#you can tell when it's finals season based on peak messy

[tea-tuesday]

photoset: law school edition !!

i've been unusually neat on this studyblr because i'm doing an experiential semester and i only have one seminar—but when i'm back at school and taking a full load of classes, i'm nothing but messy, especially during finals......enjoy the chaos! (this will be me next semester)

#yes those are crystals to help me manifest because i needed everything to get me through law school..... #you can tell when it's finals season based on peak messy #also i just realized how much trash/empty bottles/wrappers are in my pics... i'm always snacking on something #studyblr #tea-tuesday #study inspiration #mine #lawblr #studyspo #study #studying #law school #study motivation #photoset #chaotic academia

[reaction2whatever]

My Agents of shield season 3 mumble jumble

I just finished the season 3 finale and boyyyyy am I emotional right about now. (Possibly because I binged 5 episodes all at once and thoughts are jumbled

Be prepared I'm sensing this is gonna be a long rant

Just like the season 2 rant Imma divide this into two parts and ramble it through each part

(sidenote: this is my first time watching this show so If you want to see my reactions to previous seasons you can find those thoughts here and please no spoilers. I started this account that I don't really use to stop Tumblr spoiling me based on the tags that I used lol)

Plot

Welp. Where do I even start

I think it is a pretty good season. Better than season 1, not as strong as season 2.

I also like the latter half of the season where they fight Hive more than the first half.

The reason behind my criticism of the first half of this season is that it is trying to do TOO many things all at the same time while simultaneously moving too slowly too.

Let's see. The first ten episodes of this season had the following main storylines:

-A massive amount of people are turning into Inhumans and they are creating chaos

-ATCU is targeting Inhumans, especially Lincoln

-A new "monster", later revealed as Andrew/Lush, is hunting Inhumans as well

-Fitz saving Simmons from an alien planet/ that FitzSimmons and Will love triangle

-Hunter and May trying to take down Ward for Bobbi

After having finished this season, I can see the way these stories intertwine with each other. It is pretty great. I think the writers did a very good job with how the mysteries thrown at viewers were all resolved.

But when watching it for the first time, I felt like new questions kept coming up and the main characters were all over the place following different plotlines. It was easy to be confused as to what's the point of everything and how does everything connect together?

Especially when it's trying to tell this many stories all at once, somehow this show slowed down the pace so suddenly to give Simmons a whole episode solely to talk about her time on an alien planet pining for one man and falling in love for another.

Like the pace was really fast and suddenly slowed down then picked up the pace again.

When season 2 was finished I was pretty excited about the potential of a lot of new inhuman capabilities in season 3, because fish is a common enough thing that a potentially huge amount of people could get powers overnight.

But I guess in season 3 we only get Andrew(who wasn't turned into an Inhuman because of fish oil), yoyo, joey, and some minor side characters. After Rosalind died and Hive was introduced, this spread of inhuman incidents' influence seemed to have hit the stop button and never surfaced again.

Wasn't this introduced as a massive global outbreak in the first episode? Why is it that the shield team has stopped showing up to newly turned Inhumans like they did for Joey? Why is it that Hive wasn't capable of finding hundreds of Inhumans to work for him under his sway?

At his peak, Hive had like 4 Inhumans under his sway(Daisy, multiplying woman, telekinesis guy, fire-throwing guy), and...honestly, I had to lol at that pathetic low number(I know Andrew killed some but like, they can do better with that number. There is no way anyone can stop the world from eating fish and this is a thing that can't be stopped. Every day there should be new Inhumans lol.

Would have been so cool to see more characters with inhuman powers/see a massive inhuman outbreak more.

The same could be said for Simmons' adventure on another planet and her reaction to it, soooo much potential for a whole other planet. The ATCU's philosophy and the debate of whether Inhumans should be cured could be expanded a lot more to talk about ethics, so a lot of potential there too.

Each thread of plotting could be expanded and explained more because each thread has a lot of potentials, but I guess they needed for the season to move forward quickly and I think it got a bit messy and rushed with the many characters and plotlines introduced.

The latter half of the season focuses a lot more on a singular threat Hive and I feel like I like the latter half more. I'm very sad that Bobbi and Hunter are gone for the latter half but I have to admit after sending these two away, the reduced number of the main cast also helped with the storytelling.

I know I wrote a lot of criticism above but honestly overall I still think this is a strong season and the plot is pretty awesome and I love this show but I've said that amazement enough in my episode to episode reactions lol so I'll shut up and talk about characters instead.

Characters

Daisy Johnson

oh boy do I love her. (Chloe Bennet is so good at acting like oh wow

First of all, I know (from the very kind @agents-of-fangirling in the comments) that Daisy Johnson is a comic book character and that's probably why they've changed her name.

But still, I think it's pretty symbolic.

Skye was a person trying to find meaning in her life. She was homeless, an orphan, who had never had stability in her life, who had no idea who she was or what's her heritage. Skye was very much struggling to balance between her birth family and her shield famly and why does she have powers. It's an orphan's name and it hints at her chaotic life.

After an entire journey in the span of two seasons, Skye had found her heritage, her power, and her parents. Now she was agent Daisy Johnson, her full name comes from her birth parents but very much an agent of shield and a superhero (Before sway. I'll talk about that later lol)

She had gotten over that rookie phase and she was more mature now.

I'm very glad that Daisy Johnson doesn't need anybody to baby her to go into the field and be GOOD at it. She wasn't stuck as a rookie and she's just grown to the point where I feel a sense of security when she's in the field.

Compare that to when in season 1 she can't fight at all and in season 2 she was training under May and fumbling over her powers, this season she'd really feel all grew up.

She leads the inhuman task force, she advocates for inhuman rights. She has accepted her Inhuman identity and knows who she is. She uses her power well and she fights well and she gets things done. She had really started to feel confident and capable. She's just an overall very enjoyable superhero and agent in this season.

(Maybe she didn't hack as much as she used to but I accept the trade between hacking scenes and super hot power/fighting scenes any day)

ALSO did I mention just how gorgeous she is?

AND THEN she got swayed

See, the writers of this show never let any character gets too comfortable with life.

I feel like part of the reason why Daisy after sway is pretty heartbreaking to watch is that she finally seemed happy and content with her life for a bit. She was a leader of a good team of Inhumans, she had a boyfriend who's a massive upgrade from Miles and Ward.

AND hive just went ahead and took all of that away from her.

I feel like that's like her worst nightmare coming true. She truly sees the team as her family. Not only did she personally hurt Fitz and Mack but she also had that vision. She knew someone is gonna die. She knew that time can't be changed.

I truly believed that if she killed someone on the team it will break her but...things are not much better.

She was in so much pain and so addicted to the feeling of hive that she begged hive to take her back, which at the moment is understandable, but she's gonna beat herself up for it for sure later on. hive having Ward's face definitely doesn't help one bit.

I feel like she was even relieved when she thought her helping hive will only result in her own death and not somebody else's.

It's easier on her conscious in a way

AND then Lincoln dies. Lincoln who is the only one that knew she begged Hive to take her back. Lincoln who only said he loves her when he was about to die.

My girl ended this season being suicidal, going through withdrawal, having to face the fact that she harmed the team, having to face the fact that May's ex-husband and probably the only therapist who can help her deal right now died for her, having to face the fact that her boyfriend exploded in space for her with hive who possess Ward's face and being hunted by shield.

I fear for her sanity because I would be on the floor bawling right now if I were her. Life is not treating her well.

I don't know why shield is after her when we end this season but for the love of God somebody please wrap her up in a soft blanket and give the girl some soup and also give her a ton of good therapy.

Phil Coulson

Coulson feels more like a person this season because he is selfish and I meant it in a good way

He was just good in season 1 and 2. He was that generic good boss character with some trauma with being brought back to life and...yeah that's about it

This season though, Coulson fell in love with Rosalind resulting in Rosalind bleeding out in his arms

He hunted down and killed Ward for personal reasons and I liked it because he's more like a human being with flaws lol.

There was one bit of wasted potential for Coulson and that's being an amputee.

I know he struggled a bit with ties and he mentioned phantom pain. But later on, he had cool gadgets on his hand and he just got some more capability being an amputee

I would love to see an episode where he lost his hand and show some real struggle with it because I feel like in this season his struggle as a disabled person got glossed over easily. His disability was even seen as cool with all the extra gadgets on his hand. idk I feel like there are a lot of potentials to be explored there

Melinda May

Man, I don't know why they keep on wasting May's potential

May's arc was basically hunting Ward with Hunter and then some emotional scenes/plots with Andrew/Lush

Other than that...May is basically used as a generic plot driver/field agent

I want her to have some solid arc. like Daisy's brainwashing arc or Simmons' alien planet arc

Give her something of substance please and don't let Andrew's wife confine her like it did in this season

Also I was kinda sad that Lash didn't get to say goodbye to her

Grant Ward/Hive

I hate his face so much

Like seriously, he better be gone for good. He's a pretty good villain for a solid three seasons now and it's time for him to be gone

I loved him as good guy Ward and I still think he's a pretty handsome guy

But uggh the way seeing his face makes me want to punch things

FitzSimmons

FitzSimmons this season got more mature and they finally got together like TOOK THEM LONG ENOUGH(I'm feeling like a proud mother

I am very proud of Fitz that he had gradually overcome his brain damage and he got more daring/courageous this season

I cannot imagine season 1 Fitz facing and successfully tricking a whole mob by himself but he did in this season for Simmons.

He was very much a heroic character in trying to save Simmons through space when he pulled her from the planet

He didn't hold it against Simmons for falling in love with Will and even though he was in love with Simmons he still tried his very best to save Will. That's heroic behavior and just pretty selfless overall. Not a lot of guys will do that.

I'm very glad that he got the girl in the end lol

I feel like Simmons this season had a good arc with the alien planet thing. I was very glad that she got her own episode.

I understand why she would fall for Will and I applaud the writers that they used creativity to introduce a love triangle to FitzSimmons.

I think the reason why FitzSimmons is appealing (at least for me) is that they seem to have this bubble around them, separating them from the outside world. They live in this scientific world where they are the only two who can understand each other and communicate with each other. When they talk to other people, they need to dial their sentences down, use plain language so that others could understand, chose their words carefully to explain. But they don't need to do that with each other

A perfect example comes to mind:

When Fitz was trapped in the hanger with primitive agents

Simmons: "Fitz, Professor idk's compiler theory?"

Fitz:"yes yes do that you saw me do it and you have a good memory"

After Simmons has saved Fitz, Coulson was like "wtf is that"

see, FitzSimmons has this deep understanding of each other and connection that seems so untouchable for anyone else. They don't need to say things carefully so the other will understand and their communication in science is unmatched

I don't think anybody could follow their train of thoughts outside of them, and that's a connection that's unbreakable

I had always thought a third wheeler in FitzSimmons is kinda impossible. The writers managed to use Will to introduce some logical and possible angst to FitzSimmons and I had to applaud them for effort lol

(SEE, it takes separation to an ALIEN planet to introduce plausible angst to FitzSimmons and that's saying something lol)

I hope FitzSimmons have a good vacation in Seychelles and do more than just snorkeling

Lincoln

Oh man I wish he was not dead I'm still emo thinking about it

Last season I said Lincoln felt like a love interest designed for Daisy and somehow that feeling hasn't really gone away this season

He was saved by Daisy, joined shield for Daisy, almost died trying out a vaccine for her, and eventually really died for her.

When his addiction to alcohol was first introduced I thought briefly that the writers wanted to introduce more depth/background to him. But after that sway of Daisy+Hive sway thing I feel like they purposefully introduced it to make Lincoln be the only one who would understand Daisy's addiction to hive

The rest of the team just thought she went to Hive to fight him. Lincoln was the only one who figured out that she was addicted.

I mean it's good that somebody on the team understands Daisy, but I also feel like this shift was a bit contradicting the image when Lincoln was first introduced. He was calm, collected, in control of his power back then. He accepted his inhuman identity perfectly and he was just overall pretty nice and kind. He was also very supportive of Daisy

This season, because the writers are putting this being hunted/addiction arc onto Lincoln, he has gotten more chaotic and his writing got a bit inconsistent

He didn't visit Daisy when she was at her lowest after Hive's sway, but sacrificed and died for Daisy in the end while saying he loves her. If he loves her I guess he'd done for her what Mack has done for her, right?

But all of these things aside, I just wished Lincoln could act more of an Inhuman medical expert for the team. He could have been very valuable but I guess he stayed as a supporting character

I'm gonna miss him. He was pretty handsome. I hope his death doesn't completely break Daisy even though it seems likely

Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse

They are two of the best characters on this show and I cannot believe they just left like that

But I guess if they had to go, they went out as a couple and as heroes. So I guess spy's goodbye is a good goodbye.

They are like the definition of likable supporting characters who doesn't hog screen time while still being very enjoyable to the show

We never need to have long and deep scenes of them to know their characteristics and that's hard to achieve. I'm gonna miss both of them dearly for sure

Mack

Yay he definitely got more likable in this season! His shotgun axe was pretty awesome and mmm I hope his romance with yoyo works out well

Andrew/Lash

Andrew shouldn't have died

I don't really care about Lash had to die somehow but I do think Lash shouldn't have been Andrew

His character has so much potential

He's a therapist that shield could trust. Just how valuable is that??

