#a story about us

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a story about us

chan (dino) x female reader  wc. 15.6k warnings: profanity, alcohol, some mentions of sex, death, one hint of suicidal thoughts, some very minor gore/body horror, just a generally dark piece a/n: not really a romance fic, don’t really know what kind of story this is other than a mess of one inspired by a lot of horror movies and one horror book but wouldn’t call this piece horror either. also very extremely rusty writing

i remember a story my mother used to tell me about rage. how it bubbles beneath the surface. untouched and unnoticed. how it can burst. 

i know now what i didn’t know then: my mother was an angry woman. she dreamed of bursting into flames while singing me to sleep. 

but i knew then what i like to forget now: my father was angrier than my mother could have fathomed being. 

my mother’s stories were never stories. they were prophecies. 

oh, how i wish i realized this sooner. but nevermind that now; what’s done is done and what’s dead is dead. i must forget my mother’s stories and remember my own. i must remember before i forget. yes. i need to remember- remember my story, remember that i have one.

listen close. i need you to hear it from me

***

wandering is the only word that could be used to describe what chan was doing before he met finn. his family was wandering, from city to city, looking for jobs that would pay and work that could stick. and in each town they moved to, chan was wandering within, looking for something, someone to stay for. 

in the end, no one had. chan’s family moved away from this town, from northshore, and chan stayed. but not even his boss at the mine asked it of him. and since that, chan had been wandering around looking for a reason. 

chan didn’t stay for the town itself, although, maybe at some point in the town’s history he would have. northshore used to be a beautiful town with blue beaches and warm sand that every summer thousands of tourists would travel far, far distances just to sink their feet into. but that was before the storms started, and four years before chan’s family had even considered wandering all the way to northshore. when the first storm hit, on the eve of a new summer, it was a surprise to everyone. no meteorologist had predicted it. no northshore resident had ever seen anything like it. storms were not uncommon for seaside lands, but not during the summer season and not a storm like this. this storm was not just a storm. it was something worse, something more terrifying. people mourned the storm and the havoc like they would any tragedy, but then it happened again after that first time, and then again. and again. and again. at that point, people stopped caring. but chan remembers festering a small obsession with the storms. he read every single article he could find. each news source failed to really describe what made these storms so bad, instead focusing on the death toll from that first summer and how northshore’s reputation for tourism and sunny skies would never be that again. the news and the articles only ever focused on how much ruin had been brought to the town, how many northshore residents who had lived there for generations were leaving, and how no matter how hard anyone tries or researches, no one can predict when the next storm will be. even now, after having lived in northshore for sometime, if someone had asked chan to describe what the storms were like, he doesn’t know where he’d begin.

***

i started my story all wrong. the storms. northshore. none of it matters. the only things that matter are me, you, and finn. 

let me start again.

***

chan was a wanderer. and one day he wandered right into a storm. if anyone had asked (and if he survived), he had a lie prepared: he had heard rumors about there being an eye to northshore storms and he wanted to see if there was any truth in them. and if anyone really cared, chan also prepared the truth: he was curious about death. 

he doesn’t get to find out though because instead finn finds him, half dead on the side of the road, and takes him back to Summit. 

***

when chan wakes up, in a bed softer than he’s ever known beds to be and in wonderful linen clothes that feel cool against his skin especially in the summer heat, the first thing he notices is the heat. the second and third thing he notices are the clothes and sheets. the fourth thing he notices is the window: the sun streaming in from it warming up the already warm room and the view that sits beyond it, like a frame capturing a painted scene. chan can see the entirety of northshore just from his window, like it’s an ant in the distance beneath him. 

the next thing chan thinks is that he’s dead. 

the door swings open. “you’re up!” the boy- no man, exclaims upon seeing chan sitting up in the bed. chan must show his every thought on his cheek because the next thing the man says is, “you’re not dead.”

chan sighs. he already knew. the universe would not release him so easily, it would be too sweet. “what am i then?” chan asks quietly, mainly referring to the bed and the clothes and the view, but also silently asking the universe what it’s plan for him is. 

“alive, miraculously,” the man scoffs, briskly walking over to the bedside table and setting down a silver tray holding an ornate teapot, a tiny teacup, a small tin of sugar cubes with a silver spoon hidden within it, and a small plate with biscuits. chan hadn’t even realized he was holding it. the tray lands with a small clang. “what kind of person goes wandering into a storm anyways?”

chan stills. had he forgotten his past life so quickly? no. that isn’t quite right. he hadn’t been reborn, the memories rushing back to him now aren’t one of a past life. they’re from his life. his. he hadn’t died. he had lived. but then why did it feel like he had? why does he struggle against the memories as if they don’t belong to him. chan feels suddenly, wholly tired. the man sighs. 

“get some rest.” he says, turning his back to chan. he makes his way to the door. chan makes no protest. he should ask questions and want answers, but god, how much better it would feel to just sleep. “when you wake up you should know,” the man starts again. chan thought he already left. “my name is finn, and this is Summit.”

chan sinks into sleep. 

***

my mother was a storyteller. i keep her alive with them. it’s not hard, she had millions. but my father liked to be better than my mother. everytime she had a story, he had a different version of it. 

my mother was a storyteller. i keep her alive with them. though it’s hard, she had millions. but my father, who couldn’t even read, liked to win. everytime she had a story, he had a different version. 

there was a story they both used to tell me about good and evil. 

my father’s version: good stops and serves even the servant. evil stops not even for a rich man. 

my mother’s version: good stops and serves even the servant. evil stops to trick the servant into thinking they’re rich. 

neither version had anything to say about neutrality. 

***

chan wanders-

no. chan is done with the wandering. chan wakes up from his second sleep, and walks around the house finn had brought him too. what had finn called it again?

(summit?)

(Summit?)

yes. that’s right Summit. 

either way, chan wanders- shit, no- walks through the halls of Summit. the walls are white. almost alarmingly so. a bright shade of white and a paint job that’s frighteningly even. covering the walls are dozens of paintings, some huge, some smaller, all very expensive and important looking. chan’s never been to an art museum or gallery. he imagines it might be something like this. and even the paintings are void of color and darkness. most white, or something close enough to it. now that chan realize’s this, he also realizes that the runner he’s walking on is off-white, the furniture is white, everything his eye touches is white and bright and light. and everything is spotless. not an inch out of place. it feels like the kind of set up, where everyone has to walk on eggshells constantly. figuratively. literally. not even the dust had been given the chance to settle. finn had said before that chan wasn’t dead. oh, how chan wishes he hadn’t, because then for a small moment chan could have fooled himself into thinking this was heaven. 

and with that painful thought, chan stumbles into the grand room. 

the grand room was an open space that held the living room, the kitchen, a massive island, and a breakfast nook. everything was at least twice the size of anything chan had witnessed before. everything was white. 

everything except you and finn. 

neither of you notice chan for a while. he relishes in the moment. 

chan had seen finn before. earlier between his sleep and before in the storm, yes, but prior to those events as well. chan can’t place where exactly, but northshore wasn’t that big of a town. chan had probably just seen finn at the grocery store. chan thinks he would remember someone like finn though. he’s tall, in a way that feels like he just grew into it. he has a sloped face, but full cheeks. big eyes. and yellow hair that’s just the right shade and just the right amount to frame his face so wonderfully. in that moment, there’s no denying that finn looks golden. chan only wonders how he’s never noticed it. and as certain as chan is that he’s seen finn before, he’s just as certain that he’s never seen you. chan doesn’t know if he can find the right words for it. but something beyond the physical warns chan that if finn is golden, you are the opposite. if finn represents something as bright and white as this house, you’d be best represented by a storm, dark and lurking. 

or maybe you’d be better represented as a mind reader because at that moment, your eyes point directly at him. there’s something incomprehensible in them. “he’s awake.”

finn looks up suddenly. there’s no mistake in the movement: finn is shocked by the declaration. but then he turns his head to chan and smiles so brightly. his teeth are almost whiter than the walls. “chan!”

(chan knows now what he didn’t then: your eyes held pity.)

***

there isn’t time for this. my mother would say that i’m stalling. she’d be right. i know why. i know you do too. 

let me make this easier for us. just because i have to tell you this story, doesn’t mean we have to relive every moment. some things are too painful to think over again. 

i’ll cut to the chase:

Summit was an odd house. i always figured as much. but god, it was beautiful. overlooking the whole town, and sitting at the edge of a cliff that dropped straight to northshore’s famed sea but with a path that led down to a nice beach. Summit was a beautifully odd house, which was fitting for the two beautifully odd people it housed. the house belonged to finn, or rather finn’s family, who owned the mine. you were finn’s childhood friend or lover or both. i never asked how you two came to living there, and you both never said. and besides there were more interesting peculiarities to ask about. like how the storms were different by Summit than they were in town. they still hit the odd house, but they were lighter, softer, like it sensed the house's personality. Summit was out of touch with the disaster of the storms. so much so that finn often liked to take drives during them. i never got a straight answer for why. 

either way, on that one fateful day, i got caught in a storm, finn decided to take me in, and you decided you didn’t care. you were like that, or at least you seemed like it. detached, uncaring, unyielding. finn was the opposite: devoted, doting, malleable. (he liked to bend to what people wanted of him.) and i was something in between: attentive, observant, frail. and like that the three of us played house in Summit. 

you hated the water and refused to touch it, but finn loved swimming. finn also, like my father (and according to my mother), liked to be better than others, and so i asked him to teach me. between the lines of our lessons i learnt that not only did finn look golden, he was golden. once i mastered swimming, i learned from him how to charm, how to laugh, and how to live life like i owned it. 

but finn wasn’t my only teacher at Summit. from you i learned how to let in my darkness. i think i may have also learned what love is, but i don’t want to talk about that. finn was the golden one, but he kissed you like you were. 

from both of you, i learned to lie and swallow my feelings. that would prove to be handy. 

and then one day, in a storm that finn had been gushing would be a great wash for his car, we both learned that finn had died. 

before we resume, i have a question: 

do you ever regret blaming me?

