#almost screamed when i saw this... its so accurate...

[rrxnjun]

potential • z. chenle

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

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

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

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

The music is loud. The weather is humid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or we could stay up a little longer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna walk home with me instead?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a while, your words turn bitter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, that’s something to worry about later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean, what else is there to say?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not what I said–”

“But you implied.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh come on, I need to know!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And again, Zhong Chenle isn’t stupid. 

But for a second, he acts like he is. 

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

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

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

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

“I think you have to leave.” 

Numb, you follow the orders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chenle–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Expected me to ignore you?” 

“Kinda,” you admit, snickering.

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

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

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

“Chenle–”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Don’t wanna make you sadder.”

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

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

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

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

“In what way?”

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

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

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

“You know why, Chenle.”

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe,” he agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he doesn’t.

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

#nct dream #chenle #nct #nct x reader #chenle x reader #chenle angst #chenle fluff #chenle oneshot #chenle fic #chenle imagine #chenle fanfic #chenle best friends to lovers #chenle au #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream x reader #nct fluff #nct angst

[judesmoonbeauty]

2024 Villain’s Festival: Jude Jazza Bonus Story Part 1 ♛

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do NOT post my translations elsewhere. Please note, I will translate what I am able to obtain during the event. This is a two-part story with part two only available to those who rank. I can not guarantee I will receive part two. Part 2 was achieved.

Translation notes are marked with *** Alternate translation is marked with///

Kate: Haa…

(Yesterday, Victor's momentum got me nodding my head…..)

(It's a lot of responsibility to decide where all that money goes.)

Starting today, I’m sure they’ll go after my heart any way they can for the bonus.

(But, I don't think I can stand the thought of being targeted for a while….)

I think I understand a little better now how the criminals targeted by the Crown feel.

I'd like to hide myself at least for the morning to prepare my mind.

(Okay, I got out of there without anyone finding me….!)

(Let's just stay out here and kill some time and go back in this afternoon.)

???: Where are you going out so early in the morning, Princess?

(This voice is…?)

Kate: Jude…?

I slowly turned around and saw Jude standing at the gate under the dazzling morning sun.

(I knew it was Jude. But there was something wrong with the way he just spoke.)

Jude: What’s wrong? You’re making a strange face.

Kate: What's wrong with…..the way your talking?

Jude: You’re curious?

Jude: I wondered if this way of speaking will make you like me more.…..

Kate: Huh? Like?

Jude: Ah...I almost forgot. I bought this because I thought you would like it.

He hands me a paper bag, manipulating his beautiful Queen's English even though he is not at work.***(See T/L at the bottom).

It was a paper bag from my favorite bakery. The bag was warm and smelled good, as if it was freshly baked.

Kate: I can have this?

Jude: Of course. I bought it for you.

Jude: I just think it's a bit much for one person to eat.

Jude: I'm hoping we can have breakfast together…..what do you think? 

Kate: “What do I think”?!

(I can't believe you asked me for my opinion…..!? Who is this, could it be prank ......!?)

It was almost as if Victor would jump out and say something like, "Yeah! It was a huge success!

Jude is being totally strange right now.

Kate: Um, have you been working too much? Or did you hit your head?

Jude: What makes you think that?

Kate: Because you’re acting too strange! I think you should see Roger!

Jude: Am I sick? There's nothing wrong with me……but if so, I hope you’ll take care of me, Kate.

Jude scooped up my hand in a flowing gesture and dropped a kiss on its fingertips.

Kate: Eek….!!

Jude: …….

I thought I saw a vein on Jude's temple rise when he saw me scream.

I may have seen it wrong, though, because it disappeared in an instant.

Jude: I've only recently fallen for you by accident, so it's no wonder that you’re surprised.

Jude: What do you think? What if we went on a date for the day, and I let you know how I feel about you?

(Oh, he stared acting strange since today...... perhaps, without a doubt.)

Kate: Jude, did you do something elaborate like this just to collect all the bonuses?!

Jude: No way….

Kate: Because, even if heaven and earth were to topple over, there’s no way that you would fall in love with me, Jude. 

Jude: ……..

Kate: See, I knew it!

Kate: If you can get money just by spoiling me, you’d think it’s worth the money! 

Jude: Haa…..***(See T/L note at the bottom)

With a sigh, the mask of the pasted-on smile crumbled.

Jude: Ya know exactly what I’m doin’….If ya know that much, then give me what I want.

The sweet atmosphere from earlier has completely changed. Jude shoots me a sharp look.

I felt a little relieved because his eyes, which held a dangerous light, were the same as usual.

Kate: Give it…..

Jude: The winner's necklace. Ya wear it, don'tcha?

Kate: I will not give it to you!

Kate: This is my very heart and I will not give it when threatened. Because those are the rules. 

Jude: Tsk, how annoyin’. If you're gonna talk about rules, whaddaboutcha, who tried to escape from the review?

Kate: I’m not trying to escape….

Jude: If ya weren't gonna run away, where were ya goin’ to go out so early in the morning?

Kate: That’s…

Jude: Oh, I remember now. Ya were gonna go out with me, weren'tcha?

Kate: What? I didn’t promise that….

Jude: Is there any other reason why ya left the castle so early in the mornin’ other than your plans with me?

Jude: I can't imagine. Why don't we ask some of the other guys?

Kate: Is that...a threat that if I don't go out with you, you'll reveal that I tried to run away?

Jude: If that's whatcha think, then that's whatcha think.

Jude: So, whaddya doin’ today?

Kate: …….

Kate: I'm going out with you Jude.….

As I gave up and accepted the proposal, Jude smiled wryly, as if convinced of victory.

***Queen’s English. This is a literal translation. According to Cambridge Dictionary: the English language as it is spoken in the south of England, considered by some people as a standard of good English. Essentially, Jude is speaking proper, well-educated English when trying to woo Kate. 

***I believe it's self-explanatory, but I went all out on his informal speech just to contrast it with his proper English that was described as beautiful by Kate.

[Next] [Master List]

#Ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil translations #cybird translations #ikevil spoilers #ikevil jude #jude jazza #ikevil jude jazza #ikemen jude #ikemen jude jazza #ikevil jude translations #screaming crying throwing up

[lurking-latinist]

I just saw this awesome post about including mobility aids in fantasy writing, and I do not want to create a tangent but I *do* want to share some things I learned about disability in ancient Greece when I was researching that paper I wrote on the Philoctetes, so I am making my own post.

Philoctetes is a mythical figure who was one of the Greek heroes going to the Trojan war. Before they got there, he suffered a wound in the foot which would not heal. The other Greek leaders were unwilling to have the noise of his screams and the stench of the infected wound in their camp, so they abandoned him on a deserted island with only his famous weapon, the Bow of Heracles. He survived there for ten years. Now the war is almost over, Troy has almost fallen, but the Greeks have heard a prophecy: they cannot win until they have the Bow of Heracles. So wily Odysseus and young Neoptolemus (the son of the recently dead Achilles) go to the island where Philoctetes is still living, still dealing with his injury. Philoctetes is eager to escape the island, but can he trust the community that abandoned him ten years ago? Can they ever make right what they did to him?

Now that’s the type of story that someone might very well point to who was arguing that disabled people have to be neglected and excluded in a “historically accurate” story. And it’s definitely not an example of casual inclusion. But what that person would be missing is that Philoctetes’ abandonment and isolation in this play was intended to be shocking to its Athenian audience. The audience is invited to identify with Philoctetes and to be horrified at how he does not receive the support from his community that real-world people with similar disabilities did receive, as we can tell from both textual and archaeological evidence.

Martha L. Rose’s book The Staff of Oedipus: Transforming Disability in Ancient Greece emphasizes this. Look, here’s what I wrote in my paper, why should I rewrite it:

Rose approaches her material “though the lens of disability studies, which approaches the phenomenon of disability by assuming that there is nothing inherently wrong with the disabled body and that the reaction of a society to the disabled body is neither predictable nor immutable” (1). In other words, it is necessary to see what attitudes and assumptions about disabilities are actually recorded, rather than projecting any of our own assumptions. ...

Also unlike today, Greek concepts of disability were not medicalized. “Permanent physical disability,” writes Rose, “was not the concern of doctors in antiquity beyond recognition of incurability” (11). This does not mean that disabled people had no resources or were simply left to perish, of course. Rather, they were often cared for within their households and their communities (28), which means that both Philoctetes’ abandonment and isolation form a shocking exception to the norm. The importance of community support suggests that Philoctetes’ joy at being reunited with humanity comes from practical as well as emotional needs. At the same time, the wide range of tasks and trades in the Greek economy meant that many disabled people were far from economically dependent (think of [the god] Hephaestus the lame smith), so that “[a] physically handicapped person earning a living would not have been a remarkable sight” (39). People unable to walk at all rode donkeys or were carried in litters, while those who walked with difficulty used a staff or a crutch (24-26).

So for writers: the ancient Greeks didn’t invent the wheelchair--but they had the wheel technology (I suspect the issue may have been with roads and pavements instead), so your Greek-inspired fantasy world totally can (which was the point of that earlier post). Or maybe your protagonist goes on their adventures with a faithful donkey sidekick that helps them get around. Maybe they are respected for their skill in a craft, making their home and workshop a lively meeting-place for customers. If you’re writing fantasy, you could be inspired by one of the myths of Hephaestus, in which he creates metal automatons--basically, magic robots--that not only support him as he walks, they also act as assistants in his workshop!

Anyway, the point of this post is basically just that I agree with the other post about including mobility aids in fantasy and I had some relevant knowledge in the back of my head. And also that you should read the Philoctetes. Look, here’s a recent free modern English verse translation: https://johnstoniatexts.x10host.com/sophocles/philocteteshtml.html

Oh, and if you would like to see my term paper or the relevant section from The Staff of Oedipus, message me, I will share them.

#philoctetes #writing #I should add that Rose also has information about things like blindness and deafness in her book #I just happened to be writing a paper about mobility

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Aaron Benner

Published: Oct 2, 2015

I have been an elementary teacher almost all of my adult life, mostly in St. Paul Public Schools. First and foremost, I teach because I love kids, I love schools, I love our city, and I really love what happens when a group of kids becomes a community in a classroom and a school. For this to occur, everybody has to play a part — parents, students, teachers, building and district administration, and the broader community. As a black man, it breaks my heart to watch these communities fall apart and to see some children who look like me behave so poorly in our schools.

In 2011, I addressed the St. Paul School Board. At the time, I told them about my concerns with student behavior at Benjamin E. Mays Elementary School, where I taught sixth grade. I hoped to start a discussion about what I was witnessing. Although the media paid some attention (likely because my race made for an interesting story), the school board ignored me. I addressed the board again on May 20, 2014, regarding the same issues, but this time I was aware they were happening districtwide. Four other brave teachers accompanied me. The school board ignored us again and tried to paint us as anti-racial equity.

From 2013-15, I taught fourth grade at John A. Johnson Elementary (JAJ). The behaviors that I witnessed last year at JAJ were far worse than what I complained to the school board about in 2011 and in 2014. On a daily basis, I saw students cussing at their teachers, running out of class, yelling and screaming in the halls, and fighting. If I had a dollar for every time my class was interrupted by a student running into my room and yelling, I’d be a rich man. It was obvious to me that these behaviors were affecting learning, so when I saw the abysmal test scores this summer, I was not surprised. Out of 375 students, only 14.3 percent were proficient in Reading, 9.6 percent in Math and 9.3 percent in Science. These test scores are not acceptable in any way, shape or form.

