#none of them can accurately communicate with each other

[rosielovesf1]

spilling secrets on stream | LN4

what better place to hard launch a relationship than twitch?

word count: 1.3k

warnings: none!

author's note: it's been so fun thinking up little story ideas and this is the product of one of them. fair warning that it's been forever since i've played fortnite so probably not very accurate when it comes to that 🤦‍♀️ thank youuu for reading and have a great day!!

also my requests are open if you would like to see a certain story/driver!! 🫶

“Hi guys, sorry I’m late,” Lando said, adjusting his headphones as he started the stream. There were a surprising number of people online for this Thursday afternoon, but he had posted on his story that Max would be joining him, so that could explain the popularity. Not that he would ever tell him that. 

“Max is joining now.” He stretched his arms over his head, smirking when the chat quickly noticed the sliver of skin he’d exposed in the simple motion. Oops. “Is Max with you right now? No, chat, I’m in Monaco. How’s offseason? It’s good. I’ve been doing a whole lot of nothing.” 

Lando read through and answered a couple more questions until Max’s face popped up on his screen. 

“Hello hello,” Max said, waving to the camera. “How are we, chat? What are we playing?” 

After a couple minutes of debate, they decided on Fortnite. The first round was short lived- Lando got shot pretty much immediately. Now, him and Max were two of ten players remaining, but the sound of the front door opening caused him to turn his focus away from the game. 

“y/n?” Lando called out after muting himself, turning away from the screen to see if his girlfriend had just arrived home. 

“Bro, what are you doing?” Max protested, his character running circles around Lando’s still one. Two other characters spotted them over a nearby hill and started firing immediately, with Max left alone to defend them. “You muppet!” Within seconds, Lando had died, and Max didn’t have enough time to resuscitate him in the midst of defending himself. 

“My bad.” Lando turned back to the screen, laughing at Max’s distress. 

“That was entirely your fault.” Max responded, pausing to look at his phone alert from Lando. 

I think y/n just got back and she doesn’t know I’m on stream. Can you stay on until I get back? 

Even though Lando and his girlfriend were practically living together at this point, staying at each other’s homes almost every night during the offseason, they were yet to make it official in the eyes of the public. Max knew this better than everyone- often having to cover for the couple when they weren’t cautious enough- and smirked as he typed back a yes. Lando took that as a sign to communicate his exit. “Be right back, chat. Don’t be too mean to Max while I’m gone.” 

He opened and shut the door to the room behind him, padding down the soft carpet runner of the hallway. “y/n?” Her bright pink trainers were by the front door, and seeing as he could hear the shower down the hall, she must’ve just come back from a run. 

All of a sudden, music started blasting- a Doja Cat song, Lando knew from y/n's time on the aux whenever they were in the car together. 

“y/n,” Lando laughed, knocking on the bathroom door, “I’m on stream darling.” It wasn’t that he minded the noise, or that the chat would know very quickly that there was a girl in his house (he wasn’t really the Doja Cat type). If it were up to him, he would’ve posted y/n the day they had made it official, four months ago. But they’d decided to wait a bit and enjoy the privacy. 

No response still. He tried the bathroom door handle but it was locked. She must’ve not known he was coming home, Lando thought cheekily to himself. Otherwise, it would’ve been open. He gave up and retreated back to the room with his setup, shooting a quick text over to y/n that he was home. 

Lando settled back into his chair, turning the camera on. “Alright, chat, I’m back. Sorry to leave you with Max.” 

Max raised an eyebrow at the music that filtered in through Lando’s mic, choosing not to comment on it. The chat wasn’t as sly though, with every other comment questioning the source. 

“Didn’t know Lando was a Doja Cat fan. I’m not.” The ambiguous comment sparked even more questions, and Lando just shook his head jokingly as they started another game. As he died for a third time, Max cursing and threatening to find someone better to play with, the music cut and the distant sound of the shower running stopped. 

“Lando?” y/n called out, freezing as she read over his text in the hallway. Lando’s eyes widened and he quickly muted himself, sliding his headphones off. As he stood up he heard y/n's footsteps nearing the door and managed to shut the camera off just in time. 

Lando pulled open the door and the scent of coconut and hibiscus floated in. y/n looked up at him with wide eyes in sweatpants and a stolen Quadrant t-shirt, her hair still wet from the shower. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t realize that you were streaming.” She peeked over his shoulder and her eyes widened at the rapidly scrolling chat, the viewers going crazy about the distinctly female voice they’d overheard. Max had given up at pretending to ignore them and had shut off his camera as well, only adding to the viewers assumptions. 

He pulled her into a hug, mumbling “You smell good.” into her hair as a way of greeting. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed tightly, rocking back and forth. 

“Did they hear me?” 

“Yeah.” They shuffled over to the computer together, her almost afraid to read the chat that was still scrolling at a million miles a minute. Lando read out one comment that said “can Lando’s girlfriend fight?” and raised a questioning eyebrow at the girl next to him. 

“Heck yeah. Look at these muscles. Try me.” She bounced back and forth on her heels, hands up in a boxing stance.

Lando laughed at her, locking her in a headlock that she quickly wiggled out of. “Not fair,” she whined. “Caught me by surprise.” 

He pulled her in front of him to straighten out the locks of hair he’d mussed, and kissed her forehead before looking down at her. “What if we told them about us right now?” 

“You think?” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, and he ran a gentle thumb over it to get her to stop. 

“I think they’re going to love you as much as I do.” She leaned into him at that statement, and he watched her eyes as she seemed to process his statement. 

“Alright,” she still looked hesitant, but brightened up as she opened her mouth to speak again. “I’m already wearing the right shirt and everything.” 

“Quadrants #1 fan.” He smiled, pulling her over to the computer. They split the chair so that both of them could sit, and she draped her legs comfortably over his. He rested one hand on her thigh, using the other to restart the stream. “Ready?” 

She nodded, and all of a sudden they were back online. 

“Hi, chat.” Lando smiled, laughing as the comments started pouring in. “I’ve been meaning to introduce you to someone. This is my girlfriend, y/n.” 

“Hi, everyone,” y/n said, sporting a smile to match her boyfriend’s. “How are you doing?” 

“Finally.” Max let out a sigh, clicking his camera back on. 

“Thanks for covering for us, Max.” The trio sat and talked for a little bit, y/n answering questions for her from the chat that Lando pointed out every once in a while. They eventually turned the game back on, y/n holding her own and often outranking Max and Lando. In the midst of waiting for a new game to load, Lando wrapped an arm around her waist, squeezing her side. 

“I’m so glad I get to show you off now.”

@landonorris: kiss me more 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

@y/nl/n: cat’s out of the bag 🤭

#f1 fanfic #f1 x y/n #mclaren f1 #f1 fic #lando norris fluff #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris #f1 x reader

[jade-gemstone]

Danganronpa Ultimate Categorization

Welcome back to another episode of: Jade is a nerd about something absolutely useless! Today's topic: Talent classification in Danganronpa/Fangans.

In the process of making my own fangan/s, I've created a classification system for the types of talents you can give characters. These classifications are...

Arts: Talents that are involved in the visual arts, performing arts, or fashion. Encompasses performers of all types, any type of visual artist, or anyone involved in fashion. (Ex. Actor, Abstract Artist, Model)

Practical: Talents that focus on a specialized skill or work with your hands. Also includes any talents that are religious or spiritual in nature. (Ex. Mechanical Engineer, Detective, Shrine Maiden)

Academic: Talents that are recognized by how much knowledge or experience a character has in an academic field. Covers most science, literature, math, and research based talents. (Ex. Chemist, Theologian, Archaeologist)

Sports: Talents relating to athletic skill. (Ex. Footballer, Kickboxer, Bowler)

Novelty: Talents given to a person who is special simply by existing. Can also be given to characters who win a contest for their talent. Includes Lucky/Unlucky Students, royalty, and non-human characters. (Ex. Lucky Student, Student, Princess)

This system of classification was based on my experience in the community over about three or four years, seeing many other people's original characters as well as creating my own. I found many fell into these categories. My "perfect" ratio, which my friends and I used as a guideline for making our fangan casts, is 4 arts : 4 practical : 4 academic : 2 sports: 2 novelty. I felt this ratio kept things even and grounded.

A few months ago, I began to wonder if my "perfect" ratio was more of my own creation than an actual pattern I saw. I thought, in the event it was, that I would come up with a mathematically accurate ratio that better represented the talent distribution of Danganronpa and its fan projects. This was my attempt at doing just that.

Data Collection

For this, I tried to collect as varied of a sample as possible. I included the three mainline Danganronpa games and sixteen fangans, ranging from very popular ones to very obscure ones. The fangans sampled for this analysis were...

Danganronpa Another

Super Danganronpa Another 2

Danganronpa Despair Time

Brave Danganronpa Coward's Paradise

Project Eden's Garden

Danganronpa He(art)less Deceit

Danganronpa Hushed Whispers

Danganronpa Muave

Danganronpa Despair's Revival

Danganronpa Re:Birth

Danganronpa Twisted Truths

Danganronpa Survivor's Guilt

Danganronpa Despair's Flame (my fangan! also the one where the talent ratio originated)

Danganronpa Cyberspace

Danganronpa Akeda Amusements

Danganronpa Lost Paradise (my other fangan that isn't released anywhere but I'm counting anyway)

I figured out the talent ratio for each individual game by looking through their casts and sorting them with my classification system. Ultimate ???'s were thrown out if possible (such as in the case of Akeda Amusements, where Hanari was thrown out due to the fangan having seventeen participants) and if not, they were counted as novelty.

Also, shout out to Yuki Maeda and Teruya Ōtori for managing to count for two different data sets despite my best efforts at finagling a way to keep them confined to one.

Observations

The first thing I noticed in looking at the ratios for canon Danganronpa was that Academic ultimates are underrepresented compared to what I initially remembered. It had been a while since I revisited the mainline games, and it was a shock to be reminded of that. I was also reminded, but not quite as shocked by the greater emphasis on practical ultimates.

In fangans, the focus on practical ultimates continues to be heavy, with none having less than two. There was also less focus on sports ultimates, with the majority having only one or two compared to the three that the mainline games had a majority of the time. They also tend to have more academic ultimates.

I think that this could be explained by looking at the types of people who make fangans. The majority of people I know who make fangans have very particular knowledge about certain fields due to experience or heavy research, and more often than not these fields do not include sports. They are more likely to make characters based on their experiences and knowledge that they can then insert into the story to make it seem more authentic.

I also, unsurprisingly, found that my "perfect" ratio was not reflected in many of the fangans I looked at. There was only one besides my own that followed that ratio.

Now, if my "perfect" ratio is not the mathematically perfect ratio, then what is?

According to the data collected for the canon games, this is.

This just so happens to also be the ratio for Trigger Happy Havoc.

According to the data collected from the fangans, this is the perfect ratio.

The only fangan that followed this ratio exactly was Akeda Amusements. V3 also had this distribution.

When considering both mainline and fan made games, the perfect ratio was this.

Ironically, not a single mainline game or fan game followed this ratio.

Out of curiosity, I also calculated the standard deviation for each data set.

Canon Danganronpa has little to no variation, conveying that talent ratios are quite consistent between games. The biggest variation would be in the novelty category, making sense as V3 scaled down the amount of novelty ultimates compared to the other two games.

The fangans are shown to have a much larger variation. Though I can't be surprised by this, as perhaps it is an unfair comparison. The mainline Danganronpa games were written by mostly the same team and had less to sample from, while the fangans have not only a larger sample size in which to deviate, but many different writers that think differently about talent distribution.

Final Thoughts

In putting this all together, I found that my classification system, while not perfect in any sense of the word, has some validity to it. If I wanted to, I could definitely make some improvements to it (especially in distinguishing between certain academic and practical fields from novelty), but as of now it works perfectly fine as an aide in cast creation for me.

My ratio is also not perfect, which was an expected outcome. Really none of the ratios I found are perfect, with none of them representing more than one or two of any mainline or fan made game. While ratios like the ones I found can be good for making sure you have a balanced distribution of talents, they aren't required to make a good cast. Personally, I'll continue using my personal "perfect" ratio as a baseline for any cast I make in the future.

I also had a lot of fun making this, and hope I can find a way to make more posts like this in the future. Thank you for reading this.

#woah that was a behemoth of a post #hope you all liked it! #i love statistics so much #danganronpa #danganronpa thh #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #sdr2 #super danganronpa 2 #danganronpa v3 #danganronpa killing harmony #drv3 #danganronpa another #dra #super danganronpa another 2 #sdra2 #drdt #danganronpa despair time #brave danganronpa cowards paradise #project edens garden #edens garden game #danganronpa heartless deceit #heartless deceit #danganronpa hushed whispers #danganronpa muave #danganronpa despairs revival #danganronpa rebirth #danganronpa twisted truths #danganronpa despairs flame #danganronpa cyberspace #dangaronpa akeda amusements

[lilyginnyblackv2]

Buddy Daddies - Episode 6 - Thought Post - SPOILERS!

First, we now know that it is May 27th, so Miri has been with Kazuki and Rei for about 5 months now. We are very squarely in the "several months later" time frame when the opening from Episode 1 would likely have occurred. (Since several is usually viewed as being between 4 - 7). I'm personally thinking that the opening bit from Episode 1 has likely already happened/passed, since Rei seems slightly (only slightly) more attentive, lol.

It's also interesting that the bulletin about the school trip used 父兄 (fukei) instead of 保護者 (hogosha). Both can mean guardians, but 父兄 (fukei) is seen as a bit more outdated and not as all encompassing as 保護者 (hogosha), since fukei is made up of the kanji for "father" and "older brother." It makes me wonder if that little reminder was aimed specifically at Kazuki and Rei, lol.

Also interesting that Kazuki used ママとも (mama-tomo) instead of ママたち (mama-tachi) or something similar when pluralizing and talking about "the other mothers" when saying "Of course, the other mothers all say the same about their kids." It implies that he sees himself in that group rather than outside of it.

I really liked how the focus of this episode was in having a bit more faith in your children (and in how you've gone about raising them) and also how children can behave differently in a school setting than at home. Since I have definitely seen that before with kids when I worked as a teacher. I would mention how well behaved they were or mention something behavior-wise during Parent-Teacher Conferences, and the parents would be surprised, since it was different from their at home behavior.

Taiga was interesting to me, especially because earlier in the episode Kazuki was mentions to Miri that she doesn't understand the difference between right and wrong yet, and many children her age are still learning that and really don't know (also, just realizing that this was said over an image of Rei, highlighting the fact that he is still kind of learning this as well). 

I feel like that was Taiga. We learn later that he is a big Morio Kart fan, but he must have had the impression that the others weren't, so he might have acted out a bit in order to get their attention (the other girls). I had a boy, also named Taiga, who used to behave a bit similarly. He was a big fan of zombies, but none of the other kids were, so he acted out in order to get attention and fit in.

The miscommunication between what actually happened (Miri accidentally hit his hand) vs. one of the caretakers thought a fight had occurred, is a very true and accurate thing as well. Young kids Miri's age can communicate their thoughts and feelings, but they may have a tough time communicating it properly still. 

Like, Miri knew she didn't hit Taiga and that there hadn't been a fight, but she didn't know how to fully explain it to Kazuki, and likely a similar thing happened with the caretaker at the daycare. They eventually got it all straightened out though.

I love, love, love that Rei was the one who read through the notebook at the end. And how he took Miri to school with little complaint. He really is wrapped right around Miri and Kazuki's fingers and will go at their pace, huh (like the lyrics of the OP). But, I also think it highlights the ways in which Rei is becoming more proactive too. He seems more engaged with being an actual parent.

I can't really explain it well here either, but there is something subtle about the writing that really captures and shows how, with each passing episode, they are becoming more and more like a family. Rei and Kazuki's conversation in the car at the end of the episode felt like a very real conversation that parents would have at the end of the day. I felt they did a good job of making Miri and Taiga's friendship feel like a friendship too, and not any kind of 4 year old crush situation (regardless of what Kazuki's overactive imagination might think!)

Last week's episode introduced us to Kazuki's overactive imagination and his flaw of jumping to conclusions, but this week's episode showed how that could negatively impact Miri. I'm glad he has Rei to reel him in, though him imagining Miri as a delinquent girl made me laugh. Though, I am sincerely hoping that Miri turns out to be a lesbian otherwise Kazuki being so overprotective will turn into an issue in the future. Hopefully, Rei will be able to work on that with him over the years.

The above image, of a teen Miri with a teen Taiga also reminds me of an incident when I was working at as a shadow trainer for an ALT at a junior high school in Kawasaki City in Kanagawa Prefecture. The school’s in that area don’t have a great reputation, so while the ALT I was training was teaching a class, I was outside the halls, just going for a little walk. Then I saw two of the students (a boy and a girl) go into the bathrooms together. They had made it clear previously that they were dating, so I just ended up turning around and going in the other direction, because I had zero desire to get involved in any of that - as ALTs you can’t discipline students). 

Rei had some absolutely stellar comedic moments this episode from him asking Miri how the fight went and not caring about the violence (which makes sense given his upbringing). To Kazuki mentioning that Miri got their genes and Rei's reply of "Our what?" (Dude was 100% questioning his understanding of biology and genetics right then), to him adding the "paca" verbal tic at the end of one of his sentences, even after they were out of the mascot outfits, seems he got too in-character, lol. 

His smug expression whenever Miri preferred him was also unexpected but great! 

Oh, also! Before I forget, Miss Anna is a gem and she must have been so worried when she couldn’t find Miri and the others! Anyway, I hope the rest of the field trip was a breeze for her. <3

#Buddy Daddies #Kazuki Kurusu #Rei Suwa #Miri Unasaka #Anna Hanyu #Buddy Daddies spoilers #BD spoilers #BD #long post #image heavy post #meta post #thought post

[wonder-mei]

Letting Life Lead (MK1 Bi-han)

Author's note; reminder this is not lore accurate to the Mortal Kombat universe. I write because they're hot. I also do not have a beta reader or I read my fanfic from top to bottom to see any errors. I'm lazy okay.

Being the oldest son of the grandmaster of Lin Kuei has a lot of responsibility to be done for the expectations from the others has on Bi-han. He learns everything he needs to know; war strategies, martial arts, mastering his cryomancer and having good communications with other clans. 

Bi-han has achieved all of them but there is one expectation he has not; having a family. He never thought about being married nor even having children of his own. His younger brother, Kuai Liang can do that for the lineage. But his father told his sons everyone has the opportunity to have families. Bi-han told his father it is unnecessary for him because he never talks to any women or has any interest in them. So his father arranged him with another clan nearby.

Of course an age as old as him will get arranged with someone much younger. Bi-han stares at the clan sitting in the dining area having bonds together. His future wife's face was hidden with a silk covering her face. 

