy antics, with Archibald wanting to stay on the straight and narrow.

Archibald is drafted during the First World War, serving in the Grand Fleet. He is stationed at the Orkney and Shetland Islands with Chester.

Canon - After the war Archibald relapses on his addiction again, but is able to hold onto work in the merchant fleet. He eventually becomes a captain of a merchant vessel where his mental health issues are taken advantage of in the Crab with the Golden Claws. 

Seeing his crew mutiny, kidnap (and attempt to murder) a boy on his ship was a major wake up call - Haddock is now imbued with a sense of responsibility for Tintin (even if Tintin seems to handle things better than Haddock!). He doesn’t understand what Tintin sees in him but he’ll be damned if he proves him wrong. He’s not above calling him an idiot when the time is right though.

Post Canon - After Tintin loses his job Haddock does his best to support him.  He uses his wealth to further causes he believes in, donating money to artist collectives and scientific research that was repressed by fascist governments. Before Belgium even joins the Second World War he and the Marlinspike team proactively go out and foil various Nazi plots. Marlinspike Hall is firebombed by the Nazis in retaliation, but after the war Haddock funds various housing cooperative projects. Coming from a working class background he hasn’t forgotten the hardships a lot of people face.

Elderly - At this point Haddock is secure in his found family. He’s been living with his partner Ramo Nash, and has taken up various arts and crafts as hobbies. Looking back, he never expected to be a father, but is incredibly proud of Tintin. He never officially adopts him as a part of him still fears the family curse (plus they both agree “Haddock” as a name definitely does not suit Tintin)!

[seiarc]

OBJECT HANDLING : Boss, there is a very serious problem we need to rectify.

1. I am fine actually.

2. What problem?

3. We have enough stim toys, not listening to you lalalalalala. [Dismiss Thought]

OBJECT HANDLING : You have been aware that you are trans for...

BIOCHEMICAL PROCESSOR [Trivial : SUCCESS] : A month and 3 days.

OBJECT HANDLING : ...yet we still do not posses the fluffy beasts of the seas, the icon of the ocean's primal hunter, the sharky, the-

ANCIENT CANINE BRAIN [Legendary : SUCCESS] : THE BLAHÄJ.

OBJECT HANDLING : Boss, if we are to survive the coming nights without our girlfriend we need to posses it and hug it tightly every night.

ANCIENT CANINE BRAIN : You already fit into every other transgirl stereotype, you *want* more plushies deep down anyway.

1. But I have a second pillow for that?

2. Fair point. [Accept Task]

OBJECT HANDLING : You do.

CREATIVE SPARK [Trivial: SUCCESS] : The same yellowish pillow you've had since you were 12? Frankly we should go to IKEA and get more decorations and knick knacks, our room looks like an insane assylum.

ŚCIERZKA ASCETY [Formidable: SUCCESS] : Because it is. It's pointless to decorate it now, you have 18 months left in your degree anyway, you will move.

INGRAINED PETITE BOURGEOISE INSTINCT : And you'll save money on unnecessary expenses!

MATERIAL ANALYSIS [Formidable: SUCCESS] : The meager amount of money you feel bad for not giving away *and* spending on yourself? Let's be real, saving 80 złoty won't bring you closer or further from any of your dreams.

SELF-LOVE [Legendary: SUCCESS] : Those two have only hurt you, don't listen to them, isn't living in a way that makes you happy what being trans is all about? Just. Follow. Your heart.

BIOCHEMICAL PROCESSOR [Medium: SUCCESS] : You will still have enough money to for groceries and hormones this month.

1. But IKEA is far away...

2. ...and I'll have to go out into crowds of people.

3. I will obtain the BLAHÄJ. [Accept Task]

4. I don't need soft shark shaped objects in my life. [Reject Task]

AUTISTIC ARCHIVE [Trivial : Success] : The Silesian urban conglomeration has excellent public transit that you have used many times before, getting there won't be a problem.

FEAR OF PAIN : It's also hot today.

LOVE OF PAIN [Medium: SUCCESS] : But let's be honest, you are complacent in your girl rotting, get your fucking ass of your gaming chair and do it, if anything just to spite the motherfucker above.

FEAR OF PAIN : HEY!

SELF-LOVE : Just bring enough water.

1. ...and I'll have to go out into crowds of people.

2. I will obtain the BLAHÄJ. [Accept Task]

3. I don't need soft shark shaped objects in my life. [Reject Task]

MINUTE DETAIL DYSPHORIA : Your hair looks bad today, you shouldn't show it to other people anyway, they will see th-

ANCIENT CANINE BRAIN [Medium: SUCCESS] : Shut up.

SELF-LOVE [Formidable: SUCCESS] : Shut up.

BIOCHEMICAL PROCESSOR [Trivial: SUCCESS] : Shut up.

OBJECT HANDLING : Yeah girl just go grab it!

ANCIENT CANINE BRAIN [Medium: SUCCESS]: Your girlfriend will be happy that you didn't sit inside all day, she may even give you a click.

1. [Biochemical Processor - Trivial 2] There must be a way to get it without going outside...