***

after finn died, there was no ceremony. no memorial service. no burial, but of course, there’s no use in a burial if there isn’t a body. not even his family came down to collect his things. instead what happens is this: finn dies. it storms for six days. you shut yourself in the room you and finn shared for seven. chan keeps to himself. mourns silently in a small corner of Summit you’d never think to look in. on the eighth day, you come out to the grand room where chan is watching a movie. you find finn’s phone in a drawer and call his mother to tell her the news. she screams. you hang up. chan asks how you’re doing. you throw finn’s phone at him and tell him, “go fuck yourself.”

you storm out of the house then. chan knows better than to follow. instead, he watches you from the kitchen window and just observes. you’re angry, upset, understandably so, but what chan doesn’t understand is whether you’re mad at him or at finn or finn’s mother. you pace along the length of the back porch, arms straight, stiff, and swinging violently with each strut, face pointed down at the wood, and eyes burning. chan’s mother used to tell him a story about rage. he watches his mother’s words play out before him, and in all honesty, you look a bit funnier than he would have imagined. but then chan recalls how his mother’s story always ended: a burst. any humor he found in the situation suddenly vanishes. 

you yell something beyond human language, a guttural sound of anguish and despair and lost hope. chan can’t hear any sounds coming from you afterwards, but he can see the way your body sobs and chest heaves. he can see how it caves, crumbling from the outside in. the whole scene is a punch to his gut. chan liked finn, appreciated him for his kindness those months ago when he saved chan from the storm and took him in. chan even admired him and that golden quality he had about him. and so, of course chan was sad that finn was dead. but god, it was nothing like this. your scream was brief, yet it lingers in the air, bouncing around the walls of Summit and filling in all the empty spaces left by finn. 

suddenly, you’re up, wiping your face once, looking directly at the kitchen window, and screaming “fuck you, chan!” before bolting off the porch. 

the space between Summit and the edge of the cliff isn’t much, but in this moment right now with you running towards it, it feels endless. and at some point in the distance, when chan remembers that you can’t swim, his whole heart lurches. “what are you doing?” he screams, chasing after you, but it’s a wasted breath because either the sound doesn’t reach your ears or you’re ignoring him, and because, when you reach the cliff’s end, without missing a beat, you leap from it. 

you jump fearlessly, flawless. as if you’ve been doing it everyday. 

chan remembered wrong. no one ever said you can’t swim. 

but that doesn’t stop chan from watching you slip into the water masterfully and blindly following you in. 

***

my mother used to tell me a story about the gods. there were three of them. the god of day, the god of night, and the god of the transitory times in between. or, alternatively, of sun, of moon, and of stars.  or, right, wrong, and justice.  creation, destruction, perseverance.  order, chaos, randomness.  truth, lies, and and

shit. what was it

***

the water hits chan like icy slap to his entire being. it only stopped storming yesterday. the water is still freezing. he kicks his legs, forcing his body to move until his head breaks the surface. he scans his surroundings until he finds you, already paddling towards the beach. but chan learned how to swim from finn–he’s excellent at it. he takes the water by the armfulls, throwing it behind him furiously, and swimming towards you as fast as he can. he catches up to you by the time the water is at your knees. 

“let go of me!” you screech, yanking your arm away from chan’s grip. he does, but the sudden freedom makes you stumble and fall into the water. chan stands over you, breathing heavily and waiting for you to get back up. but you don’t. so chan grabs your shoulders and pulls you up instead.

“stop this!” it’s meant to be a kind plea for you to stop running, for you to sit down and talk to him. for you to confide in him and share the burden of your grief. but the wind and water create a volatile roar that makes him scream the plea out instead. 

“stop what?” you scream back. there’s a knife in your hand. chan catches its glare. “you think you know what i need? you think you know how to fix me?” your voice is barely your own, it’s deeper, like it’s coming from the pit of your stomach. “i don’t need fixing! finn was my whole life. this house was my entire adolescence. you think because you’ve lived here for a couple months you know shit? you think because you wear his clothes and drive his car, you’re him? you’re not! you didn’t know finn. you don’t know Summit. and you sure as hell don’t know me.” 

the words charge the knife into chan’s abdomen. your hand on the hilt, his heart bleeding. you’re not sorry. chan can see it in your eyes and in your face. you watch his blood stain the water red and then twist the knife, carving his organs like a pumpkin.  

and with that, you’re off, storming back to Summit. drenched. 

but chan isn’t done. he wants to ruin you as much as you just ruined him. he wants to pull out the knife in his stomach and watch it impale your back. 

“what happened that night?” he yells after you as you trudge through the sand. chan slowly makes his way to the beach. once he’s in the sand, standing ten paces away from you, he asks again, “what happened between you and finn the night he died?”

you still. chan doesn’t wear a watch. he doesn’t know how much time passes before you move again. bitterly, chan thinks about finn and his collection of timepieces. finally, after what could have been one minute or three weeks, you move, just barely. you keep your body facing the path that leads back to Summit, and only your head turns, just enough that chan can see a leftmost corner of your face. but even that much is enough to see the venom you wear. locked and loaded. 

“that night,” you spit at him, “finn found your secret diary.”

for the first time today, chan doesn’t follow when you leave.

***

(chan doesn’t like to think about the day finn died, but then why does this memory come back to him so frequently:

it’s the morning before it happens. it’s sunny and bright outside, and yet at breakfast finn had said there would be a storm coming. after breakfast, finn brings more clothes for chan. chan came to Summit with nothing, and he hadn’t returned to his old residence since. and so, finn and chan had created a routine of taking clothes from finn’s closest and giving it to chan for a bit. luckily, finn is rich. the choices are endless. finn leaves quickly after it’s done, muttering something about tending to his garden. chan puts all the clothes away, or at least he starts, but then halfway through he hears a sound and starts walking toward it. the sound, he realizes turning a corner, was of something breaking. as he nears your bedroom, he starts to pick up on bits of a hushed conversation.

“have you always had that?” you say. you sound calm, but something about the way you speak makes chan think that any normal person wouldn’t be.

there’s a scoff. then, finn’s voice: “what do you think?”

“is this about him?” you ask. you say something more, but chan doesn’t catch the rest of it. 

“no. it’s not about that.” finn says, voice raising slightly. there’s the sound of something ruffling, and a small clutter, like broken glass being picked up. “listen to me. something’s off. i can feel it. the house can too.”

the sound of glass stops at that. there’s a sigh. “i know. the storms have been getting worse.” 

finn starts saying something more about the storms when the two of you move to a different part of your bedroom, the sound of your voices getting masked by walls and doors than chan can only imagine. eventually, he hears the two of you return to the main room. there’s a small thump, like someone sitting down. for a while nothing happens. but then there’s a small sound, that sounds like it was a mistake. a near whimper that gets cut short like it was never meant to be heard. “don’t say it, finn, don’t fucking-”

“we have to do it today.”

now you’re altogether crying. “finn, please just-”

a door slams. chan runs away.)

***

later that day, after your jump in the water and fight in the sand, chan replays for the millionth time what you said. 

your right on one thing: chan doesn’t know you. the two of you had barely spoken since he came to Summit, majority of your conversations being something along the lines of ‘finn’s asking if you need more clothes’ or ‘finn’s going to the store; do you need anything?’

chan had heard plenty about you from finn. he knew what felt like mountains about your relationship with him, and yet, it was true: he really didn’t know you. flatly, chan thinks that if he could do it all again, he’d do it right. better. he’d get to know you from the start. he’d never ask finn to pick up a journal for him. and he’d never write down in words how he felt towards you in it. 

for chan’s entire life, he’s been searching for someone or something to make him feel like he was wanted, like he belonged, and for the first time, here at Summit, he thought he had found it. with you and finn and this giant house at the edge of a cliff. but now, chan can only wonder if it’s all been some ruse of kindness. there’s no question how you feel towards him, but what about finn? chan loved him. he knows that now; he can say it. but did finn ever feel anything back? if not love, then friendship? and if not that, then companionship? all those conversations between the two boys, the shared clothes, the swimming lessons, the days and hours and minutes spent lazing, did it ever mean nearly as much to finn as it did to him?

chan attempts to push these thoughts away, but instead he pushes it back and forth like a piece of sour candy. by the time the night rolls in, his mind is burned and blistered by it. 

from one corner of his eye, he can see you from a window in the hallway, sitting by the fire pit, cardigan wrapped around your shoulders, knees pulled up against your chest, and a golden glow framing your face. for the tiniest of moments, chan feels dizzy, thinking the glow is from finn. from the other corner of his eye, chan can see the keys to finn’s baby blue cadillac. he steps towards the keys thinking and overthinking about you and finn and Summit and how he never belonged in this odd house to begin with, but then beneath the keys sits chan’s diary. his whole body flushes with heat. he can’t leave just yet, not like this. 

he grabs the diary, treks through Summit until he’s outside beside you, the fire, and the fire pit. he then tosses the diary between the flames. 

finn found your secret diary. you had said when asked about the day finn died. morbidly, chan thinks: then let it die like he did. 

once the pages turn black with smoke and ash, chan turns to leave Summit for good.

“don’t go,” you say as soon as his back is turned. chan pauses. “sit down, chan. please.” 

and because it’s you, and because he barely knows you but is dying to learn, chan forgets all about the keys to finn’s car and sits down in the lawn chair next to yours instead. 

but you stay silent for longer than chan thought you would. “were you going to say something?”

you inhale sharply. “yes, i was- i am. i just…” you grimace, “don’t know how to say it.”

chan says nothing more. he sits silently with his hands in his lap. it was a nice night. the weather was finally starting to warm back up from the last storm, and with the fire and one of finn’s old high school sweatshirts, chan barely feels the wind. his eyes trail down the shore. from this spot in Summit's backyard, you can see the sea beneath. chan really loved the water, a newfound obsession that came to him while living at Summit and because of all the time he spent in it with finn. even like this, not even in the water but just sitting by it, chan feels his love for the sea pulling him in. he gives into it, relishing in the sound of the waves crashing violently against the cliff. it makes him think of finn. 

“you know what finn would say at that.” chan says finally.

“what?”

“you could start with ‘i’m sorry’.” 

there’s a shadow covering your face. chan imagines a ghost of a smile on it. 

“i’m sorry, chan. i really am. i said some horrible shit to you earlier, and half of it wasn’t true. i-” you let out a huff of breath, hands falling onto the chair’s armrests and back hunching ever so slightly, “i’m sorry.”

chan bites the inside of his cheek. “how much of it was true?”

you shift uncomfortably, pushing your legs down and pulling at your knit. “the parts about finn and Summit being my whole life.” you close your eyes for a moment, shaking your head. “it’s just hard for me now, after everything.”

you don’t say the words. chan doesn’t need to hear them. 

and besides, it’s his turn to cringe. “about my diary.” he starts. you look away. “you read it?”

“not me. finn. but i uh,” you clear your throat, “i got the gist of it.” 

chan nods slowly.

“it’s alright.” you say. “it’s not a big deal or anything. it wasn’t then either. it wasn’t even-”

chan’s pride cuts you off. “i don’t feel that way anymore.” he stares at you, unwavering. “it was just a small thing. didn’t even last more than a week.”

(chan wrote entries entirely about you for at least three.)

you nod awkwardly. “okay.”

“what about the stuff about knowing you and finn and Summit?” chan asks, desperate to change the subject. 

at this your body does an odd dance between ease and tension. “i don’t know. we haven’t really talked much since you came to Summit. as for finn,” your mouth parts as if to say something more, but then closes suddenly. the dance your body was doing ends: tension wins, and chan can see it running from your forehead to your fingertips. “i don’t know. maybe you did. maybe you didn’t. it’s really between you and him.”