“There’s my son,Bi-han. Come. Sit in front of your future wife” his father calls him with his hand gesturing to an empty chair in front of her. He saw she took a quick glance at him. Bi-han sits in the chair in silence. His father does every talk, and he won’t admit he’s feeling nervous with this arrangement. 

They all eat when the food is served. Her parents praised the food and his father gladly took the compliments. She still eats with the silk on her face. His eyes then saw she’s wearing red lipstick underneath. The feast took around one hour to end with the dessert. 

“Why don’t you take her walking around?” 

Bi-han looks at his father and huffs. He stands up leaving the room not waiting for her at all. It’s too foreign to him;having someone. 

Her mother told her to follow Bi-han and she did. Her soft and timid footstep follows Bi-han behind to the backyard. It was the spring season. The magnolia trees in Lin Kuei clan delicate petals unfurl in the gentle spring breeze, the air is suffused with a sweet fragrance, enchanting the senses and bringing everyone into a serene state. 

She just follows him wherever he leads him but then her footstep stops. Bi-han turns around to see her staring at a swing under the biggest magnolia tree in the area. He walks towards her, her gaze flickered towards Bi-han getting near to her but she shyly looks back on the swing. 

The unexpected gentleness of his gesture made her in disbelief, leaving her momentarily stunned. Bi-han sweeps the leaves and flowers on the swing for her. Her eyes finally looked at him. Her eyes sent him into tranquillity.He was left speechless by her eyes, full of admiration and tenderness, reflecting the depth of her feelings without ever saying a word.

She sits on the swing and brings her legs back and forth swaying in the air as she pleas. Her hair dances with the wind and her dress flutters beautifully. Bi-han watches her with admiration but then he stops her swinging. 

Her eyes looked at him directly again, sending him another wave of electric. His hand touches the silk that has been covering her face. Bi-han looks for any sign of protest or discomfort but she shows none, her eyes showing willingness instead. 

As the silk fell from her face. The beauty only from her eyes expands more. She is a deity that fell from the sky for him. A gift from the elder gods for him. Each magnolia patel twirls around them both as they gaze on each other. Bi-han shakingly takes a beautiful golden hairpin with pink flowers from her pocket. She sees it and bows down letting him wear it on her. 

His hands cannot stop shaking from the nervousness he’s having. He’s afraid he would pull her hair too much or pierce the hairpin into her skull but she patiently awaits him. His fingers caress her scalp gently, not ruining her hair. Bi-han places the hairpin in her hair. She raises her head up facing back to him,the hairpin suits her features so perfectly. He returns her smile and holds her hand leading back to where their families are.

The two clans smile widely seeing them holding hands with smiles carved on their faces. The hairpin he gave to her is the answer they all pray for, she accepts the marriage. For once in Bi-han’s life, the universe is leading him to somewhere he never expected. And for now on, he let life lead him which he knows will be perfect as it is already perfect right now.

----

A/N: Got this idea from a Turkish drama scene on tiktok so i was inspired by it. If you have any request,do tell. I don't have anymore ideas to write or it will take me awhile to post. Please request for me to expand my writing skills and boredom.

#mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat #bi han x reader #sub zero x reader #sub zero #bi han mk

[snacksizedgates]

Why Mike Referring to El as "Superman" is Byler Coded

*Note this theory has nothing to do with gender*

This is gonna be long. But don't worry. I think it's worth it.

El + Will

El and Will are intertwined. Interchangeable characters. Almost like doppelgängers or alter-egos. Yet sometimes behave or are placed in situations as if they are foils. Here's what I mean by this.

Season One

From the very beginning, Will and El are linked. When Will goes missing from Hawkins, El appears in the woods of Hawkins. Will is taken from the party and El is given to them (in a sense) when they find her. Immediately they are put in contrasting situations (foils) yet are interchangeable characters (I'll be calling this alter ego since doppelgänger isn't a completely accurate term

Physically she is smaller than the rest of the group, like Will, and she is also shy, like Will. She's not just shy because she doesn't know many words as we know from later seasons, when she knows a lot more English. Though she talks a bit more, she is still reserved with communication, just like Will.

And we can also see their characters mirror each other in the way other characters react to them. Not only just Mike but Lucas and Dustin eventually become protective over El just like they are with Will. Joyce becomes a motherly figure for El once she meets her. Not in season one but eventually Hopper becomes both of their father figures. The bullies make fun of her just like they make fun of Will. But from the very first few minutes, we understand Mike and Will have a special friendship compared to themselves with Lucas and Dustin. Will only tells Mike the truth about the dice. He doesn't lie. Mike's also very protective over and sensitive about Will. He notices he doesn't show up to school. He goes to his house to find him. He genuinely wants to help find Will, just like the others, but he's really adamant from the get go. He has a protector role. As soon as Will becomes lost and they find El in the woods, she takes Will's place in his absence. Immediately, Mike takes her under his wing and protects her. They have a thing about friends not lying, referencing the very first scene where Will doesn't lie to Mike, and only Mike. They both have a special relationship with Mike and it's emphasized by all the other similarities between Will and El. Such as...

Both of the characters being the only ones to have outwardly abusive, shitty fathers. Lonnie is a homophobic bully to his own son and would gladly exploit his death, while Brenner imprisoned El her entire childhood and did nothing but manipulate and exploit her. They both were taken from their mothers, who go crazy looking for them and never stop until they find them or are physically prevented from doing so :( They are the only characters alive who have been abducted, so they share a complex trauma that none of the others can relate to. Automatically this gives them a similar character profile starkly contrasted to the rest. They both feel a connection to the Upside Down and are the other characters main (only?) connections to the Upside Down.

Finally, in the final moments of season one, Will is brought back to the original Hawkins and El is taken into the Upside Down. Interchangeably. A transfer of their characters. The paralellism lol. And this brings us directly into season two.

But before that.

This next sentence is important, so pay attention. Essentially, the only major difference between Will and El is that Will has no powers. Remember this.

Season Two

So immediately in season two there is already another situational contrast between our mirrored characters; Will is now in Hawkins, placed back inside the party, and El was in the Upside Down until she was in the woods (just like Will except reversed) and then Hopper took her in (same person who saved Will), taken from the party. So Will is given back and El is taken. Almost like you can only have one because they're so interchangeable. So there are already many parallels.

**So many that I could stop here and make my Superman point honestly but this is too much fun. So if you want you can just skip to the end for the rest of the theory and it will still make sense. But I suggest reading the whole thing for it to really hit.**

Anyway. Now instead of El being the main character, Will is, at least in relation to the other party members. I would say both El and Will are the main main characters of s2, but regardless, Will takes her place as the main character in the party. So again, they switch places. Indicating they are interchangeable. Which is very important. Just like season one where the party members and eventually the other characters were protecting El from the bad men, they're now protecting Will from the Mind Flayer. He takes the place of protected and Mike is his main protector as far as the kids and teens. Not only that but there are tons of Byler moments in this season and they mirror how Mileven were in season one. If what's happening in a canon ship is happening in a supposed "unrequited" ship, then maybe that ship isn't so unrequited. If people even question it, maybe that ship isn't so canon.

But I digress. Lol

Just because Will and El are so alike doesn't mean they don't clash. That's why they're also foils, imo. And this is what we see in season three.

Season Three

So by clash I don't mean they don't like each other or have ill will for one and other. I mean the trope or role they hold in comparison to the other characters only has room for one, so it can create tension. Otherwise, they still pretty much mirror each other. Both are finally getting to grow up and not experience trauma (in the first few episodes). They are both recovering from their childhood being ripped apart by two heads of the same beast. El has girls night with Max before+after breaking up with Mike, Will has boys night before fighting with Mike. They're two peas in one pod that are constantly revolving around each other. The yin and yang. So similar but constantly moving in opposite directions. When one does this, the other does that. Mileven's breakup scene is funny, lighthearted, fun colored and sunny. Bylers fight is dreary, dark, mono toned color scheme, emotional acting and serious implications. El is seen having fun thinking of other things after the breakup. Will destroys Castle Byers, the place he felt was safe for him, which could even parallel when El destroys the cabin because Hopper won't let her leave/see Mike. They're in almost identical situations (lover/crush isn't reciprocating the feelings I have for them, or at least isn't showing it properly) yet their situations end up completely different. This mirrors their characters but also foils them. Regardless it creates a link between the two indicating they hold similar roles within the show. Other than Mike relations, while El is figuring out something is up with Billy/the Upside Down, Will knows the Mind Flayer is back. They both consistently represent the fantasy aspect and always facilitate that storyline. Now that they've finally been present together in a season, it becomes A LOT more obvious how their characters are so similar it causes clashes, which only further emphasizes how alike they are.

Let's just get into S4 because this is so long lol.

Season Four

El and Will becoming siblings heavily emphasizes them being each others alter-egos and the fact that El has no powers only maximizes this to the fullest. Essentially they're now the exact same character trope/profile whatever you want to call it. El is now being bullied for being "different" and because she no longer has powers. We all know Will has been bullied since the womb 💀 Without her powers, El has a very difficult time defending herself, and so does Will in general. She can't vocally speak up for herself, the only time Will does is when Mike has ticked him off so bad, similar to El without her powers. They both just don't fit in. So why don't they also show Will being bullied? It goes back to how they clash, reiterating how they're the yin and yang, switching situations constantly. When Mike first gets to Cali, Mileven are all over each other leaving Will dilly dallying somewhere in the background and Byler eventually fighting. Then Mileven fight and Byler make up. Both Will and El want to hear something from Mike that he's isn't ready to say. He dances around the issue with the both of them - telling El she's incredible and he cares for her, telling Will they're just friends, and indicating their relationship didn't warrant regular contact. Same situation (I want Mike to reciprocate my feelings) different outcome (Mike doesn't love me, Mike can't admit we were best friends ((or more than that)) and his behavior is weird). This is not for no reason. Writers (and no it's not just the Duffers, so please stop shitting on the writing when if you look into it there's some good subtext) don't parallel characters for no reason. They are trying to indicate something. That Will and El are so alike but constantly stuck in opposing situations.

Okay so that's my in depth analysis of why Will and El are essentially the same character while simultaneously contrasting each other. Alter ego foils. Let's get to the ACTUAL point 😭

Superman

So, in the van scene, before Will gives his speech, Mike has his own little semi-speech and towards the end he says "...that I'm just some random nerd who got lucky Superman landed on his doortstep. I mean at least Lois Lane is a reporter for the daily planet, right?"

Now this may seem like a simple analogy, not knowing much about Superman. However, even when I only knew the basics and tropes, it still stood out to me that he referred to el as Superman, not Superwoman, wonder woman or Supergirl. I've seen a few people for and against this theory and it always revolves around the idea that El is a girl not a boy so it should be Supergirl. And yes, I think that partially helps this analogy, it gives it more attention to an average viewer; but that's not the only reason it works. In fact, I don't think that's the main point at all. It's also important that Mike refers to himself as Lois Lane. Now hear me out...

In the original Superman comics, and some iterations of it, Lois Lane falls for Superman because of his super powers and subsequent charisma/attractiveness, while befriending Clark Kent and not realizing they are the same person. Are we seeing this comparison? Please tell me I'm not crazy.

If it wasn't obvious, Mike = Lois Lane, Will = Clark Kent and El = Superman.

Here's a description of the "love triangle" between Lois, Clark and Superman. Yellow is Will, blue is Mike and green is El.

Now obviously, Superman and Kent really are the same person. However, I think there's plenty of support for the idea that Will and El are nearly interchangeable characters without the powers. So the Writers used a clever reference to indicate this love triangle (or at least I think they intentionally did lol).

What supports this theory more is Mike's descriptions throughout the seasons of El. He's references her super powers more than twice, referred to her as a "machine" a "weapon in s1". In S3 and S4 he has trouble saying ILY which on its own could be plenty of things but coupled with all of the other subtext... let's just say maybe I choose to be delusional. In the monologue, he refers multiple times to her super powers instead of like "i love your caring soul, your warming smile, how you are literally always there for us". No its "you can move mountains, fly, do anything" etc. Clear romanticization of her powers which she probably doesn't like and isn't a healthy thing in a relationship anyway.

Lois Lane has a close personal relationship with both Superman and Clark Kent, yet she's unable to tell that they're the same person. Even though the only thing being different is a pair of glasses and obviously super powers. This parallels how Mike is unable to differentiate between his feelings for Will and his feelings for El. They're confusing because he thinks he's supposed to like El because of society (Lois is primarily attracted to Superman first over Kent because of the allure he brings with his fame and powers, which relates to social standing) and that he can't like Will because of the obvious implications - being gay would give him hardship. For Lois Lane, it means she has a lower social status than if she were to be with Superman. The way El and Will have so many parallels I feel like this analogy is too blatant to not mean something. Especially considering this is a sci-fi action show and Superman would attract similar fanbases, so some of them would be able to make the connection.

+++It's also NOT a coincidence that he says this RIGHT before Will confesses his feeling VICARIOUSLY THROUGH El. It just can't be sorry.

Now obviously this is all speculation, but this next part is really speculation.

So how is Mike's behavior explained in the context of this Superman analogy?

Now that El lost her powers, Will and El are essentially two peas in a pod. If you analyze closely throughout the seasons you would catch on to it, but now more than ever. Mike has too. They call and write all the time so presumably they talk A LOT about A LOT of things. This gave him the time to understand El apart from her powers. Not only that but they were physically separated so even if she did have her powers, he still wouldn't be as affected by them. He finally gets to know her. And that's not to say he doesn't like her. Or even love her. He just doesn't romantically love her. And he realizes that once he's confronted her true self, and once he gets to Cali it's thrown right into his face (as he may or may not have been expecting) causing him to ignore Will. Even though he's never, even in s3, acted this nonchalant and apathetic towards Will. It's noticeable, probably noticeable enough for the general audience. A stark contrast even. Yes it could be the distance so they grew apart but we know from their talks in Vol 1 that it wasn't intentional. Mike says he lost Will. When's the last time he lost Will? In s2 with the Mind Flayer and in s1 with the abduction. How did he react? Negatively, but urgently tried to find Will. This time he reacts negatively but avoids fixing it. Why? Because he, at least on some level, has recognized his feelings for Will. Perhaps the similarities are so glaringly obvious that he feels stupid and naïve.

And one last thing to drive the point home.

Mike, in episode 8, refers to El as "superman". You can brush it all off as oh that's just the most popular superhero, etc. But in the VERY next episode, Argyle refers to her as "supergirl". It shows that Argyle sees her as a girl, not a boy. Not that Mike doesn't know she's a girl but that he chose not to refer to her as such. Someone else pointed out that he has referred to her as "person" multiple times throughout the series. I don't have the proof in that but if it's true it supports this. It also shows that the writers (may) have used the word Superman intentionally.

Well that was super fucking long but I would love to hear opinions if you've gotten this far!!! I don't think it's that far fetched but I am deluded so I truly can't tell lol.

#Byler #Byler is real #Mike Wheeler is gay #Mike Wheeler queer #Mike Wheeler queercoded #Stranger things #Will Byers #Will Byers is gay #Byler is endgame #stranger things 4 #stranger things gay #byler theory #byler theories #mike and will #THIS IS TRUE IDC!!!!!!! #mike wheeler and will byers #byler endgame #Eleven

[tbcanary]

for arrowfam week day one: "ghost" and "grow"

(set sometime around ga vol 7, but not exactly accurate based on current timelines within the run. suspend your disbelief with me for a sec.)

--

There’s a girl sitting at Mia’s desk.

Not that that’s unusual, or anything. Mia might come from a family of famous caped crusaders, but the vigilante business doesn’t exactly pay well enough for Ollie to foot all of her bills in the heart of Star City. She has roommates – two of them, actually, girls who have known each other since college but needed a third while so-and-so is studying abroad for a year, blah blah blah – and they’ve been known to sneak in to use her desk so that they both aren’t stuck studying at the kitchen table like they’re in the opening scenes of a Dickinson novel or whatever.

The point is, people sit at Mia’s desk sometimes. It happens, and normally it wouldn’t bother her, even coming home from work this late. Even after she spent all evening cleaning up the cafeteria in the community center after some kind of Bean Incident none of the kids would blab about, no matter how much she tried to wheedle it out of them.

Anyway. That’s not what bothers her. The thing that bothers her, actually, doesn’t hit until the girl looks up at her. The hood of her sweatshirt falls back from her head, revealing a shock of bright pastel hair, and Mia doesn’t know anyone with that hair color but –

But she knows those soft brown eyes. She knows that dimple in the left cheek, accompanying the uncertain smile.

“Lian,” she says. “What. The fuck.”

And then she slaps a hand over her mouth, and the laughter spills between her fingers despite her best efforts. “I mean, shit, I shouldn’t — goddammit, Roy is going to be so mad at me for cussing, but I —what?”

“Um.” Lian shrugs. It is her, after all; her voice sounds exactly like Cheshire, somehow, but the way her eyes crinkle at the corners is all Roy. “Hi.”

Mia stumbles into the room, sets her duffle bag to the ground with a thump that feels more like an earthquake. She drops down onto her unmade bed and stares – not bothering to hide her astonishment, her disbelief – at Lian, somehow so much older, somehow exactly the same.

“If I’m being haunted, you legally have to tell me,” Mia insists.

Lian shrugs. The toes of her sneakers drag against the floor as she kicks her feet, hands gripping the sides of her seat. “Nope. Not a ghost.”

Well. It’s not as weird as it sounds, probably. Roy had come back, and Ollie had, too, hadn’t he? But Mia… Mia had been there when Lian died. Sort of. Or at least, it was her not being there that had done it, and she’d done everything she could to find a loophole, but there had never been one. Nothing. She’d been gone; it had sat in Mia’s stomach like a weight, like a rock she’d swallowed and couldn’t spit back out.

“Clone?” she tried.

Lian shook her head. “Mm-nn.”

“Hallucination.”

“Nope.”

“Prank?”

“Only from the universe.”

“Alternate dimension.”

“Maybe.”

“Well,” Mia said.

And then she swallowed.

And then her breath came out in a flurry of hysterical giggles again, a fountain she just couldn’t stop, and she dropped her face into her hands and let the flood come, let it pour out of her chest like an open wound.

“Fuck,” Mia hissed. “I—Fuck me. God. Lian, does Roy, does your dad know?”

Lian hums her confirmation. “He’s on the roof. He and Uncle Connor brought me to see you.”

“They’re…?” Mia pushes off the bed and stomps over to the window. She throws open the glass and leans out, looking upward.

Sure enough, a grappling hook arrow is hooked into the brick of her building with a rope dangling down. That must be how Lian got in. Mia should really start locking her windows, but it’s just so much easier to make a quick escape that way instead of going out the front door.

She doesn’t give a fuck about the neighbors, so she shouts as loud as she can. “Hey! Assholes!”