2. I will obtain the BLAHÄJ. [Accept Task]

3. I don't need soft shark shaped objects in my life. [Reject Task]

BIOCHEMICAL PROCESSOR [Trivial: FAILURE]: I'm sorry my lady, I feel like there is an easier way of going about it but it seems we don't have enough sugar for thinking right now.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY & ANCIENT CANINE BRAIN : You should buy an energy drink when you go out!

1. I will obtain the BLAHÄJ. [Accept Task]

2. I don't need soft shark shaped objects in my life. [Reject Task]

[ashtavula]

HIII can i request some overblots react to their s/o fight with clones like in frieren after the end ????? And after their s/o wins the battle so passed out and the overblots have to take care its injury

Oh, like Land's ability, right? Though, his ability is pretty similar to Cater's...

Also, I'm going with the assumption that the reader isn't actually fighting the boys in this. You're just getting into a random fight.

Overblotters with an s/o that can use clone magic

Riddle:

-During the fight, Riddle does his best to help you, even though he's not the best at it. He's been around Cater for long enough that the clones don't faze him, but he stresses himself out trying to protect all of them since he's not sure which one is the real you. After the fight, Riddle turns to scold you for getting involved, only to see you faint. He immediately starts shrieking for help as he drags you to the infirmary.

-He blames himself for not actually being able to keep you safe as he tends to your injured body. If he was a stronger mage, then this wouldn't have happened. As he carefully reapplies your bandages, Riddle becomes determined to further improve himself, both as a mage and a partner, so that you won't have to suffer for his failures again.

Leona:

-Leona isn't actually all that worried about you during the fight. He assumes that you're more than capable of keeping yourself safe, so he focuses on ending the fight as soon as possible. He grumbles as he turns his gaze towards you, and the last thing you hear is him yell your name as you collapse.

-Once you wake up, Leona refuses to leave your side. His gaze is intense, and he mutters that you should leave all the fighting to him if you're going to lose, even with your advantage. Despite the fussing, his hand is gentle as he slowly strokes your skin, his brow furrowed. In his mind, he's berating himself for not being good enough to keep you safe.

Azul:

-Azul isn't the best in a brawl, but he's doing his best, even though he's wishing that he still had his tentacles. He's very concerned about you, even though he can see your clones throwing punches. And in the end, his worst fears are confirmed when he finds you passed out.

-He fusses over you like a worried mother as you recuperate, constantly fluffing your pillows and shooing the twins out of the room so you can rest. However, all he can think about is that he truly is a worthless octopus. If he was better, then he could have saved you. Instead, the only thing he can do is think up ways to hasten your recovery. Because the sooner you're back on your feet, the sooner he'll stop feeling like he doesn't deserve you.

Jamil:

-Jamil is well-trained, and he knows how to protect someone in a fight. However, he runs himself ragged trying to protect all of your clones. He doesn't know where the real you is, until you crumple to the ground. Jamil curses under his breath, and he scoops you up into his arms before rushing back to Scarabia.

-He's also the type of guy who scolds you for being so reckless. Really, he's just mad at himself for letting you get hurt. Jamil clicks his tongue in annoyance as he checks on your injuries, muttering about teaching the idiots who hurt you a lesson. In the end, he's an excellent caretaker, and you make a swift recovery.

Vil:

-He hates having to get his hands dirty, but Vil doesn't mind "disciplining" a rowdy group of students, especially if you're involved. Vil takes your opponents down with swift, elegant kicks and punches, and the two of you quickly take them down. Unfortunately, you end up crashing into Vil as your vision blurs, and you faint in his arms.

-You love Vil, but you wish he'd stop shoving foul potions down your throat. All of his concoctions are helping you heal, but that doesn't help the taste. He also keeps lecturing you, all with a disapproving frown on his face. However, once the bottles of medicine are empty and he's finished talking, he'll press a gentle kiss to your forehead, and he'll quietly beg you to not scare him like that again.

Idia:

-Idia's panicking, yelping for Ortho's help while he tries to avoid getting punched. Later, he'll be amazed at your clones, but right now he's trying to survive. Eventually, Ortho comes to the rescue, and the two of you win the battle. As Idia makes his way over to you, you faint, and he begins to panic all over again.

-You're kept on house arrest in his room until you finish recovering, but it's not terrible. Idia keeps you entertained, and Ortho is an excellent helper. However, Idia's brain keeps churning out miserable thoughts. He feels useless, and he worries about your injuries. As you rest, he slowly lays his head down near your shoulder, just shy of touching you. He watches you sleep, silently wishing for you to get better soon. Maybe then, he won't feel like a failure.

Malleus:

-A fight like this is mere child's play to Malleus. Of course, most of your opponents flee the moment he comes close to them. Malleus is fascinated by your clones, and it's his curiosity that makes him fail to realize that you've been injured. When you fall into his embrace, you catch a brief glimpse of gathering storm clouds as your eyes flutter shut.

-You recover quickly, thanks to Malleus' magical prowess. He spends almost all of his time protectively curled around you, murmuring apologies for what happened. Malleus seems to be fine, but it hasn't stopped raining since you got hurt. Internally, his thoughts are spiraling. For a brief moment, he thought he'd lost you. You've brought joy to his lonely world, and the thought of you dying terrifies him. As you drift off to sleep in his arms, you hear him whisper that he'll never allow anyone to harm you again.