“but what do you think?” chan asks as soon as the words leave your mouth. chan needs some answers before he can leave Summit in peace, and he’s not going to stop until he gets it. 

you look at him fiercely, taken aback by the question. when you speak, your voice is slow, careful, and calculated. “i think that you knew the parts finn let you see, and that there’s a lot you didn’t.”

chan can accept this answer. he doesn’t prod for more, and yet, it comes anyways. however your voice is different now, softer, quieter. the shadow from before has moved away. this time chan can see the smile that haunts your lips. 

“but i’m glad, you know? the parts of him you saw, they were the better parts anyways. i’m glad he lives like that in your memory.” you say it happily, so then why does the sound of your scream and the sight of you flinging your life into the water flash in front of chan again?

“why’d you jump in?”

you almost look happier now that he’s asked. “finn loved the water. i just wanted to be near him.”

chan thinks to say that there was probably a calmer and saner way to do it, but bites his tongue. he knows what you mean. if it hadn’t been storming, he probably would have spent the past eight days in the water as well. 

“are you okay?” chan asks thinking about how you’ve said twice now that finn was your whole life. what does that make of you now that he’s dead? “i mean i know the answer, but, will you be?”

you watch a log fall and crackle with the flames. “i don’t know.”

“i’m sorry.” chan says, although he’s not entirely sure for what.

you take him by surprise when you say, “i am too.”

“i’ll be gone by the morning.” chan watches you for a reaction. to his dismay, you have none.

“good,” you mutter, “this place is fucking haunted anyways.”

(that night, after chan has fallen asleep, he wakes to the sounds of you hauling all your stuff out of the bedroom you used to share with finn and into a new one. chan decides to stay a little longer. the next morning you don’t seem surprised to find him still there.)

***

my mother used to tell me stories about the three gods. the gods of good, bad, and balance. of birth, death, and life. of light, dark, and grayness.

she would tell me while stroking my hair, that first came the god of birth, who birthed the universe in his image. next, came the god of death who challenged the god of birth, killing their creations. those two together created time in their likeness. and lastly arrived the god of life, who brought balance to birth and death. and thus, the three of them created an order for things: first birth which was a privilege, then life which could be a million things, and last death which was an inevitability. 

but then the first god died, the second god might as well have, and the last god was the only one that mattered anyways.

***

a month has passed since finn passed away. chan’s since learned that he died in the water. a storm was on the horizon, and the water had been treacherous for days. finn was a good swimmer, better than chan, but nature is greater than one man. he fell off the cliff’s edge and into the water. 

the knowledge gives new meaning to the day you jumped.

since then chan’s also learned that before the storms started, finn’s family was losing money. northshore’s popularity was at all time high, and there was concern about how tourists would feel about the mine. there was pressure from northshore to close the mine. but then the storms began, tourism tanked, and the finn’s family’s mine was the only thing keeping northshore afloat. there hasn’t been a question about the mine since. 

also since the day chan swore to leave Summit but didn’t, you’ve been more open to him. you’re still wrecked by finn’s death and consumed by grief. but briefly during storms and only during storms, you’ll talk to chan. tell him about your life before finn and Summit and ask about his. it’s these moments that make chan stop eyeing the keys to finn’s car, make him hang the keys back in the downstairs hall, and not think about leaving Summit again. but not even those moments can scare away the feeling of loneliness that’s been eating away at chan since the day you screamed at him. 

on one evening chan finds you where the rocks give way to the sea just beneath. the same spot chan found you when finn died.

“a storm is coming.” he tells you, settling in beside you, getting comfortable even though the dark, gray clouds have already started rolling in from the east. the clouds remind chan of when he met you. it reminds him of the storm he was running from. he thinks now, that maybe all this time he was running to you, to finn, and to Summit.

you look up at the sky. the clouds cast a shadow over your face. for a moment, chan swears it’s not the clouds, but finn standing behind him and in front of you. that it’s not the weather that makes your face fold, but a ghost, a memory. chan’s all too frightened by the thought to take his eyes off you.

you turn away finally, eyes glazing past finn’s ghost and turning back to the raging water that swallowed him whole. “how long can we sit here before we have to move?”

your voice doesn’t sound sad anymore, chan thinks. it sounds like something crawled inside your body and leeched off your sadness until there was nothing left. chan wants to part his lips and press them against yours to give the small creature inside you a chance to leap into his gut and leech off him instead.

but chan doesn’t do any of that. instead of pressing his lips against yours, he presses them into a fine line, pulls his sleeve just above his watch, and tells you 30 minutes. 

“is that finn’s?” you ask, although it’s really not a question, because he knows the answer and so do you and because it’s really more of an accusation.

chan nods. you stare at his watch. chan stares at it too. and since you’re both watching the time, chan can say with certainty that 31 minutes pass before anything more is said. 

“i hate that you take his shit.”

the first drop of the storm falls on chan’s leg.

***

(later that week, once the storm ends, chan takes finn car and goes back to his old home to get his own clothes. the thing is barely there. must’ve been wiped out in one of the storms. he heads to the store instead, picks out a whole new wardrobe and hands the cashier finn’s card to pay with. the card gets declined. twice. chan leaves confused and empty handed.)

***

you leave for a couple days. chan wanders Summit alone, chipping paint off a corner of his bedroom wall and swimming for hours on end. it starts storming the night you return. 

he goes to say hi, but you shove him aside. “i don’t want to talk right now, chan. i’ll see you tomorrow.”

you go to your room, and that’s that.

the storm rages all throughout the next day. it’s a bad one. the wind is loud. louder than he’s ever heard it at Summit. but it barely touches the house. it was normal in town to see anything and everything fly away in the wind. but here at Summit, the only thing that’s moved by the wind is the toppled over fire pit chair. the gloom of storms however, Summit is not spared. an endless darkness engulfs all of northshore, even the outermost parts. it appears as night for days until the sun breaks through and the storm ends. and here at Summit, with the house that’s freakishly white, the darkness feels so utterly wrong. 

you come out of your room that afternoon. 

“i thought you went to get your own clothes.” you say noticing him still in finn’s sweaters and shirts. 

chan shakes his head. “my old home isn’t there anymore.” 

your face twists. “oh.” you don’t ask anything more. 

“i went to the store after to buy new stuff,,” chan explains, “but finn’s card got declined.” he stands up, heads over to the kitchen island where you’re standing by the open fridge, and pushes the declined card to you. 

this was how the two of you survived. in finn’s house with finn’s money. chan used to worry about how long it’d last. he no longer does that. 

you turn away from the fridge and take a long look at the card. huffing out a breath, you snatch the card up and chuck it at the trash. it misses, falling flatly on the floor. you stomp away, muttering something to yourself. chan thinks to close the fridge you’ve left open, but finn was the only one that cooked and bought groceries. there’s nothing but condiments in it. and besides, you return to the grand room soon enough.

“here.” you grumble, sliding another card towards him. “this should work.” . 

“so where’d you go?” chan asks as you scan the fridge and close it without grabbing anything.

“finn’s mother’s house.” you start brewing a cup of coffee. “she lives in the next town.”

“why?”

“she asked me to.” a spoon clinks against the mug, mixing in two heaps of sugar.

“are you two close?”

you make an odd noise, taking a sip of the coffee. “she hates me. it’s why the card didn’t work. she’s been cutting them off.” 

“does she know i’m here?”

you swallow. “yes.”

“does she want us out?”

“she made me an offer. to do something for her and her family and in exchange i could stay at Summit, keep living off their estate.”

“a job?”

“sort of.”

“are you going to accept?”

you think for a long while before answering. “i don’t know yet.” 

“what happens if you don’t?”

you ignore the question, taking a look at the storm raging outside. your brows turn down, and the ends of your lips follow suit. “i probably won’t.”

“and what will happen then?”

you snap your head back towards him. “god, chan, ever lay off with all the fucking questions?”

he does not. “what’ll happen?”

you sigh, walking out of the kitchen and grand room and making your way back back down the hall. chan follows you. “she’ll cancel all of finn’s cards, and want me to move out. but they don’t have any cameras here at Summit and she rarely comes up.”

this surprises chan. “you plan on staying.”

“yeah.” you say simply, passing by what used to be your and finn’s room.

“how long?”

“hopefully forever.”

you’ve made it to your new bedroom. you stand in the doorway and turn to face chan. chan bites his tongue. 

“what chan?”

“don’t you…” he hesitates. you raise your brows awaiting the question. “don’t you want to get out of here?” 

you take a step backwards. “you’re still here. do you?”

***

that night chan thinks over your question. 

there was a time, when finn’s death was still a fresh wound, where every night chan swore he’d be gone by the morning. a time where chan had grown tired of your grief that bled all over Summit. and even before that, there was a time when the idea of finn dying was just a morbid joke, where chan found finn’s clothes itchy and Summit too weird and white to be a home. where chan promised that he wouldn’t stay long enough at this odd house with these odd people to find out why they were the way they were. 

but that was a long time ago. and finn’s death isn’t a joke. it’s real. but at least it doesn’t bleed anymore. sometimes it doesn’t even hurt. it’s a scab that chan picks at from time to time. it’s healing in a way that’s not meant to be pretty for anyone. it’s reconstruction in its purest form, building chan up–foundation, frame, and more. and chan can’t leave Summit. where else would he go? his family is long gone. someplace far away probably, putting down roots he hopes. he had no friends in northshore. he doesn’t even have a house there anymore. chan can’t fathom leaving Summit. he doesn’t want to make a life of his own. he just wants to sit with you during storms, ask you about what was, and carefully avoid conversation of the future. it’s too easy. wonderfully simple. life has never been sweet to chan. but finally, for the first time in chan’s life, here at Summit with you mourning a life he barely knew, chan can taste some sugar cutting through the bitter.

and he doesn’t want to let that go. 

“you okay?” your voice cuts through the storm raging outside and the other one raging inside his head.

he almost smiles at the concern in your voice. it was nice to know that every now and then, you cared.

you sit down next to him at the breakfast nook, pushing a glass of water towards him. “chan?”

“you’re right.” chan was getting used to the words. the thought as well. he’s yet to prove you wrong. “i don’t want to get out of here. i used to think that i did, that i wanted a life for myself outside of this. but i never really did. all my life, all i ever did was struggle. i finally don’t have to. it’s easy here. why should i ruin that for myself?”

you nod. “i declined finn’s mother’s offer.”

chan gulps. he thinks back to that moment a month after finn died, where a storm was on the horizon and you and him sat where finn took his last breath. how long can we sit here before we have to move, you had asked. chan wonders now what you really meant. 

but he doesn’t ask it. he knows you don’t know the answer. chan thinks of the one person who would. 

“i don’t want to leave either.” you bring your hand over and cover his. it’s warm. “i’m sorry i ruined it.” 