I diligently collected data on the behaviors that I saw in our school and completed behavior referrals for the assaults. These referrals were not accurately collected. The school suspended some students, but many more assaults were ignored or questioned by administrators to the point where the assaults were not even documented. I have since learned that this tactic is widely used throughout the district to keep the numbers of referrals and suspensions low.

The parents who complained to the school board last year about behavior at Ramsey Jr. High know all too well about behaviors being ignored. The students of SPPS are being used in some sort of social experiment where they are not being held accountable for their behavior. This is only setting our children up to fail in the future, especially our black students. All of my students at JAJ were traumatized by what they experienced last year — even my black students. Safety was my number one concern, not teaching.

Who would conduct such an experiment on our kids? I blame the San Francisco-based consulting firm, Pacific Education Group (PEG). PEG was hired by SPPS in 2010 to help close the achievement gap. PEG makes no secret of the fact that its prescription for closing the gap is based on the Critical Race Theory. This theory argues that racism is so ingrained in the American way of life — its economy, schools, and government — that things must be made unequal in order to compensate for that racism. PEG pushes the idea that black students are victims of white school policies that make it difficult or impossible for them to learn. So, when a black student is disruptive, PEG, as I see it, stresses that it’s not their fault, and the student should just take a break, and then return to class shortly thereafter.

Racism and white privilege definitely exist, and there is not enough space in this paper for me to share all of the humiliating encounters I’ve experienced that are a product of racism. But to blame poor behavior and low test scores solely on white teachers is simply wrong. However, it’s the new narrative in our district, pushed by PEG.

I recently dropped out of the St. Paul School Board race to focus on my new job at a charter school, but I’m still concerned with the current state of SPPS and the direction of the school board. Here’s what I think should happen: First and foremost, the newly elected board must sever ties with Pacific Education Group. PEG has charged the taxpayers of St. Paul $3 million over the last five years. According to some reports, SPPS has matched PEG with $1.2 million. What are these matching dollars used for? It is crucial to understand that behaviors throughout the district have escalated to the point where we are at a crisis in St. Paul. PEG is not working. To add insult to injury, two weeks ago, the St. Paul School Board had the audacity to set the ceiling of next year’s tax levy 3.85 percent higher than the current year. Tax increase? This must be a joke.

Racial equity and closing the achievement gap, the correct way, are commendable goals. However, PEG’s idea of racial equity is NOT the answer. PEG stresses black culture and nothing else. What is black culture? Did PEG survey the black community of St. Paul and ask what behaviors should be acceptable in our schools? I don’t recall filling out any surveys or receiving any phone calls regarding this topic.

Because of PEG, we have forgotten about our Asian, Latino and Native communities. The St. Paul Public School district has the second most diverse school population in the country (New York City is ranked No. 1). For the record, Asians make up the largest minority group in our schools. PEG has influenced this district on major policy changes, from questionable behavioral guidelines and hiring practices to the creation of new positions with jargonistic titles.

We now have “Cultural Specialists” and “Behavior Specialists” throughout our schools. An overwhelming number of these specialists are black, and it’s not clear to me what their qualifications are. Their job seems to be to talk to students who have been involved in disruptions or altercations and return them to class as quickly as possible. Some of these “specialists” even reward disruptive students by taking them to the gym to play basketball (yes, you read that correctly). This scene plays out over and over for teachers throughout the school day. There is no limit to the number of times a disruptive student will be returned to your class. The behavior obviously has not changed, and some students have realized that their poor behavior has its benefits.

St. Paul Public Schools is in desperate need of true behaviorists to replace these “specialists.” Licensed therapists who are trained to help change and replace inappropriate behaviors. I expect that PEG would never go for this because it would contradict their excuse that “black culture” accounts for such behaviors. The newly elected school board can change that.

Another action the newly elected school board must take is to visit schools, listen to teachers, and offer them much-needed support. Teachers are currently fending for themselves when it comes to behavior concerns. Part of my frustration is with the leadership of the St. Paul Federation of Teachers. The union is so concerned with getting along with the district that they are paralyzed when the hundreds of teachers they represent bring up the issue of behavior. This needs to change.

PEG and SPPS are harming the very people whose interests they claim to represent. Follow the money. The taxpayers of St. Paul should demand to know who exactly is benefitting from PEG. Students definitely aren’t.

Aaron Anthony Benner works as the African- American Liaison/Behavior Coach and Community of Peace Academy, a public charter school in St. Paul.

--

By: Victor Skinner

Published: Sep 24, 2019

Aaron Benner, a black teacher from St. Paul, Minnesota, won a large settlement with the St. Paul School District last week over retaliation he faced for speaking out against the district’s race-based student discipline policies.

Benner argued the investigations came in retaliation for complaints to the school board about race-based student discipline policies implemented by then Superintendent Valeria Silva and promoted by President Obama. The discipline policies aimed to reduce suspensions of black students by lowering the expectations for behavior and increasing the threshold for suspensions, something Benner repeatedly, publicly argued was against the best interests of black students.

The “restorative justice” approach to student discipline was accompanied by “white privilege” teacher training sessions that cost the district taxpayers more than $3 million. Those sessions focused on the “white privilege” theory that the public education system is hopelessly stacked against black students, who shouldn’t be held accountable for poor academics or bad behavior.

In St. Paul and hundreds of schools across the country, the “white privilege” training sessions were conducted by Pacific Educational Group, also known as PEG.

“PEG was hired by SPPS in 2010 to help close the achievement gap. PEG makes no secret that its prescription for closing the gap is based on the Critical Race Theory. This theory argues that racism is so ingrained in the American way of life – its economy, schools, and government – that things must be made unequal in order to compensate for that racism,” Benner wrote in a 2015 editorial for the Press.

“Peg pushes the idea that black students are victims of white school policies that make it difficult or impossible for them to learn,” Benner wrote. “So, when a black student is disruptive, PEG, as I see it, stresses that it’s not their fault.”

Benner refused to accept that black students are less capable than their white classmates and left the school district in 2015. Benner taught at a local charter school and was later hired for a administration position at the St. Paul private school Cretin-Derham Hall, according to the Star Tribune.

After years of complaints from parents, teachers, administrators and others about violent and disruptive students running rampant with impunity, St. Paul school leaders eventually got rid of Silva and scrapped the failed student discipline policies.

Last week, the school board settled up with Benner, though the district denied any wrongdoing.

“This agreement enables the district to avoid the time, expense and uncertainty of protracted legal proceedings regarding its previous policies, practices and expectations,” board members wrote in a prepared statement.

The district contends taxpayers are responsible for $50,000 of the settlement, while its insurer will cover $475,000.

Benner told the Star Tribune he credits God for the favorable outcome.

“I thank God for all the blessings in my life,” he wrote in an email to the news site. “I turned 50 this year, got married in July and now (there is) this settlement.”

#Aaron Benner #diversity equity and inclusion #diversity #equity #inclusion #racial equity #white privilege #diversity training #educational equity #lower standards #bigotry of low expectations #neoracism #antiracism as religion #antiracism #racial discrimination #corruption of education #education #religion is a mental illness

[bridgyrose]

Team RWBY watch a play based on their Ever After adventures. The play shows Ruby triumphantly beating Neo in the Illusion house, the latter then shown dying along with the Cat. The real Ruby then finds out the play was Neo's idea.

(Hope this gets the idea across)

“A play about our adventures in the Ever After?” Ruby practically asked as she looked over the brochure Weiss had handed her, fingers shaking as she took it. Even though it had been years since their adventure into the Ever After, the memories of everything still stuck with her. The way it seemed to mess with her, the cat almost killing her and her friends… all of it like a bad memory that didnt want to go away. “I’m not so sure this’ll be a good idea.” 

Weiss rolled her eyes and took the brochure back. “I’m sure its just going to be a retelling from what Yang and Blake told everyone else.” 

“And it would be a shame to waste free tickets,” Yang said. “So what’s the harm?” 

Ruby sighed as she looked around at her teammates. “Fine, we can go.” 

“I knew you’d come around to the idea!” Yang practically yelled out as she pulled Ruby into a hug. 

Ruby gave a weak smile as she leaned into Yang, not sure how she truly felt about the idea. There still seemed to be something off about the idea of a play of their adventures, though, at the same time, she knew everyone would tell her that it’d be a big step into getting better. Watching everything that happened without experiencing it all over would be a good way to start getting over it, even if it did still haunt her in her nightmares. 

Still, she ended up getting ready for a night out with her teammates, dressing up for the theater with Weiss fussing over her dress. Once ready, they all headed out, Ruby still nervous about the whole idea. Her heart started to pound in her chest as she swore she saw the shadow of the Curious Cat, hand reaching for her back for the weapon Blake had practically forced her to leave at home. A simple touch from Weiss helped calm her as a cat ran out of the shadows. 

“Everything will be fine,” Weiss said as she took Ruby’s hand. 

Blake nodded and gave her a smile. “The only thing you have to worry about is grimm.” 

“I-I know.” Ruby took a breath to keep herself calm as she squeezed Weiss’s hand. She followed her teammates into the theater, almost relaxing when she saw a crowd of people waiting to get seated. Under normal circumstances, a crowd like this would’ve been a nightmare, but seeing this many people at the play almost made her feel… less alone. 

It took almost an hour for everyone to get into their seats, most of everyone around was almost excited to see a story they’d read or heard unfold before their eyes. Ruby started to worry again as the theater darkened, the curtain rose on the stage, and a few lights lit up a stage to show the props that nearly brought Ruby back to the day she woke up in the Ever After. The plants and background were accurate to what she remembered, almost as if the playwright was there themselves. Then the actors came out, and while Ruby was less surprised about how accurate the costumes had been when they were younger, though seeing the costume for the actor for Little made her heart break. It was almost as if she was seeing back to when she was in the Ever After, everything meticulously made to be true to what she remembered and what she and her team took pictures of when there. 

Ruby stayed quiet as she watched the play, trying to stay calm as she practically watched someone retrace her steps. Her heart stopped as she watched the play progress to the mansion, fingers digging into the armrest as she tried to ready herself to watch her character die. She closed her eyes and looked away, waiting to hear the screams of pain when the Curious Cat attacked. 

“Get away from me!” the Ruby actor yelled out. 

Ruby slowly opened her eyes as she listened to the fight, catching out of the corner of her eye the actor playing her “killing” Neo and the cat, freezing up as she spoke under her breath. “That’s… not how it went.” 

“I think I like this ending a bit better,” Yang said as she whispered to Ruby. “A lot less panic.” 

“Yeah…” Ruby watched the rest of the play as the actors went through the door in the tree to Remnant, the lights going out and the curtain closing. As the actors came out for a bow and the audience stood up to cheer for them, she slipped away to find who wrote the play, almost annoyed that the story had been changed even slightly. It was her that had died in that mansion, not the cat or Neo, and while she should’ve been thrilled to see everything changed, it almost felt insulting. 

She finally found the playwright, putting a hand on their shoulder and pulling them towards her. “That’s not how the Ever After-” her words nearly stuck in her throat when she saw Neo’s pink eye staring at her, slowly moving her hand away. “-went. But… you know that.” 

Neo gave a small nod taking a step back from Ruby as she slowly signed. “I want people to think I died there.” 

“Why? That’s not…” Ruby let out a sigh and looked away from Neo, her own thoughts of dying coming back to her. It had all happened so quickly, feeling the cat push it’s claws deep into her, the way she lost consciousness after drinking the tea, not wanting to be herself anymore and accepting that as a hero, she was going to die sooner or later. “You’ve changed, just like I have. You dont have to let people think you’re dead to hide that.” 