Two heads peek over the edge at her, one with shaggy red hair and one with a series of blonde braids. Connor, at least, has the decency to wave. Roy just raises an eyebrow at her, like she’s the one inconveniencing him.

Ugh. Brothers.

“What the fuck?” she shouts. “How did she get so tall?”

Roy snorts, and it echoes off the building next door. “Blame the multiverse, or something!”

“I can hear you,” Lian offers.

Mia waves a hand. “Shut up, I’ll deal with you in a minute. The adults are speaking.”

Lian huffs, and Mia can practically hear the eyeroll. As if she doesn’t get enough crap from the kids she works with all damn day, now she’s got a bratty teenager who’s going to be expecting a cool aunt she can come play hooky with, or whatever kids do. Mia wouldn’t know; she didn’t exactly have aunts and uncles to set an example.

“Can you at least come down here and walk me through it, instead of sitting around like two old farts at a chess tournament?” Mia demands.

On the streets below, someone must take offense to their big family reunion. Mia hears the distant – but distinct – sounds of someone telling her to shut the fuck up, lady! from the sidewalk.

Star City. Gotta love it.

“Fine, fine,” Connor says. He’s still smiling, though, and she watches as he pulls a rope arrow from his quiver. “Give us a second. Arsenal’s not as young as he once was.”

Roy lets out some kind of offended comment at that, Mia’s sure, but she doesn’t pay him any attention. Instead, she turns to face Lian again and all but tackles her, trapping her head in the bend of an elbow and ruffling her hair as she squeals.

“And you, you little brat,” Mia says, holding on tight as Lian laughs and tries to wriggle free, “are going to tell me everything.”

#arrowfamweek2023 #arrowfam week #mia dearden #lian harper #arrowfam #EHHHH WHO NEEDS CONTINUITY. #this is only a stretch because roy is here. bc based on [REDACTED] he may not be when mia shows up #ASSUMING mia shows up #but i'm going to IGNORE all of that #in favor of mia and lian #roy harper #connor hawke #fic.tb

[locallixie]

it’s a sign! — jongho

> summary . an unexpected romance was still able to blossom despite the silence between you and him.

> genre . fluff, high-school au, mutual pining, deaf!reader, reader and wooyoung are siblings, gn!reader.

> warnings . none

(wc) > 3.6k

(sunny’s note) ☆ description of hand movements (signing) will be in korean sign language (ksl), i’ll try my best to be as general yet accurate as possible to not offend anyone. i felt exhausted these last few weeks, so i apologize for slow uploads.

Quiet, it has always been so quiet. Never heard the sounds of calm waves, or the voice of your loved ones. You didn't even know how your name was pronounced. However, you liked how quiet it was. Your ears naturally already tuned out everything, easier to sleep peacefully that way, easier to focus since there wasn't any loud sounds bothering you. It was a blessing in a curse, being deaf for you.

Your family predominantly used sign language to communicate, but speaking was still a big part between your parents and your older brother, they didn't want you to feel left out. Cochlear implants were put in consideration before, however, they were quite expensive and your parents were unsure if you were ready for it yet. So for now, you would stick with the pre-existing silence.

Of course, going to school was a struggle when you have a disability. You couldn't rely much on your peers, the pacing of each subject was different but all were equally difficult to keep up when you weren't able to listen in with the lecture. It was scary going into middle school as a deaf kid, yet, it was another kind of terror to go into high school.

"You okay?" Wooyoung asked verbally while signing at the same time. Though this was your third year already, the sound of your heart felt like it was the first day of school. Riddled with anxiety, you hesitated to leave your brother. But you nodded nonetheless, half not wanting to further bother him, half just wanting to get everything over with.

"Text me if you need anything." Your brother signed to you before bidding goodbye. There was a new homeroom teacher this year, and some of your classmates from last year were also changed around. Which meant you were back in the position of having to familiarize yourself with everyone, and having to inform people that you were deaf all over again.

Your friend changed homeroom this year, you wouldn't be able to see him too often then. You barely know anyone here, either because some of them were newcomers or you just haven't met them before. The new people looked oddly intimidating, maybe it was the anxiety talking? But there was something about them that made them seem unwelcoming.

Laying on your desk, tired from the night before since you didn't get a good night sleep. Too anxious to go to school, worried that you might overslept, or ruin your uniforms. All the worst case scenarios kept popping into your head, not letting you rest until you worn yourself out and fall asleep.

A subtle vibration sent across the surface of your desk, gently notifying you of something, a presence. You weren't expecting anyone to approach you, since everybody were occupied with their own businesses, you minded your own too. You saw his lips moving, but you could not make out anything he was saying. Terrible at reading lips, and the other person wasn't aware that you were deaf.

He was confused as well by how you were not responding, if you were intentionally ignoring him while maintaining eye-contact. You placed a single notebook on your desk, 'communicating book'—it said on the cover, written in black marker ink. This one was your fifth or seventh one, you have lost count after going through several during middle school up until recently.

'Hi, my name is Jung [Y/N], and I'm deaf so I apologize in advance if I don't response to you immediately. We can talk through this notebook!'—Holding up the notebook to him, the first page was written beforehand. You slid a pen over to him, implying that it was his turn to 'speak'. That was how most of your conversation usually begin, on very rare occasions, you might be lucky enough to meet someone who could speak sign language. But for the majority, you spoke through the pages in your notebook.

The other wrote down something on the next blank page, he then showed it to you, 'Sorry, I didn't know. I'm Choi Jongho by the way, I don't think we have met before.'

Jongho was a new student, he spent the last couple minutes at the assembly to meet the other classmates, he must have missed you back there. Though you did leave with Wooyoung right after the opening ceremony this morning, so you two wouldn't meet either way. You couldn't understand what they were saying, why would you stay there any longer?

You two seem to clicked well, he even invited you to join him for lunch already. It was a bother having to write out everything you wanted to say to him, there were just way too many topics you wanted to share. Yet, he sat there, writing down every single sentence, every thought he had on his mind to keep the conversation going until the bell would eventually break you apart.

"Mom made you lunch, be sure to eat it. Do you want to sit with me and my friends?" Wooyoung spoke along with his hands. Your brother could be quite protective at times, it made sense since you were a deaf kid running around school without one warning sign. If something were to happen to you, he might blow up.

You replied, "No need, I'm sitting with a friend." Taking out the lunch box from your bag, wrapped up delicately in a light blue plaid cloth. You could already smell the pleasant aroma of the grilled chicken your mother prepared.

"You made a friend? That's good. I'll see you later!" He pat you on the shoulder, before leaving your classroom. Jongho was sat at a table, waiting for you by the time you got down to the cafeteria. You spotted him easily by the warm brownish colour of his hair—which stood out from a majority of natural black. You sat down across from him, placing your items on the table. The lunch today didn't look all too bad. Normally you would eat the lunch provided at school, but home-cooked lunch box was a thing your mother did every first day of school, a good luck ritual of some sort.

'You brought your own lunch, what are you eating?' The words displayed on Jongho's phone screen. You shrugged, not knowing for sure. You smelt chicken, and eggs, and stir fried vegetables, that was all you could guess.

Gosh, she went all out with the presentation, you felt bad eating it now that the bear head was made out of brown rice. The vegetables were cut out like stars and hearts, decorative picks were included on top of fruits. You appreciated the effort, but a bit of embarrassment stuck in your stomach. Would the other kids make fun of you for still having your mother make you adorable lunch boxes? You wouldn't know, but you wouldn't enjoy the teasing nonetheless.

Jongho smiled, he even giggled at the sight of your lunch box. "Don't laugh!" Signing towards him, a bashful expression stood on your face.

'It's just so cute~!' He typed out on his phone, chuckling at your pouty face at his comment. At least he didn't make fun of your lunch, its childish appearance simply asking for talks. You got out your utensils that was wrapped with napkins, finally began to ease your empty stomach.

Mid-conversation, Wooyoung came by to disrupt your peace. His intentions were clearer than day, you knew him far too well to be suspicious. He came to check out your new friend, having to meet his approval to continued hanging out with you. As a compromise, he bought you the soda you liked. Though, Wooyoung could freely be as skeptical and disapproving of Jongho all he wanted. Because you, yourself, felt Jongho was genuine.

You let out a dragging sigh, 'Don't mind my brother, he acts up every time I befriend someone new.'—Explaining to the other person after you were sure your brother was a far enough distance from the table you two were sitting.

'You two seems close.'—To which you just nodded and returned to eating. Wether or not these were intrusive thoughts, unwilling to admit the fact that he found you cute when you are frustrated. All pouty and grumpy, your cheeks protruding as they were stuffed with meat, rice, and vegetables. An angry chipmunk was the only suitable comparison.

Though you established many good relationships with your peers, you mostly spent your time hanging out with Jongho. After Jongho's multiple requests of being seated next to you, your homeroom teacher finally agreed to arrange you two together. Would it be better anyways? He could assist you with academic matters when he is closer to you, win-win situation!

‘You’re learning fast!’ You excitedly complimented. Recently, he has been picking up sign language to less burden you with always having to write as your only source of communication. You were glad to help him since he was learning on his own. Again, you slowly signed each character of his name with your hand, getting him familiar with the alphabet.

“Like this?” He asked as he started moving his fingers to sign.

‘Did you just sign my name?’ Jongho only smiled after reading your text, admiring the stunned look on your face. He knew more than you had originally thought, at this pace, he would be fluent in no time!

Feeling a strong vibration ran through your forearm, his phone lit up in a split moment. It was Wednesday afternoon, which meant you had clubs to attend. Jongho held his fist under his mouth as if he was holding a microphone, he was off to practice his singing for the upcoming school festival that his band will be playing at. Before he went, he turned around to look at you one last time as good luck. You just gave him a gentle smile, while moving your opened hand in a circular motion above your fist.

You were contented with the never-ending silence you had been born into, even so, there were definitely times you wished you could hear. After you met Jongho, you have never stressed over your disability more than you were now. Every-time you passed by one of his rehearsals, seeing all the girls and guys cheering him on with so much amazement in their eyes, you couldn't help yourself from feeling left out from the crowd. You have never heard your best friend's voice, and you desperately wanted to.

"[Y/N]!" He couldn't hide his excitement when he spotted you at your desk, calling out your name as he began running towards you. Taken back by how your immediately turned your head to him, like you heard every syllable that he had just now produced.

Jongho leaned on your desk, "Did you hear what I said?" Actually, not quite. Sounds were all over the place, you have never heard your name be spoken up until recently. You took a good week to recover for your cochlear implants, during it, you had gotten a little more used with your family members' voices and the way words were pronounced. However, you would need a lot more time to learn how to talk, and learn to live with all the noises of life.

You have never knew how loud life could become, like how the sound of rain was strangely calming, but the summer of cicadas were annoying. The most pleasant sound to your ears was Jongho's voice, soft and mellow, and full of fondness. That was one of your many exceptions.

"I'm not used to this quite yet." You continued to speak with your hands. You wanted to take your hearing devices off but your mother insisted you keep it on during school, she didn't realize how much that overwhelmed you with all the new noises everyday.

Jongho brought his hand out towards you, opened and asking you for something. A bit stuck, hesitating in seconds before you took off both of your hearing devices and placed them on his palm. Instantly, every and all sounds cut off, washed out and silenced.

Solely his gentle aura remained, smiling at you with the same look as the first time you met. Though you were able to hear now, there was just this special type of noiselessness around Jongho, a comfortable silence where you didn't have to speak to keep things moving. You liked that, you liked that quiet atmosphere when you were with him. Not entirely quiet, your heart kept beating violently, making your whole chest vibrated in an inexplicable excitement. It was calling out his name, and you couldn't even talk.

You were fine with being deaf, but you adored his voice way too much to remain living like that. You would happily trade any and all other noises to only hear his in your ears. As it echoed in the depth of your heart, you wanted to push yourself more with your hearing devices just to listen to him talk and sing to you.

"Better?" He asked in signs.

"So so." Replying, fiddling with the two devices in your hands. There were so much you wanted to say to him, but you couldn't quite express them neither verbally or through signing, they were all too complicated to be accurately translated.

The day of the school festival finally came, and you were most looking forward to Jongho's performance with his band. You came with your brother at first, but then he dipped to go with his friends—which left you wandering alone around school grounds. There were many vendors in the courtyard, selling handmade goods and delicious food items—most of them were operated by clubs, and some were from sponsors that the school invited.

Seeing some of your seniors selling sandwiches, you decided to came by as support. Yeosang was one of your brother's friends who was on the working shift that hour, he immediately greeted you upon seeing your arrival at his food stand. "[Y/N], how are you?"

"I'm good. What kind of sandwich is this?" Yeosang understood sign language quite well, you didn't know how he did, but he did. He was the some of only seniors that you were friends with—though many knew you due to your connections with Wooyoung.

"Just a grilled ham sandwich with cheese and strawberry jam, do you want one? I'll make you a new one." Yeosang put on a pair of disposable plastic gloves. What an odd combo, but it could be one of those rare gems for all you know.

As you were digging into your wallet for money, Yeosang stopped you. "It's okay, it's my treat. Just don't tell anyone." Though you tried paying, Yeosang kept refusing to take any money from you.

Despite the weird mix of ingredients, it was surprisingly tasty. You might ask Yeosang for the recipe to make some at home, or some for Jongho since you couldn't leave him out from experiencing good food. And speaking about Jongho, you haven't seen him at all. You figured that he was caught up with practicing and final rehearsals since his band was the only other performers besides from the indie singer that was invited for a gig.

A song suddenly erupted from your pocket, pulling your phone out as you saw Wooyoung's name above his number, he was asking to face-time you. You placed the phone on a bench before answering, since you couldn't quite speak well and would definitely have to rely on your hands to communicate.

"[Y/N]! Where are you? I'm with Jongho if you want to talk to him!" Wooyoung's face was very close to the camera, almost shoving his nose to screen.

Hearing noises from phones like calls was still a difficulty, and sometimes those darn glitches occurred and messed up everything. You had to tell him to move the camera farther away because you couldn't quite listen in with his voice blasting in the mic, and he all-together looked stupid. "I'm sitting in the courtyard, you left me, asshole!"

"Sorry, sorry, but Seonghwa came to visit so I had to see him." Wooyoung pouted, signing an apology through the screen.

"I want to see Jongho, put him on." You told.

The camera shook violently as your brother ran to Jongho, putting the phone in front of the boy for you to see. There he was, sitting with his lyrics in hand and warming up his vocals. His chestnut hair was styled nicely, he was dressed equally more stylish than he usually was, was that really your best friend? "Jongho, say 'hi' to [Y/N]!"

"[Y/N], I'm glad you came! Are you going to see my performance later?" Enthusiasm obvious through the glints in his sweet doe eyes, under that bad boy exterior which he had on today, your Jongho still shone through.

"I'll be cheering you on in the crowd!" You assured him of your presence during his stage performance soon later. "Good luck!" Before ending the call, you moved your hand in a circular motion above your fist as something extra that you wanted to tell him. Then the call ended, as they could only see your contact flashed on the screen for a split second and fading away afterward.

Jongho turned to his senior, "What did [Y/N] sign at the end? I haven't learn that one."

Wooyoung let out a giggle, patting the younger's shoulders before dropping a bomb. "They said they love you." He gathered with his friends, "Anyways, good luck on your performance, I'll see you!"

Oh...Oh! Jongho was shaking, in a good way. The pressure wasn't about pleasing the crowd, it was about impressing you now—which was so much harder, he really wanted you to have the best of everything. Each step he took leading to the stage, you were the only thing on his mind. This performance have to be perfect, because the one he love was going to be there cheering for him. Though he couldn't spot you between the sea of people, and he was running out of time to do so. Yet, he knew you were there, somewhere. Wherever you were, please know that he felt the same.

"Everyone, let's show some support for our performers!" The crowd began sending applauses throughout the gymnasium, band members pouring out onto the grand stage with their instruments. Taking a few short minutes to get plugged in and in tuned, sound checking the microphone and amps on stage. For the first time in your life, you got to experience your first concert.

It was an original song, God, the lyrics was so him. Jongho did have quite a stage presence there, and oh did his voice sounded amazing. You hated to admit, that hearing him sing was worth all the waiting you did before you got your implants. The sound made your heart vibrated, and everything as well. Speaking metaphorically, it was love, tugging on your heartstrings as some might put it.

After the performance ended, the stage entertainment was on hold for the next ten to twenty minutes to get the other set ready. You used that free time to go find Jongho. When you found him backstage, he was already helping his other bandmates with packing their instruments and bringing amps and cables back to the music room. Not wanting to distract him since those things were heavy, you waited outside for him to finish up with post-performance stuff.

The bassist, a senior that you only have seen in school and have yet to talk to, she spotted you outside. "Are you waiting for Jongho?"

You nodded simply, a bit shy to communicate with new people today. Even though you two have never spoke to each other before, she knew that you were Jongho's friends, because of how often he brought you up in conversation during practices and rehearsal. About how he desperately wanted you to hear his songs, how he wanted to know what your voice sounded like and if you would be a good singer, and how in love he was with you.

"Jongho, hurry up, your lover is waiting for you outside!" No warning, none at all, she yelled out. Filled to the brim with embarrassment, praying that he didn't hear the last part, or wishing that your device was malfunctioning back then so you wouldn't be caught in this situation.

After a few minutes, your heart pacing in your chest, trying your best to remain calm and not lose your mind. Finally, Jongho walked out. You were on the floor, contemplating wether or not you should take off your hearing device after what happened earlier. How could someone caught you lacking like that?

"Hey, sorry for making you wait." Jongho spoke up, scaring you with the sudden emerge of sound after it was quiet for a long while.

"No! Not at all! Should we go check out the vendors together?" You awkwardly asked.

He looked a bit on edge, as if there was something he was concealing away. The smoothies didn't help out with easing him much, and you were unsure of how to bring it up to him. Did the performance not go as planned or something? The silence between the two of you was never uncomfortable like it was now.

"So...um...I love you too." He spilt out. Quietly, lacing his fingers with yours as both your hands hugged each other.

You wanted to sign in reply, but he wouldn't let go so you had to sign with an extra weight. "Who told you?!"

His pointer finger slightly curving against his middle finger which stood up straight, the others curled in. "Wooyoung?! How could he?!"

Jongho technically saved your brother from getting killed, pulling you into his embrace before you could burst and go beat up Wooyoung. He felt nice, like a cuddling bear—at least if you could ignore the studded leather jacket he was wearing. You were hinting him all this time, confessing all of your feelings through sign language. Was it obvious? Definitely. Did he know that it was a sign that you liked him romantically? Eh.

"I love you." He signed back to you.