“it’s okay.” and it really is. he doesn’t ask what finn’s mother offered you. he’s sure you had your reasons. there’s that saying: nothing gold can stay. finn died almost two months ago, but that golden quality of his has lingered for longer than chan could have wished. 

you move your hand away from his, and push them under the table, fidgeting with something invisible to him. he looks at you. really looks. at the curves in your arms and the lines in your face. you look older than you did when he first met you, more tired too. but you also look lighter, freer. how can that be? how can one person be so constantly full of contradictions? chan will never understand you. how was he ever so foolish to think he loved you?

“how about you?” chan asks in return. “are you okay?”

you shift your weight on the bench. “with finn?”

“with everything.”

you look up from your hands, and stare out the window. the endless darkness casts a shadow over your face. chan looks out too. and there, at the cliff’s edge, which is just barely visible from the breakfast nook’s curved window, he sees a figure standing. he jumps in his seat. but then you find his hand again underneath the table. he turns to you. you’re watching the same spot he just was. do you see it too? 

but chan doesn’t look back to the ghost at the edge of the cliff. he doesn’t want to know if it’s still there or if it was just a figment of his imagination. he doesn’t want to know because he knows who he saw. he learned how to swim from him.

“he made me crazy. sometimes i don’t even feel sad that he’s dead.” a wind rattles the whole house. your face turns dark. “there’s still so much you don’t know about him, chan.” 

even after his death, chan is learning from finn. 

“tell me then.” chan begs, desperate to know all the secrets you and finn kept from him. “what are you still hiding from me?”

you don’t answer. instead you hold his face in your hands, and say, “not yet. i’ll keep you safe for as long as i can.”

you leave, and chan doesn’t see you again until the storm ends. 

***

my mother was not just a storyteller, she was also a mathematician. she showed me how triangles were the strongest shape of the universe. how no matter how much weight a triangle is presented with, it won’t crumble. the three sides will distribute the weight evenly. and create balance. 

***

chan has a routine in the water: focus on two things, one that he can control and one that he can’t. today it’s his breath, a smooth and constant in and out that he counts and changes. the second thing is the sun, the way it beats at his body and claws at his skin even though he wishes it wouldn’t. it’s a hot day. too hot for a swim. but it had been storming for too many days. chan needed to get out of Summit. and besides, the water is perfect today. still cool from the storm, but calm and easy. it’s not a hard swim. but he tires from the sun regardless. 

chan makes his way to the beach once he’s sure he’ll be sore tomorrow. as he’s trudging through the shallow waters, his foot knocks against something hard. he catches a shimmer in the sun. he stares and stares and stares and–

oh shit.

he finds you in the driveway, sitting in finn’s blue car with the engine still running and groceries stuffed in the passenger seat. 

“hey.” he calls, tiredly jogging towards you. a trail of sea water follows him.

“i bought us some real food.” you muse, shutting off the engine. “how was your swim?”

he ignores the question, stopping near the passenger door. “look at this.”

you do, except that you look at it like you’ve seen a ghost.

chan doesn’t even find that hard to believe. 

you jump out of the car, and round it to get to him. “where’d you get that?” you question, voice hushed and hurried. instinctively, chan takes a step backwards. 

“in the water.” he answers. you take the object from his hands, lightly tracing its edges and carefully turning it in your hands. he watches you closely. chan has no reason to be scared that you’d use it against him. in fact, it’s probably empty, but still, chan can’t help but be unnerved by how expertly you check the magazine. 

and like everything else, chan is wrong–it isn’t empty. he gulps. “i didn’t realize they sold guns in northshore.”

you turn the safety on, and chan releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “they don’t.”

***

later that day, once the sun sets, chan sinks into a sleep. he dreams of the day finn died. he can tell by the sky, it turned purple after breakfast. in the dream, Summit feels as real and alive as it does when chan’s awake. perhaps on another day chan wouldn’t have realized that this is even a dream. but he does. because he had left Summit that day to buy groceries. chan wasn’t there when finn died. 

either way in the dream, chan roams through Summit aimlessly. without any rhyme or reason he finds himself at the kitchen within the grand room, washing an endless pile of dishes in the sink. every time he washes what he thinks is the last dirty dish, ten more appear. eventually, chan hears your and finn’s voice drift in from outside. it’s muffled. which makes sense, chan thinks to himself and the dishes, it was so windy the day finn died, but chan can still tell that the two of you are arguing. he focuses on your voices, especially finn’s. how long has it been since he heard it? suddenly, chan remembers that there’s a window above the sink. he looks up and a scene materializes–the purple sky, tall grass bowing to the wind, waves crashing violently far down the shore, the cliff’s edge as strong and silent as it’s always been and finn standing on it. chan’s whole heart sinks. it’s been so long since he’s seen him. god, chan missed his yellow hair and gold wireframe glasses. even in his dreams, finn is as golden as chan remembers. he watches finn, who’s staring back at chan. he can still hear you and finn arguing, but chan can’t see you and nothing about the finn he sees would indicate an argument is taking place. but nevermind that, because finn is smiling, waving his arms at chan wildly, and mouthing something chan can’t hear. chan drops a dish in the soapy water to wave back at finn just as wildly, yelling all the things chan forgot to say when finn was still alive and here. but then out of nowhere, with no hesitation and no warning, the sound of the argument disappears, and finn jumps. and because this is just a dream, and because chan knows how this scene ended in real life, his heart goes numb. chan races out of Summit and to the cliff’s edge. he falls to his knees at the very end of the cliff, screaming for finn at the water, screaming for him to come back, to try again, to not jump this time, to not leave chan’s life in such a hurry. but it does nothing. the water that was so violent just moments ago, is magically still now. there’s no sign of life swimming beneath the surface. chan buries his face in the ground and cries his regrets into the grass. but then a sound emerges from behind him. chan turns to find you. trembling hands holding the gun he found just today in the real world. and it’s pointed at him. chan almost begs you to just do it. but he doesn’t do that, instead he notices how your hands shake as if you’re scared but how your face is still, emotionless, and cold. like you’ve done this before. you utter one word: 

fall.

chan wakes up just before he hits the water. 

***

chan can’t fall back asleep after the dream. he spends an hour tossing and turning in bed before he gets up and heads to the grand room. to his surprise he finds you there too. he grabs two glasses of water and sits down on the couch next to you.

you only notice him once he’s sat. “can’t sleep?”

he nods. “bad dream.”

“ah.” you breathe with some hint of recognition. “i thought i was just hearing screaming.”

chan doesn’t question why you weren’t more concerned by it. it started storming while chan was asleep and screams off in the distance of northshore during storms were not uncommon. 

“what about you?”

you shrug. “just thinking.”

the two of you fall back into silence. chan looks outside, through the window above the kitchen sink and the other at the breakfast nook. it’s too dark to actually see anything, but between flashes of lighting and claps of thunder chan makes out a familiar figure standing at the cliff’s edge. he doesn’t even flinch.

“remember when you said Summit was haunted?” he turns back towards you. 

you take a gulp of the water he brought. “when?”

“a week after finn died. when we were talking by the fire pit.” 

“oh, yeah.” you say, setting the glass back down. “what about it?”

“did you mean it?” 

you stare at him for a moment, testing the sincerity of his question only to then ignore it, a half laugh-half scoff dancing underneath your voice when you say, “why? have you been seeing ghosts?”

following your lead, chan ignores the hint of mockery. “something like that.”

you roll your eyes. “god, chan, you’re so fucking serious these days.”

“i could say the same for you.” and it’s true. for both of you. 

you brush off the snip, inhaling sharply. “what do you see then?”

chan hesitates for a moment. “shadows. dreams too.”

you sigh. “that’s scary.”

some time ago, you had screamed at chan how much he didn’t know you. but a lot’s changed since then. now, chan knows when there’s something you’re not telling him. now, chan knows where and when to prod and poke.

“that’s it? that’s all you have to say?”

you flick your eyes toward him–a dare, a challenge, a game. it’s always something like that. “yeah, that’s it.”

chan can play the game. roll his die and pick a card. but he doesn’t want to. your games were never really all that fun anyways. 

he grabs the glasses and gets up to leave.

“you know, chan.” you say, voice trailing after him as he goes to the kitchen to wash the glasses. and that’s when he sees it, an empty whiskey glass sitting at the bottom of the sink. he can still smell the alcohol from it. when you speak again, there’s a silent slur that he hadn’t noticed before. “sometimes i feel like you know me better than finn ever did.”

chan doesn’t like your games, but god, you were good at getting him to play despite it.

“i don’t get dreams, and i don’t see things.” you continue. “but i hear him. when it’s late and i’m alone. when i’ve had a bit to drink. especially when it’s storming.”

chan sets down the final glass and turns back around to face the couch, his back resting against the edge of the sink. you’re still sitting on the couch, but you’re facing the kitchen and chan, forearms resting atop the back of the couch and head resting atop your hands.

“is that why you’re up?” chan asks. “did you hear him?”

“did you dream of him?” you taunt. “did you see him standing by the cliff’s edge?”

“you’re drunk.”

“no, chan, i’m not.” your voice is firm, but tired, like you really haven’t slept since finn fell off that cliff. “i had one glass hours ago and have been sitting here ever since.”

and the thing is, you’re never wrong about these things. 

“look,” you say in response to chan’s silence, “when i said Summit was haunted, i didn’t mean literally. i just meant in the sense that there are so many memories here and that with finn gone, all those memories aren’t as nice as they used to be. and–well i mean, what do you want me to say anyways? you want me to tell you that it’s finn’s ghost that you’re seeing and i’m hearing? you want me to tell you that he’s watching us like a guardian angel? you don’t think i wonder the same fucking things every night i can’t sleep? i do, chan. but for all i know, we’re just crazy and sad and desperate enough to twist anything into some sign that finn’s still here somewhere. and i’m tired of it. i’m tired of questioning whether it’s him or the wind. i’m tired of the way you watch the cliff’s edge like he’s going to appear there again. i’m tired of trying to ignore how angry i am at him for dying. i’m just fucking exhausted.”

you don’t give him a chance to respond, falling back onto the couch with your back turned to him. chan doesn’t have anything to stay either way. he repeats in his head what you said and turns back to the sink to look out the window. the figure is still there, but is it really finn? is it really anything? maybe it's just the lightning and chan’s mind playing some cruel joke on him? or more horrifically, maybe it’s just all the leftover love chan still carries for the only person to ever make him feel wanted coming back to haunt him? and for the first time since that first week after finn died, chan feels so overwhelmed with grief. chan rather have finn’s ghost scare him in dark corners for the rest of his life than have nothing. don’t go, chan wants to whisper at the fleeting shadow, stay with us. haunt us, please. 

and so this time, when he sits down next to you, instead of two glasses of water, he brings two empty glasses and the first bottle of whiskey he can find. you look at him with a raised brow but have no questions when he pours you both a drink. you down it one go. chan tries and fails at the same feat. 

you lean your back against the back of the couch and tilt your head up at the ceiling. “ask me something.”

“like what?” chan mirrors the motion. 