Neo brushed her brown hair out of her eyes, revealing the pink eye that Ruby had caught. “Its better this way. A… a fresh start as Roman would call it.” 

“A fresh start. I guess that’s something we all need.” 

“But I hope you enjoyed the play. I need to make sure the actors arent getting overwhelmed.” 

Ruby watched as Neo hid her pink eye again and started to make her way backstage, a slow breath escaping her lips. She turned away to start walking back to her own team, more relaxed now than she’d been in a while. “Good luck on your new life, Neo. Maybe I should follow your lead.”

#rwby #ruby rose #rwby ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #neopolitan #drabbles #play au

[uglypastels]

Ok ok gotta quickly talk about my fav bits from these 2 episodes

SPOILERS

LOOK, I DIDN'T WANT TO BE A HALFBLOOOOOD

Percy and Grover giving each other the ham/cheese from their sandwiches

The mrs Dodds gaslighting. Idk why i needed this to be included (more on this later)

Gabe. Why was Gabe so fucking funny in this 😭😭 like man is just a loser.

"Do you know why we come to this cabin every year" "because its next to the septic tanks' so its cheap" stop he's so unserious 😭

"Please" and the entirety of Sally talking to Gabe

I'm sure it will all get so much worse, but just the quips that were written and the pacing through the conversation of all 3 of them was really well written

Percy thinking that Sally was an atheist until she saw Jesus in her living room. (To paraphrase it)

"The important thing is not to panic" while being on the verge of a breakdown

"YOU DIDNT TELL HIM ABOUT X"

Sally making Grover swear to protect perce😭😭

YOU DROOL IN YOUR SLEEP

Basically, any time there was book accurate dialogue. It healed parts of me that I didn't even know were broken.

Mr D. I'm obsessed. The whole interaction between him and Percy. And then Mr D and Chiron 💖💖💖 (the poker later on. I love it)

The cabins and entire vibe of the camp. It feels so real i wanna go there so bad.

I could basically just list every single scene of this episode.

Luke 💖 that's it.

Mr D and Chiron forbidding Grover to tell Percy about his mom. So we got the Gaslight, now we jave Gatekeep. Where's the girlboss? Literally every other second.

Annabeth!! Annabeth's hat!! The hattttttt

"I'm fine thanks, but i appreciate you, you know, standing there silently" he's so fucking funny and it makes me want to scream. It's no original experience to have loved these books since the age of 12, but it doesnt make it any less personal. I love percy ok. And anyway not annabeth then still just standing there like 😐🤨

"When it's time, he'll be ready. I know it".... bro 😭😭

Clarisse's feral behaviour. I love her (i'll be dropping the L-bomb more and more as the show will go on. Let me be)

The bathroom scene. Obviously (i didnt even mention the episode titles yet!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

🔥? "I wouldn't"

Aaand cut to percy nearly setting the heph cabin on fire

"Is there a god of disppointment" "oizyz, but sje's a goddess, and her thing isnt really disappointment. It's more like failure" pls who is this kid. Fav character lol (idk maybe i should know who he is and im just stupid)

And then the look Luke gives him i'm crying

Oh my god how did not mention the blue food yet 😭😭😭😭🩵🩵🩵🩵

Percy PRAYING to Sally. And then "i'm Sally Jackson's son" aaaaaaaaaaaaah

Also, idk why but i loved Clarisse's reaction to when her spear broke. It felt so raw and it showed a glimpse of the side of her that she's clearly hiding from the world (not me already getting hyped for sea of monsters lmao)

Theres probably so much more i could add, or perhaps i should have just dropped a link to the episodes as it was all just so perfect.

Ohh oh oh i almost forgot the camp beads!!! Eeeek. So cute.

(Would have loved to have seen the grannies knitting socks of death, and the strawberry fields 🫢 but minor details)

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #percy jackson spoilers #spoilers

[deranged-chinchilla]

silver foxes my beloved 💞

since my head has been rotting with the thought of being between these two fictional men, here’s a pair of one shots

Alan Grant |

(also it’s been a while since I’ve seen the movie so if the timing of everything isn’t as accurate, that’s why, anyways, enjoy! ✌️)

You thought going on a sponsored trip with your Paleontology mentor would be a fun time, but how silly you were to think such a thing.

Thinking you’d spend some possibly romantic and passionate alone time with the man, you had to suppress your disappointment along with your screams of absolute terror when the jeep you had chosen out of spite had been flipped over.

By what exactly?

A forty foot long tyrannosaurus rex, with sharp teeth filling its gigantic head.

You could see that in grotesqe detail as it curiously sniffed at the overturned vehicle’s now shattered windows, terrifying the children you were trapped with as you quietly shushed them and held them close to keep them from getting the giant creature’s attention once more.

“I know, I know it’s scary. But we’ll be okay.” You whisper in both Tim and Lexi’s ears as they whimpered, covering their mouths.

Then you looked up and, almost letting out a sigh of relief, you saw Alan getting out of his separate vehicle he got in with Ian, armed with a flare.

“Over here!!” Grant waved his arms as he shouted, earning the rex’s attention.

A pang of fear for him filled your chest but was quickly turned to pride as he opened the bright red light, waving it around to see if the dino would follow. And when it did, Alan threw it far away into the trees making the Rex follow after it.

That was when he made his way to your vehicle.

And though you felt a dulled pain in your lower leg from where the Rex had trapped you under one of the seats after nearly crushing the car, you made sure a sobbing Lex was out of there first and into the safety of Grant’s arms.

But before you could get Tim out as well, you heard Lexi scream and both you and the young boy froze in panic. Looking out again, you briefly saw Alan covering Lexi’s mouth as they remained stone-still beside the car before the Rex was right at the window again making Tim nearly scream as well before you covered his eyes and mouth.

Then the Jeep was spun around by the dino’s powerful snout making you and Tim involuntarily shriek as the car was pushed closer and closer to the ledge leading to long drop just before the dark forrest below.

Then pulling your foot free from the seat followed by a pained grunt as you gritted your teeth, you hurried Tim to the back of the Jeep in attempt o keep the vehicle in balance.

But the mud and rain made such a feat impossible and next thing you knew you guys were falling.

You held onto Tim with one hand while the other gripped what was left of the back window to ensure neither of you fell through where the windshield once was.

And luckily you didn’t fall for long when your car got caught on some branches and vines, suspending you in midair.

You quietly reassured the trembling Tim who seemed just seconds from throwing up as you looked around for any chance of escape.

But after a few minutes of what felt like total hopelessness, you soon felt the feeling lift from your shoulders when Alan was beside you on one of the tree branches.

“You guys alright?” He softly asks, looking around to make sure you were secure. While you gave him a relieved nod, Tim couldn’t hold back his bile anymore and puked, sending any food left in his system out the windshield.

After he was done, you helped the small boy to Alan and onto the safety of the branch before you carefully crawled your way to him to do the same.

But as soon as you were within reach, the car began to slip and your eyes widened, prepared to accept your fate.

But Alan wasn’t and quickly grabbed onto you, pulling you up into his chest right as the car fell.

You looked up at him as you tried to steady your breathing, but the proximity only made it harder as the air seemed to thicken.

That also may have been your injury and how high up you all were but same difference.

“I got you. I got you…” With his chest rising and falling heavily, and his voice soft with relief, you found him reassuring you and himself in that moment.

You squeezed him graciously, looking up at him.

“Thank you… but I think I might’ve bruised my ankle pretty bad.” You told him before he looked down and pulled up the pant of your leg to see a red bruise forming just above your ankle where the seat had almost crushed it.

Gently feeling it to check for any misplaced bones or fractures, you sucked in a breath through your teeth as Alan checked on it.

“It doesn’t seem broken but if it’s worse to walk, I’ll carry you.” He offered, and though it was tempting you shook your flustered head.

“I should be okay. Let’s just get back to the ground.” You panted before with the help from both boys, you all safely made it to the ground with Lexi meeting you there.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs |

Being a good friend of Abby’s, you spent quite a bit of time at the NCIS headquarters.

At first it was secret and she would sneak you in through one of the windows to her lab, but that was short lived with all of Gibbs’ surprise visits.

But when both you and Abby thought he’d for sure kick you out and forbid such a meet up from ever happening again, he surprisingly approached you without a scolding word.

Then he took hold of the collar of your shirt and clipped a visitor’s badge on it.

Then sending you a ghost of a smile, he commented on how Abby got a lot more done with you around and left.

But one night, just after the heartbreaking death of one of Abby’s coworkers, Kate, Abby was mourning and had run to the bathroom to fix her makeup after some reassurance from you.

While she was gone, however, and you held the fort, you were scared shitless out of your seat when a window suddenly shattered.

You ducked behind the metal desk in terror, clutching your racing heart in fear not knowing if that’d been a rock or a lucky gunshot that missed you.

Your question was answered however when the lights were shut off and you looked towards the door to see Gibbs rushing in to darken the room.

Then he crouched and made his way to you, not taking more than a second to be at your side.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asked as you gripped his calloused hands with your own shaky ones.

“I wasn’t hit, I wasn’t hit.” You murmured, the second time you said it more for your own assurance as Gibbs let out his own sigh of relief.

“I knew I should’ve sent you home.” His comment seemed a bit backhanded at first, slightly offending and embarrassing you, before he embraced you warmly, rubbing your back soothingly.

You melted against his touch, resting your head against his shoulder as you sat side by side behind the safety of the desk.

“Where’s— Where’s Abby?” You asked, anxiety coursing through you at the possible grim answer.

“Safe, DiNozzo and McGee made sure of it.” Gibbs told you making you sigh with relief.

“Thank you.” You said, your body relaxing a bit as you stared off into the dark room.

His presence being enough for the lack of light to not scare you further.

There was a desolate moment of silence between you two, not tense like you would think, but comfortable.

“Why did you want to send me home?” You finally gather the courage to ask.

And hey, you were almost sniped, you had the confidence for just about anything now.

You couldn’t see his features all that well but you could sense him shift a little, turning to face you.

“Because you may not be hired as an NCIS agent, but I see you as part of the team. Hell, the whole team does. Kate did too.” He softly told you, his warmth carrying to you as you kept your head on his shoulder.

“I wish I got to know her better then…” You weren’t as close as her and Abby were due to your schooling schedule, but the few times you guys had run into each other when she wasn’t on missions were never short of heartwarming.

It was bittersweet looking at it now.

“I miss her…” You admitted, turning to look at him too. “I don’t want to miss out on anything with the rest of you.”

While it was more aimed then intended, Gibbs got the idea and you could hear him make the noise he usually made when he smiled.

“Tell you what,” He started, and you could still hear his grin. “We get out of this and you still feel the same way tomorrow, I’ll see what I can do.”

You smiled at this, relaxing once more at his side as he kissed the top of your head.

While at the time you thought it was just something Gibbs did, a protective kind of thing, it turned into much, much more.

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh sorry if it’s bad this is my first time writing something public for Tumblr, but I hope someone finds this fitting of their taste and enjoys :D

#silver foxes supremacy #old men are the best men #alan grant #leroy jethro gibbs #ncis #jurrassicpark

[divinemare]

-ˏˋ⋆ 𝔄 𝔠 𝔬 𝔲 𝔯 𝔱 𝔬 𝔣 𝔤 𝔬 𝔡 𝔰 𝔞 𝔫 𝔡 𝔪 𝔬 𝔫 𝔰 𝔱 𝔢 𝔯 𝔰 ⋆ˊˎ-

└──» ✎ 。 Azriel x Oc

part eleven

part ten

└──» tw: some violence

┊✧*｡ ✯┊☪︎⋆✧*｡ ┊

The entire Night Court was in mourning. A cloak of grief had enveloped the Court like a dark curse, as it had also done so upon its ruler.