This show has so many characters with trauma that's layered with shield secret and every single one of Andrew's therapy scenes is gold for characterization

If Andrew didn't die, he could have helped everyone on the team and I just feel like his connections to Daisy and Simmons and May were kinda abandoned and ruined

I will miss Andrew for sure

ANYWAYS, this is definitely too long of a thing and I had a blast today watching many episodes and finishing season 3.

Imma stop now lol.

#agents of shield #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d.

[dropsofletters]

honey on the third column.

➡ summary: the third column of the publicity section on the local newspaper belongs to baekhyun’s salon. women and men gather with the desire of feeling a change—as if some snips on strands of hair could be the highlight of their day. a columnist in the sports section like her could not understand it.

➡ title: honey on the third column ➡ pairing: byun baekhyun x reader ➡ genre: hairdresser!au ; newspaper columnist!au ; strangers to lovers!au ➡ word count: 19,357 ➡ type: fluff ; romance ; humor ; angst

Walking under the rain had never been important until she had to do it on her own.

She does not appreciate, perhaps, that her notebook has welcomed some splatters of the rain, orange umbrella moved by the wind of the lilac skies, home of the details of her column. A pointed arrow goes to the jersey that clads her body, far too cold for the unexpected appearance of a rainy afternoon, for there is something so inherently busy about writing for the sports section of the newspaper.

One moment of the year, it is baseball season. Soon after, she has to rush for the soccer season, the busiest one of the year. Not to forget the importance of preparing for the Olympics, far more complex in the amount of sports that they hold under their weight. With every boxing match that happens, she has to study the most hidden of portions of an athlete’s life, and getting an interview is almost impossible. That, paired up with the rain, is enough to bring a frown to her face, moving through the sides of the street with her sneakers becoming brown with mud.

Had it been another year, this would have not happened to her. Her feet would be propped up on her coffee table, instead of covered in socks that hold onto them like a nest to a tree. Her arms would be caged in the warmth of the person that would have probably held that small, old thing that she dares call an umbrella—and his name almost passes her head. No. It does. Time may have passed, if two months is even considered time, but with one push towards the glassed doors of the nearest restaurant, she scoffs at the annoyance that bubbles inside of her, along with…attachment for what she can’t have anymore.

This restaurant is familiar, reason as to why she was invited to come here after work on the first place. It exudes elegance, just as it keeps her grounded in exactly what she should be worrying about—sports. Something about its spaciousness brings a sense of being accompanied, for people who can’t get enough of being surrounded by others. This is clearly not her choice; over everything, she prefers separated tables, small establishments and more often than not owns her watchful gaze for games to only be shared on the expanse of her living room. Yet, saying that it is not her style does not mean that it is not anyone else’s, and it fits the concept of the man that writes the sports column on the local newspaper with her—

Kim Jongin. Honeyed skin heartthrob. Way out of anyone’s league. Unexpectedly venturing away from magazines and their impossible beauty-standards and going for something more simplistic. Restaurants filled with chatter. Columns that are read, but not remembered. And a partner in his column that tries her best to sneak a smile when he catches her gaze, but she is unable to.

Smelling like rain, mud, and something of the like of humidity, she thinks it is an uncertainty if she would ever smile again. To the world. To Jongin. To her job. Not even watching her favorite volleyball team win could ever give her the benefit of feeling happiness again.

The day she met Kim Jongin remains a tale as old as time. He was twenty-three at the time, chocolate brown hair cascading on the sides of his face when he peaked his head from behind his own cramped office. The computer had covered half of his face, keeping a secret his plush lips and that lop-sided smile, the stutter that had left him had almost been laughable. Scary, Jongin had once said she was, enough to make a bone feel flaccid and a lake to stop moving.

These days, she may still be so. Jongin is no longer affected, beige cardigan thrown over a white t-shirt, fingers splaying his chopsticks before taking another bite of meat, his attention clearly diverted by the game on the television screen. She hears the commentators saying something about Messi, and for the briefest of seconds, she finds herself engulfed in the Real Madrid against Barcelona match. Typical enemies that, somehow, have divided people in the world more than they already are. There, with her bag extending on top of the table and her notebook placed on its surface, she starts to wonder what makes her scary…

Is it, maybe, that she has a rough tone on her voice?

Is it the frown that never leaves her, the obstinate state of mind that makes her a hater of everything that screams happiness and joy—?

Or is it that, once again, just when she feels like her life is being shown a glimmer of hope, given a slice of love, it is taken away from her by ghosts of memories that scream out those words that she knows too well?

I don’t think I can stand being with you anymore.

Pathetic, she knows that is the perfect adjective for her romantic life—and as a columnist, she has studied verbs and adjectives more than the vowels. In a limbo, she exists, one in which she opens the gates of her heart to a man that captures her with silent charisma and just when she thinks she is bound to leave it all in the name of love, they scavenge away from her.

“You ordered without me?” Finally, her back comes in contact with the warmth of a seat, navy cushions welcoming the expanse of her muscles.

Jongin’s lips are puckered up, a glimpse of sauce on the corner of them, when he nods with widened, innocent eyes. For having almost every woman from ages twenty to sixty-five in the office going head over heels for him, Jongin’s heartthrob phase dulls upon seeing his truest colors. Softened, like coffee with milk and just a hint of caffeine in there. “You were taking too long.”

“If you would have gone with me to this interview, you would have known what I was facing.” She answers, eyes pulling away from the screen to snatch the menu on the middle of the table. Her ears are ringing, perhaps from the loud noise of the device, or because she had to hear the shouts of over twenty parents screaming at her to just ask one more question. “The local baseball team are lucky that they have a social media presence, because they are not that good.”

“They’re children,” Jongin says, just in time for her to skim over the salads and go for something stronger. A nice, tall glass of beer sounds right about now—paired with a vegan hamburger and the densest of sauces paired up with it, garlic-based just to bring that punch of something to make her feel alive. Even a stomachache would be welcomed by now. “Don’t be so harsh on them.”

“You know, just because they are children doesn’t mean we don’t get to tell them that they have to practice harder to become someone in life.” And that, along with Jongin’s scowl, is enough to show the determination of her dread. Younger, she had once been, and an athlete at that. Wrists itching after practices were over, jumps done to smack the ball on the other side of the game, cheering loudly upon winning along with her team. Loose shorts and little-to-no-attention from anyone at school, being part of the volleyball team had worked well for her. Enough to have knowledge in other sports and earn a spot at her workplace, but not good enough to be the next Misty May-Treanor.

Everything had ended before graduation. The regionals were the main goal for the female school team of volleyball, only to integrate a new leader and have her out of the game before the main event. Gone were the days of practice after school, of aches on her legs that made her feel as if she had somewhere to exist and live in. Never had she gotten a new opportunity, neither had she been brave enough to know what happened to those whom she had considered her best friends after graduation. Hell was an understatement for what she felt at the time.

On and off again, she discovered by her own that playing was not fun when not around those who believed in her at the beginning. If anything, her talent must be the cause of the exchange. Limbs too fragile, perhaps, or too much determination on winning—competitive to the point it got the worst of her. Screams. Shouts. Demands. It was just a game, but it had become her life.

Jongin tilts his head to the side, inspects her for a second before he puts his chopsticks down, dipping the meat in some sauce, taking a big bite after. “The news hit you that hard, then?”

“News?”

“Yes. The news.” The brown-haired man speaks, not much different from the first time she met him, only growing fonder of him with the passage of time. Jongin’s cubicle is right in front of hers, one push of her weight over the desk is enough for her to talk to him with, somehow, a little bit of privacy. By their side, however, the publicity division of the newspaper work with might and charisma. One that she can’t really stand at this moment. “It’s normal for you to feel betrayed for what Ingook did, but just know that none of this is your fault—”

Ingook. The cubicle next to hers, normally holding a pair of rounded sunglasses that he never wears on the corner of his desk, the picture he had of them replaced by one of his team. He is far too silent, his breaths are normally not even heard in the entirety of the office—a fan of spicy food, videogames, with a strange soft spot for the remake of Beauty and The Beast. Oh, of fucking course she knows who Ingook is.

Her ex-boyfriend.

The appeal of a man like him shows the default of her ideals. Silent, somewhat secretive, a glint on his eyes whenever he looked at her that could only be seen from up close—difficult to get, hidden from the world, dulcet to the taste and unforgettable when in his arms, under his touch, with his breath fanning over her face and he finally becomes vocal. Ingook had been the picture-perfect display of what she had always imagined to be the love of her life, only bringing a flutter to her chest when three years ago, upon his arrival at the office, something had grown in between them. In between coffee breaks and column reviews, a relationship had been kept a secret until two months ago.

It was all settled by a text, though, because Ingook may be a silent lover—and a good one, at that—but he is a coward. His eyes would waver under the mere presence of her after their break-up, never meeting her gaze and definitely, never speaking to her again.

“Wh—What? What did Ingook do?” Her voice is too soft, unlike her, her jersey trailing off one shoulder when she leans forward to listen with more intent. Years of working for a newspaper has taught her to take care of every single word she hears. “Betrayed? Why should I feel betrayed?”

“Because he has a new girl…?” Jongin trails his voice, eyes looking at all her features before he rests both hands over his mouth, concealing the gasp that had just left him. “Oh fuck, you didn’t know—!”

A few seconds are enough for her to feel a variety of sentiments on the pit of her stomach. The first one rages, it moves so quickly from her abdomen to her ears that it almost gives her whiplash—a beeping is heard, and she knows it comes directly from her brain, blood flowing faster than ever. Clear as day, her body reacts on her own, blinking rapidly as if to stop tears, but tightening her fists as if ready to fight. What a fucking cliché.

Two months and she is over and done with. Forgotten. A toy that he used for years, and yet, he needed something else. She rubs her face with open palms, groaning and sighing both at the same time to collect her thoughts. Jongin, apologetic perhaps, reaches forward to rest one hand over her hand and she has to swat it away.

“Don’t you dare pity me.” She answers, battling against the muscles of her cheek and mouth to put a smile on her face. It may look crooked, but it is the best she can do when her heart is being stepped on. Over and over again. “I’m totally fine.”

“You don’t look fine—”

“What do you know, Jongin?” Moving her head fervently, she looks him in the eye before sighing. “But I didn’t know, you are right. Is this a new thing or—?”

Jongin leans back on his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he ponders on telling her or not. “I don’t know. All I know is that people were talking about how they confirmed it just a few days ago.”

“Do you know who she is?”

“I have no idea.”

“Damn it.”

“Why would you want to know?”

Pulling away from her fingertips, pressed directly to her lips, Jongin’s watchful gaze captures her in her ministrations, because she is angry. Ingook had promised the moon and back, made her fall and go against the dating ban of the company just to be together. His payback was more than she had expected, and worse, too. “I don’t want to know,” She replies, two shrugs of her shoulders to emphasize what is a lie. For, it’s not always that someone rips her heart out and tosses it in the air a la football player. “What I should be worrying about here is that you didn’t want to tell me.”

Jongin, caught by her own words, takes a sip of his drink before smacking his lips together. “Touché.” He answers, calling the waiter over with his hand. “And that’s why I’m getting you extra beer and I’ll pay for it.”

“Thanks.” Though, that itch on the tip of her tongue stops her from concentrating on the game they had reunited to watch. “Are you sure you don’t know who Ingook is dating—?”

Jongin sighs, waving his hand with more insistence. She is getting to his nerves, clearly. “We’ll figure it out, but this shouldn’t change anything. Two months have passed by already.”

Sixty-one days are not that long. Not when her deepest fantasies still make out the figure of him and how her own lips crave for the warmth and touch of his. Sixty-one days are not justice to the nights in which he wraps himself in her dreams and how she still keeps his shirts in her closet, just in case he ever dares go back again. Sixty-one days don’t erase years of falling, of feeling, of going on and off again when imagining what could’ve been of the two of them.

“It isn’t changing anything. I had the opportunity to find someone, too, but I’m just not looking for a relationship right now.” That’s a lie, it spurts out of her with so much ease that she almost dares believe herself. She has moved on, she wants to say, but Jongin’s chocolate eyes glimmer at the mere sight of her.

Before he could ask anything else, however, the waiter arrives with a bow of his waist and a simple: “Can I get do anything for you?”

Sixty-one days are not enough to forget a lover, just like it isn’t enough to forgive them for moving on. At least, not for her.

###

“You know, I’ve yet to see you heartbroken.”

Orange colored tea is settled underneath her gaze, using two spoons to let the honey fall on the concoction she has made for her coffee-hating friend, and coworker to be exact, Kim Jongin. His eyes are trained on the side of her face, in the frustration she had when the honey doesn’t fall gracefully inside the two cups of tea she had prepared for their lunchbreak, and she has to take a deep breath upon the correlation of Jongin’s words.