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#33: The Push (1.04)

While I had to basically dedicate a whole post to that one powerful line where Michonne expresses that she only feels safe when she's with Rick…we now have to talk about how the rest of this riveting scene goes. Because see, Michonne only feels safe with Rick...but Rick is not exactly the one in this gym with her right now as we get the return of his alter ego The Bold As Hell Talking To His Wife Like That Man 😑...

So after Michonne so beautifully and vulnerably expresses herself to Rick, I was very curious how Rick would respond to such a heartfelt confession. Like here is your lovely wife telling you essentially that you're her only true safe space so now you know that no matter how you try to keep her safe from a distance, she’s never really going to feel safe unless you’re with her. I just knew something like that was going to hit Rick’s heart.

But what I didn’t fully realize is that Real Rick is so deeply buried inside Dead Rick so even that moving sentiment from Michonne doesn't penetrate his heart the way I thought it would.

And with Rick's response, this is the most this man has ever tried it ever imo so let’s talk about it...

After Michonne says she only feels safe with him, Rick silently stares at her, at a loss for words again and still frowning. While I know deep down her words hit him, he still has a wall up rn.

Upon hearing this, I feel like you can see on Rick's face that he knows the biggest obstacle to getting Michonne home safe is himself, because she loves him too much to leave him. Hence he proceeds to try and remove the 'obstacle' by no longer being a safe place to land for her which is hard to watch.

Michonne walks up to him and knowing he’s consumed with fear she softly but adamantly tells him, “We don’t have to be afraid, Rick.” I like how she says "we" instead of just telling him he doesn't have to be afraid. They're still one unit to her and they can face this together the second they get it together. She's confident they don't have to let fear dictate how they move because the two of them can always overcome.

Rick is also adamant tho when he responds saying, “Yes we do.” And then Michonne stays asking the right questions when she says, “So that's what I tell our son? That his father didn’t want to know anything about him because he was so afraid?”

Every time Michonne has to acknowledge Rick’s lack of acknowledgment of their son it hurts my heart. 😥 Like Rick, this is a special brand of hurt you are causing your wife.

But as y’all know, it only got worse. 🙃

Rick says, “I’m not the Brave Man.” 😔 And one; I do like how at least him saying this means the Brave Man story Michonne told him about did stick with him. Like he had been acting like so much of what she was saying was just bouncing right off the walls of his heart, but it’s clearly all seeping in, he’s just trying to mask it.

And two; it very sad how assuredly Rick says this. Like he truly believes that the brave man he once was is no more. He only views himself as a fearful failure now. 😥

Rick doesn't realize that the fact that he's still on this earth after everything he's been through is a sign of his resilience and strength so he is still the Brave Man.

gif cred: @nat111love

And then…y’all, Rick says the one thing I told him not to say. 😪

There was one comment that was most off limits and it’s the one he makes when he says, “You shouldn’t have come. I was taken away. I didn’t have a choice. You did.” The audacity. I'm pissed every time I hear it idc.

It was so cruel, so wrong, and so unfair of him to say that. Especially with what this is implying about Michonne as a mother. I think we all knew there might have been a "You shouldn't have come" moment in TOWL but for me what makes this so egregious is him comparing her situation to his and basically saying she made a bad choice. Appalled tbh. 😑

(Even tho stepping outside of the show, I really respect Danai for trusting that she could have Rick say something so foul and still believably get Richonne to a rewarding point of reconciliation by the end of the episode. 👏🏽)

gif cred: @figmentof

When Michonne hears this you can see how incredibly hurtful it is in her eyes so she does the only thing to do in this moment and she pushes him away. And I felt that shove with every fiber and it was necessary because whoever this was in front of her wasn’t Rick. Like this was a pain-inflicting imposter and he needed to get away from her.

gif cred: @ricksmarlene

As Rick does a figurative push away, Michonne does a literal push away.

And then the look Rick gives when she pushes him…y’all for me this is the scariest he’s ever been. 🫣

Like more than Machete Rick, and Feral Rick, and all those other lethal Ricks…this moment where there’s seemingly nothing behind his eyes is just straight terrifying.

I know I joke about The Bold As Hell Man as a new character thing but in this moment I genuinely was like 'Michonne, I do not know who is in this gym with you right now.' Like truly who the hell is this man in here cuz I don’t know him. 🫢

gif cred: @ricksmarlene

Regarding the approach to Rick’s coldness in ep 4 - something I’ve lauded Michonne for in the past is how she is very good at both empathy and accountability and that’s how I personally approach this conversation about Rick’s fear-based behavior as well.

I empathize with the fact that Rick is operating from a place of pain, trauma, and deep love for Michonne while also knowing that the way he is hurting his wife is so not okay. Being in pain doesn’t give a free pass to deliberately cause pain to someone else. And he is intentionally hurting her.

I can both understand that he has severe PTSD and is really trying to hurt himself even more than her because he ultimately wants to protect her, while also knowing that ‘Dead’ Rick'...

I’ve always felt that in a soulmate partnership like this, you have every right to feel what you feel but also every responsibility to not emotionally disappear on or damage your partner in the process of navigating those feelings.

But people are flawed and don’t handle everything perfectly, especially in the midst of trauma which is why I can empathize with the situation. Both on Rick’s end and Michonne’s too as she has every right to feel what she feels.