The High Lord Rhett had bursted into a fist of rage so great it had almost looked maniacal, and it had been the first time Mareena had witnessed the cold male showing signs of a heart. A heart that had been so brutally crushed it now bleed like a stabbing wound.

Mareena’s pain was no different; her heart too bleed with grief and rage. And betrayal as well.

She felt a wound so profound in her that it seemed impossible that it could ever heal. Not only because the only mother she had ever known, the female that had taught her how it felt to be unconditionally loved by a mother, and the little girl who had grown in her heart so much and so deep she had become her sister, were now dead; had been brutally murdered. But because the responsible for their absence, the responsible for Rhysand’s and her family’s pain; was, ironically, her own family. Her brother.

Rhys had told her that the only person he had talked with about Alhena’s and Valeria’s trip to the camp was Tamlin.

At first she had been reluctant to accept it, that her little brother, the male who had befriended Rhys even though their parents were enemies, the male that she was learning to love and welcoming in her life as the only good her family had left her; had been the responsible for all this cruelty, had been the one to snitch upon Alhena and Valeria with their awfully cruel father, and then had proceeded to let them all torture both females, cut out their wings, and then tossed their heads into the river for Rhys to eventually find them.

But then she had realized, that just as she was her father’s daughter, Tamlin was his father’s son as well.

And so as Mareena went back to the Court of Nightmares with Rhys, she realized, looking at the male’s tormented, raging violet eyes, that the same thoughts that crossed her mind crossed his, that the same pressure on her chest screamed the same thing to him as it was doing with her, that the same desire danced in his hands, aching to stop the gushing wound in his chest long enough to make them bleed as well, as she too was aching now.

As Mareena looked at Rhys, and he looked at her, both recognized that feeling in each other’s eyes, and understood where that night was taking them to.

☪︎⋆

Mareena had never seen the High Lord like this before, he was a spiral of rage and darkness and grief. His eyes seemed like too reflections of death itself.

Yet somehow, this was the first time Mareena did not fear him.

As soon as Rhys entered his father’s room, Rhett had growled that they were going to the Spring Court at once.

Both Mareena and Rhys had stoped their tracks when they saw the interior of the antechamber: it was completely wrecked, everything broken, everything destroyed. It was probably an accurate representation of how the High Lord was feeling inside, but neither of them made a single comment about it.

Rhys straighten his back and simply nodded once to his father, then the older male looked in her direction, and Mareena thanked the Cauldron that she did not look too much alike her father, or else Rhett might have killed her in the spot.

Still, she gathered her courage and rage and grief, and stepped outside the protection of Rhys’ body to brace the raging gaze of the High Lord.

“My Lord, I wish to accompany you,” she spoke with a determination she had never in her life spoken with before.

“And why would I take you to your father’s domains, girl?” The High Lord got closer to them with predatory slowness, Rhys moved an inch closer to her, but Mareena did not look down nor stepped back.

“Because he has too taken something from me, too many things. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been secretly waiting for the day I could look him in the eyes while his life slips away.”

Mareena had thought that the confession would scare her, that saying her darkest, most hidden thoughts aloud would terrify her, but when the words came out of her mouth, none of that happened, nothing moved within her, let alone regretted saying the truth.

The High Lord's face remained hard and unreadable, Mareena waited with her head held high for the male's response, a lump forming in her throat.

What she hadn't said, what she hadn't been able to admit, was that this might well be her last chance to know something about her mother, to get her father or her brothers or someone who knew to tell her something, anything, that might help her find her mother real mother.

After losing Alhena, after her father took her from her, she wanted more than ever to squeeze the truth out of the male who had, regrettably, given her life, even if she had to do it using that horrible power Jalus had made her suffer so much for.

"Good. If you want revenge on your father so badly," was all Rhett said before walking past them.

Mareena and Rhys shared a glance, he didn't need to ask her if she was sure of this, he knew perfectly well the darkness that Mareena had been holding deep inside herself since the day they met, when he saw it with his own eyes as he entered her mind.

For a long time, Mareena had feared this darkness, had hidden it and locked it deep inside herself. But now, feeling that dark power tingling her skin, screaming to let what was left outside her lock explode, she deicide to leave that darkness come out, to mingle with her being, to come out and settle where it had previously been exiled.

That power, which she had previously kept white and pristine, pure, she let it turn a darker colour, let it lose its fear.

And so, taking Rhys's hand, they winnowed to the place that for so many years had held her prisoner, to the male that for so many years had made her suffer. To the family she now wanted dead.

☪︎⋆

Rhysand had her brothers under his power, their minds surrendered to his will.

The rage that emanated from him could only be defined as feral. He was going to kill them, he was about to do it, to make them succumb so much in a pain that even their immortal bodies would not handle and would soon break.

But there was something still trapped inside Mareena’s heart, something that was making her mouth twitch and head to spin.

"Wait!" She screamed when she saw the life almost leaving one of her older brother’s eyes.

The three of them immediately took a deep, choked breath in when Rhysand relaxed his grip on them at the surprise of Mareena’s voice. He looked at her with a dark eyebrow raised as if wondering if she was only just regretting this.

“I need to know if they know,” she whispered to the one male that in a couple of years had been more of a brother to her than the three other males ever were in her entire life.

And Rhysand understood immediately, his frown relaxing deeply and only nodding ones, giving a step back to let her stand in front of them.

“You…traitorous…bitch,” Silas, the middle brother of the three of them, spat between ragged breaths to her.

Mareena didn’t even flinch at the hatred and the harshness of his looks and voice. “Brother, spare me the insults and wasted time in discussing which one of us is the most fucked up, we would need some long time to discuss that, time that you three do not have left,” the three males growled, baring their teeth’s at her, Caius, the younger of them, made an attempt to move towards her, but her hand shot upwards in a second, and it started to dimly glow in an almost reddish color.

Not even Rhys dared to breath as Caius’ face began to drain of color, and started making choking sounds as the air stopped rushing through his body.

“Where. Is. She,” Mareena had never looked like this, sounded like this. Not even when Rhett made her torture his prisoners, no, this was an entirely new Mareena.

One who’s hand didn’t glow white but like dark fire, one who’s eyes did not advert with fear but rather looked straight at her brother’s eyes.

“Tell me right now or you’ll wish I had let Rhys finish you off,” she spat to the two remaining males that could actually talk.

“We don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about,” Tobin, the oldest, spat, stealing afraid glances at his younger brother.

“My mother! Where is she!” And then, without even intending to, a rush of power cursed through her and shot out at her already suffering brother.

Caius’ eyes and nose started to bleed, before she finally drained him of all his power, all his being, and choked on his own blood, falling dead at her feet.

This time hadn’t been like the last time, when she first killed that other man. No. That time she had felt terribly guilty, dirty, terrified of herself. This time, tho, as she stared at the lifeless body of her older brother, feeling that power she had drained from him feeding her own; she felt nothing, absolutely nothing. No remorse, no fear, no pain.

“I would suggest you two start talking while you still can,” Rhysand spoke in a deathly voice behind her, like a reassuring presence that told her that he too felt that darkness consuming him as well. And it felt so. damn. good.

“We know nothing!” Silas screamed at her in anger, trashing against Rhys’ restrain without an ounce of luck.

Something in Mareena’s chest tighten at the point of asphyxiation, she was screaming in her head, a despair so great it was threatening to make her power combust.

And just then, she felt a hand on her shoulder, only that, when she turned around, Rhys was not the one holding her, but something dark and small and almost undetectable. Like a presence, like…like a shadow.

She took a deep breath in, then one out, taking in the touch of that small shadow, and a reassuring, comforting, and inexplainable feeling settled on her heavy heart.

Mareena stared at her brothers’ eyes with deathly calmness, not a single emotion showing in her face.

“Then you shall suffer for everything you’ve done,” and with that, she turned around to leave Rhys to discard all his anger and pain on her brothers, while she went to look for the only male that could really tell her what she so desperately wanted to know.

#a court of gods and monsters #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acomaf #acosf #acowar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar oc #azriel #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x mareena #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #mor acotar #rhys sister #rhys #rhysand #tamlin

[dexysmr]

dissonance [bakugou katsuki x reader]

ch. 2: verse

summary: “Katsuki's a nice guy,” Kaminari says abruptly. He gives you a sidelong glance, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and it feels like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he is you. “It’s just that he’s also… an asshole.” “I think those are mutually exclusive.” or, the one where you and bakugou almost get into fisticuffs, and kaminari tries to play the middle man

tags: enemies to lovers, college band au, drummer! bakugou, afab reader but no fem pronouns

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | more to come!

All the greatest bands have had the messiest breakups. The Beatles imploded after ten years of brilliance; Oasis ended with one member assaulting another; and Fleetwood Mac saw one string of affairs after another. In the end, their fame almost seemed to be made from equal parts musical genius and explosive drama. 

As for your band… well, it’s about to blow up before it can even take off from the ground.

Jirou is the strongest out of the four of you, both in terms of talent and mentality. Not only has she been playing the longest, but she has perfect pitch to bat. It also doesn’t hurt that Jirou knows how to play every instrument in the band. The problem comes from the fact that, despite being the de facto leader, Jirou can’t lead for the life of her. She’s your typical bassist—morose, pensive, introverted—none of which particularly lend themselves to reigning in a shit-show of a band. Admittedly, this issue is chiefly being caused by the rest of you.

Kaminari is good, he really is, but his biggest obstacle is self-consciousness. Flubbing one chord is enough to turn his face beet red, and from there the fingering mistakes multiply until he’s too embarrassed to keep going. Oh, and his stage fright renders him completely useless. Which is hard because, well, performing on stage is only the most important part of being in a band.

In terms of playing ability, though, you’re probably the weakest link. You’ve always been a pretty good guitarist, but after years of setting your hobby aside it’s grown rusty, like something forgotten in the attic. Jirou has been helping you relearn everything, but the labored pace with which you’re improving frustrates you to no end. 

Let’s be real, though. The real problem child is Bakugou. Specifically, it’s his bad fucking attitude and inflammatory way of speaking. You’ve never been a particularly level-headed person to begin with, but something about the prickly blond draws a bewilderingly strong reaction out of you. It’s something to do with the constant holier-than-thou sneer on Bakugou’s face, or his inability to take any criticism, or the fact that he keeps. On. Rushing.

“Stop, just stop!” Your outburst incites a high-pitched whine from the speakers, and the music comes to a fumbling halt. Turning to Jirou, you feel a stab of guilt when she flinches at the sudden feedback, a hand coming up to touch a hearing aid. “Sorry, Jirou. I just- he is literally two bars ahead of us!”

You’re too frustrated to even look at Bakugou, instead choosing to gesture a hand in his vague direction. 

“Don’t talk about me like’m not fucking right here,” he says, tone already rising with anger. A kettle, seconds away from screaming.

Kettle, meet pot. You whirl around, guitar smacking into the mic with a discordant clang, and jab a finger at Bakugou. “You shouldn’t play like we’re not fucking right here! If you want to rush like all hell’s loose then start a one-man band!”

Bakugou slams his drumsticks against the rim of a drum and stands up abruptly, face already contorting with anger. You’ve never used the phrase ‘resting bitch face’ lightly, given its more than misogynistic connotation, but that’s exactly what Bakugou has. At least, that’s the only face you’ve seen him with around you. So when he gets actually angry, the effect is almost monstrous. 