“That’s because I am not heartbroken.” And he believes it, the pout on his face just dares to tell her that he is ignorant enough to believe her heart is not in ruins. Her eyes had only closed last night, but that did not mean that she had gotten an ounce of sleep. Her neighbor had gotten to her nerves. Her car almost ran out of gas. And, right now, her line of sight is trained on Ingook, seated in front of his cubicle, rice pushed past his lips as he watches something on his computer. Tranquil. “It hurt me more when Iker Casillas dropped out of soccer.”

“Right. I remember you were super sad and In—” Jongin stops himself right there, her eyes sending daggers his way when the unnamed man was almost mentioned in between them. With one last dip of the spoon inside the teacup, she passes it over to him before sighing deeply. “Is it okay if I mention him?”

“Yes.” Though, her voice becomes too high, leaning back on the table that holds the coffee machine and the kettles to watch Ingook from afar. “It’s not like I love him anymore, either way.”

She had never been a liar. Not until now.

This is the sentence that she needs to pay, to look at him and not touch him, to love him and not have him, to feel betrayed for him loving someone else when he had once promised the world to her. Silently. He is not a man of many words, and how she wishes he could’ve been more than her favorite enigma. Some puzzles are nice to solve until someone else does it in a quicker time than her, and her athlete blood still boils at the sight of competition.

He is not a price, however, Ingook is a memory that she wants to call horrid but can only consider beautiful. He is more than beautiful. Square-faced with soft eyes, the roundness of her fingertips knowing the feeling of his jaw under the smallest pressure, lips that she had kissed plenty of times, colored as an ode to cherry blossoms, wide nostrils but a thin and high-sloped bridge. She remembers kissing the freckles on his skin on the mornings, when the coconut scent of his shampoo was the first sense that welcomed her, the tuff of wavy hair parted as ever. Sixty-two days after, her heart still aches for the beauty of him, inside and out.

Tears that had been washed away by him, insecurities of hers that were traced with delicacy, a man that had thought of her stretchmarks as lines in a canvas and that relished on the laughter that they shared. Ingook’s intelligence was always her favorite—he remembered the smallest of things. From the first cut she remembers getting when falling down when she was a child, a line on her knee that she will never get rid of; to her first love, that he had always been too nice about.

Once, he dared to say: “It’s not about who gets there first, it’s about who gets there last.”

Maybe, she had been too prideful. Ingook loved her first, he had said, though he was no stranger to romance. Raw, he had loved just how raw she was to feelings. Her laughter is loud. Her feelings are boisterous. She cries with all her heart, loves with her entire soul, hates forever. And strangely enough, she doesn’t hate him.

She hates whoever got there last.

“Mhm, yeah, if you say so…” Jongin trails his voice, taking a sip of his tea before she mimics his actions. What is it worth to be someone’s first love? Some say that it is the most memorable one, but she doesn’t feel like such when Ingook lets a smile grace his features thanks to whatever he is watching, one leg crossed over the other while he wears the one shirt she had hated on him. Disgustingly shiny in navy blue. “So, you wouldn’t care if I told you I found out who is his new girl last night.”

Freeze-frame worthy is her face when she turns her head to look at him. Her movements are so precise they may be considered a dance by now. “Oh, fuck no, I do care.”

“You said you don’t love him anymore, though. Why would you care?” Jongin is too nice for his own good. Never tainting anyone’s life, neither confessing anyone’s secrets, he is the perfect friend, but not the one for this situation.

“Because.”

“Just admit you still love him.”

One blink, then two and a prideful answer after, she dares say: “No. I don’t love him.”

“Then, I won’t tell you who it is.”

She grabs the side of his vest, gray against a white button down, and she pulls him closer to her before speaking lowly. “Jongin, please.” Her voice becomes insecure, terrifyingly so. Back to square one, she is afraid of becoming that one kicked out leader of the volleyball team. Once again left alone, she is off to fend for herself. “If I didn’t love him, do you think I would be asking?”

The tea warms itself more under Jongin’s understanding gaze, who runs his free hand through his brown locks, calling her name to capture her attention. “I think it’s time to let him go.”

“I just can’t do that.”

“You can.”

“I can’t.” Her eyes shake, concentrating from one of Jongin’s eyes to the other before she bites down on her bottom lip. Crying, that’s something that she has done a lot for the past few days. “I love him, Jongin. He’s all I’ve known for the past few years. All I’ve had.” She utters softly, only to finish off with a: “But now he is someone else’s.”

“Jeonghwa from the politics column. She is the one dating him.”

Jeonghwa?

The newspaper works with simplistic rules. Always be truthful to the matters that happened. Never exaggerate. Be available for every task that could be photographed or written about. Don’t date fellow columnists, photographers or anyone from the staff. The last rule was broken by her, and by Ingook, too, proclaiming to love each other in the shadows and outside of the establishment. Hands pulled away from each other’s on the work meetings or dinners. Weekends explained to the boss with details that were spared. And Ingook had been enough of a hypocrite to fall into the same trap again.

With angel-wings, beautiful lips, sweet speech Jeonghwa. Intelligent, delicate, made for the politics section. Her voice had that depth of professionalism with an ounce of sexiness, enough to make any man crazy. Not only that, but Jeonghwa had always been a nice friend of Ingook’s.

The three of them had dinner together.

Jeonghwa had complimented them on their perfectly structured relationship.

Ingook had always preferred the politics section over the sports section.

Two lying bitches.

Tea left forgotten on that table, her struts towards Ingook are not calculated, anger far from dissipated inside of her the more she moves towards him. Her hands spread on the armrest of his chair, twirling it around until she is facing him. His eyes widen, eyebrows raising the slightest in surprise, as if he is a cat that had been stepped on accidentally. That waft of his coconut shampoo reaches her again, but it makes her sick. Longing for him, she realizes there is not a way in hell he had just fallen in love with Jeonghwa in less than sixty-two days.

“You’re the worst asshole you’ve ever met in my life.” She speaks, voice ragged when Ingook does so much as part his lips to sigh delicately. “Jeonghwa, huh? When did you two start being together?”

Caught in the headlights, he tries to turn around, but her grasp is tight to keep him caged. “It’s not what you think—”

“Ingook, you told me you couldn’t stand me. You made me feel like shit for being a bad girlfriend when in reality, you wanted to leave me for Jeonghwa!” She could’ve said more, but the thought of the two of them together brought the acid in her stomach up her throat. Her voice has lifted, and Ingook looks around, shushing her soon after.

“Stop making a scene. I’m not your boyfriend anymore.” Someone as silent as him is clearly affected by the attention, but she can’t bring herself to care.

“For how long?”

“It wasn’t—”

“That bitch was always around us, there is no way you did not even cheat on me emotionally. How long?” Ingook closes his lips tight then, even managing to rest his hands on top of hers to take them in between his. She has no strength when around him knees buckling, heart falling in love and breaking at the same time. A poor boat that had collapsed and rested on the depths of the ocean, forgotten by the sailor that had wanted a ship instead, that is what she is right now.

Joining her hands in between his, Ingook whispers: “Two months.”

Sixty-one days.

He had not even grieved their relationship. He had just gotten straight into another one—with the one person that had always claimed that they were the best couple.

“Let go of me.” She struggles against his hold, Ingook standing up and surpassing her in height. The difference had always made her feel protected, but now it made her feel small in comparison—as if she was being mocked.

“Hey, no. I didn’t cheat on you physically. It just happened—” Pursing her lips together, she pries her hands away from his hold with all the strength she could muster, taking the lunchbox he had brought with him and tossing the rice at his chest. An outburst, perhaps not the best for her reputation, but it was what had boiled inside of her. Years of being betrayed by everyone she loved did that.

“You’re a fucking liar!” No longer levelled and remembering where she is, her entire body shakes on the weight of memories. Ones that she had not seen, but she could imagine. Ingook, who has always liked to hold the nape of her neck when kissing, would be doing the same to Jeonghwa. His laughter is now shared with her. The prominence of his hip-bones would press to her when throaty groans took his most sensual of sides away. He is no longer hers, and the worst part is that he had tried to mask it throughout the way. “My fault? This is entirely your fault.” The sticky rice gets stuck to that horrendous shirt, her finger rubbing against the fabric to punctuate her words. “You two made fun of me—”

Someone’s arms wrap around her waist, trying to pull her back with soft ministrations. “Hey, it’s enough. The boss is coming—”

Neither Ingook nor her are listening, at this point. “I just wasn’t in love with you anymore. Did you want me to say that?”

Something wants to snap inside of her. Cry. Scream. Throw something else at him. Ingook could not have fallen out like that. “…I can’t believe you, I really can’t.”

“It’s not my fault you still love me. Stop making a scene.”

“It’s not my fault you hurt me by cheating on me.”

“Emotionally cheating on you.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“You two, stop right now!”

The booming voice, albeit a bit old, belongs to no other than her boss. Her fists are tightly glued to her side when, from the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of the boss. The old man stares at Ingook, then at her, back again before pointing at his office.

“Let’s talk it out in the office instead of screaming your business out to everyone.”

If Jongin had yet to see her heartbroken, this is the time to do so.

Her hands are shaking by the time she is explaining everything to the boss. Her eyes can’t stop getting blurry, though not a single tear has dropped down her skin. Ingook is silent, as expected, playing with the edge of one of the folders on the boss’ desk as he lets her say exactly what had happened. Hidden relationship for almost three years, but keeping away the fact that Jeonghwa was his newest romance. The last. The one that had gotten him.

The boss is silent for a second, and she takes this time to count the wrinkles on his face or the few hairs that are left on his head in the color of white and gray. He is plusher than the last time she saw him, cheeks healthier, and his marriage seems to be going strong after forty years with the band that still wraps around his finger. His entire office is decorated in pictures of his family—his wife and his son, soon to take up after his steps. Pictures of their trips, his son’s graduation, his wife’s birthday…

That is someone who loves. Not whatever Ingook had paid her with after so much adoration.

“Thank you for, uh, for telling me the truth.” Their boss says, putting his hands together and interlocking his fingers. A frown is on his features, that can’t be a good sign. “But I can’t condone these types of activities happening in the office—”

“Please, boss, don’t fire us.” Ingook has finally spoken, leaning his weight forward and accidentally brushing his feet against her leg. She can’t help but pull away. “I didn’t intend for this to happen.”

“You’re two of my best columnists. I can’t do such thing.” Lucky bastard, he gets to be in the office with his new girl and now she will be on first row watching it happen. “But, I need to teach you a lesson.”

“Oh, boss, please don’t.” She says, sharing a glance with Ingook who pays attention to her. “I’ve already gotten one hell of a lesson today.”

“Stop it, you two.” With a scolding, her boss finishes. “More of a reason for me to follow through with this plan…” His voice lowers, opening the folder that Ingook had been playing with, sighing along the way. “Ingook, you’re going to be working on the sports column. You,” Sending a pointed look at her behind his glasses, he turns his attention to his folder. “You’re going to the publicity column. I need you to sort out your differences and understand that you are coworkers here, not lovers, and you’re both important to this newspaper.”

“What?!” Now Ingook has heightened his voice, shaking his head while he speaks. “Boss, that can’t be. I know nothing about sports—”

“Kim Jongin will help you with that. Learn.” The boss continues, soon after writing something down on the folder. “I’ll be giving you new cubicles, as well, I don’t want you two near each other for more than necessary. If I see any changes in my columns, you two will be out of the job.”

The publicity column is a nightmare made words. Ingook had always been overexcited whenever he spoke about his job when they were together, but it was boring. The newspaper is paid to write the things that he puts into paper and online, the most he does is get free stuff here and there whenever he goes take pictures and interview the workers to make sure it is valid enough to end up in their newspaper.

“Boss, but I am very happy with my position.” She includes, extending her hand towards Ingook. “I agree with this thing right here.”

“I won’t change my mind.” He stands up then, hands extending on top of his desk to conclude his actions. “Tomorrow morning, I will have the security guard lead you to your new spots, and I will be asking for weekly updates.” Not only was she cheated on (emotionally, she can hear Ingook say inside her head), but now she has to write for the most boring column in the entire newspaper. “Out of my office, and don’t fight anymore.”

With a bow and a scoff, she leaves the office, eyes trained on her when she walks towards her cubicle, head thumping against the keyboard to finally let out the few tears that she had been saving.

A few that turn into a hundred.

###

Day seventy since Ingook broke up with her. Still heartbroken.

And the new cubicle is too cramped.

Another rub at her eyes, her elbow accidentally bumping against the corner of her desk, stars going up from her nerves to the rest of her arm, leaving her lips parted with a stuffy nose. Allergies could only make her day worse, knees tattered in bruises thanks to her clumsiness in her new spot. The computer screen blinks back at her, the noise of people working on their keyboards reminding her that there is, still, one more article for her to edit. Written by Ingook, just like the rest she had worked on while being part of the publicity column.

The worst part is that, even in his writing, he is unforgettable. Nice with words. A seller. The art of being a columnist in its natural form, just made to grasp someone in and make them want to go anywhere he recommends. Ingook has a talent, but he also is the only person recurring her thoughts as of currently.