Rick is so convinced that he is not worth coming after. That she should have given up on him just like he essentially gave up on himself. It’s hard for him to grasp how valued he is. Self-depreciation is what he feels most strongly but it manifests itself as almost condemning her and telling her she essentially made the wrong choice as a mother to leave and look for him. It’s so below the belt to say that.

Rick knows with the love they have this was really the only choice for her to come. I think that might be part of why she tells him he doesn't know anything anymore. Like he forgot how their love and partnership work. They don’t leave people behind especially not each other.

And Michonne was in such a tough conflicting situation when she learned Rick survived the bridge. On one side she has her kids to raise and they need her. And on the other side, her kids’ father and the love of her life has a 99.9% chance that wherever he is he’s in agony and imprisonment - because if he was at all okay and free he would have found his way home by now. So as Michonne, how do you live with that? Especially when your souls are as interconnected as Richonne’s.

She can feel him out there desperately needing her. She can feel her kids needing their dad. She had to go after him. And honestly, Rick knows if he were in her shoes he would have absolutely made the choice to go after her too.

In fact, I low-key feel like if Rick was on that boat like Michonne in TWD 10.13 and the roles were reversed where Michonne disappeared and Rick found signs that she was alive out there, Rick would have got on the walkie with Judith and his little girl wouldn’t need to do any convincing to get Rick to go after Michonne. Rick would just be straight-up telling his daughter, 'Hey Judith, I found out mom might be alive and I’m already en route to Bridgers Terminal to bring her home to us so...

The choice to be away from her kids was not at all an easy one for Michonne to make and was rooted in deep love and loyalty to Rick and to her kids. So for Rick to frame it as anything else was just plain wrong. 

But again, hearing Michonne say she only feels safe with him a few seconds earlier it’s like Rick is trying to deliberately destroy being her safe space so that she can officially feel better about leaving him and going home.

We’ve always praised Rick for being willing to do anything and take out anyone to protect his family but what’s so interesting about TOWL is that we see Rick is willing to even take out himself and break her heart and his own to protect her. 🥺

gif cred: @nat111love

In this gym, Rick is basically attempting to unalive himself again. 😥 I think that's even what his contorted expression was about when Michonne pushed him. Michonne's entrance into his life has made him come alive but he’s convinced he must be ‘dead’ for her to live. So he's doing whatever he can to try and stay dead - such as saying something this upsetting to the love of his life.

It’s a real conundrum because even back when he was Alive Rick, Michonne was the one who made him feel most alive so now that he thinks he has to be dead it’s especially complicated to be back with the brightest and most igniting light in his life - his wife. And I like how they explore the really dark effects of doing what Rick’s grandpa said and being the walking dead.

However, in his warped mindset, what Rick can’t quite see is that trying to take himself out rn and turn off his humanity is killing Michonne too. 🥺

They’re too interconnected for him to try and take himself out this way and it not take her out in a way too. But I do like how Andy plays this moment like the words taste horrible in Rick’s mouth as he goes against his very design and actively tries to hurt her.

Michonne fervently tells Rick he doesn’t know anything anymore - which it’s def seeming that way more and more. And then she smiles with tears filling her eyes and says, “So, this is who you are now? Big guy, huh. Solider of the CRM. You’re moving up right? That’s the plan.” She's letting Rick know he has an unnatural allegiance to losers, that's not like him.

I like how of course Michonne picked up on the fact that Rick was soon gonna be moving up the ranks. And it’s so sad cuz in ep 1, Rick literally seemed disgusted at the idea of moving up the ranks of the CRM but he’s lost a lot of that defiance now.

Also, it’s really interesting to me that this is when Michonne starts addressing the CRM stuff. Because I feel like before she was always trying to rightfully bring the conversation back to their family but Rick was always deflecting back to the CRM. So now she’s just like okay since that’s all you can talk about, let’s talk about it since this is the clique you claim despite saying you don’t. 

gif cred: @figmentof

Michonne says, “Maybe I should be afraid of you in the red uniforms. I don’t know what you’re capable of.” And I was like - Rick, come on, this has got to be a wake-up call knowing your wife even has to remotely entertain the thought of needing to be afraid of you. 😥

But the way he’s looking at her it’s clear the wall he has up is pretty strong right now.

gif cred: @kris-lulu

Then while it pains my heart so much, I always love the way Michonne says, “You lied to me. You keep lying to me.” Like you just feel everything she’s feeling. Exceptionally acted. 👏🏽

gif cred: @kris-lulu

And then if I was fully feeling the emotion when she expresses her hurt over Rick continually lying to her when they’re the two people most meant to be honest with each other, I really really feel the emotion leap off the screen when Michonne says, “You think I’m not beating myself up for not being with my kids right now? That I’m not wondering how I’ll ever live with myself if God forbid….” Oof. 😣🥺💔

gif cred: @riickgrimes

Y’all, this was an outstanding performance, and when I tell you these lines reverberated in my brain for days. It was so moving and so heartbreaking. Like even watching it now for the hundredth time I’m choking up. 😭

gif cred: @riickgrimes

Michonne is a mother. An excellent and devoted mother. A mother who has been through so so much and more than anyone should have to endure. And she’s done it all for the love of her family. A large reason she’s even standing in front of Rick right now is because she loves her kids and they need their father.