Right now, Bakugou’s brow is knit together, forming a frighteningly accurate ‘V’ that you’re sure will be permanent by the time he’s seventy. His feline-like eyes are narrowed, mouth twisted into a snarl. He’s a snake poised to spring, all taut muscle and prominent veins, arms braced against the drum kit, and you realize with no small annoyance that Bakugou is kind of fit. 

The somewhat flattering illusion is broken immediately with his next words, snarled through grit teeth. “Am I rushing or are y’all just slow as shit?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jirou make an aborted motion, like she wants to intervene but her feet are glued to the spot. She chews her bottom lip and looks to Kaminari helplessly, who grimaces and steps in. 

“Come on, guys, we don’t have to yell about this… Bakugou, why don’t you try practicing with a metronome for a bit? Until you get the tempo down.”

Bad move. Bakugou couldn’t take any criticism, let alone suggestions. The effect is instantaneous. Like one big exothermic reaction, the drummer’s irritation veers into fury and you can almost feel the room get hotter. Anticipating the coming storm, Jirou sighs and takes out her hearing aids.

“I don’t fuckin’ need to practice with a crutch, idiot. And you’re one to talk when y’can’t even stand in front of a crowd without wettin’ yourself. Maybe we should just ask everyone at the festival to turn ‘round and cover their ears, and then y’could finally play a song all the way through for once!”

Kaminary flushes red, mouth thinning into a wobbly scowl, and abruptly throws his guitar onto a stand before bolting out of the room. It’s too far, and maybe you’re projecting but you think you see regret flash through Bakugou’s eyes. There and gone, a brief streak of lightning through heavy clouds. Then he turns to you.

“And you,” Bakugou starts, enough heat in the word to make your hackles rise. You don’t stay to hear what he says next. Unplugging your guitar from the amp, you stalk out of the door after Kaminari, letting it slam shut behind you. 

The silence of the hallway is such a stark contrast that your ears ring. You take a deep, steadying breath and imagine how whales must feel breaching the surface of the ocean for air. This has been a weekly thing, now. Someone messing up, you and Bakugou screaming about it, and then you storming out. At least you have the maturity to be the bigger person and end the fight before it truly gets ugly. Otherwise, you have no doubt that Bakugou would escalate, and you didn’t want to stick around to see what happened then.

Down the corridor, Kaminari disappears through an open window onto the fire escape. Earlier, he had had that look on his face you were all too familiar with, having watched yourself make it in several bathroom mirrors in your lifetime—mouth pressed into a thin line, breathing through your nose, like you could keep yourself from crying if you just didn’t let any sounds past your lips. After a moment’s hesitation, you follow Kaminari and clamber through the window, making sure not to clip your guitar on its frame.

“Are you vaping?” You find yourself blurting, only realizing belatedly when Kaminari turns that he’s actually holding an inhaler. His incredulous laugh devolves into coughing, so he takes another hit.

“It’s gotta take some crazy level of self-loathing to smoke with asthma,” Kaminari says after taking a measured breath, and tucks the inhaler back into his pocket. You chuckle at that and join him in leaning against the railing. “It’s for my- anxiety,” he admits, in that faltering way like tripping over cracks in the sidewalk. “Sometimes… like if I get too worked up, my throat starts to close up.”

Your memory comes back to you, now, that at last semester’s Victorian Lit presentation he’d quietly slipped out into the hall afterwards. A wave of guilt washes over you for how many times you’d laughed whenever Jirou poked fun at Kaminari’s stage fright. You want to apologize, but instead choose to scoot closer and press your side gently into his and give him a small smile. He grins back and gives a thumbs-up, and the two of you lapse into an easier silence.

The sky is a cloudless, blistering blue, the kind that hurts to look at. Late September is always that liminal time where summer heat lingers heavy in the air, but the trees have already begun their autumnal shed. UA’s usual lush sprawl of green has started losing the battle to yellows and oranges. Across the commons, one of the university’s controversial newer additions pierces through this foliage, a sleek thing of metal and glass in the shape of an H. It was just typical of the Board to splurge on a pretty building for the more lucrative departments, like Business Administration, when its English and Fine Arts buildings were in desperate need of maintenance. Still, you have to admit that it looks great, and it’ll look even better on UA’s application brochures.

“Katsuki's a nice guy,” Kaminari says abruptly, startling you from your panoramic assessment. He gives you a sidelong glance, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and it feels like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he is you. “It’s just that he’s also… an asshole.”

“I think those are mutually exclusive.” You mean it as a lighthearted jab, but a sour edge creeps back into your voice. Kaminari chuckles but doesn’t say anything, which you take as the go-ahead.

“Today… well, like, every day, but specifically today- he couldn’t take a single ounce of constructive criticism. Not even when he was clearly wrong. I mean, we for sure weren’t dragging. I swear, arguing him is like- fuckin’- trying to drag an ox through mud. How are we supposed to even make music like this?” You sigh and thunk your forehead against his shoulder, grateful that it meets a soft sweatshirt instead of the bathroom stall for once.

Kaminari really laughs this time, and you can feel it rumble through his chest. “Have a lot of experience as a farm hand, do you? You should switch majors to animal husbandry like Koda.” A pause, and then, more seriously, “Katsuki can be a lot to handle, I know. But it’s not as easy as saying, like, he’s just an asshole or whatever. It’s more than that. It’s like- you know how there’s a saying that bullies were victims first, in some way?”

“That doesn't justify being a bully, though.”

“It doesn’t,” he agrees, “but it explains it, at least. It’s not really my place to say anything else about Katsuki, but he’s got crazy layers of defense mechanisms. Like the princess and the pea, except the pea is… not a pea. So when someone gives him a suggestion or some kind of advice, it gets twisted up in his head that you’re looking down on him.”

You imagine Bakugou as a princess, trying to sleep on forty mattresses, and snort. “That sounds like a real exhausting mental gymnastics routine. Simone Biles better watch out.”

“Yeah…” Kaminari turns his head to give you another sideways glance. “Y’know, actually-”

“Cuddle time is over, lovebirds.” You jump, banging your guitar against the railing, and Kaminari reflexively reaches a hand out to steady you. (That poor guitar is really getting roughed up today.) It’s Bakugou, of course, standing inside at the window, a scowl permanently fixed to his face. “Jirou wants another run before we go, so hurry the fuck up.”

He glances between the two of you, at the hand Kaminari has bracing your forearm. Spins around and, muttering under his breath, stalks away.

You and Kaminari glance at each other, and this time he’s the one looking apologetic. Sighing, you climb through the window and start after the drummer.

“Some kind of princess he is...”

notes: i didn't expect so many ppl to read ch 1 so thank u all!! the funny thing is, i'm new to bnha so when i wrote it i hadn't watched the UA school festival episodes yet, and when i saw they had jirou and kaminari in a band w/ bakugou on drums i freaked out.

i based jirou's scene off of my HoH friend, who will take off her hearing aids when she's annoyed. as for kaminari getting asthma attacks when he's anxious, that's literally me lol i carry my 'vape' everywhere with me.

anyway, i'm expecting this series to be ab 4-5 chapters!

masterlist

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #my hero academia #mha fanfiction #bnha #bnha fanfiction #kyouka jirou #kaminari denki

[lily-174]

Hi! How are you? Can u request one with Liam Dunbar, kinda like the same setup as Hayden at the end of s5 but instead is reader and human and Scott has to turn her bc the beast hurt her and it ends fluffy please :)

‘this is the beginning’ - Liam Dunbar

trigger warning:violence, anger, angst, fluff, being given the bite, hurt, near death experiences.

requested: yes! hey, i’m sorry this took me so long, i haven’t watched s5 of teen wolf in a very long time but i have done my best to make this as accurate with the timeline as i can, i hope you enjoy!

**

you and liam had a complicated relationship, not in the way most people would think. but you’d known scott and stiles since before liam was turned, you’d known about the supernatural. and scott had begged for your help when he bit liam, since you were closer to his age then scott and stiles. liam didn’t trust you for a while after that, and with his IED, he was terrified of hurting you. which he did almost hurt you many times during the beginning, almost is the key word there. with his IED and now having to control himself, he was struggling. it had been a while now, he pretty much had full control but some days were harder then others. and considering your new found relationship, he was more terrified of hurting you then before. he loved how much faith you had in him, well in everything most of the time. you were the thing that distracted him from the horrors he sees. he loved you, but he’d never told you that..yet.

you’d been dealing with the supernatural since the beginning when it all started with scott, being his sister cause a lot more issues then needed. you’d seen a lot, from a young age. you were older then liam, but younger then your brother had his dork of a best friend. scott trusted liam with you now, which was good, and stiles was warming up to him which was also good.

**

now a whole new issue had risen in beacon hills. the beast of gevaudan. you’d all now been dealing with this for a few weeks, the current plan was unraveling, and not in a good way. the beast was in the school, obviously it was only scotts pack left since it was past 9pm. but you were supposed to stay with either your boyfriend or your brother. but somehow everything got mixed up. one minute you were with liam, the next minute you turned around and you were alone. your phone wasn’t working, you didn’t want to cause any attention to yourself so you didn’t shout out for anyone, you just carefully attempted to find someone. sneaking through the corridors until you heard foot steps, but you knew straight away they were not human. you cursed under your breath and ran to the boys locker room to hide.

you hid behind lockers, your heart was beating so fast you could feel it in your throat, would would scott and stiles do? you couldn’t think, you just hid. you could’ve shouted out to someone, with werewolf hearing they could probably find you. but that would also give your location to the beast, so you decided against it. your breathing was uneven has you heard the beast getting closer, that was when you heard the crash of it coming through the boys locker room. you saw it. it knew where you were you didn’t stand a chance.

“SCOTT! LIAM!” you screamed at the top of your lungs as the beast quickly made its way towards you, you tried to outrun it but there was no where to go. the little locker room did no provide much protection. then you felt searing pain down your back, gashes. you felt your blood gushing down your back, as you fell to the floor, the beast threw you across the room as you heard your brothers voice echoing in the room followed by your boyfriend. as everything went black.

**

once the beast had been defeated by your brother, liam was cradling you in his arms pleading for you to wake up, begging that you would be okay. scott ran over once he had finally dealt with the beast.

“you’ve gotta change her.. she’s dying scott. please!” liam begged, scott looked you over, he didn’t want to burden you with the pain of being a werewolf, but he also couldn’t bare to loose you, your mom would be a mess, scott would be a mess, liam, stiles, lydia, youre the glue you hold everyone together.

“what are you waiting for?! do it!” liam yelled, and he did your brother but your arm, the only thing now was if you were strong enough to get through this, strong enough to survive the bite.

**

you woke in your room, liam sat next to you, scott and stiles piled on the floor next to your bed dead asleep waiting for you to wake up, liam sat next to you head drooping half asleep no aware you’d woken.

“liam?” you whispered, and his head shot up straight away, his features laced with happiness he bring you into a hug smiling straight away, you winced and he pulled away apologising.

“what happened? how long have they been asleep for?” you asked, liam sighed, he’d have to explain what you now are. he didn’t know how’d you react.

“they’ve been asleep since we made sure you were okay… baby- you got hurt, really bad. we didn’t have any other option scott gave you the bite. and you’re now healing.” liam explained, you didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know how to react, your eyes filled with tears and liam pulled you into him.

“i’m so sorry.. i’m so sorry, youll get through this okay? you’ve got all of us.if i can do it you most definitely can too. this is a new beginning okay? at least scott and stiles didn’t kidnap you and tie you to a chair? that’s a good start.” liam chuckles as he remembered what happened when he had been turned. you cracked a smile at this and he kisses your forehead.

“it’ll be okay, i got you. me and you forever okay? now get some rest darling” he smiled, you nodded resting your head on his chest he gently began to play with your hair in hopes you wouldn’t worry too much about the upcoming months.