“anything.” 

chan thinks for a moment. “how’d you come to living at Summit?”

you pause, blink once like it transports you to an old daydream. “you moved to northshore after the storms started, so you don’t know how bad that first summer was. how unprepared for it we were.” something dark flashes in your eyes. “i was here at Summit with finn when the very first storm hit. the house had just been built, and his family was having a housewarming party for it. he snuck me in. and you know how Summit is, the way storms barely seem to touch it, it took everyone here a long while before we realized what was happening. by the time we did, we were stuck here until it ended.”

chan recalls his obsession with the storms from ages ago. “for all five days?” 

you nod. “you know that massive lake in west northshore?”

“the one with the trail around it?”

“yeah, that one.” you chuckle, but it’s not a laugh, it’s a breath of pure poison. “it wasn’t always a lake. before that first storm it was my neighborhood, with this ugly little park that had a slide which always burned the back of me and my sister’s thighs and this old man who sold shaved ice on saturdays. my house is still there under the water. my whole family too.” you blink again, daydream suffocated by something chan can’t fathom. you sit up slowly. “anyways, i had nowhere to go afterwards. finn forced his family to let me stay, and i’ve been here ever since.” 

chan watches your back. “do you miss them?”

“so little survived that first storm. i miss a lot of things.”

chan stares at the words as they fall into space and thinks and thinks and thinks about all the things you must’ve lost in those five days. 

he pours you both another glass. this time chan finds no trouble in downing it. 

“my turn.” you mutter, bringing the empty glass up to your lips. chan feels a sudden warmth rush through him. “why haven’t you left Summit?”

chan shrugs lamely. “with my old home gone, i don’t really have anywhere else to go now, and besides, it’s easy here, you know? i don’t have to work at the mine every day just to breathe.”

“you worked at the mine?” 

“yeah.”

“oh,” your brows knit together at the admission, “i didn’t know that.”

chan nods. the liquor was starting to make him dizzy and sleepy. “my family left northshore way before finn found me.”

“why not go to them?”

at this, chan nearly laughs. he can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or the absurdity of it. “honestly, they never told me where they went.”

chan can feel how tipsy he is, and that knowledge only adds to the shock he feels at how sober you sound when you say, “i’m sorry, chan.” like it’s not just an empty condolence. like you really mean it. 

chan was sorry too. for a million things. but mainly for being here at Summit. for the only person you’ve known for years dying on you. and for staying after his death. “do you miss him?”

he expects a yes. a sad one. that lingers in the air for a long while after it’s been said. after all, you yourself said how you missed a lot of things. but of course, you don’t say that. you’re full of contradictions that chan still hasn’t figured out yet.

no, instead you say, “i used to think i needed him. but at least now i know that i didn’t.”

chan falls asleep on the couch before he can remind you that you still carry three credit cards in his name.

***

chan wakes up on the couch with a blanket draped over him that wasn’t there when he went to sleep. it’s still storming, and you’re still sitting there next to him, awake. the bottle is a little less full than he left it. 

“what time is it?” he asks groggily, rubbing his eyes.

“uh,” you reach over to the coffee table and tap your phone, “a little past 3.”

“why are you still up?”

“still can’t sleep.”

chan sits up and scoots closer to you, throwing part of the blanket over your legs. 

you smile at your lap. “thanks.” really, he should be thanking you. but he hums, and sinks further into the couch still half asleep while you pull the blanket properly over yourself. 

“did you mean what you said before?” chan asks suddenly when he can feel your fingers tapping against his knee. 

“which part?”

there were hundreds of things chan could have asked then. about a dozen he should’ve asked instead. but what he asks you is, “about me knowing you better than finn did?”

you hum, like you knew he would ask. chan supposes you probably did. “i did.”

“how?”

“because you didn’t know me before.”

“before the first summer?”

“no.” you sigh, shifting your body to face him. “before Summit. i was really different before. we both were. don’t you feel it? how the house pushes at your mind and kind of tugs at you?” 

chan, in all honesty, has no idea what you’re talking about. but what he does know is how close your face is to his. how he can smell the whiskey on your breath. and how your finger is running up and down his arm. 

you inch closer to him. “don’t you feel different since you’ve been here? 

chan doesn’t answer. “is that why you haven’t left?”

you don’t answer either. instead, you lean into him. forehead first, then nose, then lips. 

a kiss, chan remembers as your lips linger there against his, that’s what they call it. 

chan used to dream of this, but he hasn’t thought of you like that for months. and it’s not like that anyways. it doesn’t feel like an act of romance or lust. it’s just one of intimacy. chan pulls away first. 

you smile softly. “goodnight chan.” 

he only hums sleepily, before getting up and heading back to his bedroom. 

***

the three gods, my mother used to tell me, created a triangle. together they were balanced and even. but then one of them died and the world crumbled beneath them. 

***

when the next storm hits, it lasts for three days.

on the first night, chan dreams of finn falling off cliff’s edge and then dreams of you jumping in after him. he finds you awake at the breakfast nook. he doesn’t ask about finn or ghosts or Summit or storms. instead he asks about your sister. and you talk for what feels like decades. 

on the second night, chan spends an hour watching finn’s shadow standing at cliff’s edge in between flashes of lightning. eventually, you find him, pushing his head and gaze away from the window and telling him to look at you instead. you kiss him again, slowly, like you’re savoring it. you push his hair out of his face and tell him, don’t make yourself suffer. chan goes straight to bed. 

on the third night, chan dreams again. this time it’s not of you and finn arguing. it’s chan and finn. it ends with chan pushing finn off cliff’s edge and you putting a bullet through chan’s head. chan wakes up and finds you in the kitchen. he doesn’t ask you anything. you tell him about what finn was like as a kid. chan cries at the memories that aren’t his. you wipe his tears. hold his face in yours hands and tell him it’s okay. he says he’s sorry. you say don’t be. you kiss him again, nails accidentally digging into his cheek. chan pulls back. it’s okay, you whisper to him, kiss me back. and he does because you asked but also because it’s not just a kiss. it’s want and need and comfort and closeness. and so many things that chan has been chasing after since his very first breath. he wants to grab the desire by the neck and hold it in his arms until his last. you lead him to his bedroom, and your bodies and minds and desires and wants mesh into one until chan can’t tell where he ends and where you begin. 

but then when you wake up, the sun is out, and the storm is over. so of course, you turn away from his naked body. and once he’s half-dressed, you leave saying i’m sorry.

***

there was another story my mother used to tell me. this one she told me when i was older, when i cared less. she told me about elements. there was water, which can disappear and reappear again and again in a multitude of forms. which you needed and couldn’t survive without. next, there was earth, which was old and immortal, which saw a thousand lives come and go, which eventually after enough people had stepped all over it would crack and crumble. then there was fire, which was a flash, a threat, and a danger but was also a comfort and a warmth, which should’ve been terrifying but god, how they loved the horror. and lastly, there was air, who they would have never existed without. 

there were four elements. but only three were visible. the last one, was an invisible agent silently acting on them all 

***

it’s tense after the storm ends. it’s like finn dies all over again, and the two of you have no idea how to interact. but it’s not just than that. chan’s angry. angry because you used him. angry by the idea that this entire time was just that. angry because there are a million things you’ve told him but another million you haven’t. angry that all he’s asked from you is the truth about you and Summit and about finn and angry that’d you give him yourself before any of that.

you come back from your grocery run and throw the keys to the cadillac at chan who’s sitting at the fire pit drying off after his swim. “car’s out of gas.” 

“couldn’t you have just gotten some?” 

you shake your head. “you have the card with cash back for gas.” 

chan almost scoffs. “so?” 

“god, chan, how about a thank you for always buying the groceries and making sure the cards get paid off?” 

he turns back towards the water, muttering, “not like it’s your money anyways.” 

you throw a shoe at his head. 

*** 

a memory from when chan was young comes back to him as he drives back home from the gas station. his parents were fighting in the kitchen, and he was sitting on the doorstep. it was what they always did whenever they fought. they weren’t the best parents, but while he was young they tried. suddenly, in the middle of their fight, a light appeared in his mother’s car that always sat on the driveway. and it bled through the entire thing. flames, chan realized belatedly. the car had burst into flames. once his parents put a finger on the smell, they rushed outside, but by then it was too late. so the three of them watched the flames eat away at their old car. 

chan pulls finn’s car into the driveway. 

“tank’s full.” chan gives you a pointed look, hooking the keys back on the panel. 

you look up at him briefly, then look back down at your phone. he pours himself a cup of the coffee you brewed and stands in front of you. you ignore him for the first moment. for the second moment, you just stare at him and he stares back. and for the third moment, you finally put your phone down and sigh. 

“what do you want? a thank you?”

chan looks from side to side, dumbfounded. “uhm, yeah.”

“don’t be a dick, chan. you always fill up the car.” you grab your phone and head outside. chan follows you. “stop that,” you mutter, stepping off the back porch and glancing back at chan who’s only two steps behind you. 

“stop what?” 

“chan, stop it.” you repeat, voice raised to be heard over the wind and waves. 

“why can’t you say it?” chan blurts as the two of you come to a halt right at the cliff’s edge. “i give you whatever you want whenever you want it. is it so unbelievable that i’d want a ‘thank you’ after that, after everything?”

you hold his gaze, head shaking just barely and mouth slightly agape. “is this about that night?” 

“no-” 

“i’m sorry it happened. if i could take it back, i would. i was-”

“it’s not about that!” he yells at you. “it’s about you refusing to tell me about finn.”

“what about him?” you fume, throwing your hands up in frustration. 

“what happened to him that day?” he asks quietly, which feels so wrong next to all the yelling, but there’s a cry in his throat that’s begging to get out. chan won’t let it. 

“i’ve told you so many times.” you’re fighting against your own throat now too–a sob, a memory, a nightmare, all threatening to spill out. 

“but, i just-” chan fails, a waver slipping itself between his voice and constricting against his heart. “we’re standing here right now, and the winds are never that strong at Summit. so, how can someone like him just fall to his death just like that?” chan thinks back to all the dreams he’s had since finn died. and the thing is, he never just falls. “in my dreams, he isn’t- i mean, maybe…did he jump or was he-”

chan doesn’t get to finish the thought because right at that moment, you grip the collar of his shirt, fabric bunching beneath your fists. you push him back, except that behind him is the cliff’s edge. and beyond that the sea. chan stares at you, horrified. you mirror the look. 

“your dreams are just dreams, okay? i was there. i watched it all happen. and i’ve told you a million times–he fell.” you inhale wildly, eyes wide and terrified. “finn didn’t kill himself.”

chan doesn’t want to fight against his throat anymore. this time, he lets whatever fly out of it. “so then why do you always sound like you’re trying to convince yourself of it?”

you gasp, not from shock, but from something else he can’t quite place. “fuck you.” you turn and start heading back towards the house.

“what are you so afraid of?” he calls after you, just before you slip inside. “are you afraid he jumped off that cliff because of you?”

he doesn’t hear any response if there is one. instead he hears the engine of the car start and watches as you drive off in it. 