Like don’t get me wrong she wanted to find Rick for her and for him, but we saw that convo in her final TWD ep between her and her daughter. Judith had to urge her to go because Michonne was hesitant to leave her babies.

And since setting off to find Rick, Michonne has tried so hard to keep the faith despite the exhaustion and the hardship and now here this man is making her feel like she made a bad choice when she is already wrestling with the difficult decision she had to make as a mother.

Like the fact that she says she’s been beating herself up. Cue my tears. 😭 And the fact that she doesn't know the current status of her son and daughter and she can’t even bring herself to voice the potential outcome of something bad having happened to them while she’s been gone. 😢

Especially knowing that in the past when Michonne had left home for a far briefer time than this, she returned to find she had lost a son not once but twice. It's too much. 😞💔

gif cred: @riickgrimes

Michonne is very aware of the power of words and she doesn’t use them lightly. She doesn’t even like to vocalize painful outcomes like when she thought she lost Rick in Say Yes and couldn't say aloud that she thought he died. Both then and here, she trails off and shakes her head not even wanting to put those tragic scenarios in words.

It’s like how in that deleted season 7 finale scene (that will always be canon to me since it’s the only time Rick and Michonne and Carl really engage after Richonne became an official couple) Michonne encourages Carl to not fantasize about failing because she’s built this great resolve to not even give negative outcomes power in thoughts or words.

I’m so glad Michonne got to let all that emotion out in this gym and be this raw and expressive as a woman and as a mother. This is Michonne at her most vulnerable, speaking about one of the most personal and sensitive things in the world - her children and her feelings and fears as a mom.

You’d think surely this time Rick would have a non-zombified reaction to seeing her pain and how deeply he hurt Michonne here. Like before when he’d been hurtful, Michonne hadn’t yet even cried like this so maybe this would finally be the wake-up call.

...But no. 😪

Instead, Rick just looks at her and grimly says, “That’s why you should go.” To which I always respond...

That's my instinctual response every time cuz like how can you not roundhouse kick your screen when hearing Rick say this? 😒

And y’all, let me tell you, Michonne is my big sister in my head lol, and I promise you I would have been in my full Solange energy up in this building with Rick. Like, don’t let me be in any of these elevators with them because I’m scrapping for my sister. 🥊

Rick responding like that had me wondering how much more audacity does this man have left because my goodness it seemed endless. This was genuinely painful to watch.

It would be hard enough to see Rick emotionally abandon Michonne on any subject, but when she is specifically expressing raw emotions about their kids as the mother of his children, and he still has a cold distant response - blood boiling, tbh. 😠

And also him saying she should go was extra frustrating because 🗣Michonne was going. She was standing right at the exit of this building when Rick came running for her. So telling her she should go was not only hurtful but unnecessary. 😒 

gif cred: @riickgrimes

Michonne responds like it’s really sinking in that whoever this is in front of her is not someone she knows.

gif cred: @riickgrimes

So she gathers herself after being fully emotionally abandoned by Rick and then she says, “Okay. I don’t know who you are. Cause the man I knew would never talk to me like that ever.” Gospel. Rick 'Loverboy & Family Man of the Year Every Year' Grimes would never be so disrespectful.

gif cred: @riickgrimes

It’s interesting that Michonne doesn’t say 'I don’t know who you are anymore' like she'd said previously. Now it’s almost like she’s saying 'I don’t know who you are at all.'

gif cred: @riickgrimes

And once again, Rick masks the pain inside with a steely-eyed sorta lifeless stare at her and it’s just tragic. 

gif cred: @clonecaptains

They hear walkers trying to get in and so Rick says, “We’re getting out of here.” And Michonne nods in a way that feels like she’s had to just surrender the hope of them ever figuring this out. Like as Rick grabs things to help with the escape, Michonne has such a sad sense of surrender over this whole hurtful situation.

She just poured her entire heart out to him about something she feels most vulnerable about - her kids - and for the first time was met with nothing back from Rick. Yet another sign that something is seriously broken within Rick because every other time she’s emotionally expressed herself to him he’s always handled her heart with care and met her where she’s at, like going to Washington and fighting the Saviors. 

Michonne grabs one of those pole things and the way she slowly walks over to join Rick at the door it’s like now she has to put a wall up too because Rick has become adamant about not being her safe space anymore. You just can fully sense how devastating it is that even after finally reuniting with the love of her life, she still feels alone. 💔

gif cred: @taiturner

This whole thing was such a brilliantly acted scene from Danai and Andy. 👏🏽 Like truly these world-class actors were continually confirming that they are powerhouses of the craft with this whole miniseries. 🔥

This gym scene is simultaneously riveting and a hard-watch because of how much visceral pain is infused within it. 🥺

So after Richonne’s most gut-wrenching moment of conflict to date, I remember one of my many thoughts was now how the heck does this episode have an S rating because ain’t no way Michonne lets The Bold As Hell man near her like that after all this. 🙃

But Danai is a sagacious writer and so the following adrenaline-pumping events on a stairwell help force Richonne back together in a very sweet way. And the timing of the following events couldn't have been better, cuz lord knows we and Richonne needed something to turn the tide after this heartbreaking gym scene. ❤️‍🩹👌🏽

[saintsenara]

On a slightly more serious note, this is an opinion that will have me eaten alive (ha!) in a blog followed by so many die-hard Snape fans... and I do also consider myself to be a die-hard Snape fan... But I do think that the whole "Lupin endangered students, Snape had no choice but to out him and his fate was justifed" kinda overplayed. The magic world is dangerous: we come across many wizards with who lost limbs to magical accidents, creatures, or duels, Luna's mum died performing experimental spells, everyone's favourite sport involves flinging boulders at people flying 20 meters above the ground. Sure, werewolves are another danger to add to the pile, but if there was no stigma, would it have been so unforgivable that in an extremely eventful and emotional night this guy just forgot to take his potion?