Emotional cheating, though bad on its own, she had tried to excuse it. That’s the power of being delusional, she tells herself, and she is afraid of speaking her mind out to her friends in hopes of getting the same answer, but said out loud. Ingook may have liked someone else, but his lips had not traced Jeonghwa’s skin, his eyes had belonged to her while they were together…

Damn, she really is delusional.

Cutting the sneeze off to make the sound less prominent, she lifts her gaze once again, rubbing her hands with some hand sanitizer before continuing with her job. The typing continues, needing Jongin’s voice to fill the air with some talk about whatever he is watching on TV, or speaking about his own romantic life that is much wilder and less trapped. She gets neither of those things.

Instead, Ingook’s partner in crime appears before her, a burning cup of coffee resting beside her hand in the matter of seconds. Dani, with brown hair tied behind her back, a cute button nose and sporty clothes cladding her body. She must go to the gym, if the contraction of her muscles when she pushes the cup closer to her is anything to go by.

“I thought a cup of coffee would be nice.” One of the few people that was friends with Ingook that she had not talked to that much was Dani. Maybe, if she had surrounded herself with Dani instead of Jeonghwa, her world would be different. She may have been in the sports section, writing diligently, still very much in a relationship.

She takes it, but to keep the distance in between anything that shows weakness towards Ingook and herself, she speaks just before she takes a sip of her drink: “I didn’t ask for coffee.”

Dani blinks for a moment, chuckling to herself only after digesting her words. “Listen, I may not be Kim Jongin, but we need to make this work in between us, okay?” Her tone of voice is light, contrary to the persona she holds. Powerful, albeit a bit strong.

“Got it. Can I go back to editing?”

“You can’t keep editing Ingook’s work today. We actually have some establishments to visit.” Dani leans her weight against her desk, one leg crossed over the other when she takes a sip of her own coffee. Tea is better, if not iced and super sweet coffee, and she deeply misses the time she used to spend with Jongin in between articles. “Someone asked for our presence.”

“Oh yes, because the publicity team is the Team Rocket of our newspaper.” She comments, saltiness in her voice when she downs the rest of the coffee, not caring that it scalds her tongue or that her cheeks inflate the slightest to hold the liquid there before swallowing it in two cuts.

“…I never considered that, but we could totally be Team Rocket…” The sarcasm has not yet downed on Dani. Either way, she doesn’t feel like going out at all. The publicity team are barely even there in the mornings, more often than not running errands on the places that ask for their publicity. Newspapers may be dying, but with their website going and their Instagram presence, there is something to be done. One or two people over the age of seventy may buy the newspaper, too. “Much more now that we are going to the hair-salon.”

Hair-cutting and dyeing doesn’t sound like a great deal. She drags her chair away from the desk, sniffling her allergies away. “Do I really need to go?”

“Yes.” Dani cuts to the chase, taking a sip of her coffee. “The boss is asking me for updates on your efficiency, and this hair-salon visit would be your first performance as part of Team Rocket.”

Shit.

Did she have to open her big mouth and say Team Rocket?

But what else could go wrong in her life? She has lost her position in her precious eighth column to be left in column number three. She has lost her boyfriend. Her cubicle. Her time with Jongin. Her dreams are shattered. Her tongue is burning at the mere contact with her palate. All matters that make her grab her cardigan to pull it over her body.

“Let’s just go.” She comments, sneezing twice before looking up at Dani.

“Are you sure you are alright?”

The answer is that stepping on a million roses would hurt less than letting out a breath right now. She has nothing, when she had once thought she had everything again. This is her curse and like a warrior, she has to battle against it. With a nod from her, she answers Dani:

“I am well.” She answers. “But let’s keep out of each other’s business from now on.”

Thick air and serious eyes, she knows this is no way of living. Pushing people away in fear of them getting too close, burning words that could ever mean the slightest bit of charisma. The sweet Dani can’t say anything, just nod in hopes of finishing this sooner.

That’s just how life is. Trusting someone always leads to abandonment.

###

Long strands of hair, cascading down her back, he always liked those. Why is it that she remembers exactly what Ingook liked?

He’d grasp them in between his fingers from time to time. They’d thread through her hair, hand on her nape, when he kissed her with fervor, tongue connecting with hers, clashing with teeth, pants leaving his lips. He loved to play with the ends of them when he was holding her by the waist, paying attention to his friend’s words but still keeping her in check by tugging at the strands to tease her. Ingook had always liked this hairstyle, which is why upon the presence of a hair-salon, she can already feel a bit of dread.

The gates of hell are presented through glass doors. A lot of people bustle and live with happiness, talking loud enough to drown the music. It’s an open space, too, creamy walls with lights on them, leading to wide mirrors and white seats. Around ten workers try to make others feel beautiful, spending their money on confidence and speech. Some are washing hair. Some are cutting it. Some are chatting. And there’s an intense amount of happiness.

Liberating—more than in a club with some drinks, more than in dinner with friends. This place is liberating, enough to have Dani clasping her hands together upon greeting the man at the entrance door. Color Theory, the place is called, and it must sound too complex for it to be a hair-salon, much more when she looks towards the man at the main desk.

Orange strands of hair are sleeked back, yet curve at the forehead, to present a model-like stoic face. His brows, dark with the natural color of his hair, are perfectly crafted and sleek—straight, too. Plush and short lips, as well as a straight nose, this man clearly is a nice image for the establishment. Though, having ‘color’ in the title of the hair-salon when he is dressed in a black button down and trousers is a bit contradictory.

“Good morning,” Dani greets, softening the frown on the man’s features when he nods, standing up with a notebook in between his fingers to take notes of whatever she is about to say. Perhaps, to catch an appointment for her. “I called in advance. We belong to the publicity column of the local newspaper and we are doing a revision of the hair-salon before its appearance in our column next Monday.”

The embroidered name on the button down catches her attention. Oh Sehun. “I see,” Now, much less interested, he lets the notebook fall into place before looking around the establishment. “I’ll have you talk with one of our hairdressers.”

“You can’t help us out yourself?” The words leave her lips fast enough for her to regret them, and Sehun seems a bit displeased when he looks up and down her features, taking extra time on her eyes to send a glare before shrugging his shoulders.

“I’m busy, can’t you see?”

And he leaves it at that, excusing himself to go look for one of the workers at Color Theory.

Dani, finally on her tipping point, turns around and gets closer to her. Similar in height, she doesn’t have to move her neck much to stare straight into her eyes. “I know this is difficult for you, but I take my job very seriously. Please, try for me here.”

There may be a hundred things going on badly in her life right now, but Dani holds no blame on that. Upon inspecting the expensive looking spot once again, she decides that it could not be half as bad as she is imagining it. She may get a snack or two here and there while Dani actually tries the place out. “Sorry.” For the first time in a while, she finds it in her to apologize. “I will try for you.”

“Thank you.”

“So, what do I do?” She asks, placing her hands inside the pockets of her jeans for leverage. “Am I just your pretty companion of the day or do I get to do something newspaper-related?”

“Mhm, Ingook is normally more active with this kind of stuff but…” Dani must not notice what she is doing, and she really is trying her best here in not caring about the name that escapes her lips, but it hurts. The wound is fresh, it palpitates, shines in red and deep purple—a little bit of fuchsia, too. “You ask questions about the number of clients they get, what they offer…what their specialties are. Oh, don’t forget to ask what differentiates them from other companies. All of the like.”

“I can do that.” She answers, watching the tall receptionist come back with an extended hand to lead the way.

“Come with me, ladies.” Sehun instructs first, a movement to his hips while he walks to the farthest spot on the hair-salon, nearer to the people that are getting their hair shampooed. “Our most popular hairdresser is available right now. I am sure he can fill you in with the details of Color Theory.”

Dani, more in touch with this place, holds her hands in front of her chest. “Oh, isn’t your most popular hairdresser Mr. Byun Baekhyun?”

Sehun nods, prettily wrapping his lips in a smile. When his stoic expression is not present, he looks less like he’d eat her alive if she dared talk back to him. “Indeed.”

“I talked to him over the phone, oh my God!”

“Yes, he’s been taking care of this place in behalf of our boss, since she’s old and can barely hear from one ear.” Sehun says it so sincerely, opening the clear doors of the shampooing spot before clearing his throat. “Baekhyun, please shampoo their hairs and give them a trim while they ask you some questions. They’re from the local newspaper.”

She doesn’t know what she expected when she heard Byun Baekhyun’s name, but it wasn’t exactly what had been presented in front of her.

If the word allure could be personified, it’d be given to Baekhyun. Fresh, clean, a smile on his face that is dulcet, everything about him is fitted for this place, but there is no way in hell that a man like him does not have, at least, a variety of people hitting up on him on the daily.

Recently ironed is the black button down on top of his body, a bit oversized to encage his wide shoulders but growing loose in what seems to be a small waist. His name is also embroidered in his shirt, alike to Sehun. Somewhat thick thighs that give the benefit of mischief to his beam. A fresh undercut is what styles his black hair, a few strands ticking out of the gelled hair, slightly arched eyebrows presented from this. His eyes, however, windows to the soul, rake over her body to make her feel sticky, as if honey is conveyed in his soul.

“Welcome,” Baekhyun says, placing his hands on top of the black ceramic that would be, in a few seconds, filled with bubbles and shampoo. “I’m Baekhyun, the head hairdresser here. My boss is currently not doing so well health-wise, so I was the one to contact you.”

Someone like him must definitely have enough social media presence to not need any of this extra publicity bullshit, but she may be wrong. Dani takes a seat on the chair before Baekhyun could ask anything else, though he wraps a cloth around her shoulders to keep her clothes intact. “Yes, you talked to me. I’m Hwang Dani, the person in charge of the publicity column in the newspaper.”

Before her, it had been Ingook that had been in charge, equally as successful in his career as her. She utters her name when Baekhyun looks at her once again, lifting her hand in a small wave. “I’m new in the column, not in the business. I will be the one asking you some questions.”

When he twirls the sleeves of his button down up, honey skin is presented. Skilled, long fingers in delicacy pull Dani’s hair away from her ponytail, giving it back to her. “Huh, it’s okay. I can answer whatever.” He turns around to look at the rack of shampoos, all labelled by function and scent. “I was half expecting to be able to do your hair.”

The punctuation in his tone indicates he is talking about her, and she absentmindedly grabs at the edges of it. “Oh, no way.” Letting go of his old, long hairstyle would make her feel unlike herself. Perhaps, she has grown to like it—or she is afraid of not sporting something that Ingook likes. “It’s been a long while since I’ve done something to my hair. I don’t want to.”

“Bummer.” Baekhyun is professional, letting the water pool on Dani’s hair to wet it nicely. “Not to say you don’t look good with your hair like that, but I pride myself on my skills.”

With his body pressed to the sink, shampoo resting on his palm before he rubs them together and washes Dani’s hair, she can’t help but have her mind wondering on what kind of skills he is talking about. “What makes your skills different from everyone else, Mr. Byun?”

Quirking one of his eyebrows, he seems to have caught up on his little two-meaning game, biting down on his bottom lip as he works a few knots out of her hair. “Color Theory is just better, I guess.” Trying to be professional, or perhaps she had imagined the flirtation in his tone, Baekhyun’s slender fingertips spread the mango-scented shampoo on Dani’s hair. “We care about the client in ways that other salons don’t. Inclusivity is what we work with—in other salons, you’re paying for a set way of doing things, they don’t care about the way your hair reacts to the shampoos they use or the way they blow your hair. We take out client into consideration,” Then, he spares her a glance, pushing his lips together to stifle a smile. “Of course, like any other salon, we tend to gossip. Our difference is that we remember our clients.”

She scoffs at that, because this is not much different from a sports parlor or a game. No athlete remembers the people that talked to them. “I don’t believe that’s true.”

“If you’d let me do your hair, you’d be believing in other things.” Baekhyun replies, followed by another question from her.

“I imagine you get a lot of clients, then.”

Rinsing the first wash, Baekhyun’s fingers rub circles on Dani’s temples, making the woman close her eyes with a smile on her face. “You can see for yourself.” There is pride on his tone and one look at the salon is enough to confirm that there are a lot of clients, indeed, all joyfully talking to their respective hairdressers.

“What do you offer them?”

“Anything hair related.” Baekhyun shrugs, once again bringing her attention to his shoulders. For the first time in a while, she gives herself the benefit of looking at another man—Ingook had been the reason of attraction inside her head, but upon looking at the hairdresser…she starts to believe there are other good looking men in this world. “And some. I’m a good friend for my clients.”

“You’re knowledgeable in your job, Mr. Byun?”

“I know my stuff.” He conquers, taking some air conditioner in between his palms, rubbing it once again and putting it on the ends of Dani’s hair, delicacy at its finest. “You said your name was Dani, right?”

Taken away of her daydream as Baekhyun massages her scalp, the woman swallows thick saliva before nodding. “Yes.”

“Dani has very straight hair. It’s malnourished at the ends; I would love to give her a trim right now. Nothing crazy. We have to give it some kind of volume at the top because straight hair tends to look flat.” The knowledge is given to her, leaving her dizzied. She knows about kicks and dust, not about prettiness and hairstyles. “Also, I used mango because I feel like it would be better for her hair color. She dyed it auburn a while ago, I can see it in the ends. We need to get rid of that.”