***

when you come back from the drive to nowhere, it’s night and you’re sitting at the breakfast nook with a glass of whiskey. 

he apologizes, but you brush it off whispering, “aren’t you tired of this?”

chan doesn’t answer then. instead he heads to bed and thinks about the question for days and days and days. by the time an answer comes to him, a storm is on the horizon: 

he could fight with you here at Summit for the rest of his life. 

***

when the storm finally start beating down on northshore. chan and you are sitting on the couch sipping glasses of whiskey. 

chan listens to the rain and the wind. and in the shelter of Summit, it just sounds so peaceful. “it’s a nice storm isn’t it?” 

you make a sound. “you sound like finn.” 

chan smiles at that, and looks back towards the window that overlooks the cliff’s edge. “i still miss him.” chan says, staring at his figure standing there. 

you sigh, mainly out of pity and scoot closer to chan. “i know you do.” you tell him softly, running a hand through his hair. a stray nail scratches against his scalp. “chan, i-“ you start before stopping suddenly like the words got up and left, like they died too young and too fast. 

you never finish the thought. instead, you let your face inch towards his. forehead knocking against his then nose. chan remembers this. he knows what comes next, and he doesn’t want to repeat it. chan pushes you away. for a moment, you forget yourself, falling back into him and holding his face against yours. 

“stop it.” chan gets out, pulling himself out of your grip. 

you fall back on the couch, staring at him. he stares back at you with horror. “what?” there’s a venom in your voice. there always has been. he just can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realize it. “i thought you were in love with me.”

you were the crass one, but chan is the one that says, “fuck you.”

chan does love you, in so many ways. like he’s a storm, like he’s raining. but not like that and not like this. chan doesn’t want you to kiss him. he just wants you to trust him. 

he heads to the kitchen wordlessly. 

and for once, you’re the one that follows. “and now you’re running from me?” 

chan holds back a scoff. “i’m not the one that’s running.” 

you place a hand on the island, stunned. “what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“what don’t i know about finn?” 

you exhale a breath of pure disbelief. “god, not this-“

“what happened between you and him the day he died?” 

“why are you doing this to yourself, chan?” 

“doing what?” 

“the dreams and the ghosts,” you seethe, “why are you reliving that day over and over again? why are you so intent on making yourself suffer?” 

“stop.” 

“listen to me, chan.” you say, like you really mean it. and at what point did you get so close? at what point did he start being able to see the crease in your forehead? “who are you doing this for?” 

and the question breaks him into a million different pieces that he’s been desperately holding together since the day finn died. 

“for finn!” he wants to cry but the sound gets lost in his throat and comes out as a scream instead. “because i miss him. and i loved him. and i love you. and i don’t wanna forget that. and i rather be haunted by him for the rest of my life than forget what we were.” 

you step away from him, rounding the island corner and quietly repeating, “what we were.” 

chan looks up at you. you don’t look saddened by anything he said. you look troubled by it. he follows your gaze. it leads to the window above the sink behind him. it leads right to finn. or at least, a shadow of him that’s waving at you and him. but when chan turns back to you, your face has morphed into something chan has grown to hate. because he knows you and because he knows to dread whatever you’re going to say next. 

“i never wanted you here.” you utter. “not when finn brought you here and not after he died.”

for a moment, chan is stunned, staring at you and waiting for you to take the words back. you don’t. “you’re lying.” 

you shake your head. “i wish you had just left the night you said you would.” 

“if you don’t want me here,” chan defends desperately, the words coming out fast and breathless, like he’s been chasing after them, “why are you doing this to me?” 

“i’m not doing anything.” 

“you’re trying to make me think i’m crazy.” 

“you are crazy!” you scream. “only a crazy person tries to be someone that’s dead.” 

“what?” 

“you’re not him, chan.” the declaration is a slap to his face, but your voice only gets louder and harsher and angrier with each word. “you’re not finn, and you never will be. you can wear his clothes and his watches and live in his house and fuck his girlfriend, but you’re not him.” 

“you slept with me!” chan yells back at you. “you started it.” 

“oh, fuck me, chan. i did for you.” 

chan’s incredulous. “i never asked for that.” 

“yes you did.” you reply instantly. “i read all about it.” 

at this, chan audibly gasps. “you said only finn-“ 

and there it is again–venom. “i lied.” 

a long moment passes, but the whole time, he’s only thinking one thing: “why do you hate me?” 

“what?” you spit. 

“why do you hate me?” chan repeats, taking the smallest step towards you, “why are you constantly tearing me down? jab after jab. what did i ever fucking do to you?”

“i never said i hated you.” 

“no. but i bet you wanted to.” 

“i don’t hate you, chan.” 

“yes. you do.” and the thing is, he’s never been more sure of anything the entire time he’s lived at Summit. 

“i don’t.” 

“you hate me.” chan barely hears you. 

“i don’t.” he doesn’t hear your voice get louder. 

“you do.” he doesn’t hear anything. he just hears his own head chanting: you hate me. you hate me. you hate me. you always have. you always will. 

until suddenly he’s asking, “did you hate finn too?” 

there’s a slap that rings through Summit, a hard hand falling back down through empty air, and a red hot heat spreading from chan’s left cheek. 

“fuck you!” you scream.  

chan’s crying the words back. “why do you hate me?” 

“i don’t hate you! i killed him for you!” 

and the whole world seems to stop. “what?” 

“i did it for you, you ungrateful piece of shit! i pushed him off that damn cliff and he fell to his death. and i did it to save you. only for you to sit here in my house and torture me for it. make me relive the day i killed the love of my life and my best friend for some guy i barely knew.” 

the ground seems to be slipping away beneath chan’s feet. the air is getting thinner. his head spinning and throbbing. so, of course–since chan can never seem to get it right–the only thing he thinks to say is, “it’s not your house.” 

you glare at him, and your eyes look murderous. “it’s my house. i’ve killed for it.”  

“who? finn?” chan feels a heat spreading through him. starting in his gut and snaking up through his throat and around his neck. anger and realization all hitting him at once. the thing he suspected but prayed wouldn’t be true, couldn’t be, but is—finn didn’t fall of that cliff. he was pushed. and you did it. “i don’t think that’s how it works.” 

you scoff, coldly. “don’t you ever question why the storms aren’t as bad here?” 

chan stills. “i used to ask finn about it.” 

“and he would never give you a straight answer right? just spew some bullshit about how he’s lucky?” you speak hurriedly. chan can only get in a nod before the next words come out. “it’s because it’s him. the storms, all of them, ever since that first one, it’s been finn and his family and this house. they built Summit to stop the tourism, make the mines better, and themselves richer. the house controls the storms. conjures them. creates them. ends them. all this destruction. all those deaths. my whole family. killed by finn and his!” 

chan is too shocked to speak. 

“and when you first met finn did you think anything?” 

“no.” chan whispers. 

“but the second or third time you thought he was golden right? like he’s perfect? likes he’s everything you could want to be or want to have?” chan’s heart is in this throat. he knows for a fact he never wrote about that in his diary. “it’s not him. i mean i loved- i love him, but he’s not fucking golden. it’s Summit. the house poisons everyone into thinking he’s perfect so that when they die it’s fine.” 

if chan’s head was spinning before, now it’s somewhere far beyond him. and in the back of his far far away mind, chan yearns for his bed. he settles for sitting at the island stool. “everyone?” 

“we did this every year. the storms and Summit—they require a sacrifice.” 

and slowly everything starts to click into place. “you guys were going to kill me.” 

you nod, and to chan, the most insane part is how you don’t even look sorry for it. “remember the gun you found on the beach? it’s finn’s. he had it with him when he died. and he was going to use it on you.” 

chan wants to retch. he doesn’t hold it back. letting all his shock and anger and confusion wash down the kitchen sink. “why’d you do it?” 

you don’t ask him what he’s talking about. chan imagines, with the way you speak of everything, with the way you’ve been lying to yourself about his death, lying to him—you’ve been asking yourself a similar question every day. “honestly, i’m still not sure.” 

there’s silence between the two of you, and chan is grateful for it. he needs silence to think back to every day he’s spent here at Summit and realize that so little of it was real. he always wondered how he got so lucky with you and finn. he wants to laugh at that thought now. chan wasn’t a lucky person. he should have known better. his whole life has been a joke with him at the butt of it. why would this be any different? 

“how could you do this?” chan utters, mind still grasping at the thought, struggling to get ahold of it.

he isn’t asking about the sacrifices and the murders. he’s asking about himself. how could you lie to him? let him live in this house with finn? let him fall in love with him?

but you don’t answer that question. instead you say, “how could i not? i had no where else to go. nothing to do. no family. and so, i thought, maybe this is it. maybe this is as good as it gets. and i just… i went along with all of it.”

and chan’s heard those words before. this is as good as it gets. finn used to always say that. chan just thought it was a nice thing to say. but now that he hears it again, he realizes it was a threat. “maybe finn was wrong.”

“but maybe he wasn’t.” 

“he’s responsible for the death of your family. don’t you hate him?”

“of course i do.”

“then how can you–”

“because,” you say, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, “i still love him too.”

chan doesn’t say anything back or react in the moment. but some sick, twisted part of him knows exactly what you mean. chan hates finn, but still he loves him. and the two thoughts are at war in his head and his heart. he can’t tell which is winning. 

***

once my mother taught me chess. the most important lesson she told me was that the pawn was powerless, a small sacrifice to make in the queen’s game for the king’s sake. the pawn would die and be reborn and million times before any of the other pieces mourned it. that’s why there are so many of them. 

***

that night chan has another dream. it’s the day finn died, and the sky is purple. he’s washing dishes in the kitchen, listening to you and finn argue, and watching finn wave at him. and despite knowing all he did and what he planned to do that day, chan still wants to save him. he screams and shouts for finn to run, but chan can’t even hear his own voice. finn continues to smile and wave, unknowing what’s to come or perhaps accepting it. but chan bolts outside again anyways. this time before finn jumps, he sees you. hands trembling but no gun in them. the gun is in finn’s hand, and it’s pointed at chan. there’s a clap of thunder followed by the sound of finn’s car rolling into the driveway. chan can see himself driving it. he watches you watch finn and watches finn get distracted by all of it. then he watches you push finn. finally, chan watches finn fall into the ocean.

***

when he wakes up, chan remembers that you’re always right. you were right to push finn. right to not tell chan. but you were wrong to go along with it. and so, before he goes back to bed he makes a promise.  and when he wakes up, he makes a plan. 

***

my father taught me how to play chess in his own fashion. he had a different philosophy from my mother. he said that all pieces were important. he said that about pawns especially. pawns may seem powerless, but when played at the right time and right place they can kill a queen and make a king bow. pawns represent the power of a common man. you only get one chance to make a difference. 