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez jongho #fluff #ateez fluff #jongho x reader #ateez x you #jongho x you #ateez x gender neutral reader #ateez fic #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez yeosang #ateez wooyoung #deaf reader #sign language #a silent voice #ateez fanfic #choi jongho #choi jongho x reader #atz #atz scenarios #atz jongho #mutual pining #high school #ateez seonghwa

[perpetualcynicism]

…𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: In which you’re irritated to find a stranger in your usual busking spot, and embark on a mission to reclaim it. …𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: Comedy, one-sided rivals to lovers. …𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: None.  …𝙻𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑: 13,659 words.  …𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: Gender-neutral reader, modern classical musician au, use of musical terminology, Debussy.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚢 𝙶𝚘𝚝 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙰 𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎.

It was a well-known fact in your city, or so you thought, that you busked in the spot by the main train station on top of the hill every Wednesday afternoon. There were often fluctuations in unclaimed spots, of course, and you popped in here and there on every other day of the week when a free slot showed up, but Wednesday afternoons were your slot, no argument required. Everybody knew that. The community of musicians in your area was closely-knit such that everyone knew of everyone else’s designated busking spots and busking times, and more importantly, knew not to intrude on them: a ‘you don’t take my spot, I don’t take yours’ kind of thing. It was an unspoken law between you all.

Unfortunately, for any newcomers who weren’t telepathic—that being most—an unspoken law was rather difficult to notice, much less abide by. But nonetheless, what were the chances, really, of somebody stealing your spot?

And so it was on a Wednesday afternoon, as it always was, that you were pushing your harp around the hordes of bustling people pushing past each other to enter and exit the station. You’d missed last week’s busking slot due to a trip you’d taken to see your parents, and your fingers were itching to strum your harp for some nice, shiny coins. 

The temperature was pleasant, with a breeze which came here and there and occasionally graced you with its presence. You’d finished your big project for the term, and it was curious to experience how accurate the term ‘a weight lifted from your shoulders’ was: you swore you were actually lighter than yesterday, and walked with a content spring in your step. 

Oh—before our story continues, another thing I should add is that out of all the busking musicians, people knew to steer clear of your spot particularly. Not necessarily because you were intimidating, though you could certainly be so if you tried, but rather because you were the only harpist of the lot, and the others held you in both high regard and sympathy for taking the effort to lug the instrument all the way up a hill to the train station each week. It would be a let-down if you wasted all your efforts to find your spot taken. 

(Once, some while ago, a couple of younger musicians thought it would be funny to play a prank on you and purposefully occupied your space to see how you’d react. They got their answer when you sent them running with their tails between their legs. Since then, nobody has tried to take your spot.

As I said, my dear readers, you could certainly be intimidating if you tried.)

Some people still jealously eyed your spot, though—that being across the street from the station’s main exit—and for good reason: busking here was a particularly strategic move on your part. Not only did tourists pour out in almost a continual stream, all too happy to give a player some cash before spilling into the city streets, but after a long journey on a week day, most locals would usually be glad to be met with some music as well, and, usually too preoccupied to concern themselves with finance but it not yet too late in the day for them to feel jaded, tossed you a coin more often than not. Which isn’t to say you were manipulating your audience (Archons forbid), but you may as well apply educated conclusions which benefit yourself where you can, no?

By the time you approached your usual location, your shoulders were strained with the effort of pushing your harp trolley for so long. You rounded the corner, ready to start unpacking your things as soon as Xinyan, the guitarist before you, finished up, when you froze. On the street, the very same one opposite the train station you always busked at, stood a person you’d never seen before, playing the flute.

Somebody was in your spot.

Your eyes narrowed. You craned your neck forwards, trying to get a closer look at this stranger who’d stolen your sacred busking space. 

He was good; you’d give him that. You’d heard many flautists in your day, and you could tell this person, whoever he may be, was on the higher end of the wide range in skill level you’d witnessed. Very high, in fact. He had no sheet music with him, which meant he had his pieces memorised, and you could tell he knew them well by the way he shaped each phrase in just the right way to make you close your eyes and immerse yourself in the music…

Hang on. You weren’t here to get bewitched by some flute-playing stranger. You fastened your feet to the ground—you’d begun to sway from side to side—and shook the thoughts out of your head. At least you hadn’t lost your spot to a novice—but even so, you weren’t about to concede so easily. You narrowed your eyes further at him, like you could somehow read his mind and telepathically tell him to leave if you glared hard enough. 

…He was handsome, too, you had to admit. Really, really handsome, actually. Smooth skin, dark hair streaked with turquoise, eyes like molten gold… and—wait a minute, was that red eyeliner? 

You pursed your lips, still unconvinced. So what if he was a hot, talented musician? He’d taken your spot. Nobody got away with that freely. Even if they were both very hot and very talented, as mentioned before.

He must have noticed your staring, because he lowered his flute at the end of the piece (which you recognised as Debussy’s Syrinx) and raised his eyes to meet yours. Your heart, you’re sorry to say, most definitely skipped a beat. His eyes really were like molten gold… no, they were brighter than that, sort of like a cat’s, but also splintered through with little fragments of amber…

“Is there something wrong?”

You blinked yourself back to reality. “Sorry?”

The stranger’s eyebrow rose. “I asked if there was something wrong. You’ve been looking at me for some time now.”

Ah. So he had noticed. More importantly, he hadn’t been scared off by it.

Faced with the unimpressed question and unamused stare of this hot, talented stranger, your plight suddenly struck you as unbearably childish. 

“It’s, ah, nothing much,” you said, rubbing your neck. “I just… usually busk here at this time, is all.”

“Oh,” he said. You waited for him to catch onto your silent meaning of Go away please, but he only stared at you blankly. “…Is that all?”

“Um,” you said intelligently. Look, said your voice of reason. He’s really good, and he’s new to town, so you can let it slide just this once. Besides, this is getting really, really awkward. 

…Fine. You’d let him off this time. You were in a good mood, and feeling merciful.

“I… liked your playing,” you finally said. “That last piece was Syrinx by Debussy, right?” He affirmed this with a nod. “It was really good. Good, uh… phrasing.”

“Thank you,” he deadpanned. You sucked in a breath. Whether implying something or complimenting him, there really was no getting to this guy, huh? 

“Well, then.” Your fingers drummed on the sleeve covering your harp. Your poor, unused harp, which would now never see the train station light of this Wednesday. “Bye, I guess.”

“Mn.”

And with that, you turned away and left, feeling a touch more dejected than before.

In hindsight, as you walked back to your place, you thought that maybe you should have clarified to him that you would be busking there next week so he should find somewhere else to play. But after that encounter, surely he’d figure it out himself, right?

Suffice to say, you were wrong.

The next Wednesday afternoon, bang on half past four, he was there again. You’d have banged your head against your harp if it weren’t so expensive. Attractive and skilful he may be, but that didn’t give him the right to steal your spot two weeks in a row.

When he finished his piece, you forced out a sigh and mentally prepared yourself to go up to him. This was going to be even more awkward than last time.

“Um, hi again,” you said. He glanced up, fixing you with that sharp stare of his. Your feet were rooted to the floor when you tried to shift them. 

This wasn’t good. You were supposed to be the scary one. You set your jaw. You weren’t about to let some random guy march into your life and steal not only your spot but your reputation as well. 

“I mentioned last week I usually busk here, right?” you asked, your cordial tone underlined with just a touch of spitefulness.

He looked at you blankly. “There are other times you can come here, if that’s what bothers you.”

You clicked your tongue. “Usually I’d agree, but the thing is that the busking around here runs on a pretty tight schedule. And you’re… kind of in my slot, a little bit.”

“Can I schedule myself in anywhere, then?” he frowned.

“Not exactly. It’s not an official thing. More that we just know each other’s timetables when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

“So then this spot isn’t formally booked by you?” 

You crossed your arms. “Well, no, but you haven’t exactly booked it either, officially or unofficially.”

He stared at you for a moment, his expression indecipherable. You didn’t budge. 

“Is there anything else you want to say?”

You raised your eyebrows in exasperation, and you considered briefly saying Yes, there is, actually, and I really want you to leave because I haven’t been able to busk for two weeks now and I do need to earn at least a sliver of money somehow and I can’t because you’re taking my godsdamned spot, but not wanting to risk an outburst or open conflict in the middle of a busy street, you instead closed your mouth and said curtly, “No. Nothing else.”

The stranger shrugged, as if he couldn’t be bothered to question this statement, raised his flute again, and started a new piece. You believed it was that one flute sonata by Poulenc, and if you’d stayed longer you would have had the chance to affirm your suspicion, but you were in too sour a mood to stick around for long enough to hear it for more than a couple of bars. As good as this guy may be, you weren’t giving him the satisfaction of winning you over with his playing. Even if it was really, really good and part of you was maybe just developing a tiny ounce of admiration for it. 

Feeling once again defeated, you began your trudge back down the hill, cursing the hot, talented stranger and his obstinacy. 

… … … … … …

“How am I supposed to earn money like this, Yun Jin?” you lamented, falling back on your bed. “I won’t be able to afford anything if this keeps going on.”

Yun Jin pursed her lips, and tactfully suggested, “Perhaps you could get an actual job, like the rest of us.”

You shot her a glare worthy of a medal. “I will not forsake my calling as a musician to do something as… as common as being a supermarket employee, or something.”

She sighed. “It truly isn’t so bad. The alternative is living on the streets.” She paused, raising a perfectly manicured finger to her lips in thought. “Or, perhaps I could recommend you to my opera troupe, and we could—”

“The streets.”

Yun Jin hung her head with a sigh. “I really don’t understand why you’re so opposed to getting a normal job. You’re low enough on money with your busking, not to mention without it.”

“Which is why I need to get my busking back, and better than ever.” You hesitated, then added in a grumble, “Besides, I’d die working in a normal job. I need to do something stimulating. Something spontaneous, y’know?”

“If you’re so adamant about spontaneity, why are you insistent on keeping that same spot each week?”

“Because the train station on Wednesday afternoons is the best spot—don’t look at me like that; it’s statistically proven—and everyone else has their slots before and afterwards.” You sighed, rubbing your temples. “You know how these things work, Yun Jin. Busking is a competitive business, and if I lose my spot, some newbies are going to take it forever. I can hardly go and fill other people’s, either. That’s just plain disrespect.” There was a brief silence until you spoke again. “You’re lucky as a singer, y’know. You don’t have to lug a harp around all the time—and then be unable to use it because someone’s already taken your spot. And a piano would be even harder for me to carry around.”

Yun Jin took a place on the edge of the bed, folding her hands neatly over her lap. You didn’t think you’d ever understand how she somehow made every movement so effortlessly graceful. “What exactly is happing with your busking, anyway? You haven’t told me any of the details yet.”

You suppressed a groan at the thought of having to talk about that annoyingly good and frustrating attractive stranger. Begrudgingly, out of the corner of your mouth, you mumbled, “This one guy has been in my spot for two weeks now. Plays the flute. He’s good, but I tried hinting to him that he’s in my place and should, well, leave, but he either doesn’t get it or just refuses to move.”

Yun Jin’s eyes widened. “Oh, you must be talking about the new one who came a few weeks back—while you were away.” Her expression took on a faraway, admiring look. “He’s incredible, truly. Most new buskers who come here are terrible at first, but… he’s something else.”

“Yun Jin, please,” you scowled. “You’re supposed to be on my side here.”

She sighed, shaking her head slightly. “Very well.”

“So he must have taken that Wednesday slot once and then assumed he could take it again,” you mused, the pieces falling into place inside your mind. “Did nobody tell him it’s mine?”

“I suppose not,” Yun Jin shrugged. “Nobody in their right mind would try to make him leave once he started playing.” 

You wrinkled your nose. “All of you are dead to me.” Your friend rolled her eyes affectionately. 

“Do you have any solutions for your problem?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be stuck here complaining about it.”

She frowned. “You can’t ask Xinyan to borrow her slot until you figure out some sort of plan?”

“No.” You sighed. “I thought about it, but I can’t just turn her out. Besides, half past four is the best time for earning money, I’m telling you.”

“You could take half of her time, perhaps; and then play into your own slot.”

You tilted your head, uncertain. “Would she let me, though?”

“Well, unlike you, she does have a stable job, so she isn’t relying purely on busking money.”

“Thank you for reminding me of my financial situation,” you replied dryly, though your focus was on other things as you ran Yun Jin’s suggestion over in your head. “You’re close with Xinyan, right? Could you ask her for me?”

She looked a touch puzzled. “I can, yes, but why?“

“She’ll probably be more likely to listen to someone she knows well.”

Yun Jin let out a clipped sigh. “Alright, I will ask her. Make sure not to let the opportunity go to waste, yes?”

“Thank you,” you said genuinely, before continuing with, “You’ve been resurrected on my friend list.”

“I’m very grateful,” she replied, and you struggled to tell the earnestness of her tone.

… … … … … …

Thankfully, Xinyan was more than willing to help a fellow musician in need, and you arrived at four o’clock the following Wednesday. When you turned the corner, your heart soared to see your signature patch of pavement empty, with the exception of Xinyan, who was slinging her guitar bag over her shoulder. She met your eye as you approached.

“Thank you so much for this,” you said, manoeuvring your harp off its trolley and pulling off its sleeve. “Seriously.”

“Hey, it’s no problem,” she grinned, patting you on the shoulder. “I’m happy I could help you. Yun Jin made it sound like you were really desperate about it.”

“Of course she did,” you sighed. “Oh—by the way, do you know what the deal with the guy who’s been playing after you these past few weeks?”

She scrunched her lips into the corner of her mouth. “Not really, sorry. He sort of showed up when you were gone and asked if he could play after me. You weren’t there, so I thought it’d be cool if I let him take it for one week. Didn’t know he’d come back afterwards.” She shot you something which was in between a smile and a grimace. “My bad.”

Even though you should have been annoyed, you couldn’t find it within yourself to hold anything against Xinyan. She’d just been doing what she thought was best. 

“It’s alright,” you replied. “I’ll figure something out which ideally doesn’t involve pitchforks and fire.”

Xinyan snorted. “He’s good though, right? I mean, I’m no classical musician or anything, but he’s… good, y’know?”

Your face fell as your empathy for her began to dwindle. “Not you, too.”

“Come on,” she said, dragging out the ‘o’, “you gotta admit it. Someone as talented as you has to be able to tell he’s great.” Her eyes brightened. “Hey, what if you guys played a duet together? There’s Venti’s annual music festival in, like… seven months? Maybe you could cooperate with him beforehand, which could solve your problem, and then performed at the festival! You would sound so good toge—”

“I would rather die.”

“If you say so,” she said, a wry smirk on her lips. “But don’t forget my motto. ‘The only thing better than someone playing music…”

“Is two people playing music,” you finished with a sigh. “Got it.”

Xinyan clapped her hands together. “Great! Can’t wait to see your concert together.” You looked thoroughly unamused and fixed her with an expression just shy of a glare. She laughed nervously. “Well, I’ll, ah, leave you to it, then. See ya next week!”

“See you.”

Without further ado, you unfolded your chair and set up your harp. Once it was tuned, you spent a moment wondering what to play, fingers hovering over the strings, before settling on Danse sacrée et danse profane. 

If you were going to spite the guy stealing your spot, it was going to be with Debussy. 

About half an hour, some shiny coins, and a couple more Debussy pieces later, you caught a glimpse of the stranger in the corner of your eye. He held his flute case in one hand, and he stopped as he rounded the corner. You didn’t miss the slight shock in his expression when he spotted you sitting in his—well, technically your—spot, and, satisfied with your victory, you looked back down to your harp and smiled to yourself. He walked past you without a word.

The next week this happened, he cleared his throat once you’d finished your performance of Debussy’s La Fille aux cheveux de lin, and you looked up at him slowly, secretly delighting at how the tables had turned.

“Yes?” you asked, feigning civility.

“Could I play here?”

You almost snorted. He had to be joking, right? 

“Sorry,” you said, not feeling sorry in the slightest, “but I’m planning on staying here until five, and then there’s somebody playing right after me. You might have to find another spot.” Saying those words was, in that moment, the most satisfying thing you had ever felt. If your verbal prods got to him, however, he made no indication of it. 

You expected him to resist somehow, but he only said, “Oh.” Your brow furrowed at how unperturbed he seemed. He hovered there for a moment. Then he said, “You’re good, too,” before promptly leaving. You stared after him, perplexed, wondering whether it had really been that easy to get rid of the guy who had been plaguing you for four weeks, and trying not to linger too long on how his compliment made your insides feel strangely fuzzy. 

With a shrug and hoping your business concluded, you resumed your recital. As you played, you admitted it would be a slight shame if you never saw him again; not only because he was hot, you affirmed, but because he really was talented, and if he hadn’t been so insistent on claiming your busking territory, maybe you could have gotten off on a better foot. 

Any pleasure directed towards seeing him again was promptly crushed when, on the fifth Wednesday of this battle of busking slots, he was there again, half an hour earlier than he should be, and intruding on your time slot—the one you had specifically changed to avoid this happening—again. Inside your mouth, your teeth drove together.

This was getting absurd. 

It took all you had not to march up to him and start playing your harp in his face—no, maybe even that wouldn’t be enough to drive the point home. Collecting yourself with a sharp breath, you walked over and crossed your arms. Perhaps you could try getting to him in some other way.

“You know,” you said when his performance came to an end, “you’re good, but I think you could improve your dynamics—especially in that scalic part near the end. The intonation’s all there, but you’re lacking a bit in emotion.”

Of course, what you were saying wasn’t true: his playing, as far as you were concerned, was near perfect, and dynamics were certainly not anything he had to work on whatsoever. Still, you’d had a less than good day, and you felt like spiting somebody. Even if it involved childish, petty jabs such as this.  

He cocked his head, seemingly in thought. You tried to ignore how the sunlight hit his face in just the right way to make it seem like it was glowing. “Debussy marked that passage as pianissimo, though.”

You shrugged. “Well, what’s music if you can’t interpret it your own way? I mean, with all due respect, Debussy is dead. You don’t have to worry about him coming back from the grave to criticise you for adding a couple of dynamics here and there.” You rubbed your chin. “For example, maybe if you did a crescendo halfway through the passage and then pulled back, it could sound better.”

He glanced down at his flute, lips pursed. Gods damn it, it was unfair how pretty he was. Especially when he was concentrating. 

“Really?”

You shrugged for a second time. “It’s just a suggestion; you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, or you could try it out and see if you like it, and if you don’t, then ignore me. But I think it could improve your playing.”

“I didn’t realise my dynamics were a problem.”

They’re not, you almost wanted to say. They’re really not, but I’m in an awful mood right now. Sorry, but not really. 

“It always helps to get a fresh pair of ears on a piece,” you pointed out. At least that wasn’t something you’d completely pulled from thin air. “Sometimes you think you’re doing everything right because you’re so used to playing it that way, and then someone else spots something you overlooked.” 

His eyes narrowed. “Hm. I’ll think about what you said.”