**

this is so bad, i am so sorry, i still hope you enjoyed i hate this one so much lmao. please keep sending me requests!!

#teen wolf #teen wolf smut #liam dunbar fluff #liam dunbar smut #liam dunbar x reader #liam dunbar #stiles stilinski x reader

[poke-me-with-a-stick]

Artificial Wingman Chapter 6!

Sorry of its a bit short!

For the full story on ao3, click here!

Enjoy!

---

It had taken a while, but after three hours of searching the city Danny and Robin finally found themselves standing across the street from a small, brightly colored shop. Even across the street from the store, Danny could smell the different fragrances of all the flowers wafting through the polluted city air.

"Finally!" Danny sighed with relief as they waited at the crosswalk. Robin huffed beside him, whether in agreement or amusement Danny didn't know. For his own sake, he was going with agreement. 

The pair didn't have to wait long on the crosswalk, though Danny could feel Robin's impatience anyways. It seemed that Danny wasn't the only one uncomfortable with wandering around the city all day. Just as they made it across, Danny saw Robin's shoulders tense out of the corner of his eye. 

The teen dropped his hand, his head turning to stare at something just out of Danny's line of sight. Ignoring the part of himself that was disappointed in the loss of contact, Danny cocked his head slightly to the side as he tried to find what had caught Damian's attention. 

"What is it?" He asked the teen when he couldn't find anything of interest in the alleyway his companion was glaring into. 

Robin made a harsh "Tt." noise as he started towards the alleyway. "Go in ahead of me." He said over his shoulder when Danny made to follow him. 

When Danny made a noise of protest, he turned back towards him. Grabbing his hand again, he placed a gentle kiss above his knuckle, making the teen red with the unexpected gesture. "I'll catch up, just head inside, ruhi." He disappeared into the alleyway before Danny could reboot. 

Sighing exasperatedly, he turned and headed inside. He stumbled as he stepped through the door, the scents of different flowers almost overwhelming. Which was confusing to him, until he caught sight of the perfume extracts that lined one of the display shelves. He held his breath as he walked past them, aiming for deeper into the store. His hope was that the further in he got, the less powerful the smell would be. 

Yes, being part ghost meant that he technically didn't have to breath, but not breathing made it harder to appear fully human. And he would rather keep any semblance of normalcy he had at the moment. 

The teen was so focused on getting away from the overpowering perfumes that he didn't really look where he was going. More importantly, he didn't see what he was about to walk into. Or, more accurately, who he was about to walk into. All Danny knew was that one moment, he was power walking down the only available aisle, and the next he was on the floor, flowers scattered on his head and in his lap. Groaning, he sat up, picking a marigold off his shoulder. 

Across from him, a blond with split-dyed tips styled up in pigtails clutched the remains of a premade bouquet, dark crimson roses and white poppies squished to her chest. Almost immediately, memories of Sam ranting about 'flower language' popped into his head and he winced at the arrangement that screamed 'mourning a dead loved one'.

"I am so, so sorry." Danny stuttered as he began to gather the flowers covering him. The woman stared at him for a second before following his lead, grabbing the ones that had fallen on the floor. When they had collected all of them, they stood up, the girl brushing off her white t-shirt that clearly read 'I <3 My Lesbian Girlfriend', scattering yellow petals everywhere.

"It's fine." The woman spoke with an accent that he couldn't quite place. 

Handing her the flowers, he couldn't help but feel a sense of sorrow. Not from any sort of empathy, he couldn't detect any strong emotions from this woman, but just a general feeling. He felt bad for her. "I'm sorry for your loss." He blurted out before he could stop himself. 

She froze, giving him an odd look. "I… haven't lost anyone?" She sounded very confused. 'Huh?' Both of them gave each other confused looks. "What makes you think someone died?"

"The flowers." He pointed to the messy bouquet in her hands. "That's generally an arrangement for graves or memorials." 

The lady glanced down at the flowers before looking back up. "I was gonna give these to my girlfriend." Suddenly, her face flushed slightly. "Oh, I grabbed funeral flowers for an anniversary!" Most people would have looked mortified, but all she did was laugh and toss the flowers into an empty display vase. "Oh, Ives would have never let me live that down." Shaking her head, she turned back to him. "Say, you seem to know your flowers. Think ya could help a girl out?"

Danny startled at the sudden question, but nevertheless let his eyes wander over the different arrangements. Finally his eyes landed on one that looked really pretty, and had romantic meanings. He gently picked them up and handed them to her. "Here. Red tulips, red chrysanthemums, and daffodils. A great bunch for a serious relationship." She looked over the bouquet thoughtfully before letting a smile stretch her face. 

"Thanks kid! Ivy will love these. Moving the bouquet to one arm, she stuck out her hand. "The name's Harley Quinn. It's nice ta meet 'cha!"

Danny smiled back at her, taking the offered hand and shaking it firmly. "Danny. It's nice to meet you too." 

"Well, I better get going. Don't wanna be late!" With that she hurried down the aisle, stopping by the register to pay for her flowers before swinging out the door with one last friendly wave at him. Danny waved back, watching until she was out of sight of the front window before turning back to his mission.

He was still looking for the illusive last few ingredients when Robin slipped into the shop. Danny didn't notice his presents at first, sorting through different seed packets in hopes of finding the one he was looking for. It was a gentle hand on his arm that told him his companion was back. He didn't turn from where he was looking, but he tilted his head slightly towards Robin. 

"Hey, everything okay?" He asked the teen. Robin was silent for a moment, but didn't feel as tense as he did before.

"Yes. It was merely an… annoyance. Another of my siblings, though they didn't know I was here. They have left now." He looked over Danny's shoulder, observing the packets with a small hum. "Have you found what you needed yet?" 

Danny sighs, finally looking at the vigilante. "No, sadly. This place has no organization system. It's just, 'flowers here, seeds there, and ridiculously strong perfume up front'." He finally finds what he's looking for, holding the bag up with a small 'aha!' "There it is! Now all that's left are the dried poppies, and we should be good to go."

Robin nodded and set about helping Danny dig through the flowers. Sadly, it seemed that the store didn't sell pre-dried flowers. Though they had some luck, after all, because they sold 'do it yourself' kits. Something pretty useful, when they didn't have time to dry the flowers out themselves. Purchasing the kit, along with the seed packet, Danny found himself outside the store a few moments later. He tapped his foot on the sidewalk as he waited for Robin, who claimed he would buy the flowers, but had wanted to look for something himself while they were there. 

The ravenette didn't have to wait too long. He turned as he heard the door open behind him, Robin carrying a bag in one hand while hiding the other hand behind his back. The teen had no problem finding Danny, walking up to him and handing the bag over. Peeking inside, Danny spotted at least three different types of poppies. Including the type that the book listed, so that was cool. "Perfect." He said, looking back up. Robin remained as he was, one arm flat by his side and the other hidden behind his back. 

Tilting his head, Danny gave the teen a curious look. "Is… everything alright?" He asked, worry building up in his chest. 

"Yes. There is nothing wrong." Even with his calming words, Robin still didn't move. He almost seemed… hesitant. As if he were debating something. Before Danny could ask, the teen huffed out a breath and shoved something at Danny's face.

 Bright red filled his vision, blindsided him for a moment. He brought his hand up, closing around a stem as Robin let it go. Pulling the brightly colored plant away from his face, he stared at the soft petals blankly. It took him a moment to realize that Robin had just given him a flower. And not just Amy flower, but a bright red rose. He couldn't help but blush as he remembered the symbolism it provided.

Clearing his throat, Danny kept his eyes diverted as he willed away his blush. "Thank you." He murmured, running his fingers over the soft petals. 

Robin cleared his throat too, ducking his head slightly. "You're welcome." His reply sounded almost… shy, to Danny. A quick glance revealed that Robin was blushing as well, a shade of red that was complemented by his soft caramel skin tone.

The door to the flower shop opened with a loud bell chime, startling both teens out of their bashful trance. "We should get going." Danny said quickly, starting down the sidewalk at a hurried pace. 

"I agree, but the apartment is in the other direction." Robin called out to him. Cheeks coloring a deeper red, Danny turned quickly and sped to Robin's side. 

"Right, yeah. I knew that." He mumbled as they walked. Robin's snort told him the teen found that statement hard to believe. Danny resolves to keep his eyes on the sidewalk ahead of him. He totally doesn't smile when Robin's warm hand slips into his colder one. Nor does he squeeze it back. Yeah, totally didn't happen.

—

Cass ducks her head, embarrassed not about the fact that she had been caught, but the fact that it had happened so soon. 

In front of her stood Alfred. In his hands, a bag. Her bag. The one with the mystery gun in it. 

"I don't suppose you have a good explanation for this, do you?" He phrased it like a question. Both of them knew it wasn't. 

"I have an explanation." She signed to the man. He merely lifted an eyebrow at her. Sighing, she explained everything to him. Damian's weird behavior, the boy Dami was trying to romance, the fact that the gun belonged to him. She told him every detail she knew of. It would do her no good to lie, after all. She could lie to her siblings, to Batman, but she could never lie to Alfred. No one could lie to him. It felt like a cardinal sin to even try.

When she was done, he looked over the bag before letting out a little sigh. "I do not think it wise to lie to everyone else." He told her. She ducked her head again. "But," her eyes shot up, silently urging him to go on. "I suppose, as long as no one is hurt and he is safe, I will not tell Master Bruce." She smiled at him as he handed the bag back to her. "Now, if Master Bruce asks, I will not lie to him." He warned her.

"I wouldn't ask you to." She replied immediately. He smiled at her, giving her shoulder a gentle pat.

"I do believe we have other matters to attend to, don't you think?" He asked after a minute. She gave him a confused look, trying to think about anything. "Even should Master Damian fail in his attempts at 'wooing' this boy, I have no doubt he will wind up here at the manor." He explained. "Would it not be best to go ahead and prepare a room for him?"

Cass thought about it for a moment, letting a slow smile spread across her face. Nodding, she followed Alfred up the stairs, letting him lead her to an empty room. The room beside Damian's, to be specific. 

Whipping out her phone, she texts her brother a simple question, getting a response a few minutes later that made her giggle. Alfred looked over at her curiously, so she showed him the message. Reading over it, he chuckled softly before handing the phone back to her. "I believe that can be arranged." 

—

Damian frowned when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Pulling it out, he quickly read over the message Cain had sent. A bit puzzled, but equally curious, Damian popped his head into the kitchen. Danny looked up from where he was carefully pressing Poppies with an old Phone book.

"What's up?" He asked, turning back to the task at hand when he settled back down again. 

"Do you have any hobbies besides potion brewing and universe hopping?" Damian asked the teen.

He received a surprised noise in response, but no immediate negatives. Instead, Danny looked back up at him curiously. "Uhh, I really like astronomy. Y'know, like the stars and stuff?" Damian nodded and typed a response to Cain's question before settling down across from the teen. 

"Really?" He asked. Danny nodded, a smile working its way onto his face. "Would you tell me more?" If he thought Danny was bright before, he was positively beaming now. In fact, Damian was pretty sure that he was actually glowing, a faint luminous quality about him. 

He spent the next hour listening intently as the teen explained Red Giants to him, enjoying how animated he had become while talking about his passion. 

It was a nice distraction from the fact that they had everything they needed for the potion now. A small part of him had hoped that he might be able to delay a bit longer, but it seemed that it was wishful thinking. 

He pushed all the negative thoughts away, determined to enjoy what time he had left. Even if he was sure that the potion wouldn't affect his feelings, he couldn't help the dread that began to build in his gut. 