***

you and chan haven’t spoken since that night. and chan–despite every nerve in his body telling him to bolt–stays. he endures the silence and the screams during storms and everything in between. he endures his hate. for you and finn and for this house at the edge of a cliff. but when you’re not looking, he prepares for the promise he made the night you told him everything. and when you leave Summit, to buy food and batteries according to the note you left him, chan can feel it in the air: there’s a storm coming in two days. a voice in his head tells him, now. do it now. 

he knows to listen. he opens up his closet and comes face to face with the cans of gasoline he’s been preparing secretly for weeks. 

this is his plan: burn this haunted fucking house and watch it turn to ashes. 

***

chan’s lungs are burning. he hacks and coughs relentlessly. there’s a numbness in his fingers too. a small part of him, the same part that’s begging him to run, that’s been telling him to do so since the day he arrived at Summit, wants to hold his burnt fingers and submerge them in ice. but another, larger part of him, that stayed at Summit despite it all, that hatched this plan and made this promise, tells him to continue. tells him to continue until it’s all gone forever. he listens to that part, strikes another match, throws it in a doused room, and moves on to the next. 

at last, tripping over an empty gas can and still coughing on all the smoke and regrets, it’s done. he exits Summit from the back porch and lifelessly stumbles back away from the house. he can feel its heat from here. he inspects his hands, burned and aching, but cast in a golden light. almost like it’s not just the light, almost like it’s him. chan almost laughs because it’s just as you said: after all this time, he’s still trying to be finn. 

chan notices something in the corner of his vision. a blue car. finn’s. parked in the drive and consumed in flames. 

a gun cocks behind him. 

***

chan turns and finds you there, standing behind him and at the cliff’s edge. your hands are still, and they hold the gun chan found on the beach. the nozzle greets him like an old friend.

“what are you doing?” you say, tear-streaked and watching one of the only homes you’ve ever known go up in flames.

***

my mother used to tell me a story about the three gods. the king, the queen, the pawn. water, earth, fire. finn, you, and me.

***

“what are you doing?”

but the words are a spell, a poison, a venom. they make him someone else, someone vengeful and courageous. he rushes towards you. he bunches the collar of your shirt in his hands, just as you did the last time the two of you were here. tells you he’s doing what needs to be done. but his voice isn’t his. none of this is. and you know it. you’re the one with the gun in your hands but you look terrified as if it’s him. 

you stumble on the sounds of his name. the flames reflect in your eyes. chan watches that. it brings him back. he recalls the day you jumped off this cliff. he imagines the day you pushed finn off it. he knows now what he didn’t then. life is always morphing memories he thought he could put to rest, forcing him to remember them differently, forcing him to remember in the first place. 

he grips onto your shirt tighter. “let’s end this like it began.”

your eyes widen. “chan, what are you- chan!”

he jumps. 

you fall with him. 

and he holds you against him as it all happens. your head cradled in his hands. he used to dream of this. but this isn’t a dream. and he doesn’t love you like that anymore. really. the water welcomes you and him. and of course it does. it always has. the water is finn. 

when chan gets his head back above the water, you’ve escaped from him. swimming towards the beach already, gun still in your hand. chan chases after you. he pulls you back. you shove him. kick him where you can. shove the gun in his face. do it all again. at some point, the gun fires. chan doesn’t even think you meant for it to happen. it hits nothing anyways. by the time, he makes it back to shore. chan is exhausted, smoke still crowding his lungs and fingers still aching. he finds himself on the sand, laying on his back. you’re on top of him immediately. gun gone. and hands fitted around his neck. it’s so long before he realizes you’re choking him. 

but then your hands loosen on his neck, because amongst all the chaos and pain, a sound emerges.

sirens. 

“is that a-”

“firetruck.” 

your eyes fall back to his. 

chan laughs. 

after a second, you do too. 

it’s insane. he knows it, yet he can’t stop and it appears neither can you. because somehow, chan forgot about the world outside that wretched haunted house. it’s been so long since he’s spoken with anyone but you, that he forgot anyone else existed. but here is a fire truck, meaning people are in it, ready to swallow all the flames that are currently tearing through Summit. and meaning that someone called for them. as foolish as it sounds, chan forgot that the world had more to offer than you, that damn house, and the ghost of finn. foolishly, chan believed finn to be right, but he wasn’t. it was always going to get better than this. 

“that house made us crazy.” chan laughs. you do too.

your hands never leave his neck, but your head falls until your forehead is touching his. deja vu, chan thinks to himself, as your nose knocks against his.

“yeah,” you whisper, stopping there with your breaths just mingling, “it did.”

chan sighs, and the two of you stay like that until the end of the story.

#mine #a story about us #chan x reader #dino x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #chan fanfic #dino fanfic #dino scenarios #chan scenarios #seventeen scenarios

[wasabi-gumdrop]

local ladies man’s signature move totally useless against autistic monster enthusiast. more on Kabru’s fumble era at 6

#i’ve seen so many interpretations of that 1 hr freeze frame of Kabru’s smile in ep 16 #he’s meeting his long time crush of course he’s trying to charm him #Kabru so obviously has a big fat giant crush on Laios #like atp in the story he’s tried to talk to him and get his attention so many times agjdjajdj #Laios is the human rubix cube he’s been searching for his entire life #everyone else is almost too easy for Kabru to pin down #Laios on the other hand … a treasure trove of autistic mystery #Kabru is so locked in #Kabru used signature move: charming smile #Laios: no effect! #there’s something so beautiful about the popular pretty boy entering his fumble era when his one true love turns out to be autistic #labru #laios touden #kabru of utaya #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #wasabi rambles #seen so many clock that smile as nefarious and machiavellian #baby no Kabru is just dialing the charm up to 100 and what we’re all feeling is second hand embarrassment LMAO

[gravitycoill]

lil comic i’ve had in my head for a bit

#digital art #cons art #adventure time #fionna and cake #fionna and cake fanart #marshall lee #fionna and cake marshall lee #fionna and cake gary #fionna and cake garry #gary prince #prince gumball #ice queen #fionna and cake ice queen #gumlee #also i’ve had this idea in my head but i just used the designs n stuff from ep 9 #uurrghhh i’m also such a lil nerd like erm ice queen has a dif story from simon 🤓☝️ but IDC RN…. #like most the times i geek out about ice queen being different from ice king and how she might not be simone but whatever

[autumn-may]

Mostly spoiler free summary of my viewing experience

#The boy and the heron #how do you live #studio ghibli #ghibli #in all honesty that movie was legitimately so fantastic and im like changed as a person #Story wise as well! It hits really hard if you know a bit about miyazaki and his legacy. Its a very personal movie i think #And you can feel it in every aspect #The eng dub voice actors were really good as well and the animation was beautiful as always #Also really loved the tone!!! The story really relied a bit on the use of negative space in both sound and pacing and i enjoyed that alot #in conclusion go read a article about miyazaki and his son and then go watch the movie it’s probably going to be one of my favorites #image id in alt

[jakeperalta]

letting celebrities think they can and should "use their platform" to speak on all current events and political issues regardless of how educated they are on them was a grave mistake

#i honestly think that's why half of these celebrities are just sharing around these same few wishy washy unhelpful statements #at this point it's a relief when i open an instagram story and it's just a celebrity posting about their regular stuff #like good thank you feel free to just be quiet #or just share some fundraising links if you feel a need to be helpful #but like ultimately if you have a platform of many thousands/millions #then frankly it is your responsibility to make sure what you are sharing is accurate and useful #and not just posting for the sake of posting #but instead somehow we're at the point where the more followers you have the more you are expected to just post something anything #talking

[bizarrelittlemew]

i can't wait to be 30+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 40+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 50+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 60+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 70+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 80+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 90+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to look back on my life and know that i loved things deeply and passionately and was inspired to create and was part of communities with incredible people from all over the world brought together by the stories that touched us

#and still be mad at shithead executives for unfairly cancelling my pirate show #also imagine what my ao3 word count will be like. gonna be writing my little fics in the nursing home #sometimes when i get frustrated over my writing i have to remember that i've only been doing it for a little over a year #and not in my native language #there is still so much time and so much to learn and try and discover and explore and i am EXCITED #there is something so ancient and beautiful about humans being brought together by stories #storytelling is what humans have always done and will always do and what will always connect us #to our past to the future to each other #sorry for the 1 am ramblings #fandom #🐭📓

[stil-lindigo]

HELP PALESTINIAN ARCHITECT EVACUATE HER FAMILY FROM GAZA

This is a verified fundraiser for a family of four to evacuate to Cairo. The fund's creator, Amal Abu Shammala, reached out to me personally to share this since she's failed to get her fund on Operation Olive Branch and Let's Talk Palestine's fundraising linktree.

As of right now, she has raised €2,397/ €42,000. You can see the breakdown of what the money will be used for in the fund description.

Please give generously!

#ive talked to amal myself and can vouch for her #she was so understanding about me having to verify her story first #its so bullshit how people have used the tragedy of a genocide to masquerade as palestinians in need #perhaps its selfish for me to personally advocate for only a few families in need when so many people require help #but i feel like the way i stay sane is to just. focus on one family at a time #im gonna try to do another fundraising event (?) soon idk how successful it'll be #i just dont have enough money man #palestine #free palestine #free gaza #donations #gaza #rafah #khan younis

[blluespirit]

there are so many amazing and powerful benders in atla but what i love about zuko is that whether or not he can use his bending in that moment has zero (0) bearing on how much he’s going to absolutely kick your ass. no bending? that’s fine - he’s got swords. no swords or bending? that’s fine - he’s literally just going to beat you up. if you’re REALLY unlucky then you get all three. as a treat.

#like he’s surrounded by these amazing benders. #azula who’s a prodigy #the literal avatar #katara who mastered water bending in like -3 days #(literally iconic of her tbh) #and zuko IS a great firebender (his abilities as a firebender improve as his story progresses) #but it just absolutely cracks me up when i remember zuko will just. not use his bending sometimes #anyway zuko alone fight was special bc he really said i will use all three bc ur special 🤭 #zuko #avatar the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender #atla #jack talks #where’s that post that’s like zuko is a prodigy but his special skill is breaking and entering and he can’t tell anyone about that

[s0fter-sin]

people are acting like we’re saying creators shouldn’t be paid for their work; they absolutely should. and watcher already is. they have a patreon, they get sponsors, their videos regularly get millions of views which gives them ad revenue, they sell merch; they are getting paid. feeling indignant and disappointed that they’re asking us to pay for content we were already getting for free isn’t entitlement, it’s expected. ​they wanted to make bigger produced shows and now their budget can’t sustain it, that’s not on the viewer to make up for

#im not going to feel as sorry for the company as iam for an artist working out of their bedroom #they went too big and now expect us to make up for it #its normal to feel slighted by that #im not paying over a hundred dollars a year for a guy to eat food another to walk around a house and a puppet to tell a story #im just not #their shows are entertaining theres no doubt about that but can you really say its worth that fee when we are in a cost of living crisis #coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt #watcher #watcher tv #shane madej #ryan bergara #steven lim #hey there demons it’s me ya boy #ghoul boys

[nerdpoe]

Jack and Maddie Fenton got in trouble with CPS after Danny's accident. The portal was shut down, Vlad was deemed mentally unfit to adopt, and Danny and Jazz were adopted by a kind farming couple in Kansas.