…Well, he didn’t seem to be insulted, which had been your intention, but maybe he was good at hiding it. The best you could do was simply keep giving unhelpful ‘advice’ to him, and hope he’d eventually get so tired of it that he left. 

The next time you found him busking in your spot, he was playing the same piece. What surprised you wasn’t his presence—that was a necessary evil by this point, and one that was to be expected—but that when he got to the passage you’d mentioned before, he did a crescendo, and then pulled back, as you told him. 

You didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. He’d taken your advice. And, worse than that, it sounded good. You’d improved his playing. You almost cried to the heavens there and then, Why must fate be so cruel? 

You didn’t wait to meet eyes and glare at him like you usually did. You were too done with this. He could gloat in his superior good looks, and remarkable talent, and possession of your spot as much as he wanted. At the very least, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you defeated.

… … … … … …

“Yun Jin, you have to help me. This is awful.”

She set down her mug of tea. The porcelain cup clinked against its dish. You thought it sounded like an Eb. 

“Does this ‘awful’ matter by any chance have something to do with your busking again?”

You hesitated. “How did you know?”

“It’s the main thing you go on about these days.” She raised an eyebrow. “For somebody who supposedly hates this flautist so much, you certainly talk much about him.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “Out of hatred.”

“Right…”

“But, seriously, I don’t know what to do. I can’t keep taking up any more of Xinyan’s slot, and the person who plays after me is too late for decent money, ignoring the fact I think they hate me and wouldn’t let me take up any of their time even if I asked… And what’s to say he wouldn’t take up that time, too, if he got the chance?”

Yun Jin took another sip of her tea. “You could try cooperating with him; or talking to him, at the very least, instead of trying to compete,” she suggested. “He might not be as bad as you make him out to be.”

“After all these weeks of… basically fighting each other over my spot?” You scoffed. “Yeah, like that’ll work.” 

“I’m only saying that it is the best option you have.” 

“But that wouldn’t solve the financial problems. I need my Wednesday slot every week; it’s the most consistent when it comes to money. All the other days are a coin toss, pun intended.”

“And that is exactly why you need a reliable job.”

You hung your head in your hands and sighed deeply. “Look, I… I know I make joke about this a lot, but I’m serious when I say I couldn’t handle a normal job. Even if it’s only a side thing a couple of days a week. I just get completely knocked out by those kinds of tasks. I’m already teaching some kids music, and that’s about the best I can do without being completely drained. But busking gives me opportunities to keep on top of what’s going on musically, as well as something to do that I actually enjoy. Even if it means being turned out into the streets, I’m not about to give it up in favour of supporting the status quo.”

Yun Jin hummed in thought. “Have you considered that the person in your spot could be in a similar situation?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so.” And, to the questioning look she raised you; “And I’m not just saying that. If he was in the same situation as me, I’d see him a lot more often playing in the streets on other days. It’s only Wednesdays that he shows up.”

She reached across the table and took your hands lightly in hers. “Look,” Yun Jin said. “I have given you the advice I can. You can talk to him, or find a job, or keep hoping he’ll leave; whatever you do is ultimately your decision to make. If something new comes up, I am more than happy to try and help you, but for now it seems like you need to break the stalemate you’re holding with him—and that is something to be done between the two of you, without my input.”

You looked down at your shoes. Somewhere, you knew she was right: this constant vying for a busking spot was getting you nowhere, and it was unlikely you could merely wish the problem away. But even so, your grudge towards the guy was far from gone, and you weren’t particularly keen on talking with him any more than necessary. 

Yun Jin squeezed your hands, shooting you a reassuring smile. “I know you’ll figure something out. You’re good at this sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” you said in an uncommitted sort of way, and groaned once she’d left she cafe.

Next Wednesday, you arrived even earlier, a good while before Xinyan finished. The moment she packed up her guitar, you slotted yourself into her spot, ignoring the amused eyebrows she raised at you. Your plan was as follows: when he comes by, you talk to him a little and, if he’s cooperative and nice, you explain the situation. If he’s understanding, the best outcome is that he leaves your spot alone forever. The next best outcome is some sort of compromise: you get two weeks, he gets one, or something along those lines. And if he didn’t budge at all… 

Well, may the best man win.

Perhaps five minutes into your busk of Debussy’s Deux Arabesques, he came. You wondered for a moment whether he would simply walk past, because he didn’t so much as look at you when he crossed the street. When he reached a close proximity to you, however, he halted, and stood there until you finished playing. You lifted your fingers from the strings. Inside your chest, your heart was making odd palpitations. 

This was where you either made truce, or all-out war.

You were opening your mouth to speak, perhaps in an amicable ‘hello’ or some other form of greeting, when he got there first. “You played the piece very well,” he began, and you briefly wondered whether there was hope for peace yet, “but you’re overdoing the rubato at some points. Toning it down a little could improve the overall flow of the piece.”

Any notions of cooperation, however small, shattered at once. It felt as though you had been struck on the chest with a hammer. No doubt he had taken offence to your little comment last week, and now he was getting revenge. You clicked your jaw firmly shut before shock at his audacity made you gawk. He wasn’t about to achieve the satisfaction of seeing you react to his jab. 

I see how it is, you thought, narrowing your eyes at him. Very well, hot, talented stranger. War it shall be.

“You think so?” you returned, hosting a perfectly good-natured tone which veiled seamlessly the malice in your heart. “It’s a piece that’s meant to have quite a lot of rubato in it.”

“Even so, it sounds excessive. But as you told me last week, you don’t have to take the suggestion. However, I think it would improve your playing.”

“Really?” Oh, this was definitely revenge. He was spitting your words right back at you and probably delighting at the fact. Lying through your teeth, you said, “I can give it a try when I’m practicing later, then. Thank you.” 

He nodded, mumbled a ‘no problem’, and left. Your eyes followed his retreat, your gaze accompanied by curses directed towards him, his mother, and generally any other relations he may have. 

“Stupid guy,” you muttered from behind your teeth as you packed away your harp some hour or so later. His criticism had been playing on your consciousness ever since he made it, and try as you might, you couldn’t banish it from your thoughts. He hadn’t even asked to play in your spot, which meant the sole reason he had come by must have been to spite you, and nothing else. You violently tugged up the zip on your harp sleeve. “Stupid guy, stupid flute, stupid… stupid everything about him. Thinks he’s oh-so-great because he knows about rubato.”

You wheeled your harp back down the hill at the pace of a grumpy trudge. Once you were home, you took the instrument out again and sat there, idly plucking at the strings.

You’re overdoing the rubato at some points. Toning it down a little could improve the overall flow of the piece.

You landed a slap on your temple in a futile attempt to shake his words from your head. Determined to find evidence to prove his suggestion wrong, you pulled out your phone and hastily typed ‘debussy deux arabesques harp’ into YouTube’s search bar, scrolling through the displayed videos and opening a few which looked promising. To your despair, every single one of them played with less rubato than you did. 

With an unsatisfied grimace, you turned off your phone and slipped it into your pocket. YouTube, alas, had failed you. Perhaps a second course of action was in order.

An idea soon came to you, and following its course, you brought out your phone again and opened the voice recording app before pressing play and setting the device on a nearby tabletop. You then played through both the Arabesques twice, starting a new recording for the second iteration. The first, you played your usual way, and the second, albeit somewhat more reluctantly, keeping the tempo a touch steadier than usual. Satisfied with the quality of both, you promptly sent both recordings to Yun Jin, inquiring her as to which one sounded better overall and withholding from her the differences.

Half an hour later, her reply appeared on your lock screen: ‘both of them are good, but i think the second is better overall! the first one sounds a bit over the top for my personal tastes, but that’s only my opinion. you go with whatever you prefer! <3’

You sighed. If even Yun Jin said it was better, then you weren’t one to argue with her. 

A couple of seconds later, she followed up her initial message with, ‘is this about the busking again?’, to which you replied with a very mature ellipsis before switching off your phone. The only thing on your mind at that moment was how this stranger—although stranger seemed to unfamiliar a term by now, so you resolved on dubbing him your ‘nemesis’ for the time being—had been right, and therefore you must spite the godforsaken flautist further; and he seemed to be occupied with similar notions himself, because the subsequent Wednesdays were full of exchanges such as the following: 

“The intonation on your higher notes could be slightly better. They sound a bit sharp.”

“You could play this passage slightly quieter to contrast it with the previous section.”

“I think you’re using too much vibrato on the minims. It sounds too heavy.”

“Emphasise the pizzicato here; you still sound like you’re playing legato.”

“The tempo’s quite fast. Maybe you should slow it down a little?”

Quips like these became almost as much as a staple of your brief encounters as much as glaring did, until one Wednesday, when you happened to be playing Deux Arabesques again, he walked past. You inwardly cursed your luck, or rather lack thereof, and the unhappily convenient timing: you had reluctantly taken his comment of some weeks back into your playing, and now he would no doubt achieve the smug satisfaction of seeing his ‘better judgement’ come into fruition. 

You set your jaw and prepared a steely glare to meet what you expected would be some sort of victorious smirk, or perhaps a condescending sniff of laughter when he inevitably met eyes with you; but to your utter shock, he shot a fleeting smile your way—one containing no trace of derision or self-satisfaction—before continuing down the street. 

Your fingers stumbled over the strings as your heart gave an all-too-sudden lurch; you’d never known the phrase ‘an arrow through one’s heart’ could be so accurate a description. You recovered quickly from the slip-up, shaking off the feeling, but it was difficult to ignore the furious heat nipping at your ears which plagued you for the rest of your session. When you arrived home, you experienced a brief existential crisis, before consoling yourself with the fact that the heat came only from embarrassment at having taken his advice, and nothing else; certainly nothing to do with feelings which strayed less towards hatred more towards… another emotion you dared not name. 

Seven days later, after a bad week in which your funds were running glaringly low to zero, and you dreaded the thought of encountering him again: both for financial reasons, and the wish to not have to reconcile whatever… that had been the previous week. However, it was unexpectedly not the flautist it appeared you would be waging war with. 

Upon turning the corner to your busking street, you were met with the sight of an unfamiliar group of around seven people, who were playing an array of hand drums badly, their singing even more so. A sloppily-painted cardboard sign advertised them as the ‘Arataki Gang — 2 Cool 4 Practice’. It showed. You grimaced: this was more a ‘din’ than anything you could ever consider music.

The flautist, you could at least call your nemesis with some degree of pride; he was skilled, which made your every victory all the more satisfying, not to mention that he was a worthy rival: if anyone was to win your spot, it would be somebody who could match your talent (which wasn’t to say that you were self-absorbed, but rather keenly aware of where credit was due, and, to your own credit, it was often due in your case.)

But these people… you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d only touched their instruments for the first time earlier that morning. The singing was loud and brash, not to mention terribly off-key, and the hand drum’s rhythms were erratic, containing no semblance of pattern. The group seemed to have no shame, however: the one you assumed was the lead singer, judging only by the fact he was louder than everyone else and no more talented, was grinning like he’d never experienced a happier time of his life. 

It was decided: you were getting rid of this group before they could defile your space any further. In a sour tone, you internally remarked that it seemed like as soon as one person managed to fight you for your spot, it seemed to have become a free-for-all; a notion which, if true, could not be allowed to exist any longer, and if false, one you would not let grow into a substancial threat.

By chance, the flautist was at that moment crossing the street from the other direction, and you caught his astonished hesitation while he, too, registered the sight before him. He glanced up and met your eye, and in that moment, a silent pact was formed between the both of you: that of cooperating, only briefly, to defeat a common evil. This place was your battleground, and nobody else’s. 

You needed no further coordination, no words, to execute this. You approached from either side and came to stop side-by-side in front of the group. 

Do you recall how I mentioned earlier that you could be very intimidating when you wished to be? Well, this opportunity provided a prime example for you to showcase that talent. You fixed the ‘musicians’ with the sharpest, coldest glare you could muster, and with the one beside you at least equally as intimidating, the effect only multiplied. You may as well have both been holding knives to their throats for all it looked like.

It took a good moment before the performers registered something had changed in the surrounding environment, and slowly, they craned their heads upwards to meet the eyes of the shadows looming over them. Their playing faltered and fell into silence. You felt a pinch of satisfaction upon seeing the lead singer’s face blanch, but kept your expression one of unchanged resentment and disapproval.

One of the performers leaned over, trembling, to the lead singer and whispered, “Uh, b-boss, do you think these people are the ones Shinobu warned us about?”

“Pfft,” he scoffed, but a trickle of cold perspiration down his forehead betrayed his fear. “As if the Arataki Gang would be scared off by a couple of classical m— guhhh…” He broke off with a loud shudder when he made direct eye contact with you. Your eyebrow slid up your forehead, daring him to continue.

The leader of the Arataki Gang did not do so. You had to commend the fact that he at least had some ounce of self-preservation within him.

Turning back to his group, he said in a tight voice, “I think that’s enough for today, guys. Let’s find another spot and let these guys play their boring dead people music.” The surrounding members were all too happy to agree, and within a few seconds, had all scrambled away so eagerly that it looked like they had never been there at all.

With the common evil defeated, you turned your glare on the flautist. His own expression was cool, and whatever emotions he may be holding behind those gold eyes of his were unreadable. In unison, you said, “I’m busking here.”

“No, you’re not,” you said.

“Why not?” he asked, already assembling his flute. You scowled: there was no way you would get your harp out in time before he started playing. 

“Because I’ve had enough of you taking my busking spot, and I need the money.”

“So do I.” He raised the flute to his lips and played an A, practically already claiming this week as his own. Your brow twitched.

A week of stress and bills, and months of this constant back-and-forth with him, had built up to a dam which finally broke over your head. You marched up to him, so close that your noses almost touched, and he hesitated on the flute. Heat rushed to your face, a mixture of anger and something else, but you didn’t care.

“You don’t get it. When I say I need this money, I mean I need this money. I don’t know if I can pay my rent for this month, and I might be booted out onto the streets in a few weeks for all I know. I could manage fine from busking and teaching beforehand, but then you came along, and—and I don’t know why you’re so set on taking my busking slot each week, but now I can barely afford three meals a day without running into my savings.” Your breath, when you sucked it in, came with a tremble. “So I need you to leave. Now.”

You didn’t miss the way he flinched slightly at the last word. Your anger went as soon as it had come, and you stepped away, drawing out a deep sigh to settle your nerves. Some passersby had overheard your spiel and were sending odd looks your way. You ignored them. 

Some while later, he spoke up quietly. “If you wanted me to leave, you could have told me from the beginning.”

Your jaw almost fell to the floor with exasperation. From the beginning? Is that not what you’d been doing every single week? “I did,” you enunciated.

“You didn’t.”

“Archons, you…” You took a breath. “I strongly alluded to it.” In a more pointed manner, you added, “Very strongly.”

He shook his head. “That isn’t the same thing.” 

You opened your mouth to make another remark when he reached into his flute case and from it pulled out a small pouch, which he then held out to you. His eyes were expectant, like he was inviting you to take it. You only registered what the pouch must contain when he said, “I was saving for a new flute, but you seem to need this more than I do.”

Realisation struck you. Immediately, you back-tracked, waving your hands in front of your chest in a way of vehement declination of his offer. 

“Woah, wait, hang on. I-I can’t accept that.”

His brow creased. “Why not?”

“It’s…” you struggled for words which would match the intensity of what you felt the need to express. “It’s your busking money.” 

A confused frown found its way onto his face. “And…?”

“‘And?’” you repeated, astonished. “It’s the money you worked and performed for. I can’t take it. That… that would be sacrilege.” You emphasised again, “I can’t possibly take the money.” 

He glanced at the pouch in his hand. You tried not to focus on how heavy and well-filled it looked. “I credit you with at least a third of it,” he said after a moment’s pause.

You squinted. “…What?”

“The constructive criticism you gave me was very helpful. I noticed I started earning more after taking your comments.” He looked back up to you. “So at least some amount of it is due to you.”

Guilt hit you like a hammer to the skull. All this time you’d been spitefully making comments purely to offend him, and he’d thought you were being genuine and taken them on board… which meant his own were probably also from a place of genuinely trying to help you improve—and now he was also offering his earnings to you, just after you’d so rudely demanded him to leave. 

And you’d been so convinced he was a vengeful person.

“Oh, gods,” you grimaced, rubbing your neck. Suddenly you were too ashamed of yourself to meet his eyes. “About that, I… I wasn’t actually trying to help you.”

It was his turn to say, “What?”

You ran a hand through your hair, shame gnawing at your insides. “I was just trying to jab at you. I was angry that you’d taken the spot I usually busk in, so I wanted to spite you and make you feel bad.” You pinched the spot between your eyes, wanting to shrivel up somewhere small and die. “I’m… I’m really sorry about that. And everything else, actually.” Now that you’d made one apology, the floodgates were open: the rest seemed to come forth before you could stop them. 

“I’ve been… insanely childish since the first day you showed up, and so obsessed with getting ‘my spot’ back that I intentionally antagonised you and made you out to be way worse than you actually are. I tried to insult you and your playing and got really petty and selfish all because of that one thing, and because I couldn’t get over myself, and… archons, I… I’m sorry.” You chewed on your lip and sighed. “And if that’s not a reason for being unable to accept your money, I don’t know what is. So, please, don’t give the money to me.”

The hand holding the pouch paused, before withdrawing a moment later. Neither of you spoke for a time. 

It was him who eventually broke the silence. “Even so, your criticism was well-placed. I won’t hold it against you.” For the second time, your jaw almost fell open. He was forgiving you, just like that? Right after you’d come clean about how you’d treated him? “If you need money,” he continued, “we could busk together at some point, maybe. I was meaning to ask you anyway.” 

You winced internally at how you would have imagined yourself reacting to him asking that only a day ago, when you were still convinced of his ill character. Now, you only felt a twinge of excitement towards the prospect.

“I mean… yeah, sure. That could be nice.” His expression softened with something akin to relief. You stared at him for a second before realising something glaringly obvious: even after so long, you had no name to assign his face to. “What’s your name, by the way?”

He looked up at the question like it had caught him off-guard; and you didn’t blame him. It felt like a given that you must have told each other your names at some point before, and it was a surprise to think you hadn’t. 

“Xiao,” he said. “You?”

You gave him your name, and then inquired about his phone number: “If we’re planning to practice together, we need to be able to communicate somehow.” And so that matter, too, was swiftly resolved, though you were disappointed to learn that no such thing as a flute emoji existed for you to type next to his name.

“Well, then,” you said once that was finished. “I’ll text you later about figuring out rehearsal times, if that’s fine with you?” The flautist—Xiao—nodded and slipped his phone into his pocket. The thought of talking with him more made you almost giddy in a way you couldn’t quite place. Something else came to mind suddenly, and following the matter, you tapped your chin in accentuated thought. “There is only one problem left, though.”

He looked up at you with a puzzled frown. A hint of wryness in your tone, you answered his silent question. 