The timbre of his voice is there, and Dani seems excited about a makeover, but she is left with little to no questions. He sounds legit. This place seems as though it is the castle for whoever wanted to be a royal for a day, going home to the scent of them and them only. In this place, confidence is built—in a way that she can’t understand, but deeply admires.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do something to your hair?” Baekhyun asks, patting Dani’s hair dry with a towel, careful not to pull at the strands, his eyes trained on her. Still standing, the man maneuvers the towel around her head, keeping it in place as he takes off the cloth that covered her clothes.

“Not today.”

“Huh, so some other day?”

“We’d have to see.”

He clicks his tongue, something deep in his chest rumbling like a chuckle, before he lets go of the subject. Dani has sat up by now, and with the excellent wit of a hairdresser, he speaks up. “What are we feeling, Dani? Bleach for heartbreak? Brown for a simple look? Do we want to go all out or keep it simple?”

“Would my hair look good when bleached?” Dani asks, clearly putting her trust in someone like Baekhyun. Her senses say that a smirk like that is not to be trusted, but who is she to know? She had trusted the most silent, secretive, shy of men and ended up getting cheated on.

Not emotionally. There is no way he just cheated emotionally and got a girl a day after their break-up.

“Sure! I wouldn’t go for pure blonde. I’d go for a platinum instead. I think we could create some waves, too.”

“You get me!” Dani says, Baekhyun’s hands resting on her shoulders when he moves away from the shampooing room, her footsteps trailing right behind them.

With one look over his shoulder and an air of confidence, he completes: “I’m just good at reading people, Dani.”

She wonders, then, if he had read her too, enough to consider that she needed a break from the persona that had been inherently in love with only one man. That continues to do so, even when she has an Adonis in front of her.

###  

Dulcet orange in a can, artificial yet satisfyingly fresh, enough to keep the heat away from her body during the lunchbreak. That is what she craves for, given to her by a vending machine, scolded by her kidney if she keeps this habit up.

Tiresome, the past month has been, and with every moment that she spends with the charismatic and chirpy Dani, the more she misses Jongin. Something about him resembles this odd day, sun shining and made to cast down on his skin. The words bubble inside of her most of the time—how much she hates having to edit everything she writes over and over again to fit the standards of the people who want publicity, and how whenever she is working, she remembers Ingook. None of those concerns leave her, they choke and choke until she is left with a short breath, the one that is keeping her sane.

Today, orange is the color she has seen the most. The sky has been shining in ode to the sun, leaving heat on its way contrary to the rain that had overtaken the city. Ridden of energy from the heat, she is left to go to the vending machine, feet dragging across the sidewalk, old sneakers asking to be changed for something more professional. Maybe, it is time for her to learn how to get rid of old memories.

There is not a lot of people in the streets, most of them are in restaurants or in their workplaces, so that leaves her to feel accomplished when there is no one in line for the vending machine. Three blocks away from the office, yes, but worth it with that orange soda that has been calling her name since a week ago. She has had it too much, sure, but she can regret it later. For now, she needs something strong to wash any thoughts away.

It is difficult, she realizes, to feel out of place. The worst feeling in the world, if she is being practical. Starting over again in a life that had been planned will never be easy. Sometimes, she lays on her bed and stares at the ceiling with fear of what may come next. Perhaps, the next person she trusts will stab her in the back. Or she will never trust again, cursing the name of friendship and love alike.

The vending machine is pink. The glass is a bit tainted from fingertips of children, too low to be someone else’s, and she slips a few coins there to earn her well-deserved treat. Maybe, she could buy one for Jongin and try to spend time with him during the lunchbreak. Though, the orange can moves the slightest, tries to slip away from its confines before it stops entirely.

Fuck my life, are the first words that cross her head.

Her hands wrap around the vending machine, wider than her when she shakes it to get the can out. Nothing. A few kicks to it and it still doesn’t budge. It is at this point that she starts to believe that she is truly cursed. A witch or something of the like must have made a voodoo doll and someone is playing games with her, leaving her heated, angry and at the verge of crying.

Because it feels lonely, over everything, more than it feels like she is powerless. Impotence engulfs her in this limbo of her life in which she can neither move forward nor step back. The trigger is there, in the form of a vending machine that is not working at her favor, and suddenly her world is crumbling down once again, making her feel ridiculous in the way she has lived her life.

Out of the volleyball team.

Shaken away from the opportunity of majoring in anything sport-related.

Once working in the newspaper in her own column, she fell in love with someone and he cheated.

And now she doesn’t even work in what she likes anymore.

Her hair cages her face away from the crowd to be looking at her, forehead pressed to the arm that has extended over the vending machine, so she doesn’t notice that someone has neared her. Pristine and elegant shoes are the only thing she sees for a second before she hears her name being called, in between an amused chuckle and with a foreign tone. Not too deep, not too sensual, but with that flirty air that she had not experienced in a while.

“Who the hell—?” Before she could snap at the unwanted visitor, she lifts her gaze and pushes her body away from the vending machine. The person in front of her, holding a plastic bag by the crook of his elbow, is romanticism in its modern form. His undercut is fresh, still, black hair styled as per usual. This time around, the glimmer of the sun surprises her with a piercing on his right ear. His uniform is still the same, broad shoulders under a black button down with his name. The world gets to be introduced to him even without asking. “Mr. Byun.”

“The one and only.” Baekhyun answers, lifting the arm with the bag up to take a sip from his coffee. “Is there a reason why you’re crying against a vending machine?”

Not a single tear she had dropped, but she was very close to it. Good at reading people, he once said he was. “I was not crying.”

“Sorry. Strong woman who doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit, I forgot that was your brand.” Baekhyun trails his gaze over her features, surprise and annoyance taking up on her face.

With an amused chuckle, she crosses her arms over her chest. “I am a strong woman who doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit, that’s true.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Baekhyun conquers, slipping a few coins inside the vending machine and selecting the number for the orange soda. “But even the strongest of people need some help every once in a while.”

If she was a child, she would be surprised by the way two cans of soda fell out of the vending machine. Baekhyun picks both up in between his slender fingers, made for washing hair and styling it perfectly, before giving them to her. Both cans. “Thank you.” She answers, because it has been a while since someone has tried to help her—or at least, has asked for the reason behind her turmoil. “I’m sorry I was of inconvenience.”

“You weren’t, and you never will.” Baekhyun, once again, takes a sip of his coffee before leaning against the vending machine. Toned legs and a nice neck are highlighted thanks to the position. “Were you about to have lunch?”

“I was.” She says, looking down at her phone before putting it back in her pocket. “I should try to find a restaurant that is not packed and buy something. I haven’t been preparing my meals for a while—”

Baekhyun shakes the plastic bag in between his fingers then, the name of the restaurant imprinted on the white bag. “I have some extra food here. I promised Sehun food, but I can go back and buy him something. I’m my own boss for now, after all.”

Shaking her head, she can’t fathom the idea of being given food just to avoid standing in line. “No, no, take that food to Mr. Oh.”

“We’re not old men, you know?” Baekhyun asks, an eye-roll to his statement. “Baekhyun. Sehun. You can call us those, it’ll be fine.”

“Well, Baekhyun, I still can’t accept.”

When she tries to move past him, however, the plea of her name in his voice has her stopping on her tracks. “Come on. Let me just have lunch with you! Please?”

She turns around then, watching as he points to one of the benches nearby. “Why would you want to have lunch with me?”

Confidence and adulthood seep from him then, a shrug of his shoulders that matches the waltz of his step. “You’re pretty,” He says. “Can’t blame me for wanting to know if you’re equally as pretty on the inside.”

She finds herself nearing him, step after step to oblivion. “Good luck with that. I doubt it.”

Placing the bag down on his lap after taking a seat on the bench, she realizes then that she has bitten on his trap, right then and there. “Those who fear being complicated are never complicated to start with.”

Those words dizzy her. They make her heart ache, her soul beg for an answer, simply because she has always considered herself to be too complicated. Complex enough to never get a happy ending. “Are you calling me easy?” Trying to push the subject away from her, she takes the seat beside him just to watch Baekhyun open the white container for her, filled with some fries and a hamburger. Golden and tasty-looking.

“I could read you if I wanted to, honey.” Baekhyun breathes out, gold bathing his skin when he looks up at the sky, away from her, teasing her. “But you’re lucky I like mysteries.”

“I can read you, too.” She says, opening the hamburger to place the fries inside, pushing the contents back together to take her first bite. Swirls of sauces and vegetables meet in a pleasant taste. “Overconfident hairdresser that thinks he knows everyone just because he knows a lot of people.”

He chuckles at that, breathy and nice, like he is actually having the time of his life by just a simplistic conversation. His fingers open the can for her, and she takes the first sip of the orange glory. “Try something else,” He indicates. “Overconfident hairdresser that likes a challenge and talks to a taken woman, if the promise ring on your finger is anything to go by.”

Truth is, she is unable to take it off. The rose gold band reads his initials on the inside, and the day of their beginning. It fits her so perfectly that sometimes, on the dead of the night, she imagines that it was only made to be worn by her. It’s not. Romance is nothing but a speckle of capitalism—this ring would fit anyone with the same finger-size as her, and it glimmers under the light the same way it does for everyone else. The memories are crafted by her mind, like a peek of stupidity and even when someone as handsome as Baekhyun would be enough of an excuse for her to take it off, she doesn’t.

“I’m not taken.” She says, taking a bite of the hamburger and coming back with a fry dangling from her lips. Slicing it with her teeth, she continues. “I just haven’t been able to take it off.”

Baekhyun’s eyes stare at her profile, they feel like they are burning her or judging her, but instead he says something unlike anything she had expected. It’s a question, not a retort. “What happened to him?”

“None of your business.” She answers, feeling pathetic above all and all because she doesn’t have an excuse. He fell in love with someone else, and she still loves him enough to think he will come back. “Figure it out. Aren’t you an intelligent guy?”

A whistle later, Baekhyun nods. “You’re pissed off about me asking, so it must be something that hurt you.”

“Don’t all break-ups hurt?”

“Mine don’t.” He concludes. “Love is different for everyone. For some, it’s not even love.”

“Well, it was love for me.” She includes, trying not to be too pointy or not have a fighting mechanism destroying everything for her. Her words are not measured, they come out in roughness, and it’s a surprise that Baekhyun is not annoyed yet.

Instead, he looks and looks. She would be naked if his eyes could pierce through clothes. Continuing with her meal, twenty minutes left of her break, Baekhyun comes up with an answer.

“You got cheated on.”

And that’s enough to know that Baekhyun is just too overconfident, but for a reason.

She cackles, comes directly from the depths of her pain, and Baekhyun has a smile on his face even from his accusations. “I must have the face of a woman who got cheated on, or is the type to get cheated on.”

“Not at all. If someone dares cheat on that face, they are up to no good.” Baekhyun has crossed one leg over the other, searching for another sip of his coffee even when he has run out of it. His lips smack together when eating, licking some sauce from the corner of his lip. “But you were pissed off and you said ‘well, it was love for me’ or something like that. It means that you feel as though it wasn’t love for him.”

“…And you get all this talent of reading people just from being a hairdresser?”

“I know the story of almost every marriage in this goddamned city.” Baekhyun answers, leaving her with a chuckle as she imagines the man, doing magic with his fingers by threading them through the client’s hair, feeling as though Baekhyun is the closest thing to a confidante. “Tell you something, it doesn’t end up good for most people. You’re not alone.”

But she is. She knows she is. Not in the sense that this has not happened to anyone, but in the sense that she is so unaccompanied that she remembers it all. It is pathetic, above all, because she knows everyone will tell her to get over it—and she needs to. Maybe, she should push herself to do so.

“I know,” With a kick of her leg forward, she finishes the small hamburger before taking a small sip of the can of orange soda. “What do you do so break-ups don’t hurt for you?”

Shrugging, as always, as if life doesn’t interest him or he thinks he is above it all, Baekhyun responds. “You just don’t make it serious. It doesn’t hurt if it’s not serious enough to hurt you.”

“Yeah…I can’t do that.”

“You’re a serious type of woman?” Baekhyun is playing around, a quirk of his eyebrow when he nudges her side with his.

A smile appears then. “You could say. If I love someone, I’d rather for them to be with me.”

“That’s expected.”

“Stop trying to make yourself sound like such a mentalist.” Perhaps a bit tired of his intricate way of thinking, she stands up, gifting the other can of soda to him. “That’s yours,” She indicates. “And thank you for lunch. I have to head back if I want to get to my office on time.”

“Mhm, I got to have lunch with someone interesting.” The tone of his voice drops while he stands up, picking up after the mess they made. “I shouldn’t be thanked for that.”

Not knowing what to say, a mere nod is what she can muster, kicking fake dust from the floor before raising a hand in the air to wave at him. “I’ll see you…some other time, then.”

“Wait!” Slipping a card in between her fingers, her eyes train on the shiny introduction card with Baekhyun’s name. Definitely something that he wouldn’t give someone for a first impression or a date, but to a client instead. It includes his number, his e-mail, his social media and some nice font to match. “Just tell me when and we’ll meet. I can do your hair and talk. Or we could do something else, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I won’t do my hair.”