If werewolves were not shunned from society, it could have been just another magical accident. I know it's still a painful and irreversible condition, but people add a lot shame and guilt to Lupin's responsibility plate by perpetuating this idea that it was the most dangerous and despicable thing that could have happened, and being publicly outed was a suited punishment.

I just find it quite dishonest to act like Snape's attitude was not malicious, when he's always excelled at being the biggest bitch in the castle, and we love him for that?

Ok I'm out byeeeeee

i think several things are at play at once, tbh.

lupin forgetting to take the wolfsbane potion as a one-time slip-of-the mind which would - absolutely - be an accident, which could [and probably has!] happened to any of us who take medication regularly? relatable.

lupin forgetting to take the wolfsbane potion because he's too busy trying to murder his treacherous former friend in cold blood in front of three children...? well, sure, i'd do the same in his place, i fear.

but... i do think it's important to point out that snape's outing of lupin clearly isn't just connected to his failure to take his potion once, but to a run of behaviour by lupin which - on the basis of the information snape has in his possession - intentionally places students in danger throughout the school year - above all, lupin's failure to inform dumbledore that sirius is an animagus and that this is how he's entering hogwarts undetected.

i think this often gets forgotten, but lupin doesn't know that sirius is innocent until the same point in the story that harry does. while sirius wasn't coming to hogwarts to try and harm harry, lupin doesn't actually know this - he's not withholding information from dumbledore because he possesses the facts of sirius' innocence, he's withholding information from him because he's a coward.

this makes perfect sense from a characterisation angle - lupin being completely unable to speak ill of the friends who took him in and loved him unconditionally, even when he thinks that one of those friends annihilated two of the others is such a fundamental encapsulation of his personality - but it's unforgivable from a safeguarding one.

[and it would be grounds for a sacking in most jobs which involve working with children, let's be real, no matter the fact that lupin is accidentally vindicated.]

since the information that snape has at the end of prisoner of azkaban is that his suspicions that lupin was aiding and abetting a murderer in his quest to enter the school have been proven correct, and that - because lupin was so keen to help this murderer - he failed to take the potion which prevents him from biting someone... him backing lupin's instant dismissal doesn't seem that unreasonable...

because another thing i think it's worth pointing out is that snape clearly doesn't know that sirius is innocent until after lupin has resigned his post - indeed, you can read his behaviour towards sirius at the end of goblet of fire as evidence that he doesn't know until then [and i'm sure that he verified that pettigrew was the traitor very carefully with voldemort...].

and this is important.

because - yes - snape is petty. he clearly delights in the misfortune of others, and he's someone who tends to approach any conversation he ever has with anyone else through a win-lose lens - which means that he goes out of his way to humiliate other people so that he can "win" the interaction.

but - in the case of his involvement in lupin's dismissal - his pettiness is a red herring, which we're forced to recontextualise after the conclusion of the series...

lupin tells us that snape leaked that he's a werewolf because he's furious over losing his order of merlin.

but - just like when he tells us that snape hated james because he was jealous of his quidditch talent - lupin is wrong.

snape is furious - literally deranged with anger - at the end of prisoner of azkaban because he believes that the man who led voldemort to the potters' doorstep has escaped from justice, that lupin helped him to do so, and that dumbledore - despite admonishing lily for "putting her trust in the wrong person" [by which he means sirius! he doesn't know he's innocent before harry does either!] immediately after her death - has also decided to put his trust in the wrong person [harry's] nonsensical story, believe that sirius is innocent, and believe that lupin hasn't done anything wrong.

[we also get hints in canon that dumbledore's hiring of lupin without forcing him to disclose his condition might be... legally dodgy. the law is clearly unjust - and dumbledore is morally right to disregard it - but i think it's another thing worth bearing in mind when situating snape's decision to turn not only on lupin, but on dumbledore within context.]

snape's attitude is malicious - in that he lashes out at lupin because he's the only person he can realistically hurt in response - but it's not petty or him choosing to be a little bitch for fun. it's anguish.