“Who’s taking the Wednesday slots?” This managed to get a huff of laughter from him, and your chest gave a stutter. You realised you’d been so intent on constantly glaring at him that you’d forgotten how pretty he was, especially when this close to you. His smile was a subtle, evasive thing, but softened his features and made his eyes warmer nonetheless. 

With a good-humoured shake of his head which pulled you from your staring, Xiao said, “You can take them.”

“…Really?” The question wasn’t so much out of surprise than it was the thought that after so long a struggle, it had been as simple as this to reclaim the busking spot. 

He made an ‘mm’ sound in confirmation. “But if you can let me in on the ‘unofficial schedule’ for busking times, I’d appreciate it.” There was a slight hint of humour in his voice, if you listened closely.

“Consider it done. Again, I’ll text you the details.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

He turned away and departed swiftly, allowing you the opportunity to begin your busk as soon as possible; and one you took eagerly. When your session was finished, you packed up swiftly and descended from the hill, your hands lingering on the phone held in your pocket, and mind on the number you had acquired.

Once you arrived at your home, you turned on the device only to find that there were already messages from him hovering on your lock-screen, awaiting your perusal. You opened the phone and read what he had sent you.

Hello, read the first.

Regarding rehearsal times, I’m free most of next week, except for Tuesday and Thursday Can you make any of the other days?  We can figure out specific timing and other details once we decide on a date

You leafed mentally through your various responsibilities for the next week before replying.

Friday’s good for me, I think, you wrote. The status beneath his name shifted from ‘last seen’ to ‘online’.

Probably in the afternoon, though Is that fine with you?

He was typing for a moment. 

Yes.  Would 5:00 work?

Should do Oh, where should we meet

I was thinking about the usual place opposite the train station From there I could take you to where I practice sometimes If you’d like

Yeah, that sounds good Thanks for offering

You contemplated ending the conversation here when a thought came to mind.   

By the way

Hm?

Do you think we should decide on pieces now, or in person

I’d prefer in person We can discuss it more thoroughly

In which case, until Friday 

Until Friday.

The typing bubbles under his name continued for a moment, and you awaited another message, but nothing more happened before his status switched back to ‘last seen at’. Had you known he was contemplating typing the words ‘I look forward to it’, perhaps your sense of disappointment at such a short-lived conversation wouldn’t have been so great.

Wednesday became Thursday, and Thursday Friday, and before you knew it the time of the rehearsal was upon you. There you stood at five minutes to five near your usual busking spot, with your harp trolley beside you, though for once, you didn’t mean to take out the instrument; or at least, not yet. Half-listening to the musician currently performing there, you also flipped your phone in and out of your pocket every minute, keeping close track of the time and the flautist’s encroaching arrival. At one to five, a familiar head of dark hair streaked with turquoise caught your eye across the road.

Well hello there, you texted. Xiao glanced up from his phone and spotted you, at which his eyes seemed to light up somewhat, and he acknowledged you with a small raising of his eyebrows before crossing the street to join you. 

“Are you ready to go?” he asked, coming to stand to your left. His left hand held his flute case, but the right was unoccupied, and near enough to touch if you were to reach out by only a little.

You did not reach out, and kept your hand to yourself. “Yep.”

He nodded. “Good. Come with me, then.” 

You walked for around ten minutes through the city until you stopped before a block of flats. Confusion pinched your eyebrows together.

“These aren’t… practice rooms, are they?”

“Not officially,” Xiao replied, “but my friend lives here, and he lets me practice at his place. It means I don’t have to think about finding a free practice room.”

“That’s… very generous of your friend.”

He shrugged, then pressed a button on the plaque on the wall numbering the flats inside. A moment later, a playful voice crackled through the speakers. 

“And who would this be?”

“It’s me,” Xiao answered.

The voice paused. “…Are you coming to ask me about busking again?”

“No.”

The voice laughed. “Sure, sure. Hmm… I’ll let you in, but you have to tell me how it’s going. Have you any progress yet?”

Your confusion only grew more pronounced. ‘Progress’? 

Xiao’s eyes flicked to you before he answered the speaker. “I suppose.”

“Really? Well, come in, then! You’ll have to tell me all the details.”

The main door buzzed and swung open. You stepped inside the building with Xiao and watched as he began climbing a flight of stairs. He glanced back when he realised you weren’t beside him, to which you pointed at your harp. His eyebrows rose in understanding and he descended again, leading the both of you instead to a lift. 

Its cramped interior would be hard-pressed carrying only one person, but now, filled with double of that number as well as a harp which occupied at least half of the space, you and Xiao were squished together in the back corner. As it rattled up to the top floor, you struggled to tell whether you felt hot because of the poor air conditioning or your closeness. When the doors at last pinged open, you hastily wheeled your harp out and broke free of the stifling space. Xiao came out after you.

“That’s why I usually take the stairs,” he offered. 

“A reasonable decision,” you commented, dryly but in good humour. Xiao approached one of the doors and rang its doorbell. Soon later, it swung open to reveal a young man, similar-looking to your age, with bright eyes and braided hair. Your jaw almost dropped open.

You spun on Xiao. “Your friend is Venti?”

He looked confused, and answered uncertainly, “…Yes?”

“The Venti? The one who organises all the events and… and concerts and keeps the musical world of this city turning?”

Xiao’s friend smirked mischievously. “That would indeed be me.” He turned to Xiao. “Who’ve you brought with you? Surely it can’t be a friend, can it?”

He sighed like he was used to this teasing. “They’re the one I’ve…” He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at you. “…been telling you about.”

Your brow quirked upwards, and you were unable to stifle your curiosity about what exactly he’d told Venti. You made a mental note to ask both of them later.

“We need to use your top floor to practice,” Xiao continued. So Venti had a two-tiered flat? You almost swooned at the thought of having that luxury, if you were to ignore the general mess scattered around the flat comprising of sheet music and empty cider bottles. This must be the life of a musician who managed to achieve success. 

Venti looked between the two of you. “‘We’? You’re practicing together?”

“Mn.”

His mouth lifted in a teasing grin and he spread out his arms. “Well then, my honoured guests, the top floor is yours.”

You thanked Venti, still reeling from the fact that you’d met him in person, before stopping at the bottom of a small staircase leading up to what could only be the attic. You rubbed your chin, wondering how to get your harp up without it getting stuck forever on the first step. I really need to get a better trolley, you grimaced, looking down at the rickety, squeaky thing in your possession which you could never not liken to an old shopping cart with a bad wheel. Maybe one day you could get a six-wheeled one, you half-heartedly reassured yourself, but perhaps not while you were so poor.

“I’ll help you,” offered Xiao. You thanked him and, taking great care, pulled the instrument backwards up the staircase, while he stood at the other end to stop it should it slip, or give a push should it get stuck. Upon reaching the top of the staircase, you allowed yourself a sigh of deep relief before turning to Xiao.

“So,” you said. “Pieces.”

“Pieces,” he agreed solemnly. 

You pursed your lips in thought. “Do you have any preferred composers in mind, maybe?”

Not missing a beat, Xiao said, “Debussy.” Your mouth lifted with an amused smile, recalling all the times you’d heard him practicing various pieces of the composer. 

“I thought you might say that. I like him a lot, too.”

“Do you have a favourite piece?” he inquired. 

“Don’t make me choose,” you jested warningly. He crossed his arms, letting out a sniff of laughter.

“I can relate to that feeling.”

“In all seriousness, though, we do need to decide on what we want to play if we’re going to, well, play together. Favourite pieces or no, do you have any ideas?”

He was briefly silent while he considered the question. “Not Claire De Lune,” he said eventually. 

“I was thinking that, too. It’s a great piece, but kind of overplayed.” You paused. “But the other hand, our choice shouldn’t be too niche if we want to actually earn anything. It should be well-known but not too well-known, if you get what I mean.”

He nodded his agreement, and, after a moment, proposed, “Rêverie?”

“Ooh, that’s a nice one. That could definitely be one of them.”

“How many are we going for?”

“Maybe two or three?” you suggested. “Then we could loop them for a bit.”

“Then we need to think of more options.”

Ten minutes later, you had drawn up a list of as many pieces as you could think of. A few more minutes, and you’d chosen on your pieces: excluding Rêverie, these were Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune, and an assortment of pieces from his Petit Suite. It came as a pleasant surprise to discover the similarity of your music tastes, and much of the time was spent in eager discussion on the topic of Debussy’s genius. The next topic of discussion was adapting the original scores to suit your instruments, but some surfing of YouTube videos for flute and harp renditions soon inspired the both of you enough for it not to be of much concern. Lastly, you decided with Venti’s approval that this time and place would become your weekly rehearsal schedule, and that you’d each practice your parts individually in your own time. As you were bidding Venti a heartfelt goodbye and opening the front door, the former called teasingly to Xiao, “You see? I told you coming back each Wednesday would be a good idea.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. It was like the last few hours had been a record filling your life with nice music, and it had just scratched to a halt. 

What?

“You’re the reason Xiao kept taking my busking spot?” you asked incredulously, turning to face the one you’d regarded, mere moment ago, as some archon of music. 

“Oops. Yeah, that would be me,” he chuckled. After receiving your half-joking glare, his hands shot up in a pose of surrender, and he hastened to explain himself. “Xiao was just asking me if I knew any busking spots after he moved here, and I heard your one would be free, so I told him to go there. Then he came back the next week and said somebody had approached him about it, so I said he should try returning so that he could make a new friend.” He grinned at you. “And it worked! And then a few weeks later he started going on about how talented you were, and how he wanted to know you better, and—”

“I think that’s enough,” Xiao grumbled, his cheeks taking on a flush, and swiftly closed the door behind the two of you.

“I never knew you had such a high opinion of me,” you remarked as you squeezed yourselves once more into the lift. Your tone was light-hearted, though internally the thought of him actually having liked you during all the time you were loathing him drove another round of guilt through your chest. Xiao looked away, but his voice didn’t sound hindered by any embarrassment when he next spoke.

“You are self-assured, hard-working, and very talented,” he said simply. Despite yourself, you warmed at the compliments. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t have liked you.”

“Like the fact that I was being such a petty prick towards you?” 

“We had a misunderstanding,” he replied, nonchalant. “I don’t blame you for it.”

Again, his easy forgiveness only made you feel worse, but you decided to close your mouth on the subject for the time being. Just then, the lift gave a curious screeching sound and jolted to a stop. You frowned when the doors didn’t open.

“Did we reach the bottom floor yet?”

“No.”

A second passed, then another. The lift didn’t move.

“…So we’re stuck, then.”

“I think so.” As if in reassurance, he added, “This happens sometimes.”

You scratched your brow and sighed. “Well, that’s great.” Another pause, occupied by silence. “Sorry about my harp taking up, like, three quarters of the space, by the way.”

“It’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I don’t mind the proximity that much.”

You almost choked. To cover it up, you coughed furiously into your fist. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you lied. “It’s just… stuffy in here.” Xiao shifted backwards. You frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Making more space.”

“You don’t have to. I’m just being dramatic.”

“Oh.” Still, he didn’t move back. 

“Thanks, though.”

“Mhm.”

You passed your weight between your feet, cringing beneath the thickness of the ensuing silence. You could hear both his and your breathing. Your arm was beginning to cramp, so you rolled your shoulders and tried to stretch them out, only for your fingers to brush against Xiao’s. Feeling heat rush to your face, you swiftly pulled your hand back to your side, but his fingertips grazed your knuckles as if to say stay before you could remove yourself completely. A flutter of nerves chased up your spine, leaving tingles trailing in its wake. You glanced up to look at him; he was staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on the unmoving doors. Gingerly, you reached out again, and found his hand waiting: your fingers knocked together, and he replied by slipping them together until they were so almost intertwined—

The lift lurched downwards and began its rattling descent anew. Your hands jumped apart. You busied yourself with brushing imaginary dust off your harp sleeve, and Xiao fiddled at the hem of his T-shirt. The doors dragged open, and you quickly pushed your harp out, taking a gulp of much-needed air. Xiao then led you back to the train station, where you parted ways and returned home.

… … … … … …

“You look very pleased today,” pointed out Yun Jin as you wheeled your harp through the door, muttering a curse at the trolley’s uncooperative back wheel. “Did something particular happen?”

“Well… I had a rehearsal.” You paused, considering the fact that you hadn’t really played your instruments. “Sort of. But that went well, I guess.”

“Rehearsal?” Her tone was one of curiosity. “With whom?”

You shot her a look. “You’d never believe me if I told you.” She tilted her head, and it became clear she was waiting for your answer regardless. Eventually, you sighed deeply and rubbed your forehead, partly to cover up the hot prickle on your face. “You still remember the busking guy I was complaining about?” 

A moment passed before her eyes widened with understanding. “You finally cooperated with him?” You nodded. “And was he as terrible as you were convinced he’d be?” she asked, a light trace of humour carried in her voice.

You crossed your arms with a sharp sigh. “No,” you admitted in a grumble. “He wasn’t.”

A lesser person would have now proceeded to make fun of you for your mistake, but luckily for you, Yun Jin was a person of virtue and spared you the pain of cruel teasing. Instead, she asked earnestly, “What are you practicing?” 

“Some Debussy. We’re going to busk together at some point.”

“That’s great!” She smiled. “So you worked out a compromise?”

“I think so.”

“I knew you could do it.”

You scratched your neck. “Well, it wasn’t exactly the most graceful procedure…”

“It seems you’re on good terms now, though, no?”

You thought back to the lift breaking down and the fleeting touch you’d shared which was gone all too soon. “I suppose.” 

“Will you play at the annual music festival?”

You briefly considered boasting about the fact that you’d met the organised of the event in person, but decided against it. It somehow felt nicer keeping it as your secret. “Not sure yet,” you replied to her question. You hadn’t thought that far ahead yet, but doing such certainly wouldn’t be unpleasant. “Maybe.”

“Let me know if you do. I’ll see if I can put aside time to see it.”

“Thanks, Yun Jin,” you smiled. She returned her own delicate smile.

“Of course.”

… … … … … …

Friday afternoons soon became your favourite time of the week; dearer to you than even Wednesdays, which was quite the achievement. You worked out the majority of adapting the music for both your instruments over text so you were ready to start playing the following rehearsal. 

Xiao was every part as good as you’d expected him to be, and more; you found yourself wondering how much time he devoted to music altogether to become so fluent a player. If you ever felt yourself lagging behind, however, you needn’t worry for long, because he seemed to hold your own playing in as high a regard as you held his.

It was not only playing music which was shared in these rehearsal periods, however: constructive criticism was passed back and forth—made with the best of intentions, this time—discussions on various matters, Debussy and non-Debussy related, were held, including the difficulties of practicing a full forty hours a day, and even some odd instances of Mario Kart with Venti after you were finished rehearsing, in which the latter thoroughly beat the both of you each time, even when you decided to team up in the hopes of sabotaging him.

Observant to your emotions as ever, Yun Jin began to pick up on your improved mood on Friday afternoons. More than once, she noted the way you flushed at the mention of the flautist and tried to steer the topic of conversation in another direction. One time she suggested you may be enjoying more than just the rehearsal itself, and received a furious denial which only served in convincing her further as to your growing feelings. 

Weeks passed quickly, during which you felt yourself growing more and more partial towards Xiao. To your disappointment, the lift remained stubbornly functional, and never broke down again. 

Before you knew it, your last rehearsal was upon you. You felt strangely melancholic as you unpacked your harp, and the feeling only grew as you ran through each piece. By the end, you were almost tempted to lie that you weren’t confident enough yet if only to postpone what may be the first and last time you ever played together. If Xiao shared any similar sentiments, he didn’t show it.

“We play next Wednesday, then?” he confirmed, disassembling his flute. 

“Yeah,” was your half-hearted reply. You knew the occasion ought to be eagerly anticipated, but you couldn’t find a single excited bone in your body. All you could think of was how you didn’t want this odd turn of events which started from a stolen busking spot to end so quickly—even though it had technically been some while, all the time had passed in a blur of colour.

Venti’s voice rang up the stairwell. “Are you guys done for today?” 

“We are,” replied Xiao. Having finished with his flute, he stood up and leaned against the wall, waiting for you to finish packing up your harp. Usually, this time would be filled with some conversation or humming, but today, the silence was stark.

You secured your instrument onto its trolley. Something about the descent down the stairs felt final, in a way you didn’t like. You bid Venti farewell, who promised to toss you both a coin as you performed if he had any to spare, and Xiao closed the door quietly behind you.

You made your way down the corridor and waited for the lift to drag itself up to the top floor. In the meantime, your fingers drummed against your leg, and Xiao’s hand flexed and unfurled by his side. Multiple times you opened your mouth to begin a conversation, but never could you find the right words. In terse silence you pressed yourselves into the lift. Please break down, you begged the old machine in a repeated mantra. Please break down, please break down, please break down…

But the lift did not answer your pleas. You arrived all too smoothly at the ground floor, and Xiao held the door open for you to wheel your harp outside. You both lingered there, hesitant to part ways, acutely aware that the next time you meet may well be the last. 

At last, Xiao spoke. Your chest leapt for a moment—maybe it was be an invitation to see more of each other in the future—but your heart soon sank when you heard his words.

“See you Wednesday.”

Saying nothing else, he turned down the road and walked away. You took a step after him, raising your hand towards him (though he was already too far away for you to reach him), then hesitated. Your hand fell back to your side. 

“Yeah. See you,” you replied quietly, long after he was gone.

… … … … … …

“…and I’m just worried, because I might never see him again after the busking, and I don’t want this to be the last time we meet, you know?”

Yun Jin, ever patient, bore another of your tangents with a quiet sigh. “You have feelings for him,” she said. “You should ask him out—or at the very least tell him—before you lose your chance.” 

You sighed, exasperated. “For the last time, Yun Jin, I don’t—”

“But you do,” she insisted. “Ever since you first met, even when you supposedly hated him, all you have been talking about is ‘flautist this’ and ‘Xiao that’.”

You frowned. “Well, that’s… I mean, I talk about other stuff, too. Sometimes.”

Unconvinced, your friend shook her head. Softly, she asked, “How would you feel if he said he returned your feelings?”

The question took you by surprise. It took you a second to answer with a dry, “Big ‘if’.”

Yun Jin blinked patiently at you, waiting for an earnest answer. Her countenance was gentle but firm, and her eyes spoke of a notion that she could afford to wait here until you replied. Her pointed patience made you shift in your place.

Eventually, out of the corner of your mouth, you mumbled, “I guess it would be nice.”

“And, whether he does or doesn’t, how will you find out if you never see him again without asking him?”

“Thank you for the very comforting sentiment,” you remarked bitterly. Yun Jin let out a small sigh.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it negatively. I’m only trying to make you see that you ought to let him know how you feel before it’s too late.”