Danny and Jazz kept Danny's powers a secret from the Kents, as the Anti-Ecto Acts were still in effect (they were one of the first laws abolished with the initiation of Meta Rights) and they didn't expect a farmer couple to readily accept a superpowered teen.

Then Clark crashed into their life.

Danny loved being a big brother, and when Clark started showing powers? Danny refused to let him think he was alone.

Clark was taught how to fly from his big brother Danny. Clark was taught strength control and how to control his power from Danny.

Danny ended up being Smallville's local Engineer, giving up going to college so that Clark could go. Farming didn't pay a lot, and they'd only saved up for one kid, really. Danny couldn't get a scholarship, his grades weren't good enough. Jazz did get a scholarship, so he didn't have to worry about her.

So Danny stays on the farm, inventing a million odd little things until the Kent farm is the best defended farm in the world.

And Clark...Clark feels guilty. He feels like he robbed his big brother's chance at higher education.

Then Clark meets Batman.

Batman, who is Bruce Wayne's sugar baby.

Bruce Wayne, who has a lot of grants and scholarships to get people into college.

Batman stops Superman mid-pitch and leaves, only to return with Green Arrow.

"No Supers allowed in Gotham, talk to Green Arrow about grants."

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #story prompt #phanfic #jazz and clark have been saving up to put danny through college #but college is expensive and they want him to go to the best #which means it's super expensive #so by the time clark meets batman #he and jazz estimate they've got about four more years of intense saving before they'll have enough to pay #and he'll have to room with one of them #but they're both ready and willing #bruce is torn #because superman has a brother he wants to put in college #but also #that's superman's brother #he cannot use any of bruce wayne's money to get that man in gotham university #because if there's a scarecrow attack and a SUPER gets caught up? #hell no #but also higher education #semi story #ficlet #yes anyone can continue writing this #go ahead #finish ittttttttt

[wavesmp3]

#i love giving crumbs #if everyone remembers those two screenshots i posted a while ago.. im still working on that! #now that my semester is over #i can properly work on it a bit more #but the plot is unfolding itself into something much longer and larger than i had originally intended it to be so we shall see #hold on im thinking #me.txt #a story about us

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Bonus 8: How met your mother (CSSR design by @qourmet!)

[First] Prev <–-> Next

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #cangse sanren #wei changze #jiang fengmian #It was important to me that WCZ had the hereditary mole. I will die on this hill. #I have been *waiting* for the day to finally arrive when I could finally make this comic. It's been marinating for months. #My mission is to redraw all of qour's character designs one day. They are just *that* good. #CSSR has the vibes of a wandering menace who shows up in towns like a stray cat arriving at a new doorstep for treats. 10/10. #While YZY strongly leads us to believe that JFM was in love with CSSR and that's his whole motivation behind taking wwx in- #-I do think this is (once again) rumour being presented as reality. It's the juicer story to tell after all. #It is still possible that he did love her! But I think that story undercuts the relationship he also had with WCZ. #Yall ever think about how JC and WWX parallel their fathers? How Wei Changze also left the Jiang Leader's side? I do. #Unlike JC though It is far more hilarious and plausible to imagine JFM begging to be CSSR and WCZ's third. You know he would. #My wild headcanon is that JFM and YZY are in a mlm and wlw arranged marriage situation. Deeply unhappy as partners. Better as friends. #they care for each other and I'll admit that there is a beautiful tragedy in them having romantic feelings for each other the whole time. #But I am also here for the gaffs. Let them be unfulfilled homosexuals together. #Meanwhile cssr and wcz are having incredible hetrosexual sex in a bisexual way that WILL leave him pregnant by the end of it.

[egophiliac]

Tl;Dr - I stopped playing the game but I like the characters and I wanna draw them but idk if the wiki I use is up to date for cards

Do u know any wikis that have up to date cards for all the twst characters-

Asking specifically bc of Malleus cause I can't tell anymore if he has any more new cards bc HE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A 100 DISNEY ANIVERSARY CARD IN THE WIKI I USE 😭

Like compared to everyone else in Disanomia, he has 12 cards (in the wiki I use) and then Lilia has 17 cards 💀

Cause I think Malleus has a Bean's Day card as well, but that could just be a fanmade one, I don't have JP twst nor ENG twst anymore so I can't confirm it myself urhghrhevw 🫠

Malleus doesn't have a Beans Day card, so that would've been fanmade! and the 100 anniversary cards are actually the new round of birthday cards, so most of the characters don't have 'em yet -- Malleus should be getting his in a couple of days, when his birthday event starts! oh god my keeeeeys

I think the wiki.gg stays pretty up to date? it looks to me like they have everything that's currently up through JP, at least. :O I did go through and do a quick count just because I couldn't believe Malleus only had 12 cards, but. he really does have the least...defeated only by Silver with 13...astonishing. we need his gargoyle club wear immediately.

#art #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #...maybe? tenuously? i have no idea #i think lilia and floyd are tied for the most at 18 each #twst loves the chaotic gremlins #granted card quantity is separate from card rarity/significance/whatever #i remember all of us losing our minds when vargas camp 2 came out and trey FINALLY got an event ssr after a million years #anyway i am looking forward to the upcoming magift cards and all don't get me wrong #but i am VERY VERY excited to see what the gargoyle club wear looks like #i NEED to 1) know what malleus thinks gargoyle fashion is and 2) see him in it #jade is also in a weird club by himself but at least that. y'know. has a gear theme and everything. #tangentially i do sometimes think about the fact that malleus and jade are both in single-member clubs #despite how in...i think lilia's robes story the music club was in danger of disbanding because they only had three members #although i do genuinely believe that crowley is too scared of both jade and malleus to tell them they can't have their clubs #so y'know. it tracks.

[thedreadvampy]

Losing my shit about this article in which a transphobic Tory was so busy panicking about existing in the vicinity of a Trans that she almost certainly misheard "jeans" as "penis" and decided that not only was this a problem with the other woman, but also that the world must be informed of this pressing danger.

"a trans woman! I had to stand directly behind her....I thought, 'this is going well', I'm handling The Situation fine'..."

translated: I saw a tall woman with broad shoulders. How would I get out of this alive? I thought. she has a PENIS. PENIS PENIS PENIS. through some force of PENIS I mean will I managed to PENIS behave normally towards her. My hands were PENIS PENIS PENIS shaking as I tried to dry them. summoning up all my PENIS courage I said 'dryer's crap innit'. she turned to me and said " yeah I'm just goiPENIS PENIS PENIS"

It's been a week and I'm still shaking. This proves trans women are the problem and I'm not weird. I'm fine. It's fine. If you think about it I'm the hero hePENIS!!!!!

very this

#red said #it's just. I'm obsessed. #everyone on Twitter is saying 'never happened' and i think they're wrong #this absolutely did happen and she's been obsessing over how vindicated it made her feel enough to WRITE AN ARTICLE ABOUT IT #because she MISHEARD SOMEONE IN A CASUAL CONVERSATION #i lay out my reasoning thusly: if you were INVENTING a scary trans woman in bathroom story out of nothing. why would it be this? #why would you go with 'we had a banal conversation until she said a sentence that makes no sense and that no human has ever uttered #but which does coincidentally sounds almost exactly like a mishearing of a very NORMAL thing to say in the circumstances #then she left and nothing else occurred' #if you were going to INVENT a story you would probably make it MAKE SENSE or SOUND THREATENING #i truly believe this is a very authentically told account of what she thinks happened #because who would. by means other than mishearing. think 'I'm going to wipe my hands on my penis' makes any sense at all. #a) 'I'm going to dry my hands on my genitals' says the presumably fully clothed woman #b) who then proceeds to leave without doing anything threatening #c) WHO SAYS PENIS THREATENINGLY? sorry it's writing out 'penis' repeatedly that made this jump out to me but like. who says that? #you might hear someone talk casually about their dick or cock but i stg it's only doctors and TERFs who casually use the word penis much #it's so. clinically descriptive. it's a weird use of language. but it IS. something you could plausibly mishear from 'pants' or 'trousers'

[novelconcepts]

The defintion of hell is knowing a show is incredibly well-received in its first season, but if people don’t become machines churning out tweets, content, and rewatching 24/7, there’s no likelihood it’ll get a chance to tell its whole story. This shit is madness. Shows in different genres shouldn’t have to pit-battle for dominance. First seasons are MEANT to be baselines establishing worlds and characters, not complete storylines. The idea that this golden age of television has turned into “get it done in one or get out” is revolting.

#the sandman #paper girls #some of the hot takes on Twitter are breaking me #‘why don’t we know the whole story? it’s bad writing if you don’t have a complete story in the first season’ girl WHAT since WHEN #how many excellent shows were weak as fuck in S1?? and here we’re getting shows with incredible first seasons fighting for their lives #like fuckin Christ dude the idea of long form storytelling is allowing your story time and space to spread out #otherwise we would only make movies #i am so sick of this edge of my seat fear that any new show I fall in love with will get axed because the higher powers don’t care about art #this has to be a bubble right? this has to pop at some point and go back to shows valued on what they are #and don’t even get me started on creators having to beg for good reviews to balance out review-bombing from shitheads #if every one star review is clearly bigoted from the comments? why is anyone taking them into account?? #why is there no way to manage this shit aside from creators being like ‘please help us”’

[coffeenonsense]

I rarely post personal stuff on here but irl I'm a writer whose work covers tech and AI quite a bit and with the WGA strike ongoing, I really want to stress that the reason Hollywood execs and higher-ups think they can just replace writers with chatgpt or have someone come and edit AI generated text is because they already think writing is that easy.

these people look at their shows, movies, etc as marketable (re, profitable) content so all they are watching for is "okay this show performed badly" and "this movie performed well" and I can promise you in a boardroom the quality, the time and effort that went into the actual writing is NEVER discussed as a contributing factor when it comes to the difference between those two things.

That's also the reason tools like chatgpt seem like magic to these people, because they've devalued the act of creation and everything that goes into making something that resonates with its audience, so naturally something that can scrape the entire digital world and spit something out that falls in line with what you asked seems like a wizard's spell, because they ALREADY think of writing as an afterthought, something where they just go "I need a show that appeals to the 16-24 age range" and writers can just fill in the blanks and they won't have to PAY PEOPLE for that.

There's a vast difference between art and content, and if you want to see more of the former, you should be furious they're trying to replace writers with what is essentially a programmable template generator. Pay your writers.

#wga #wga strike #ai is a great tool if you want to make a mass marketable thing that will offend the least amount of people and say nothing of interest #but if you want to use it to make an actual story people are going to actually care about...welp #pay your goddamn writers