[donnapalude]

i understand the need to treat discussions about louis's faults towards claudia with care, as he is also a victim of domestic abuse and there is a risk of vilifying him by misplacing blame. at the same time, i find the insistence to frame him as a completely constricted individual, deprived of all agency at all times, with no motives driving him apart from terror, quite reductive, as well as a misguided (although maybe well-meaning) attempt to create the image of a perfect victim whose choices need not and cannot be examined as all leading back to complete coercion and lack of options. i take issue with this for two main reasons. first, stating that finding any moral failure or mixed motivations in a victim of domestic abuse would be wrong because it equates to blaming them for the abuse is actually stating that, well, you somehow hold the underlying idea that if they ever behaved less than perfectly they would be less of a victim. second, there is a strong implication that claudia has no real reason to resent him for his behaviour during the years they spent with lestat. which i think is simply not what the narrative is trying to tell us.

i will not even scratch the surface of this discussion, but just as a start. louis has no fault for his own abuse, nor for not being able to magically manage lestat's behaviour towards claudia. lestat's actions are his own responsibility. turning her while knowing she would be subjected to the inarguable difficulties presented by vampirism, her frozen body, and lestat is also not something he is exactly culpable of: the alternative was to let her die. it is however something he became responsible for. simply in the sense that choosing to give birth (or adopt, if you want to follow that analogy) brings a child under your care. which means that, from that moment on, you have power over them and you are responsible for their emotional and physical well-being. you are not in an equal position, not even as co-victims under the same abuser. duties of protections are not erased by abuse, they are just constricted to the options reasonably available.

what does this mean with regard to his actual treatment of claudia? that he could have protected her better from lestat? i think the answer is we actually don't know and neither does he. and this is often true even for victims/parents of victims in real life. it is impossible to reconstruct a retrospective of what choices would have/could have posed a better result. i don't think establishing this serves any point as an unprovable hypothetical. i rather think the point and the crux of his struggles with himself are the movitations that led to his actual choices (or lack thereof). what we know is the following: lestat was abusive and violent towards both louis and claudia, generating a sensible fear towards his reactions and reasonable hesitance to move against or away from him in any way; louis was however also genuinely in love with him, longed for him, and did not want him truly harmed until the very end; and he was also trying to fullfill his own journey of redemption and dreams of a family through claudia; he was extremely reliant on claudia for his mental-stability (another post needed to fully expound on this, which at some point i hope to write); he was genuinely happy that she chose to stick around the family after 105 and encouraged her to help manage lestat's moods to keep the family stable; however, he was also ready to sacrifice that stability for her when she wanted to escape; due to his love, he could not take an active role in the murder of lestat until the last moments and then stopped the burning that would have ensured his death as definitive.

as always, the picture painted is quite complicated. on one hand, the abuse could explain most of louis's actions, if we were to read them summarised on paper. and yet the show goes to the trouble of reconstructing the personal and at times selfish desires that were intertwined with simple fear in leading his choices. what emerges for me is a very normal human truth, which is that it is simply quite rare that we take decisions based on only one motive: our choices are most often the sum of a number of different interests that converge towards a same center. in this case, maintaining a relationship with lestat and keeping the peace by bending and asking claudia to bend around the management of lestat's anger, were reasonable choices to the end of avoiding further violence. and i am sure he had this in mind. but they also happened to fullfill his desire to be close to lestat and to have a full family of his own, as well as the need to find meaning in his vampiric life, which he textually is not able (at this point) to locate in himself. there were moments of actual sacrifice (eg staying behind with lestat when claudia wants to go away to maximise her chances at escaping), that still don't erase he was in love with lestat and to some extent desired his presence throughout. and there were moments where he blatantly choose other interests over claudia (eg impeding her from finishing lestat), that still don't erase he overall ended up siding with her against his own husband/maker.

the question we and louis are left with is: would he have chosen differently if his own wants and needs were not part of the equation or they were pulling him in a different direction? would he have envisioned other solutions? would those solutions have been better? and most importantly: does it matter? well, i think it does and it doesn't. from a perspective of objective causation, we have no way of knowing if louis deciding to, es. idk, stage a murder attempt as soon as claudia was made could have turned out better: maybe lestat would have killed them both immediately! but from a perspective of subjective intention, it's simply evident to me that louis's loyalties and priorities were not really always fixed on claudia as their only center, they were often divided in multiple directions. claudia was in many ways created for him and lestat, and not viceversa. she was loved and important and he made very loving attempts at prioritising her, but that did not always happen. there were moments of generous self-sacrifice and protection. and there were moments where other factors clearly won out. and then there were more moments where all reasonings merged together. and to be able to hold genuine love for and desire a relationship with your child's abuser, is already a betrayal in itself for the child. claudia never had a full ally in that house and everything in her behaviour shows she knew it. which does not mean louis's decisions also amounted to parental abuse. but i see no sense in denying they were still harmful. there are many ways parents harm children without abusing them.

i really don't see the scandal. this is all terribly human to me, there is nothing i find strange in a victim of domestic abuse having personal wants and aspirations informing choices made in response to the abuse or unrelated but taken under it. what makes a victim a victim is not that they have no secondary motivations to stay with, return, or cater to the abuser apart from practical considerations on how to manage the abuse. it is that, regardless of the motivations behind those behaviours, the abuser chooses to utilise his power to control and terrorise and hurt them. the "label" of abuse is assigned to categorize a pattern of behaviours from the abuser, not the victim. if we believe that to be true, there is then no moral threshold that excludes someone from victimisation. and when there are co-victims, even when they are parent and child, nothing displaces the responsibility of the abuse on them. but i don't believe all moral considerations about how we treat each other are eliminated. victims are still people making choices, as limited at they may be. as long as that is true, to consider only motives we deem morally sound as worthy of recognition is both dehumanising and condemning. moreover, to forget that children are still subjected to their parent's choices, even if said parents are being abused, and that they can be harmed by them, is a misconstruction of the power dynamics of the relationship and an erasure of the experiences of child victims in an attempt to salvage those of the parents from judgment.

this discussion is not about generalisations of harmful victim-blaming stereotypes. it's about analysing one single fictional person whose story of parenthood and victimhood is laid out for us. and my bottom line is: louis was not a perfect parent. to recognise that, does not turn him into claudia's abuser and it does not make him any less of a victim. he is just not a "perfect victim". but we know those dont't exist anyway.