“Yeah, I… I know what you meant.” You heaved a sigh of your own. “But… it’s awkward, you know? Especially if he doesn’t return my feelings, which is definitely possible.”

“If he doesn’t or it goes badly,” she pointed out, “you never have to see him again afterwards.”

“I suppose…”

She smiled at you. “Give it a try, alright? After you busk together, perhaps.”

You bit your lip, picturing the million ways it could go wrong and you could embarrass yourself. Yun Jin tapped your wrist and raised her eyebrows at you.

“No pessimism,” she said. “Don’t be frightened. It is only a question, at the end of the day.”

You rubbed your forehead. “Yeah.” Your lips twitched upwards in a forced smile. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try.”

Yun Jin squeezed your hand. “It’ll go well. You can do this.”

… … … … … …

Wednesday came around, and you were there a couple of minutes before the scheduled time to give you a moment to prepare your harp. A minute or so later, Xiao arrived, crossing the busy street to meet you. He flashed you that hint of a smile again when you made eye contact, and your heart went off with both anticipation and fear. 

“Are you ready to begin?” he asked once he’d assembled and tuned his flute. You nodded, running through the fingering for each piece in your head and ghosting some of the more difficult passages over the strings. 

“Rêverie first, right?” you said, more to calm your nerves than anything: you’d gone over the piece orders too much for any room for doubt. It was odd; you usually didn’t get nervous while busking, but now your fingertips trembled above the harp strings. 

“Rêverie first,” he confirmed, raising his flute to his lips. Both of you were unmoving for a second as you steadied yourself, Xiao waiting for you to start. Taking a breath and relaxing your hands, you held back the first note until a moment which felt right; and when it came, you plucked the string, and your busking began.

Despite your nerves, the performance went well; there was the occasional bump in a passage here and there, but beyond that, all was smooth. You may as well have been performing in a concert hall as far as quality was concerned. While playing with Xiao, it was difficult not to feel exhilarated: you worked together seamlessly, passing melody back and forth and back again with neither hesitation nor nerves, like you were sewing a tapestry of notes with a shared thread. A crowd of commuters soon gathered in a ring before you, their attention captured by this new pairing. You almost overlooked the coins piling up at Xiao’s flute case, too preoccupied with the music to notice. 

You plucked the last spread chord of Ballet and let the notes ring for a moment before dampening the sound. While you thanked your audience for their time, Xiao caught the corner of your eye and nodded: Good job. Warmth crept up your cheeks, reminding you of the question you had yet to ask him.

The crowd dispersed a short time later. Now free from being the centre of the public’s eye, you and Xiao split the earnings unequally: though you insisted on half going to yourself and half to him, Xiao was just as, if not more, determined to give you a larger share. Not wanting to argue and admitting your financial situation, you grudgingly accepted his terms.

Then came the process of packing up instruments, which you tried to drag out for as long as possible without it coming across as intentional. However, its completion could not be staved off forever, and you were inevitably forced to face the aftermath of zipping up your harp sleeve and positioning it back on the trolley. 

So, it was done. The main goal you had been working towards, and the saga of emotions contained within it, had been achieved: you had made up with, and busked with, the pesky, hot, talented flautist who’d taken this very spot all those weeks ago. 

The rational part of your brain scoffed at your sentimentality. You had his phone number, for the archons’ sakes. There was nothing to stop you from texting him for the sake of it without needing to use rehearsing as an excuse. The irrational part of your brain, however, could not help but feel that merely texting him without establishing a firm reason for it, such as what you hoped to be mutual feelings for each other, would be… wrong, somehow. You couldn’t possibly do that.

And thus, ignoring the simple solution in favour of some odd subconscious determination to make things difficult for yourself, you concluded fearfully that unless you asked him out and confessed your feelings for him, and unless he accepted and returned them, this would be your last ever interaction. 

The silence which had grown between you felt like static electricity before a lightning strike: thick, uncomfortably so, and making your hairs stand on end. Xiao stood facing you, but neither of you made eye contact. His fingers spasmed at his side. Your own tugged on the fabric of the harp sleeve, restless, tense. It almost felt possible that this moment of apprehension would last forever.

In unison, you began talking.

“It would be—”

“Do you think we could—”

You both stopped abruptly. Xiao invited you to speak; you turned down the offer and asked that he continue first, partly down to the fact that you weren’t sure you could articulate speech with such a hot prickle bearing down on your face. “It would be… nice to play again together sometime,” he said slowly. “After the busking.”

Up until this point, your heart had felt like a tightly coiled spring inside your chest. Now, it leapt to life. “Maybe at the upcoming music festival?” you suggested, your voice coming out more excitedly than intended. “We’d still have a couple of weeks to prepare.”

“Oh, Venti mentioned that to me. Yes, we could perform there.” He paused. “What were you going to say?”

“Something very similar, actually,” you admitted with a sheepish laugh. “Great minds think alike, right?” The corner of his lip quirked upwards into an expression just short of a smile. It seemed the tension rising earlier had fallen away, leaving the both of you more easy-going than before.

“And after the festival?” 

“We can figure more stuff out.” You shrugged. “Or just play for the fun of it, I guess; we don’t have to be working towards anything in particular.” (If ‘the rational part of your brain’ had eyebrows, they would have risen, unimpressed, at your swift change of heart.)

He nodded his approval. “That sounds nice.” You almost laughed with relief, but managed to bite it back before you made a fool of yourself in front of him. 

Your business, however, was not yet finished, as dearly as you wished it to be: you still had a question to ask him, and suddenly the little victory achieved moments before paled and fell away, leaving you quaking with nerves. You met his eyes, whose bold colour seemed to shoot right through you, and glanced quickly away. 

Maybe… maybe asking him another day would be wiser. You had a reason to text now, so it wouldn’t be hard to organise a later time to meet and tell him then. But you know that ‘then’ would become ‘next time’ and ‘next time’ would become ‘at some point’, and ‘at some point’ was too vague to ever happen.

You hesitated, chewing on your lip while deliberation swayed you back and forth. If you told him now, he might say no. If you didn’t, neither of you ever would. You forced a sharp sigh from your nose, settling your thoughts into a firm resolution. You were going to ask him. You took a breath to start speaking, and—

“I was wondering if you’d like to go to get a drink with me.” Xiao rubbed his neck, which was taking on a reddish tint. “If… if you’re free.”

Your jaw hung open on the first vowel of your words, and for a good second you were too stunned to even blink. Finally, you managed to move your mouth enough to form words.

“Yeah.” You swallowed down what felt like sandpaper. Excited sandpaper, but sandpaper nonetheless. “Yeah, that… that would be great. Um, when would this be?”

He flashed you one of his subtle, evasive smiles with those warm gold eyes of his, and your heart seemed to try and scramble out from your chest towards it. “Ideally now.”

Returning your own smile and giving him your confirmation of being free, you acknowledged with a good-humoured sigh, He always does get there first, doesn’t he?

#genshin impact x reader #xiao #xiao x reader

[proshippy-fox]

hey uhm question what’s a radqueer? /gen

i see this term tossed around a lot and a lot of the sources i look at have very different meanings and interpretations and i just wanna know which one is correct /nm

I'd say that, like the term proshipper, it's best to ask someone who uses the term or specifically in this case, used to use the term. Not sure I'm the best to ask here because I am not radqueer nor have I used to term to describe myself, but I'll share my thoughts anyways.

I'm anti-radqueer because the radqueer community, from what I've seen (mainly from radqueers who post in the proship tag at times) support things like being "transrace," "transdisabled," and "transnazi," as well as some people who used to be part of the radqueer community saying that there are lots of pro-contact harmful paraphilias in there. I think it is a harmful community not only because of that, but because they try to co-opt queer terms (trans) in ridiculous, nonsensical, and downright harmful ways. You can't "transition" to be black, or asian, or white, or any race or ethnicity. You can admire other cultures, and want to learn more about them, but that is not something you can "transition" into being a part of. You don't "transition" into becoming disabled, you simply become disabled due to certain factors. You don't "transition" into hating an entire race of people- You are just a hateful person.

For that last one, having intrusive thoughts about potentially being racist, sexist, a pedophile, anything harmful at all- Those are intrusive thoughts. That is not a trans identity. None of these radqueer labels mentioned have anything to do with gender, and trans is a term used for gender. I will not doubt that there are radqueer identities that do deal with gender, but as the radqueer identity accepts people who use the term trans for harmful and disrespectful purposes, I am very anti-radqueer.

There is also a difference between rad-inclusive and radqueer- I've seen people who are rad-inclusive say that they are anti radqueer. Rad-inclusive, from what I've seen, means they accept transgender and queer identities that seemingly contradict each other, such as m-spec lesbians. I personally have no problem with queer people using labels like that as they please- gender and sexuality is very fluid, and being queer hurts no one.

I suppose the main problem I hold with radqueers is just how disrespectful and harmful many of the terms they use are, and the way they try to claim these terms should be associated with gender and sexuality when they are not.

Again, it's probably best you ask people who have first-hand experience with radqueer spaces. I am lucky enough to not have any personal experience with any of them, considering how some have said grooming and encouragement of nonconsensual paraphilias are rampant.

I'll put the proship tags in, so maybe someone else can help answer your questions more accurately. I myself am also a bit curious, and would love to see what other people think^^

#proship #anti anti #anti harassment #proshippers please interact #profic #ask tag

[highfantasy-soul]

I think what people are missing when they say "The girls took all the powerful moments from the guys!!" or "Egwene would never have been able to stand up to Ishy for even a moment!" is that...the women are never standing alone when they do their incredible acts.

I think even book readers forget the massive buff being near other ta'veren gives the characters in the books and the power of working in a team.

In the season 1 finale, unlike Rand in the books, Egwene doesn't demolish a whole army of trollocs alone, nor does Nynaeve, nor do any of the other women there. Egwene and Nynaeve don't even cast any of the attack weaves at all. They are linked and Amalisa - a Tower trained individual - uses the collective power of all the women standing there to demolish the battlefield.

in the season 2 finale, they set it up all the way back in episode 1: "Standing alone, a shield only covers part of you, the rest is exposed. But standing together, our shields cover each other and nothing can touch us."

When Egwene stands up to Ishamael, she's not attacking him. She's making a shield. And she's not doing it alone. Mat and Rand are there too, two more powerful ta'veren converging in the Pattern with her, with two more on the way.

It's amazing how quickly book readers forget the plot convenience power of ta'veren Robert Jordan very purposely wrote into the story!

In the final confrontations of both seasons, Rand IS the one who strikes the final blow - he's the one who has to mentally 'defeat' Ishamael. It's Rand's decisions that determine the outcome in both - not Egwene's opinions on the matter, not Nynaeve's. The idea that a random mass attack is a more impactful character moment than overcoming the temptation of Ishy's promise of a perfect world for Rand to live in, that Rand declaring firmly and to Ishy's face that he will never join the shadow never stop fighting for the Light, is just ridiculous.

None of Rand's actually impactful, story-defining moments are given to 'the girls'. The show is not 'pushing Rand down so the women can be made more powerful'. If that's what you think, I'd take a look at what you think is 'powerful' and then take a look at the actual story Robert Jordan wrote and what he had to say about what wins the battle in the end. Was it sheer, raw power that won the conflict or was it strength of self (internally knowing who you are and not caving on your morals for power or influence or glory), community, and compassion?

Yeah, Rand is the character with the most raw power - but that's not why he wins battles and I think his big power moments will mean so much more in the show now that we've seen WHO HE IS and WHY he's using that power.

This isn't to say the explosions of power that Nynaeve and Egwene get aren't meaningful - I think the way the show has altered them to be about community support makes that act so much more powerful than a single character floating above the battlefield and demolishing it all on their own.

So in conclusion, I don't think the criticisms that "Rafe hates men and is giving all Rand's important stuff to the women!!" are accurate in the slightest.

#wheel of time #wot on prime #wot show spoilers #its so frustrating to see people angry that Rand isn't their self-insert OP Mary Sue #which I don't think he really was in the books #i think that RJ used those power ups to sneak in the real point - Rand's strength of character rather than his strength in the power #the wot community's obsession with power levels will never not frustrate me #like ppl upset that Moggy caught Lanfear in a web #the power isn't a sledgehammer!!!! #if you prepare and are clever with it then ppl with less power can totally get the advantage on those with more raw power!! #RJ's magic system isn't made for people to beat action figures together and the 'stronger' one always wins so maybe stop trying to apply #that logic to everything in the show

[linmelon3o]

Part Two Life Series Lore Theory of the Evolution…

(Context is in part one)

Prologue 2

Let’s take it back to the start of my research. You see, there were six factions known as “The Senses” that ruled the world way back when from their thrones in the Stratosphere.

The Watchers were the first group to exist. They therefore dubbed themselves the leaders and would punish anyone who dared to cross them accordingly. They were the ones who watched. They toyed with our emotions like a set of bowling pins; set up then knock down and set up again. On repeat. They were the only ones we knew for the longest time because of their many riddles and rhymes. Their portals were what allowed us to get stronger. To forget. Although, we were never particularly fond of them. Anything that we asked them about the world was ignored or dismissed. They played us like pawns in their own little game. Not daring to give us even the slightest bit of knowledge about the wide universe and the other beings that ruled it. Or even how we came to be in this world. There are many theories for this of course, but none have been confirmed.

The Listeners were discovered after the Watchers and eventually were the ones that intervened in their schemes. They understood us, well in the ways a celestial group of beings could I guess. Although, it was always difficult to understand their true intentions. They would leave signs and riddles around to help us like the Watchers did. but only in times of great need (and little those were before the incident). They quarreled frequently with the Watchers after they had tried to aid us in our escape from the world of Evolution. The Watchers knew they couldn’t take their wrath out on The Listeners because of the devastating effects of a war among The Senses. This decision overall is how we ended up in this endless abyss of repetition and competition that we now call The Life Games. We were sent to this world and this is where we have met our fate.

Not many people know anything about the final four of The Senses, but let me pass on to you what I have been able to discover. After much thought and research I have been able to find:

The Sniffers are normally the nicest of the group. However, they can smell dangerous situations from a mile away and usually end up being quite accurate in their “predictions”. They can be quite dangerous if provoked. They are very confusing as well and it can be difficult to understand quite what they intend to do. No one truly knows much about their other powers because no one has spoken with them to date.

The Feelers are very similar to The Sniffers in the fact that they have never been communicated with. We do know that they feel emotional connection 10x as much as others and they are nice when unprovoked. If you anger them or break their connection to anything they cherish, they will come after you with the psychotic anger of a thousand and demolish everything in their path. They can be really good but turn on you in an instant. You do not want to be on their bad side.

The Testers are sort of the laughingstock group of the senses… But don’t lower your expectations. They do usually tend to not know or think about things as much and they always lose at any competition. However they are very good at finding people to trust and making the strongest team. They are stronger than anyone expects. They are the glue that holds the rest of The Senses together and can hold their own almost as well as any of the other senses.

And, the most elusive group of all

The sixth sense.

No one knows anything about The Sixth Sense. This group was not even a group. Each of the senses has two or more beings in their group but The Sixth consists of one being that has long since thought to have perished. What little information we have left is either lost or burned by The Senses when their groups split. The only bits that we know of them are that: The Senses could never get used to the power that he held. The Sixth was so powerful that it would take two to three of The Senses to even have a chance against him in battle. The Sixth was officially banished from The Senses before our world was created. Everyone has since then thought that he’s dead and gone but I suspect that we have a reason to believe otherwise. I suspect that he has taken a liking to a little boy who is a little bit too good to play games.

#lore #life series #just a thought #grian #inthelittlewood #bigbst4tz2 #pearlescentmoon #jimmy solidarity #evolution smp

[loveyourlovelysoul]

Emotional maturity (which depends on how our developmental needs were met in our forming days and the example we got from our caregivers) has nothing to do with our age: we can understand we don't feel emotional mature and start working on it at any age.

Our emotionally immature self You may realize you feel discomfort when expressing emotions, tend to neglect them or label them as unimportant; you feel highly defensive; you have an hard time tolerating others' opinions and blame them when things go wrong; you tend to shut down or lash out in conflicts or even avoid them completely (people pleasing); you may lack communication skills and openness about problems; you try to over explain yourself in fear of being misunderstood; you generally react as passive aggressive... you basically have an hard time sitting with your emotions and trying to understand them and regulate them.

Our emotionally mature self Listen to others' opinions even if you don't agree or don't understand them (you don't have to agree with someone to tolerate their point of views, we are all different); recognize when you get triggered by something or someone (we act more immature when we're triggered, as we experience a regression to our trauma) so to take a step back: you don't answer/make decisions until you've calmed down; remember empathy is the ability of putting yourself into someone else's shoes, so imagining to feel and experience something more close to someone else's point of view may help you realize what they are feeling/thinking (feeling or thinking exactly the same is impossible, but taking a look from a different perspective is of help); again take a pause before reacting, give yourself space to think about your answer and make a proper and informed conscious choice (it may help reduce regrets too); remember there are multiple realities and none has to be more accurate, correct or perfect than another as they're all different: our reality is made by our own perspective, and same for anyone else (none of each is wrong or invalidated by the other one existing).

#words #healing #important #positivity #self love #thoughts #positive thinking #self healing #healingjourney #love yourself #life #life lessons #relationships #reminders #emotions #emotional health #emotional growth #emotional trauma #emotional awareness

[ordinaryschmuck]

So I finally saw Pixar's Elemental.

A projected box office flop turned frickin' SLEEPER HIT as this movie went from Pixar's lowest opening weekend to one of Disney's biggest financial hits in a WHILE. There are arguments as to why this happened, with some saying that it's because good word of mouth made more people want to see this movie more, while more CYNICAL individuals saying that it's because other choices at the time were either The Flash or Ruby Gillman. And whether you like THOSE movies or not...other people tend to agree that Elemental was the better choice. The question is, where do I stand? Do I think this movie was so good that more people went to see it or was it just a bit of good timing?

Well...Honestly, I'd say it's really that good. Or, at least, ALMOST that good. The meat of the story is about immigration, where this fire family moved to Element City, only to realize the town wasn't built for people like them in mind and their left struggling to make a life there with their community having their full support. Needless to say, this is definitely a movie with a specific target audience in mind and it's an engaging angle to go about the concept of sentient elements. And it's definitely more interesting than being a romcom about how opposites attract. Don't get me wrong, Wade and Ember have their cute moments, but not enough to sell me as a couple as they don't have enough chemistry (ha) to make something endearing. By the end of the day, I find myself fascinated more by Ember struggling to make her family proud and keeping the light (haha) of her heritage alive despite the things she wants to do with HER life. Ember finding a man? Nah, I could be fine without that. Especially when the movie does the whole "We're in love despite knowing each other for a few days" thing. Not my cup of tea when it comes to romance...