“Don’t deny it until you try it.”

“I’ll call you up someday.” She concludes, finally turning around with a thumping heart and guilt dragging her down. Without reason, she is a single woman, and the contrast of Baekhyun’s introduction card against her promise ring is weird. One means forever, the other means for once. Maybe, she really needs to try new things.

And get rid of that fucking ring.

###  

The quickest and easiest way to get rid of a headache, for her, is a cup of tea. Dulcet, calming, something about even making tea has always felt liberating. Upon arriving to her workplace, not a soul in place but Ingook, her concentration is fully of the thumping of her head, the rubbing she does on her temples at the glance of him brewing himself a cup of coffee. Today, he is sporting a pair of glasses. The ones she had given him.

But she doesn’t live in quick or easy ways. She endures the headaches because, as an athlete, she has been taught that pain leads to fulfillment. Toxic, it is in every way, and she tries to get rid of that thought as she nears the small table with the kettle and coffee machine, sniffing the scent of his coconut shampoo.

For a moment, Ingook feels like the man she had fallen in love with—whose jaw parted to give her the briefest of greetings before sneaking a kiss away into the empty office. Today, however, is the day in which she finally realizes that he is no longer hers. He never was. People are not physical matters; they are not things that belong to others. Those glasses are his. The decisions made were his and his life is, well, his.

But when she places a teabag inside a boiling cup of water, her eyes inspect the architecture of him. Even when she thinks she is in the road of moving on, the dulcet feeling of wanting him just trances her and dizzies her both at the same time. Ingook is homely. He is all she has known for the past few years.

How to watch golden sunsets, when his eyes have already been touched at that hour and nothing could compare to the cinnamon speckles in them?

How to kiss other lips, when his had molded against hers like they were made for her?

How to open her heart to another person—a friend, a man, a woman, a neighbor or a therapist, when he was the last one that listened…and yet, he had not remembered to not break her heart along the way?

Her fingers hold the cup, the rose-gold ring that had seemed part of her skin long gone, when she inspects his side. Underneath his gray jacket and his black button down, there are glimpses of purple and blue. Scattered across his neck, perhaps nearer to his collarbone, not properly covered at all. Ingook had never liked for her to leave marks, but with Jeonghwa’s lips, tongue and teeth grazing his skin, he did not seem to mind.

It was Jeonghwa, after all.

“You seem to be having fun.” Calling out for him, Ingook stops pouring his teaspoons inside his mug of coffee (three, he has always liked sweetness). He pauses, shaking eyes lifting themselves until they glance at the wall, the ceiling, finally her eyes.

She wants to smile, but she doesn’t. “What do you mean?” He answers, poised tone always present. She doesn’t know if she likes it still.

Her fingers are vividly brave when she tugs at the collar of his neck, barely even making much movement to watch the hickeys on it. “You’ve become a sex god in the blink of an eye,” Her voice is tiny, her eyes inspecting his features when a blush rises, taking a look at himself on a spoon. If she is pathetic, he is much more in this situation. “…Why Jeonghwa?”

Ingook drops the spoon there, gorgeous eyes and a frown on his face that she was only familiar with on the last few days of their relationship. “Stop it. I’m not having this conversation.”

Moving her hair away from her shoulders, the length he has always liked going unnoticed by him, she retorts again. “I just don’t get it.” She starts. “You could’ve gone for a million people, but you went for the one person that always supported us.” This time around, her voice is calculated, aware that anyone could pop by at this point—she is just early, just like Ingook, but they are still at the job. “Why her?”

“Why not her?” Ingook answers, his lips quirking up when she reaches for her purse, pulling her makeup bag away from it. Not that she uses it much, but she thinks she has some old foundation there. “You don’t get the right to question my current relationship—”

“But I can question our previous relationship.”

“It’s over.”

This stops her, because she is mere centimeters away from him, his voice has dropped to a lullaby, his height making her feel small. She is not small, neither is she weak—life had given her a thousand punches and they will all heal. His Adam’s apple bobs, then, and she wonders what she has seen in him past the beauty and comfort of him. Love has to be more than that. “…I fucking know, Ingook.” She tells him, running the brush across his skin to cover his hickey. “And I should let people see the cheater that you are. You’d probably get off to people seeing the marks Jeonghwa left on you—”

“Stop talking about her like that.”

“Like the bitch that she is?” Watching the color fade, though not perfectly, into his skin is not relaxing. It feels as though she is erasing the truth.

Ingook sighs, the breath fanning on her face like the wind of a spring day. “You need to think differently.” Ingook adds, the movement under her skin indicator of the contraction of his neck. Tension. “All this hate you keep stored inside of you will only do you wrong.”

Shrugging her shoulders, she downs those words like a glass of tequila. All this hate, no one dares to ask why she is so bitter at life. Why, oh why, she is magnetified to betrayal. It always comes back to her, reminding her that there is no one that is necessary in this world. Not the ants that lift leaves. Not the leaves that hang from trees. Not the trees that make paper, only to be ripped. “I guess,” She says, patting the skin with the brush one last time before fixing his collar. “But thank you for putting another penny inside the hate-bank. Appreciate it.”

Ingook stares back at her, he blinks—one, two, three times. Every breath reminds her that she loved this man with the mightiness of a warrior and the soul of a starving woman. She loved like it was her last day of leaving and she had yet to give a kiss. She loved as if it was her first time, only to be forgotten. “Can we talk about this some other time?”

“I don’t know. Can we?”

“I just don’t know how to go around this subject.” He rubs the back of his neck, nervousness seeping from him. Her brush glides across her palm, leaving imprints of the foundation before she puts it back in place.

“Then, we don’t need to talk.”

Only she would feel this hard, like hell is ripping at every sin she has committed to steal another sigh from her lips, like every touch of Ingook burns in her skin and penetrates in her glands and cells. Her fingers tighten, working harder into finishing this week’s column, only thinking about the hair salon they had promoted weeks back. The hair that cascades down her back feels heavy, it reminds her of how many times she had fallen asleep with his fingers patting her hair. It reminded him that she had burned herself by feeling too strongly.

The day goes by a little bit longer, taking its precious time in wanting to make her cry, covering her tears when she gets out of the job earlier thanks to her hard work. The wind sweeps at her hair, the cars passing by carelessly as another woman in this world gets her heart broken. The burn of the fabric of her shirt rubbing against her eyes as she makes her way to this hair salon, by foot, aching through her heart and head, she feels it all.

Her head tells her: it’s time to get over it.

And her heart has finally said: I think you’re right.

It’s enough.

Because she has lied. Oh, she has lied through her entire life. She is not doing well; much less is she getting over this. Change is needed, the type that rocks her world, that comes with stomp of her feet and rubbed-off makeup, pushing the gates of the heaven that is Color Theory. Her blood is boiling, perhaps enough to match the red in Sehun’s hair when she nears him, hand extended on top of the main desk to battle this fight that has started from the moment she got betrayed.

Back in high school. Back in university. Back with Ingook and her boss, who has some stupid fucker in the sports column when she is the best in her position.

“I want to cut my hair. Dye it, too. I don’t care.” Maybe, she is too straightforward for the sassy-looking man. Sehun quirks one of his defined eyebrows, putting down the magazine he held up to his face before pushing his lips together.

“Oh yes, do that.” Putting the magazine down, he grabs his pen to look through the notebook he holds in his desk. “You need it.”

At this point, not a million burning words from Sehun could make her feel worse than the past few months. She doesn’t enjoy feeling stepped on, but the thrill of being there—of following after Baekhyun’s words—that one makes her feel powerful. “Is Baekhyun there?”

“Mhm, I like how my name sounds in that voice.” Someone stands up from one of the sofas in the establishment, dark hair still matched with an undercut, a nice movement to his legs when he leans against the wall that separates the main area from the entrance. The ever-flirty and confident Baekhyun is smiling, a little bit of sleep existing in his eyelids, hooded in a sinful way. “I should be having my break right now, but how can I say no when I have Rapunzel right in front of me?”

She chuckles at his words, watches him as he nears her and takes the strands of her hair behind his fingertips to inspect it. “Get rid of it. I don’t want to have long hair anymore.” Because he liked it. He touched it. She wants to be able to forget the part of her that wanted to please him.

“Rapunzel is lame anyways.” Baekhyun wraps one arm around her shoulder, the taut and slightly trained muscles caging her in a hold that feels comforting. For one moment, she gets addicted to this feeling. Defeating. “I’ve never liked princesses. Too…elegant for my liking.”

Upon reaching the shampooing room, curiousness comes to her. Dani had been over the moon after Baekhyun styled her hair, and the bleach did her well. Whatever he used had been a blessing. “You sure know what you want.”

“The world is like that.” Strangely enough, there is not a lot of people in the shampooing room. Most of them are getting their hairs dried and styled at this point. Pushing a button on his phone, Baekhyun hums and swings his hips to some R&B song. Relaxed and mocking the world, someone like Baekhyun seems to not have a single issue in this world. “People are wolves. You have to know what you want in life, and who you want there, and there will be no one that can stop you after that.”

“Words from a hairdresser?”

The water cools her head. For one moment, she can think rationally, her shoulder blades in an awkward position, but with someone taking care of her. Even when she probably will have to pay him a lot after this. It’s cold but refreshing, not distracting enough to fight the noise of Baekhyun’s music, along with his voice. “Words from just someone.” Baekhyun says. “Let me prove if my guesses are right. Do you know what you want?”

Time stops for a moment and she really has to think of her answers. Stop. Go back. Months ago, all she had wanted was her small space in her column, to watch the game with her boyfriend and to have a future with him. She had always jailed herself with what she could have, not what she wanted. What does she want?

Want in the sense of desire. In the form of going crazy once, just for the sake of getting what she wants.

Not what anyone else wants.

What she wants right now is to forget.

“I used to think I wanted something else.” She replies.

With an amused tone of his voice and a smile when she opens her eyes, she watches his back retreating to look for shampoo and conditioner. “Ooh, that’s a strong answer, but still not the one that I asked. What do you want?”

“To go back to my column.”

“Wait, what?” His tone fleets from its usual deep vibrato to something of the like of a falsetto. “You are not part of the publicity column?”

“No. I’m a sports column gal, but I got transferred to my ex’s column because of some…issues.”

Slender fingertips work at the knots of pressure on her temples, dragging down to her nape and making her part her lips. Every bit of exhaust dissipates into the thin air, and it’s at moments like these that she trusts words from magazines. Some massages are, indeed, better than sex. “Sports?” A hum comes from her, swallowing thickly to stop the signs of drooling just at the nice sensation. “Ew.” Opened eyes, she tries to send a glare to Baekhyun, but he tuts his tongue. “Keep your eyes closed, darlin’. I still have to try this new shampoo mix I did out.”

Did sounds like him, and for him to be making this type of shampoo is unexpected. Foamy, dense, nice scented, but it could be ratchet in its treatment to her hair, for all she knew. “What do you mean ‘ew’?”

“There are things that I like that include getting sweaty, mind you.” Baekhyun starts with that bite in his tone that characterizes him, far too flirty for his own good. “But sports? Athletes have this thing of screaming at each other all the fucking time, and listen, they’re the littlest bitches—”

“I’m an athlete. Well, was.” Expecting him to retreat like a scared puppy, for it is clear that he likes running his mouth, the water that pours down on her head prove her wrong when the sound of his voice matches the song of the liquid.

“Look me in the eye. Wait, don’t look me in the eye, you could get shampoo in there but—” Trying to stifle her laughter, her smile plasters itself on her face—permanent, it has been a while since it felt like it could stay there. “Look me in the eye, metaphorically speaking, and tell me you haven’t feigned being in pain just so the other team loses.”

That’s typical of soccer, but that does not mean her youthful self had not fallen to her knees just to think of the next strategy. “Guilty as charged, reader-guy.”

“Or, they do this thing where they can’t hide their anger. Catch an athlete losing and you’ll get the best view of your life.”

She is one of those examples. When her toes are curling, fists tingling and her mouth can only be perched by a frown. The thirst to try harder had come for her at the time, but it was all for nothing. A columnist, above all. “You seem to know a lot about athletes. Does Miguel Cabrera dye his hair with you?”

“Mi—who?” Baekhyun asks, the tapping of a lid coming after this statement. “I don’t even know who that is, but no. I just used to sit at the bleachers when I had P.E class in high school.”

Black hair up to the style of the era, probably in the shape of a bowl with the typical disheveled school uniform, Baekhyun mustn’t have been too far away from said image. “That’s where you learned?”

“I’d do other people’s hair while being there, yes.”

“You started early.”

“Indeed,” With one swirl of a coconut scented shampoo, memories come back to her—and bitter, it feels like. He, whom shall not be named, used a similar scent, but the sound of Baekhyun’s voice is enough to remind her that she is not there with him. “None of those athletes were half as pretty as you.”

A scoff leaves her lips then, peaking one eye open when water hits her hair again. “Thank you for generalizing the athlete population just to make me feel special, Mr. Byun.”