Instead, he asked another question about space, focusing solely on the way Danny's fangs reflected the light from his icy blue eyes as he dove into another long-winded explanation about his favorite topic.

---

(I know there are probably some misspellings/Grammer mistakes. But it's okay, I tried my best!)

Note; I used Google translate for the endearment 'ruhi'. It means 'Soul' or 'my soul'.

Also, I looked up a flower language dictionary, so I'm sorry if some of the meanings are wrong.

To all the lovely people who wanted to be tagged, as well as the amazing person who made the prompt for this story! :

@halfblackwolfdemon @manapeer @xxwintrynightzxx @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 @blu-lilac @academicpurposes @secretdestinywerewolf @passivedecept @naluforever3 @postit-nope @spiteismymiddlename @2t-productions @plague-daisy @feet-achy @bubblecookies16 @thesapphiredragon13 @justwannabecat @magicalcollecter @adeniumdream @amuseofminds @lupagrim @readerkayden @dr-syko-pharm-4 @ladythugs @angelheartgamer @markthespot68 @kyrianclawraith @michikoy-yuki @servasvictoria02 @your-emo-nightmare @vala-dreams @scarlett-green-rose @t1dwarrior-of-earth @charlie-the-frogie @akikoyuii @mysticalcomputerdetective @roseuniverse999 @im-totally-not-an-alien @thefearfullone @weird-droplet-309 @jaytriesstuff @raventao @jacquelynwinchester @dragongoblet @tlise21 @longlivethefallen @the-archer-goddess @temple-of-jalebi @adepresseddwightsblogofjunk @plainly-colorful @the-legal-shipper @49saltpeppershakers @igotafewbadideas @tumbling-darkling @sparklygardenbouquet @sarcastic-yami @blueneko9314 @starscreamlover @liedboutmurder @do3y @roze-realm @some-mildly-happy-human @yinari-uchiha @azuera @chaoticmistake @altairsarts @kawaiikenna @heartsong18 @thetoyboxs @tricksovertreats @mnemovoid @lim4b3ans @horribly-lost-and-gay @keimiwolf @dryeraseslime @joey394

#danny phantom #dc x dp #batman #batman x danny phantom #danny phantom x batfam #danny phantom x damian wayne #danny phantom x dc #dead serious #love potion #miscommunication

[shotorozu]

ok ok last one for the day.

katsuki and izuku midoriya are the hottest couple in pro hero hollywood. or they would be if they would stop fucking with people in public.

like yeah, they're everybody's dream guys, but instead seeing them as dreams, they're constantly prancing around being the japanese equivalents of martin freeman and anthony mackie.

reporter: so deku can you tell us why it took you so long to apprehend the vilain this morning?

deku: well we chased him so hard that he ate shit and after catching him me and kacchan spent 37 minutes and 43 seconds laughing in his face.

reporter: *so done with these fucking losers* thank you, deku. please keep doing your best.

deku: *literally smiling like a ray of light* of course!

bakugou: *just coming back from chatting with cops* did you tell the dude how that extra ate shit.

reporter, while deku and bakugou start dying laughing again: *tiredly* this has been the news.

i don’t necessarily ship them but this is funny LMAO

like separately— reporters and everyone in PR like them just fine. bakugou? he definitely had a colorful vocabulary, but hey, when reporters ask him the really interesting questions, he’ll deliver on the answers. (but ngl getting interesting questions from reporters are rare for bakugou since reporters kinda ask him the same (ex: you took down that villain today, yes? you were in top speed, did you break your record in villain takedowns?) but again i kinda don’t blame him that man is something else 😭 /lh)

as for izuku, he’s either a heaven sent or kind of a mess 💀 again, the reporters like him more than bakugou because of how nice and sunshine-y he is. it’s definitely a nice break from getting lambasted /hj

(at the same time, he’s so authentic it hurts 😨 and i mean it in the way that he’ll give a really detailed answer in such a short amount of time AND sometimes he’ll go off track but its okay because he’s the number 1 hero, right 😃 but it’s still kind of hell for reporters because they gotta think of a quick and witty response 😭 poor them sometimes 💀)

but put those two together 😭 romantically or platonically— they’d be every reporter’s (and also every pr employee’s) worse nightmare because 😭😭 they’re a mess together whether they realize it or not and even when they do realize it it kinda gets messier but hey! the memes

like there’s this one comic i saw of izuku giving a response in an interview and bakugou just runs into the frame and screams at him randomly— and izuku laughs, being alarmed 😭 (it was also based off an actual interview, though idk which one ☹️💀) and i think that’s pretty accurate. they’re so chaotic in media.

but this is absolute hell when they actually need to be professional and serious 💀 both of their pr teams are always this 🤏 close to just crying on the floor that one midsommar scene style every time they’re supposed to be giving a professional-yet-authentic response to reporters, and even press conferences because it’s almost impossible when those two are in the same frame istg

#this was just me on a tangent about bakudeku’s media presence LMAO #anyways i think i should make a post like this elaborating on this soon— and i’ll definitely add more characters 💀 #like— a famous pro hero au post and its all about their media presence and how meme-y some of them would be #it has all of their previous teachers crying from stress /hj #ESPECIALLY all might and aizawa because they’ve expected this to happen but also wtf why can’t they be professional 😭 #(they can be professional when needed though. they can rtr— its just.. kinda harder when they’re both in the same frame) #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #🧠 — shotorozu’s brainrot #bakudeku #tagging bkdk because its mostly about them #mha bkdk #bkdk headcanons #bnha fluff #mha fluff #bakugou headcanons #deku headcanons #izuku headcanons #midoriya headcanons

[thefisherqueen]

Peter Cushings' Sherlock Holmes: The Boscombe Valley Mystery

I saw quite a few people mentioning Peter Cushings as their favorite on screen portrayal of Sherlock Holmes, so I decided to try if I could find some episodes. This BBC series was made in the '60's and only the second series actually starred Peter Cushings - the first series had Douglas Wilmer as Sherlock Holmes, but he declined to play Holmes in the second. Of the 16 episodes, sadly only 6 survive, and the Hound of Baskervilles makes up 2 of those (tapes were expensive and thus often recycled, and people at home at homes had no way to record). I'm watching The Boscombe Valley Mystery tonight.

The music theme is very intense, those strings are almost screaming. It at once gives this episode a different vibe than the homely Granada one

Full crotch shot of the son of the murdered man. It lasts four full seconds (I counted). Was that necessary? xD

Gods, I love the dressing robes of both Holmes and Watson. I have a teapot that looks almost the same as the one of their table! I took it home from the trash dump and managed to almost entirely restore it to its former glory. Not sure yet what I think about the actors' portrayal yet, but both are sure very pretty

The editing is a bit weird. Scenes jump from one to another rather abruptly

Not sure if it was just common during their time, but both actors seem so rushed to speak their lines

*another enters their train compartment* oh no, the boys are Upset

Ok, Peter Cushing is growing on me. His deduction scene in the train of Watson and of that poor other gentleman was quite funny

Some of the same shots are repeated, that feels a bit lazy

Is every girl in this episode going to cry? Repeatedly?

Holmes: "Watson What Arrrre You Doing? We have work to do!" loved that line :)

*Holmes takes off his coat* *Watson at once steps close* haha, I know it's just meant that Watson wanted to hold his coat for him but that sure looked suggestive

*Holmes shoving Watson into a tree for Investigation Purposes*

A lot of suspension in the music for a scene in which Holmes merely picking up a cigarette

*Holmes autistically rocking*

Watson: "We're going out again, Holmes? But what about dinner?" Holmes: "Dinner can wait" This is very book accurate. Poor Watson, I too get very upset when I don't get time to eat

Holmes: "Wait for me here" Watson, chugging his cider: "Willingly" Haha, love that

*Unnecessary long kissing scene*

Watson, scandalised: "Bigamy!" Holmes: "The world is not aways as you would have it, Watson" *slaps Watson's thighs* omg

It's a fine mystery story. The filming is a bit clumsy, but it feels quite authenticly victorian and Cushing portrays a dignified and clever detective with a quirk or two, and while Nigel Stock as Watson didn't have a much active role, I still enjoyed his acting. After watching the Granada series, however, this feels a bit bland for me. Decent, but nothing spectacular. I think I just miss the intensity and expressiveness and eccentric flair of Jeremy Brett, and David Burke and Edward Hardwicke also both poured so much of their heart into that series

#sherlock holmes #peter cushing #nigel stock #1968 bbc holmes #the boscombe valley mystery

[weaversong]

I just watched Nimona last night and I absolutely adored it so I'm just listing everything I loved because I can't make a formal thought post rn. It's a lot so click the magic button to see it

- The scene where the Director pulled out that thousand year old scroll to justify her murderous intent towards Nimona. And the way my first thought was "wait is this like the Bible or the Constitution?" because damn bigots have a habit of using centuries-outdated documents to persecute people

- The flashback with Gloreth and Nimona. Oh my god bro. I think there's a lot of ways you can see that scene but I saw it the lesbian way. And if you're lesbian you get what I'm saying. When you love a girl so much and you're like two peas in a pod with each other but then realize they never saw you the same way and you were never more than just a friend...

- The way Nimona never transformed into the monster depicted in all that art. The way that the village burned not because of her but the villagers surrounding her with torches. And this same thing happens later during Nimona's attempt; almost none of the damage to the city was caused by her but by everyone hurting her and destroying everything just to destroy her. Fuck bro

- Speaking of the attempt sequence, Nimona's shadowy form sounding completely and utterly human got me. How all the knights kept shooting at her is beyond me. Because you wouldn't expect to strike a giant shadow "monster" and its scream to be a little girl's scream. Her final scream in that scene right as she was at the sword's tip made me burst into tears

- There's a lot of things I like about Ballister but I need to make the joke about his big brown eyes real quick... great addition. Can't imagine looking at him and seeing queen-murdering thoughts behind those eyes

- The way Ballister was ready to pack it up and go the moment Nimona admitted how scared she was of the kingdom hurting her. The way he was ready to leave everything he ever knew behind just to protect this girl. Oh my god

- Ambrosius immediately deducing that the Ballister on the cameras was an imposter because he knows Bal hates freestyle jazz. Choked on my own spit

- Fucking RUPAUL voicing one of the commentators of the knighting ceremony

- Nimona herself being incredibly trans in every way possible is already made clear but I ADORE how she doesn't bend to make anyone comfortable. There's a real message here about cis queer people trying to be "the good ones" by putting down trans people who "make the community look bad", when at the end of the day, they hate us all and it doesn't stop at trans people. The way Nimona makes it clear that the kingdom doesn't hate her any more than they hate Ballister. Bal's desperate "be discreet" attitude eventually developing into "let's break stuff". No point in trying to appeal to bigots and he learned that lesson. A lot of y'all could learn from his development all I'm saying

- I really love all of Nimona's different forms but the ostrich made me laugh when I first saw it because I remembered the WikiHow article on how to survive an ostrich encounter and one of the strategies is just "dive into a thorn bush". I can't draw like that but artists if you need a silly prompt that's mine

- The propaganda. Oh my god the propaganda. Already kinda talked about this with Gloreth but Nimona's short monologue about how impressionable little kids think they're righteous for wiping out anyone "other" was chilling. Because she's right

- In the scene where Ballister and Nimona check their upload of the Director's confession, it's brief but you can see a comment that questions if it's some sort of deepfake. Now I know this movie was in development quite some years ago (hence the dancing shark scene) but that's a little too accurate to how common deepfakes have become since the rise of AI recently. Made me wonder how common deepfakes must be in this kingdom and who exactly utilizes them (definitely not the Institute for their propaganda...)