But where the story tends to struggle, where Elemental succeeds in is the animation. I'm sick of this belief that Pixar having great animation isn't a compliment anymore, because LOOK at this film! It's one of their most gorgeous projects to date, having breath taking visuals, fantastic expressions, and movements that nail the physics of fire and water PERFECTLY. Did a story about immigration or opposites attract NEED to be animated? Probably not. But a story about fire and water falling in love? Absolutely, because while the story doesn't do that opposites attract concept justice, the animation does. There's this great scene where they touch for the first time and, visually, they perfectly capture that fear and excitement that comes from holding the person you love for the first time. It's sight to see, and I was left in awe through so much of this movie because of it.

In a way, I can totally buy why people went to see this movie, making it the hit that it did. The immigration side of the story had to have struck a chord with so many people and the animation made the love story more beautiful than it had to. That combined had to have been elemental to the films success.

I just hope studios learn something from this film.

"That you should leave movies in theaters longer to make them a success instead of throwing them onto streaming?"

THAT, and that the only way this movie exists the way it does is through the HUMAN experience. Only a human can convey the feeling of wanting to move to a new country, wanting to make a life only to feel as though they don't fit in. Only a human can accurately convey the beauty of love through the beauty of fire and water.

Computers can NOT. You can use AI all you want to make movies with NONE of the heart and talent that make hits like these. But studios will quickly learn that none of that will lead to a financial success like this.

(And if you're wondering where this stacks in my Pixar ranking, I'd say...#15. Right between the first Toy Story and Turning Red)

#pixar #pixar's elemental #elemental #ember lumen

[trigun-manga-overhaul]

hi there! im sure with the advent of a trigun rerelease upon us you've gotten a lot of asks about this over the past couple of days, but in the case you haven't been asked that: do you still plan to move forward with overhaul 2.0 even with the news of a reprint? i ask this with no disrespect or hopes that you do cease work on it, but im interested in hearing your thoughts and feelings about how to proceed.

as well, I'm curious to hear your take on this, do you believe dark horse will redo the translation? or simply edit it? i haven't read much dark horse manga so im not sure historically how they would handle a reprint for a manga that has been out of print for so long, especially since, imo, at this point they would have to meet or exceed your excellent translation. similar to how official video game rereleases at the bare minimum have to meet the current emulation standard- if that makes sense.

btw i just want to say thank you for your in depth and explanatory answers to the many questions you get regarding translation nuances and the work that goes into cleaning and typesetting from scratch and the logic behind your choices. i speak the language but still love hearing the thought process other translators go through when they make certain decisions. it's awesome how much passion you have for trigun and this project as well as helping people to understand choices in the original text and how you translated them for your text.

Hey there and thank you for your question!

We have not been asked specifically about this yet, so your question is very welcome.

We fully intend to continue with Overhaul 2.0, even in light of a Trigun Deluxe release, which the team is ecstatic about, by the way. The need for a digital version for people to read on their computers, phones and other devices remains, and the quality of life that comes with it. Larger pages, the ability to zoom in, very crisp black and white differences, all of these factors can be helpful for people who might find reading difficult due to various health or mental health conditions.

On top of that, it will be free for those who are not fortunate enough to be able to buy expensive Deluxe releases, or the very expensive regular releases, for that matter. We always encourage people to eventually find a way to support the original creator, which is why we suggest buying the digital version of the manga on Dark Horse Comic's own website and not buy second hand books. But until that is economically responsible for people to buy, we offer them a chance to read an accurate translation online in the meantime.

Personally, I doubt they will redo the translation, as the translation for the Berserk Deluxe release remained the same. I don't know if the translation was changed for the Deluxe Hellsing release, but given the trend with their first Deluxe release, I also doubt it.

Of course, they could have changed their procedures for these releases over time and decided some lines or words needed to be changed, however it remains to be seen. Were they to update the translation, we would be very interested in reading it to see the differences, and then determine if it has improved.

Not one wishing to question other industry professionals when it comes to translation, I must still say that Dark Horse comics has repeatedly proven to engage in assembly line translation. Each translation isn't deeply studied, engaged with or understood by the translators, and the work is passed to several individuals with no communication, as is evident by the changing translation of names and words. They do not have the time or means to study the text they are translating, and therefore will ultimately always release a somewhat clumsy but passable script.

None of the translators are incompetent, that is clear, they are instead bound by their workspace regulations to follow the set procedure within the company. You can draw comparisons between the translation industry and production industry; we have the perfect-every-time, cookie-cutter, assembly line product that will do its job but only that, and then the handmade, personalized and polished to the tiniest detail product. Of course, handmade products can come with imperfections caused by the work being done by hand, but that either adds character or can be corrected through recipient engagement.

Thank you so much for your kind words, though. We try our best to be as informative and transparent as we can about our project, while also spacing out information and avoiding to repeat ourselves too much. It is interesting to write about our process too, as it does put the work we do into perspective, even helping with reflection upon how we do it and how we might improve.

So everyone is free to ask about our team, our process or anything that might interest you, and I'll answer to the best of my abilities!

#answers

[shifterstars]

Pshifting and Sex, GROUND FLOOR.

This series is for educational purposes only, but does not claim to be the end all to be all on this topic. Please do your own research first.

Welcome to the GROUND FLOOR. Here, we will discuss our primary topic; Pshifting and Sex. This topic has four ground floor stages, the first one being Shifter Bodies, second is Sexuality in Nature, third is Knowing Boundaries, and fourth is Safety.

Let's Begin.

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SHIFTER BODIES.

A shifter is someone who "physically (or much less commonly) spiritually transforms into another being". ("Terminology")

Both spiritual and physical are physical attributes to a body, given that spiritual is defined as metaphysical alongside regular physical experiences. A shifter is not a monolith, just like the human world, shifters have varying "true forms" and "morphed bodies". Each body looks, on the outside, similar to a human body. Many shifters struggle with dysmorphia, and feelings of not being a real shifter based on the fact that they do not or never have shifted before. Due to this, the human body may or may not be a trigger to some shifters. Some may prefer to act more animalistic or allow themselves outside time where they can shift. This relieves that dysphoria/dysmorphia.

Some theories suggest that the shifter's body changes due to hormones, some others claim magic, and others say it is simply your genetic make up. Due to the truth not being accurately studied, and only theories being used, we will be at the universal idea that it is simply physical and that is all it is- without forcing any of the major theoretical ideals.

The various types of physical includes (the ones we mentioned) metaphysical and physical, subcategories of such are spiritual, astral, aural, somatic, beserker shifts, sensory, and exolimb shifts. If you experience these shifters, you are not a shifter until you say you are and until those physical affects permanently change your body. Many alterhumans, a group of humans who are not fully aligned with the human experience, may claim that their spiritual or sensory shifts don't last permanently. By all means, they are not shifters. It is a self-identified label first, and a function later. Permanently means permanently. As in, a spiritual shift that changes your metaphysical body to grow wings or change eye colors. A physical shift that changes the way you walk forever. That's permanence.

Shifters and their bodies seem to be the most discussed topic across all pshifting sites and blogs, but many forget that there are adults in the shifter community that want to feel good about their bodies, and they do want to see more representation of diverse bodies in shapeshifter media. Some adults may indulge in pshifting with others around them for safety, as all should, but when it comes to the sexual appeal of these shifter bodies, many think it is too taboo. There's a hard line to cross between feral, and anthro. Feral doesn't include just four legs on the floor, it includes the inability to speak, consent, and/or write. Anthro can be on four legs, but are usually on two, they have the ability to write, speak, and/or consent. Those two categories are helpful for some who do feel guilty about the appeal towards our shifted bodies due to them being "animalistic". You would not call a cartoon dog real, so why apply real standards to them in order to prevent a real issue with real animals? Not only are fictional and healthy outputs safer for those with none, but most people who are geared towards that (not saying all or most shifters are), seek help for paraphilias and find it not to be disordered. Safety over society's morals saves lives, not just human lives.

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SEXUALITY IN NATURE

Thoughout time, sex and sexuality have been concepts undivided. They were not picky, or dictated by society, nor were they specifically seen as wrong. The only truth was that the puzzle pieces for making children varied based on species. A lion always has to have a lioness to make cubs, but that doesn't mean that the lion can't truly love another lion. This also varies when your species has the ability to change sexes or gender. A ftm lion is still a lion, but now has the ability to birth cubs. If that ftm lion chooses another lion to mate with, that lion doesn't need a lioness because they have a lion who can give birth. Sexuality is fluid, and there have always been same sex couples in the wild. From courting, mating, mounting, it is all love and signs of varying behaviours. Some animals like the dolphin sometimes will masturbate without the need for reproduction, which begs the question... if all nature is inherently existing with the need of pleasure and a fluid sexuality without worry, why do human beings restrict themselves so?

Many shifters also do the same, restricting themselves, but many have found it easier to let go and find the beauty in their own sexuality. By nature, shifters are extremely wild and given that they have merged into society means that there are limited options for them when expressing such sexuality. Yet, many of us have been avoiding the attention of humankind for a while.

Shifters can be straight, but they can also be gay, bi, lesbian, asexual, transgender, perisex, intersex, and much more. We are not a monolith, and we are not all young teens. So we find ourselves engaging in sex or pleasurable things at all stages of our life. Some shifters may choose to masturbate while shifted, others may not. Just like all animals, shifters don't just mate to reproduce. Some lack the partnership to mate in the first place while others don't seem to want that. It's important to know how your body feels and what is best for you. Some shifters hump, some buck, and some rub- but what matters is that they also set boundaries for themselves and others.

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KNOWING BOUNDARIES.

If you as a shifter feels uncomfortable with not shifting during sex, they are welcome to stay in their shifted form, but the boundaries they must set with their partner(s) matter more. You may think that it feels good for all parties, but at some point, you have to be an adult and ask;

Does this work for you?

It's not because you are valuing their pleasure over yours, but you're valuing the safety of their body. Say a bear shifter and a feline shifter are together, and they want to shift during sex. Sure, it may work depending on preexisting factors, but to make sure, those two have to do a size check. Size checks are similar to making sure everything will work. It doesn't account for what gender, or sex you are, it matters. A bear shifter that tops will most likely have trouble if they are the actual size of a bear and not a human-sized one. The same applies to the feline shifter in that being a receiver or giver.

This is how you set boundaries during sexual intercourse. Planned Parenthood describes boundaries as "the line between what you’re cool with and what’s not OK with you. If you’re not comfortable with something happening to you or around you, that means you have a boundary between yourself and that thing." ("Sexual Boundaries: How to Set Them")

Sexual boundaries should be formally set before sex, but they can be enforced during sex as a quick reaction. If a shifter wants to bite you, a quick "no" is setting a boundary between what you're comfortable with and what you're not. Boundaries aren't just what you're doing during sex, it can be your clothing, showing your body, respecting choices, and understanding what hurts and what doesn't. If your boundaries are being pushed, do not let them do so. Shifters are born into human society, and even if they are allowed an inch of what you, another shifter, have- there should be boundaries to protect. Protect yours first. It doesn't matter if they too are a shifter, it is your body.

»»»

SAFETY.

Finding places online and offline like friend-owned packs, cool and calm websites, safety guides for shifters, and much more can boost your confidence. As well as your own safety while shifting. Harloqui writes, "Don't go out in secret. You don't have to tell people not in the know, but you shouldn't be sneaking out without telling anybody where you'll be. If something were to happen to you you'd want someone to alert the authorities early and fast, and sneaking out without telling anybody works against you". ("Shifting Safety Tips")

Safety extends to sex as well. Safe sex not only saves lives but prevents sex related crimes and permanent pain from occurring. Shifter sex can be, in personal experience, very pleasurable if you do it safely. Asking your partner(s) if certain things are okay is not "human-like" or "non-feral".

If you are shifting during sex, there are many ways to prevent the three Rs; Ripping, Rape, and Removing. Obviously, no one wants these, but it's common in the animal kingdom. Ripping refers to when a shifter shifts, either physically or metaphysically, and something rips. This may be the shifter's muscle, or the partner's body. Rape is a sex crime which involves one non-consenting party, and another party breaking that consent. Removing is the act or disrobing, or taking the clothes off your body or someone elses body while in the shifted state. These three can be prevented through personal boundary and safewords or training.

When shifting, does your body tend to rip, ache, tear, or bleed? If yes, you may not want to shift during sex. If you want to continue, be cautious of your partner's size and your own pain. Sex shouldn't be painful, especially not when shifting. When too large, using alternatives like fingers or tongues do well. Blood and muscle tears are dangerous to play around with.

When shifting, do you lose sight and touch with your "human side"? If yes, you tend to find it harder to reconnect to that other side quick enough to pay attention to the signs of a non-consenting party. This is harmful and if you deliberately still shift without consent, that is considered breaking boundaries.

When shifting, do you remove your clothes or remove other's clothes? If yes, it doesn't automatically mean a bad thing. See, shifters are recommended to remove clothing and jewelry, less they choke you or rip. But during that, there is still a very high possibility that the behaviour or taking clothes off is done to another person.

We covered personal boundaries, so safewords and training are up next.

Safewords are word(s) or signal that ends BDSM (and other types) play instantly. Safewords aren't entirely sexual, but they are commonly used in non-/BDSM spaces to end sexual activity. They are important, and everyone needs one. Some safewords are turn offs, and others are simple words like "kitchen". The majority of safewords aren't just "no", they have to be complex unless you are to confuse someone who thinks of "no" or "stop" as playful.

Training is what it says on the tin. To train a consenting human or shifter to understand boundaries is normal. Many relationships go through subconscious training whether we want our partners to pass or not. For some shifters, the idea of training is very erotic or pleasing, and they will have a higher incentive to learn. Most shifters like that are canines, or common pets. Training can go from simple to complex, and requires both the trainer and trainee to be in that mode for the entire time. Training, to some shifters, may be sexual due to sexuality or pre-established kinks. Find out what works for you before choosing.

»»»

Your tour of the GROUND FLOOR has ended. I do hope this helped a few shifters out there. When we talk about sex education, a lot of shifters rely on human resources even if many of us shifters WANT to shift during sex and be in our true forms. I'm here to say that you can.

The next installment will be Pshifting and Sex, FLOOR 1. There, we will talk about Sex Appeal, Dysphoria and Shifting, The Shifter's Parts, and Permanent Changes. As always, this is educational and serves only that purpose!

»»»

Cited.

“Terminology.” Shapeshifter’s Eden, spiritshifter.wixsite.com/harloqui/terms. Accessed 31 Jan. 2024.

“Shifting Safety Tips.” Tumblr, www.tumblr.com/harloqui/716528857941983233/shifting-safety-tips?source=share.

“Sexual Boundaries: How to Set Them.” Www.plannedparenthood.org, www.plannedparenthood.org/blog/sexual-boundaries-how-to-set-them.

#pshifter #physical shifting #p-shifter #physical shifter #nonhuman #p shifting #informational #education #educational #physically nonhuman #safety #pshifting #pshifters #lgbtq #queer #minors dni #18+ mdni #mdni #minors do not interact #not safe for minors

[texasthoughtsaboutnothing]

Weird Question.

What does a good Limbus Company Tier List look like?

[Warning: Long]

Gacha games are, at least in part, games about optimizing limited resources. There is a daily stamina limit, and weeklies and dailies that you need to feed that stamina into. In turn, you receive an amount of rewards that need to be spent to acquire and upgrade units. Limited rewards. And you need so many just to upgrade one unit. Decisions need to made, resources allocated. You only have so much, you want to get and use the right stuff without wasting anything on someone you find out is trash 90 levels in. Right?

This is an aspect of Gacha that is often missed in discourse about pngs of anime waifus: the emotional and intellectual labor of investing into a unit, the constant worrying about if you are making the most optimal choices, and the satisfaction of planning well. How a lot of attachment to a character can stem not from their design or personality but just because they're all you had that countered this boss node and lord almighty they clutched out the win with 0.1% HP after you dumped all you had into raising them. I could talk about it all day, it' super interesting to me. But to refocus, the major consequence of this kind of game design are tier lists.

Tier lists will tell you, at a glance, what units are worth investing in and what's worth avoiding. Good tier lists will provide comprehensive explanations and guides for each unit to contextualize their placement. Bad tier lists won't. They can be the combined knowledge of an entire community for a game, they can also be an edict laid down without compassion or transparency. Again, absolutely interesting. And again, to refocus, Limbus doesn't really have one.

Ok, there are Limbus tier lists. Esgoo has great tier lists on which IDs and EGO you should prioritize when considering Uptie 4. Obviously those are his opinion, all Tier Lists are at the end of the day, but he has a whole hour of discussion covering the why's and hows of each category. There is a Prydwen tier list for units, but its rarely shown to new players in any of the PM communities I'm in and is instead largely chastised to my knowledge. I've seen Sinner tier lists, meme tier lists, so on and so forth. None of these are the Tier List.

Maybe its just a sign of the times, but I remember when Gachas had the Tier List. Community vetted, moderator approved, above any all all others. Offered freely to newcomers and watched feverishly by veterans after a new unit is released. Nowadays I feel like I rarely see them.

Limbus doesn't have the tier list. You may wonder if it even needs one and I think you'd have a point. Boiling an entire ID's value to a letter grade might seem unnecessary, especially as Limbus is a bit different as a Gacha. IDs are easy to get, and though the level cap continues to raise (in a way many others find alarming and I'm inclined to agree) it's still less than a week's effort to max one out. I've played games where it took a month of currency to get a single Unit useable. THere just isn't as much drive to worry about leveling the wrong things, investing incorrectly because basically anything works.

However.

There still are obvious differences in the strengths of each character ID. True, most if not all are "useable", but you're probably better off leveling Pequod Yi Sang than Seven Yi Sang. You are definitely better off leveling Pequod Ishmael than Sloshing Ishmael. Its fair to want a quick cheat sheet to communicate those ideas at a glance, with explanations for those who want to delve a little deeper.

But I ask again, what would it even look like?

By what categories and traits do we subdivide these IDs? How can you convey that W Ryoshu is a self sufficient DPS monster tahat requires no synergy to be good while Maid Ryoshu has AoE built into her kit as well as strong poise gen that also does good damage at a glance? Put one in an AoE group and the other in DPS? Is that truly accurate when part of attack weight is that it's great against Abnormalities, the most common type of one-on-one encounter?

I ask the question "what would it look like" because I truly don't know. Limbus is a complicated, evolving game. I don't think that makes it special or standout in any particular way, but for an example it could be that Seven IDs are top tier next event because of temporary buffs and that throws a whole tier list on its head. I don't know of many Gacha that do stuff like that.

That's kinda the end of the thought. The best I can come up with is a list consisting of three tiers: "great, good with the right team comp, and don't. Further explanation available upon request." That's not very helpful, is it?

#limbus company #project moon #clear all cathy #wow i wrote too much about a random thought i had