“Baekhyun,” He corrects, the pat of some product on the edges of her hair tingling up to the root. “And my pleasure, darling. I’m here to make you feel special.”

“I am not sure about how I feel with the whole ‘flirty guy’ vibe we have going on right now. Not my style, maybe?” With a hint of amusement in her tone, she hopes her sarcasm comes through when Baekhyun rinses her hair one last time, hands fiddling with a towel.

“I supposed it,” Baekhyun conquers, the corners of his lips tilted up when he speaks. “But that’s just because you’re comparing me to that ex of yours.”

Rose-petal words and sweetened lips that caress her skin even from the distance are not matters that she would compare to Ingook. “You think?”

“I know so,” Baekhyun replies, making her stand up as his hands rest on her shoulders, bringing her out of the washing room to a small group of people, other workers doing their best with their own clients. Over the noise of the hair dryer, his dulcet tone continues dancing with her ear drums. Tango, maybe, sensual enough to wrap up on the idea of him as a lover. “That’s to be expected, though. When you smell so much shit, you can’t help but notice when there is a flower in between it all.”

Cackles leave her lips upon seated on the comfortable white leather chair. Saring at herself in the mirror, Baekhyun’s fingers work through her hair to brush it. Gentle swipes, starint from the ends, moving towards the middle only when every single knot is gone. “What a metaphor.”

“I was part of the drama club for like a month. Thank you very much.”

“Got kicked out?”

“Dated the lead of our play and then, got dumped.”

“You got dumped?”

Looking up from the strands of her hair, Baekhyun’s melted chocolate eyes glimmer under the harsh lights of the mirror, quirking one of his eyebrows up. “Precisely.” The vastness of his answer settles on an empty stomach. Not enough. “But I learned two things from Shakespeare. To be or not to be an asshole—” Baekhyun lifts his hand romantically in the air, pretending to hold what may be a skull in there before pursing his lips. “To be. But you’ll get kicked in the nuts in the middle of the play.”

“Ouch.”

“That was the death of my career as an actor.” The sincerity in his tone must be the reason why he gets so many clients. “Gong Yoo would have totally been crushed under the weight of my talents.” And then, that sincerity is gone and changed for the lightweight sense of his life. A feather in the wind, Baekhyun falls and rises, passes by with a tickle to reminisce and shiver to.

“Would you have been an actor if you could?”

With a smile on his face, Baekhyun moves towards the vanity, scratching the side of his face while gentle fingertips look through his instruments. Her eyes trail up and down his body, tight pants doing wonders to his legs, shoulders that go unnoticed under that button down. If she saw him casually, what would he wear? Is he preppy, sporty, the devil wearing elegant clothing?

“And miss meeting you? Not in a thousand years.” He knows his way through his words, playing with her heart like a guitar. Plucking string after string, going for an alternative rock. Dangerous, though a bit fun.

“Baekhyun, stop it. Just tell me.”

“I would not,” He goes back to his spot behind her, his foot almost touching her calf when he lifts the chair the slightest. “There’s something about making people feel better, you know? People come here and they’re…looking for change. I give them that. Some people really need it, too.” The burn of his word scalds her, even when it most likely won’t be about her. “What are we looking for in your little change?”

Heaven is given to her when his fingers rake through her hair, brushed through every portion of it, treating it with knowledge beyond her understanding. “Cut it up. I want to donate it.” She starts. “Besides, I want to get back into volleyball…and shorter hair is better for athletes.”

“Up until here?” His hands frame just below her ears. A shaky breath leaves her then. It had been that short once, back when she was in high school, and she thinks she had not cut it since then—

“I like it.”

Changes are made when Baekhyun lets the first portion of hair glide across the blade of the scissor before falling pathetically. Like the promises Ingook made. Like the cheating that happened. For the first time in years, she is doing something for herself. Be damned the memories the two shared, for welcoming new ones is her utopia. The favorable blank space that she gets to paint with new memories.

Because she will go back to that column, and she will do it as a new person.

###

The world hates her.

Or not. Maybe, just her Boss hates her.

That, or the red and yellow self-help book that he keeps on his desk is doing wonders to make him believe that forgiving opens the path towards happiness. Her path now, with dragged steps of her sneakers and her recently cut hair caressing her dangling earrings, is directly towards Jongin’s cubicle. She wishes, really, her friend would be the person she has to help—but, like said before, her mind is certain that her boss hates her, because Ingook just had to ruin the latest article about The Champions League.

Rounding around Jongin’s desk, her eyes settle on the man before her. Back hunched, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose even when his face is too close to the screen, a few blemishes making home out of his chin. Ingook always gets those when he is stressed, and she hates herself for remembering. In the holiday season, to be exact, when his birthday approaches just at the same time that the New Year’s celebration does and he has to welcome his family into his household.

Her hand hovers over his back, patting just the slightest to fix his posture when a roughened throaty sentence calls out for him. “Straighten your back.” A command that he follows soon enough, looking over his shoulder that she dares drag with her hand before taking the empty seat beside his own. “How the fuck do you not understand the Champions League, Ingook?”

His face softens, nostrils letting out one of those sighs that are barely audible. Peace engulfs him then, leaning back on his seat when he extends his hands to click on the document he had been working on. “Everything.”

With a push of his chair, their shoulders come in contact, her eyes inspecting the screen with reading skills that she is proud of. Enough articles have passed by her, edits done at the last minute, to be able to finish an article in no time. “You should’ve stayed with me watching soccer games when we were together instead of complaining.” The mumble that leaves her lips is drowned by the tapping of her fingers against the keyboard. His eyes burn through her face, though she doesn’t know what kind of expression he holds—he’s looking. “First, you can’t write Madrid. That’s the geographical spot in Spain. The team has to be Real Madrid.”

“I see—”

“Why are you mentioning David Beckham?” She asks, looking over her shoulder to see that Ingook is too close, mouth agape and widened, innocent eyes while he tries to speak to her.

“I—I wanted to make a comparison…”

“Stupid.” She comments, deleting the man’s name altogether. “David Beckham is retired, and while he still shows support for fellow soccer players, you’re taking away the attention from article. People want someone to explain to them the intricacies they must have missed from the game.” This knowledge comes to her easily, for all she has done since her departure from athletics is bask in articles and magazines, turn her eyes square from watching too many games. “But do check his social media and see if he says anything. Ronaldinho’s, too. If they say anything interesting, put it in another article and post it to our social media. Do not print it out, of course.”

A few more clicking and editing around is not enough to depart his gaze from her profile. Sweat pools at her lower back, her bottom lip caught in between menacing teeth as she tries to get it over and done with as soon as possible. Though, the world hates her, she has already stated this before. “I’m sorry.”

“No, really. You don’t know shit about sports, it’s okay—”

“Not about that.”

The tips of her fingers freeze when she feels a hand resting atop her wrist, tugging at it softly to get her attention. That is the way Ingook would get her to look at him when they were arguing, a soft caress that reminded her that he would never hurt her. But he did.

He did, and she was doing so well in getting over him. That is until she looked at his eyes and they held the sincerity that she had looked for in him.

Breaths mingle then. Ingook, too close, too beautiful, too sharp at his edges and yet, repugnant in a way. His coconut scented shampoo feels old. His voice? Monotone. His apology? Unnecessary. “Shut up. We’re in the off—”

“I’m so sorry for cheating on you, but I mean it when I say I really…was not with Jeonghwa when we were together.” She has to turn back then, tugging at her own wrist to keep it away from his prickling hold as she continues with the job the Boss had asked for. “Hey, listen to me.”

“You’re in a relationship with her, Ingook—”

“But I can’t live well knowing I’ve hurt you.”

The strain in his voice chains her down to the chair. It stops all ministrations, breathing ragged, mind cascading with the uneasiness of hearing those words. An apology had crossed her head, she wished to get it sometimes, but now that she has it…she can’t accept it. “But you did.” She mumbles.

“I’m sorry, I said.” Ingook plays with a strand of her hair, pushing it away and behind her ear. Suddenly, the strands feel longer than they really are.

“Stop it.”

“I loved you a lot, I mean it. I don’t want us to have bad blood in between us.”

“How would you feel, Ingook?” She asks, pushing a few words into the document before standing up from the seat. Her hair is ruffled by her hands, narrowed eyes glaring arrows at him. “If I kept thinking of Jongin or someone else as we were together. If I dated him or anyone just a day or a week after I broke up with you? How would you feel?”

“I would have understood.”

A scoff follows soon after. “You wouldn’t have, I know you.” She replies, putting the seat back in place before staring down at his parted lips, gleaming eyes in the form of an apology. “But I’m not you, and that’s what makes us different. I loved you, with the entirety of me. I wanted to be the person you would love the most in this world, but I don’t anymore. And I want to forgive you, because I know you wouldn’t have done so if it was me.”

She wants to say that she didn’t cry at the memory of heartbreak, and for the first time in a few months, she doesn’t.

Chirping birds on a sunset-filled afternoon come after work hours, a dance in her steps while she goes directly to where she shouldn’t. In happiness, perhaps, beaming with a smile that makes her feel free. Her hair no longer weights, neither does her heart. Orange-based soda can in one hand and a promise of a memory caged in the other one inside her purse, she feels like the world has forgiven her. What for? She doesn’t know, but the closure of a book that had lasted for far too long dizzies her with the desire to start a new one.

A handsome face can do so much. In clubs, she has met them. In beds, she has had them. In relationships, she has suffered them. Only when that handsome face has a bit of a spark is when she finds herself interested. Maybe, this is the wrong way to go and pushing those glassed doors is the cause of her doom. To be lone is better to be badly accompanied, but she can’t help but want to know more about him. Listen to Baekhyun’s laughter one more time, not over the phone when he sends her a voice note, but in real life, instead.

It may come as a mistake, but she has already committed many of those.

Pushing the glassed doors open, Sehun is patiently seated in his spot as always, this time around his feet are propped on top of the desk, one leg crossed over the other as he reads a magazine with intent. A glance is spared her way, followed by absolute silence from him.

“Is Baekhyun in here?” Hope gathers at her chest, just in time to Sehun’s finger pointing towards one of the seats.

“He’s cutting someone’s hair. You can wait if you want.”

“Can I give him something to drink?”

He lowers the magazine then, narrowing his eyes at her before a small smile takes his lips. “If it’s something alcoholic, I’ll have to taste it first.”

Taking the orange soda can from her purse, the magazine creaks its pages when Sehun opens it again. “It’s orange soda—”

“Not interested. Bring it to him.”

“Thanks.”

Taken away to dreamland is what it feels like to watch Baekhyun from afar. A friend for now, perhaps, one of those that she pines for on the long run. Honeysuckle in the way he distributes his happiness to the world, in how her heart seems to take in a bit of light at the radiation of his smile. The gray hairs of his client are curled by his fingers, laughing at whatever he is saying about her husband, just in time to be interrupted by the sound of her voice saying her name.

Baekhyun stops his ministrations then, sparing her a glance across that mirror that does no justice to the beauty of him. Sculpted by everything nice in this world, the sun shaping its rays and putting it in his curious gaze and sweetened lips. Enough to kill with one of his smiles.

“I brought you some soda.” Her voice is smaller than necessary, pushing her lips together when the old woman looks at her at the same time that Baekhyun lets the hair-curler rest on the vanity, grasping the can in between his fingers.

“You came all the way here for that?”

With a shrug of her shoulders, she nods. “Yeah. I was expecting you’d accept going out for dinner after.”

The sound that left his lips was not a laugh, but a giggle instead. The tips of his ears are a simple petal pink, flowers growing out of sunshine and needing the water that is her. “I have five clients to go.” Baekhyun answers when he has already opened the can, taking a sip with glee before hissing at the cold taste. “So, I don’t think I will be out before ten at night.”

“Oh…” A deflated balloon exists in the depths of her chest, just in time to watch Baekhyun widen his eyes.

“But I do want to take you out on a date!” He tells her, hands wrapping on her shoulders and shaking her the slightest. “I mean, I was waiting for you to give the step first since I felt like you were not ready but…just…not today?” His voice has dropped the slightest, tilting his head to the side to inspect her features up and down. “You were asking for a date, right?”

Well, technically no. But, some things are better when they are too good to be true. “Sure.”

“Not today, then. Tomorrow?” The hope in his voice drips, but she has to sigh.

“I have a dinner to attend to with my Boss.” She excuses herself. “The day after tomorrow?”

“Mhm, I could make it work.” Baekhyun, as busy as ever, picks the hair-curler up before his lips wrap up in the tightest smile. “Text me with what you want to do, okay?”

“Are you okay with watching the game?”

With a hum from his tone and a bit of a frown on his features, Baekhyun nods soon after. “It’s okay as long as I get to spend time with you.”

And why does that feel so different?

###

Chances are made to be taken. Mornings are meant to be new beginnings. Nights, actually, should be spent with a smile on her face with the tiredness of the day that represents another hardship that she passed by. It’s not always like this, but the recurring existence of Baekhyun in her weekends has made it, likely, a bit of a rule. Saturdays with tea. Friday nights out to dinner or to dance. Sundays that are quieter, but not so quiet when he is around.