- The queen. She was cool and all for the 5 minutes she was alive onscreen and was genuinely trying to make progress but she just reminds me of real lawmakers. The "good ones" never stick around for long, unfortunately, and the ones who you think are on your side will ditch you if they need votes. How it's all a problem with the system itself, and one good person inside the system isn't going to change anything

- When Nimona said "metallllll" and she threw up the horns I got so happy. I'm a huge metalhead so anytime I see the horns done right I get happy. Remember it's WITHOUT the thumb sticking out!!!

- There's a certain song inclusion that really tugged at my metal heartstrings... but I wanna make a full post on that. Gonna do that right after I post this

- Lastly, this movie is BOLD. It's unflinching. Like its titular character, it doesn't CARE to make you comfortable. You WILL see these queer men express their love for each other in the opening scene. You WILL watch them kiss. You WILL watch Nimona act loud and defiant no matter how much stealth (pun NOT intended) a mission calls for. Truly some amazing stuff

That's all I got go watch this movie rn

#nimona #nimona spoilers #sova speaks #tw suicide

[nowen422]

Nowen Talkin Bout Bleach

Bleach TYBW EP 17: Tumblr Werewolf Fandom Just Got a New Blorbo

OK. So full disclosure, this is where the death count gets a little bit screwy. At this point you have people “dying“ and you also have people “not dying“. Still, we get to see the voltstandig of Bambietta vs Shinji (yes it went how you think), as well as the result of Komamura’s training with his giant wolf great great grandpa!  We got a set up for Mask De Masculine’s two on one deathmatch with Rose and Kensei. Oh and let’s check in on Ichigo and- OH MY GOD OH MY GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING WHAT IS GOING ON ITS TOO MUCH ITS TOO MU-oh ok everything is fine now.

And yes, Ichibe has still yet to blink

Shinigami Deaths: 11

Quincy Deaths: 8

Shinji Win/Loss record: 💥

Spoilers below

Things I liked:

The bells with the Quincies Holy forms are a nice touch. It really drives home the difference in culture between the Shinigami.

The difference in wing color really looks good between the Quincy. As does the sort of burning staticky effect

I was simultaneously excited and scared to see Momo attack Bambietta. I yelled out “No Momo run!” Still, it’s good to see her and GREAT to not see her get stabbed again.

Komamura’s Human form looks AMAZING!! I feel that Komamura doesn’t get enough love as a captain or character, but I feel like he’s going to get a lot of anime analyst youtuber’s attention for the poetic nature of his characterization and eventual defeat.

Initially, I wasn’t feeling the 3-D effect on the bankai’s. But looking at Dangai Joue just appear behind silently Komamura and watching it fight Bambietta as she flies around it, really made it grow on me.

I also was a little bit confused at the weird, hollow, thumping sound effect when Dangai Joue was running. But really listening to it alongside the background noise, gives the whole fight, a very mystical, and almost poetic vibe.

The smoke coming off Komamura as he fights Bambi’s bombs is so cool. It makes it feel like he’s the giant in my eyes.

 Bambi‘s frustration and fear as the fight goes on. Chefs kiss for her motivations and how scary shinigami can be

The shot of Komamura’s bankai through the Silbern window. I might make that into a Home Screen for my computer.

Komamura’s heart still beating in the cup.

I’m glad we got to see Iba again. Love to see him.

Haschwalth and Kyoraku still just being totally polite with each other. Shunsui even offered the man tea, I was half expecting Jugram to go, “that would be very nice, thank you.” but that boy is way too emotionally repressed.

Masks English is awesome

Shuhei still trying to fight and also using wrestling terminology. It is now officially cannon that Hisagi got Mayuri to hook up a tv with free wwe streaming for him

It took me a minute to realize that the energy around Ichigo was all the different energy of the different races in bleach. Hollow, Quincy, Shinigami and Human/Fullbringer

Ichigo’s training with Ichibe really feels like a horror show with the amount of weird cuts, silent moments, and sudden shifts. And if that didn’t convince you, Ichiko straight up, almost exploding after swelling up and screaming before things calm down.

to Ichibe: BLINK MOTHERF***ER!

Oh hey Senjumaru! I forgot you were here!

Things I didn’t like:

Shinji just lost straight up. I know that it’s accurate to the manga but he could have put up more of a fight.

Bambietta explaining her Schrift. Girl, YOU JUST SAW SHINJI DO THIS FIVE MINUTES AGO, DONT LEARN BAD HABITS!!

I know it’s anime, I know its not realistic, But Bambietta should have been cut in half. SHARPEN YOUR SWORD KOMAMURA!

I don’t really feel anything about Mask vs Yumichika, Hisagi and Ikkaku. It’s not a bad thing since Yumichika and Ikkaku get a good moment later on, but it’s hard to be invested, knowing what’s going to happen with Mask next.

Kensei criticizing Shuhei. I read the manga Kensei, YOU DONT HAVE ROOM TO TALK!

Well, it looks like things are kind of balanced out. We got some wins, some losses. Overall a quiet episode. We’ve got those two new combatants in the wings and it looks like Bg-9 and Cang Du survived! Oh hey Uryu, what’s u-

#nowen talkin bout bleach #bleach #bleach tybw

[winderlylandchime]

I am back with reports for 2x01! I really apologize for how insanely long this is but he took me for a ride. We started off strong with him walking in, sitting down with a soda opening it and cheering to the sky and going ‘let’s fucking go!!!!!’ Hits play, sees the opening where Mikey pops up, hits pause, looks at me and goes ‘where the fuck is the boy?! I want the boy! This is bullshit’ when it showed Brian he went ‘ahh there’s one of the boys..oh no he’s not good. This is bad. Where’s the boy? I need him’ Then the Britin in the hospital scene popped up, he literally paused it, hands up in the air screamed ‘THE BOY!!! HE LIVES!! HES ALIVE! OH THANK GOD I WAS SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU YOU BEAUTIFUL FUCKER! HELL YEAH. And brian is there!!! LETS GOOOO! HE VISITS EVERY? EVERY WHAT? TELL ME! Why not? Brian why do you hate me’ Immediate next reaction to Mel,Linds and Deb where they talk shit was ‘man fuck yall, he was just there! I saw him with my own two eyes! I may be a little high but i know what i saw! I only took the light shit so far!’ NOW THE SCARF! THE GASP HE LET OUT! first he did say ‘stop being creepy’ to Mikey. And then THE GASP! ‘HES FUCKIN WEARING IT UNDER?! HES BEING BLOWN IN THE CLUB WHILE THE BLOODY SCARF IS ON HIM? OH HE IS NOT OKAY! HE IS ALSO IN LOVE! OR SOMETHING! I mean i know its love but he’s clearly still in denial’ The Britin reunion? First of he was so sad about Brian being drunk, kept saying why tf doesnt Mikey realize how bad it is? My favorite quote was ‘I know hes not okay and ive known him for 23 episodes, how can YOU not MICHAEL?! Hm?’ And then the reunion? ‘FUCK YEAH AGAIN BABY! I AM WINNING WITH THIS EPISODE!!’ He was so fucking sad during the loft scene. Oh the joy of having my brother scream for the second time ‘HE DID SEE YOU!! EVERY SOMETHING, THE LADY DIDNT FINISH THE SENTENCE! BUT HE SAW YOU EVERY SOMETHING! I SAW HIM MYSELF! WITH MY OWN TWO EYES!!’ ‘He doesn’t remember the prom?! HE DOESNT REMEMBER THE DANCE?! THE JEEP PART?! GONE?! GONE BC OF THAT LIL BITCH WITH A BAT?! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE OKAY IF HE DOESNT REMEMBER BEING KISSED BY A GUY IN HIS SCHOOL WHERE THEY ALL BULLIED HIM FOR IT?! HOW?!’ And then Brian shared his memories and when I tell you my brother paused the ep and walked away. Came back, sat down and went ‘i no longer think i can ‘lets fucking goooooo’ this, this isn’t fun anymore’ Worthy mentions afterwards: ‘no more david??! Yeah! fuck you and your bone cracking business’ ‘oh he’s gonna see him again!! I take it back what i said before: LETS FUCKING GOOOO AGAIN BABAY! I AM HAPPY! THEY ARE BACK!!! *makes claw like hands and shakes them* THEY!’ ‘okay i dont like her but girl, how can you be shocked she doesnt wanna marry you? That was embarrassing for all three of us! Why did you make me witness it?’ ‘Brian showed up in court! See! If he didnt care he wouldn’t show up to stupid court! I should know i tried to get out of jury duty once….i failed tho’ ‘he got his ass glued to the toilet..you know what? Good for Brian, he deserves this’

The end scene was my favorite thing he said, it actually made me giggle bc it was so accurate. So it was them tossing the ball and Jen pulls up and he pauses it and goes ‘oh no, this doesn’t have the right vibesssss. Brian is here. And Justin is here. And they’re being cute. So this means that whatever is about to happen with them is probably going to hurt me. *looks at me in shock* why am i saying probably? Oh God, this is gonna fucking hurt’ Jen delievers her lines and my brother goes ‘EVERY NIGHT! EVERY NIGHT! WHY ARENT WE TELLING JUSTIN THIS?!…JEN! Girl! That was not chill at all! You are ruining my vibes jen. Why would you say that to him while he looks like that?’ And then in a high pitch almost cry sound goes ‘but he caresssssssssss about him Jen! Jenny! Jenny jen! He cares! Cmonnnn I’m sure we can come to an agreement all three of us together! Cmon jenny jen! I know you saw how he had to swallow to say he cares! IT WASNT HIS FAULT IT WAS THAT DUDES! He’s sad and pretty and you’re gonna be mean to him? In front of me? NOT CHILL JEN! NOT CHILL AT ALL! You ruined the vibes, whatever the fuck they were..oh fuck, i need my meds!’ And when Brian drove away, he went ‘SIR! If you don’t make a U-turn right this fucking second! HOW DARE YOU NOT MAKE A U-TURN! YOU careeeeee! I care! He cares! We all careeee, so why do i have to suffer bc of a woman in a blazer’ that was followed by a pause and him getting up, taking a pain killer looking at me and going ‘this is going to be a bumpy fucking ride, now excuse me I have to go outside for no particular reason’ he then went to the front door (he had me worried there ngl bc he is only days after very serious surgery), opened it up and just stared out. Now i do have a neighbor and i heard her say ‘hey __, you okay?’ And he went ‘do I look okay to you? I am having a horrible time’ and then he closed the door, went back inside and called our mom again. Like I said, rollercoaster. Except they give you acid before getting on the ride.

Oh my god. Dear sweet anon, you are doing the lord’s work. Thank you for this detailed report. I think the evidence points to “straight cis men: not so different” because maybe he uses different words “let’s fucking go baby!” but his reaction is all of us. Whether it’s cringefail marriage proposal to hating David to his devastation at Justin not remembering prom to SCREAMING AT JEN to noticing the SWALLOW (and the look up oh god he looks to the sky and it is everything) before Brian says that he cares about Justin to screaming at Brian for sacrificing himself for what he believes is in the best interest of Justin.

His point about Brian showing up to court and trying to get out of jury duty and how this means he cares takes the damn cake.

I love your poor neighbor and what is she to think with “do I look okay to you?” and your mom who is getting these phone calls from her fully adult son beside himself about two fictional characters from 20 years ago.

Brother Anon, welcome to the fandom.

#ask winderlylandchime #dear sweet anon #queer as folk #a straight man watches qaf us 2000 in the year of our lord 2023