[crispys-records]

i fear vylad was set up for failure in mystreet

in mcd, hes this wise, almost omniscient character who knows what he must do to progress the story. he experiences all this hurt he could only achieve whilst in a fantasy world, and his narrative relevance is significant only because he serves a greater purpose other than being aphmau's ally. he is effectively an oracle/guardian spirit figure throughout the beginning of season 1, only to be dragged away for using what is meant to be a power of malice and evil for good and protection.

in mystreet, hes. a guy. a nothingburger. hes so nothing that i cant even remember his relevance without checking the wiki. he has no plot relevance, no omniscience, no nothing to tether him to his main character status, even though he is so interesting as a modern character. he is still a child of infidelity, which means he might very well be the reason why garte is such a bitch. i was gonna say to zianna but maybe hes just a bitch in general. if being a shadow knight in mcd means you were a punk in mystreet, why doesnt anyone ever talk about vylads dark history (vandalism and being around gene) that would be funny as hell.

although lets be real i think we know why.

he was doomed from the beginning bc although he holds major plot relevance in mcd, he just wasnt around a lot. his fanbase back then might as well have been like 10 ppl who were rlly happy to see vylad appear in mystreet. and in the end hes happy. hes traveling the world. thats rlly funny to me tbh. like everyone else is experiencing manmade horrors and hes like going to france and shit.

i still think we couldve seen more of vylad.

also not to go off topic but where did the dante x vylad thing come from? i used to ship it as a kid when i was younger and had free reign of wattpad but like im older and can think now and why was dante x vylad a thinkg. i dont even remember any noteabke vylante moments in mystreet. what is the merit in this ship other than to complete the ro'meave brothers x flirty boys trio ?? im like serious

[remember-digimon]

Let's talk about Tai!

First of all, Tai does in fact show signs of terminal Shonen Protagonist, however with the depth of his character we can assume it is in remission. Good for him.

Tai is reckless and often rushes into things without thinking. To him, there is the goal and there are things in the way of his goal, so naturally he just has to bulldoze the obstacles and he's good. This is probably how he ended up as the leader of the group, aside from him being shown as a sort-of-main-character; while other characters are important, Tai is the driving force. He is action.

(Remember that time he tried to beat up a Bakemon?? This kid has zero chill when he's on a mission I swear)

If Izzy were in charge, they would get sidetracked by the details. If Matt were in charge, they'd likely never get very far because he has to consider the feelings of the entire group. If Sora were in charge, she would be too concerned with protecting everyone.

While Tai is basically the rocket fuel of their group, this also leads him to charging forward when other parts of the metaphorical machine aren't ready. This is why the dynamic of the whole group works so well; Tai may be hyperfocused on the end game but the others make up for the skills he lacks.

In addition to being the driving force, Tai is really good at delegating. He gives the task of figuring out the gate in Myotismon's castle to Izzy, who is objectively the best one for the job. During Our War Game, he's giving orders like a general during the fight, showing his aptitude for strategy.

Other leaders in Digimon seem to be given that title simply because they're the ones wearing the goggles, but in my opinion none of them really live up to the standard set by Tai. He may not have a deep understanding of Digimon and their world, but he has Izzy for that. He might sometimes lose himself in the end goal and forget to be empathetic to his friends, but he has Matt for that. He might be bullheaded and stubborn, but he has Mimi to be blunt and tell him what he needs to hear.

His real weakness lies in Kari; when she passes out in the desert, Tai basically falls to pieces and Izzy has to take over. When Izzy accidentally broadcasts their location, Tai flies off the handle, unprovoked, in a way that's pretty out of character for him any other time. He's haunted by the incident where Kari collapsed at the playground when they were younger, and he blames himself completely for what happened.

It's interesting to compare Tai and Matt as older brothers. Tai is very loving to Kari, and very protective, likely (at least in part) because of what happened at the playground. Matt is just as overprotective of TK, maybe even more, since he's basically rooted his entire purpose in protecting TK. Tai values Kari as a member of the team, but is still highly aware of the danger she's in. This is similar to how Matt views TK, being glad to be spending this much time with him but losing himself a little in worrying about him.

Unlike Matt, though, Tai is never really given the chance to fully confront his fear of something happening to Kari. He finds aspirin for her, but Machinedramon attacks and separates them. She's recovered by then anyway, but that's beside the point. It would've been nice to see him come to terms with his feeling of failure to protect her at all costs, but there were huge monsters to fight so I see why they skipped it.

Overall, Tai is a wonderful protag. He's courageous and instills his teammates with the energy to keep moving forward, he always has his eye on the prize, and he knows when to step aside and let someone else handle a problem he might not be well equipped for. Other shonen protags, like Ash from Pokemon for instance, can solve their problems by believing in their friends and that's it. Tai solves problems through strategy, delegating, and most of all, teamwork.