His car is sleek, and he prides himself on the way he treats it. Has a name, too, but he will never catch her saying the name Clyde to some car. For the first time in the three weeks she has spent back-and-forth with Baekhyun, Mondays are taking the name of him. Insisting on taking her to her job, she is starting to get used to the hum of his voice when he listens to a song he likes or the way he is a bit more careful than she expected him to be.

His black button down is gone for today, packed in the backseat—more like hunched—for him to put it over his white t-shirt once he gets to the job. His hair, the pride of his brand, is pushed away from his face today, giving a glimpse of the constellations of moles on his face, the peace in his features, how he holds himself with confidence yet tranquility. For once with him, the world is silent…and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Though, upon taking a spot in front of the building, her eyes are blessed with the image of another person. Inside the black car, she gets a view of Ingook getting out of his own car, ruffling the messy strands of his hair with a free hand and—unluckily for her—turning to his left to lock his car, just to come in contact with an image that stops him for a second.

And he looks at her.

She looks at him.

They look at each other.

But what does she feel?

“Is that your ex?” Baekhyun asks, voice levelled—not at all angry, just like it doesn’t seem to be annoyed. The flutter of his fingers expanding on top of her knee to grasp at the skin is not enough to bring her out of her trance, watching Ingook who dares to mouth a small ‘who is that?’ to her. She can only nod to Baekhyun, the confirmation leaving her lips in a mere whisper. “He looks smelly.”

“He’s not.”

“That hair—”

“He’s not smelly.”

“His hair looks like a smelly guy’s hair, sorry but also…yeah, I’m not sorry.” A smile creeps up her face then, turning to her side as if forgetting the black and white image of the movie that is Ingook, to concentrate on a three-dimensional version of the newest film in the industry. More expensive, more scripted, way better. “You know what I want to do? But only if you feel like it.”

Pressing her cheek to the headrest, she sighs. “What is it, Baekhyun?”

“I really want to kiss you.” The presence of Ingook must have enticed something in him. Possessiveness, maybe, or some kind of competitiveness that comes ironic to someone who complains about athletes. Her smile doesn’t falter, looking down at his lips for the briefest second before chuckling.

“Just because he’s here?”

“No. I’ve wanted to do it after I saw you the first time but…” Baekhyun shrugs then. “Something doesn’t settle well with me when some asshole who cheated on you dares to ask you who I am, and stand there like a fucking statue.”

“You’re jealous.” She tuts, not noticing how the man leans forward just the slightest, a strand of his gelled hair falling on his forehead.

“And what about it?”

“Do I kiss jealous guys?”

“Well, you kiss dumbasses like Ingook. You could try it out with someone so much better.”

Hands threading on the soft black strands of his nape, she brings him a bit closer, tilting her head to the opposite side of his when she breathes against his lips. “And you’re that much better guy?”

The coldness and minty-ness of his breath brings goosebumps to her skin, the flutter of his lips touching her own in what seems to be a peck far from sedating. When drinking teas, she likes to take nice gulps, a little sip shall never suffice for someone like her. “Two hundred percent.”

“Prove it.”

“How?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to kiss me? Prove it.”

Silky lips trailing after her own, the beginning of it all is a mere touch, the glide of his skin coming in contact with her lip-gloss, savoring the touch before he asks for more. The swipe of his tongue, the breath that leaves his lips, the change of tone when he cups her jaw and lets the sound of his whispered words come in the contact in between the kiss. Lips smacking against each other, slowly, surely, like every worry and question that comes with being with Baekhyun is brought to certainty as she thinks of him. More than she has ever received, trying harder than anyone has ever done for her—

Someone who likes her for who she is, and will pride on the person she is, enough to kiss her in the bare daylight only to pull away and see that Ingook’s figure has departed towards the office. Not that she can care when she takes Baekhyun’s cheeks in between her hands, pressing another kiss to his lips to open the gates of laughter for him.

“I still have fifteen minutes before I have to get inside.” Baekhyun laughs even harder at her words.

“Inside of where?” The teasing tone in his voice and the implications of her innuendo has her hiding her face in his shoulder, nose tickling the junction of his neck.

“The office.”

“Right…”

“You dirty bastard!”

“Hey, you kissed this dirty bastard, not me. And with consent.”

“Stop talking and let me kiss you again.”

###

“Sehun.”

Silence.

“Sehun.”

Silence, but he does flip one of the pages of his favorite magazine. Her fingers come forward to grasp at the edges of the magazine, half of her body splayed on top of the main desk while the man glares back at her. Petty until the day he dies, still not forgetting her attitude from the first time they met.

Heated food in plastic bags is hanging from her fingertips, the skin taut and aching from walking all the way towards the hair salon. “Sehun. Is Baekhyun here?”

The question has lingered in between them the past few months. At this point, she thinks she is simply asking him because she can—and she will. The frown on his perfectly styled eyebrows is enough to know that she has gotten through his brain, irked one nerve that had him tossing the magazine on the desk, arms crossed over his chest.

“He is always here, newspaper girl.” But no longer in the third column. With much work from Ingook, who asked her plenty of questions to get on the right track in the sports section, and a little bit more interest from her part—and Dani’s speech skills—, she had gotten her spot back. With Jongin, and the chance of talking about the things she likes the most. “Listen, let’s set the record straight: I don’t like you, and you should really wash your shoes before they gain life of their own.” Trailing her eyes down, she inspects the sneakers that she wears the majority of the days. They are comfortable…but how in hell had Sehun been able to see them from his position? “But Baekhyun is dating you, so I have to compromise.”

“Okay…”

“Wear some other shoes. The washing machine is calling, and it says you haven’t used it in over a year.” Muffling her laughter behind her first, she flips the plastic bag to stay on her other hand to ease the pain on the other. “And stop asking if Baekhyun is here. Just enter, make yourself at home, and don’t touch my magazine again.”

“What’s with you and that magazine?” Sehun huffs then, leaning back on his seat to sport a pout that she had yet to see on him.

“I’m cutting coupons.”

“What?”

Lowering the magazine, he speaks a bit louder. “I’m cutting coupons, okay? Just get it going!”

“Okay, okay!” She can’t help but laugh as she sprints inside the salon. The hairdressers are more known to her know—Mirei, the one that normally stays beside Baekhyun’s vanity, a woman with bright blue hair and the most gorgeous vibrato to her voice. Dina, one of the oldest. Even the owner herself, that had given the hair salon to Baekhyun after her departure from the business.

Speaking of the man himself, his hair has changed. The words still clung to her once—bleach for heartbreak, he used to call it, coming from personal experience of his own. Though, the smile on his face is beaming while he paints one of his client’s hair. Half red. Half white. Beaming model eyes and nicely put-together conversation, she sees this man every month or so, one of Baekhyun’s favorite clients—

“Hi, Taeyong.”

“Hey!”

Passing by him, she receives the greeting, going over to Baekhyun, head tilted to meet her lips in a brief touch. She had once thought that kisses grew duller the more they were given; not that important, they were a glimpse of affection that trailed behind a night of passion or a morning of talking, a greeting to be exact, but with Baekhyun it feels different. Shares every secret of his with her when their lips meet, just as he studies her expression right after they pull away.

Books always said it. Magazines also do. One of the columns in the newspaper, based in love, relationships, sex, health and all of the like, has stated it as well. Love is always going to be boring. Ways to spice up someone’s romantic lives are always given, when asked or even when they are not. People are expected to get tired, to disrespect each other after a while. After her heart got broken, the same thing had been engraved in her brain.

“I read your column today,” Baekhyun juts his chin towards the newspaper on the vanity. He buys it everyday if necessary, reads it online when he can, and he never misses a game now. Not to say that he likes them, his head most likely resting on her shoulder, lips scattering touches along her neck, but he tries. “You really go off when it’s about volleyball, don’t you?”

“Kind of.” She answers, letting the food rest on the vanity beside the newspaper. The pages are opened, the third column coming forward with two names that she knows well. Dani and Ingook. Written there for the world to see. This time around, their publicity is for some local bakery, enough to capture her attention as she unloads the lunch they are going to share.

His words still hit her sometimes, even when seeing and talking to him is not the same anymore. That…respect is there, as a fellow columnist, the one that tells her that he was the one to edit this article, the one that reminds her he is the first person she loved. Ingook’s relationship with Jeonghwa may not have worked, but now she knows that hers with him wouldn’t have done so, either.

“Babe—”

The sweetened tone of Baekhyun’s voice has her dropping the honey topping she had brought with the meal when buying it on top of the third column. His name becomes stained, the paper latching into every drop of the sauce just when she sighs. “Sorry, let me clean it up.”

“Just one thing!” Baekhyun says. “Can you check my laptop to see the designs for the bottles of the shampoo line? I’m not sure if I like them…”

And the way he trusts her is so different for everything else she had had. Everyone else. The third column is now forgotten when she looks at him, heart swelled with the sunrays that touched the snow, the splatter of honey that now stands on her pages—him.

The rain may fall today and she wouldn’t care, because if she goes alone or not doesn’t matter. Not when she has him there, in her soul.

Falling in love is difficult, it doesn’t come in the blink of an eye—but maybe, she is unaware of how in love she is with him.

Something it is. Something powerful.

####

playlist: maye - tú ; taba chake - walk with me ; chevy - sweet boi ; cavetown - lemon boy ; mxmtoon - cliché

#baekhyun scenarios #baekhyun #exo scenarios #exo #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun angst #writing #exo fluff #exo angst #hairdresser!baekhyun #undercut!baek made me do it #also this is like the first piece i write in two months that is not queued so my brain was Fried #but i hope you like it?

[according-to-the-laura]

StackedNatural Day 42: 3x05, 14x04

StackedNatural Masterpost: [x]

November 1, 2021

3x05: Bedtime Stories

Written by: Cathryn Humphris

Directed by: Mike Rohl

Original air date: November 1, 2007

Plot Synopsis:

A young girl trapped in a coma by her wicked stepmother sets off a series of murders based on the fairy tales her father reads to her. Meanwhile, Sam tries to get Dean out of his deal.

Features:

Fairy tale deaths, Hansel and Gretel, Snow White and the evil stepmother, Little Red Riding Hood, Sam confronts a crossroads demon.

My Thoughts:

This episode is mostly just fine, a monster of the week with an interesting solution, but the brothers dynamic is great in the first and last few scenes.

I don’t love the fatphobia from the three little pigs scenes, and also the secondhand embarrassment I get from Sam’s “sketch” is so bad that it makes me want to die. It’s hilarious that Dean thinks that knowing anything about fairy tales is gay. He overcompensates so bad in these early seasons.

When Sam tells Dean, “you’re not dad”, and it obviously hit Dean so hard. I really think that so much of the messiness in their relationship over the seasons is that Sam sees Dean as his brother and Dean sees Sam as his son. The cognitive dissonance every time he gets reminded that he isn’t messes him up. And then he relates to the helpless little girl lashing out at people because she’s scared.

The seeds of Drowley being planted soo early on. Crowley is the King of the Crossroads and “he wants Dean’s soul, bad”.

Notable Lines:

“All right, maybe it is fairy tales. Totally messed-up fairy tales. I tell you one thing, there's no way I'm kissing a damn frog.”

“Aren’t you tired

“Aren't you tired of cleaning up Dean's messes? Of dealing with that broken psyche of his? Aren't you tired of being bossed around like a snot-nosed little brother? You're stronger than Dean. You're better than him. [...] You're here, going through the motions. But truth is … you'll be a tiny bit relieved when he's gone. [...] No more desperate, sloppy, needy Dean. You can finally ... be free.”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 8.0

IMdB Rating: 8.4

14x04: Mint Condition

Written by: Davy Perez

Directed by: Amyn Kaderali

Original air date: November 1, 2018

Plot Synopsis:

Dean continues to struggle, and then Sam has to think when action figures come to life and Dean finds himself inside a real life horror movie.

Features:

Loud nerds, killer action figures, haunted chainsaws,

My Thoughts:

I’ve never seen this episode before, it was so sweet! When it panned up Dean eating pizza in bed watching movies in his little socks I said out loud, “aaah Dean baby I love you”, and that’s how most of the rest of the episode went. Peak Nerd-Dean supremacy. Look at his short-sleeve button up! Look at his checkered jacket and chunky glasses! I am doing the 🥺 emoji in real life.

I understand some of the desticule’s halloween urls just in time for it to not matter, which is fun.

I love Dean bonding with the sweet little nerd and Sam bonding with the cool girl. This should happen every episode. Dean gets to nod understandingly when the nerd doesn’t get along with his dad, and Sam gets to blow shit up and say he had a messed up childhood. Good episode for John Winchester haters such as myself.

It is so funny when the ghostfacers effect is written into the script. They were allowed to say bitch in season one but now Sam is going to trail off suggestively.

Insane and also extremely in character that Sam said “hey, you matter to me and I want you to be okay emotionally” and Dean said “well I can’t do that but I’ll go back to being useful, that’s basically the same thing, right?”. Dean, you need to go to therapy.

Notable Lines:

“Well, since when is okay part of this job, huh?”

“Ah well, growing up it was a… it was always nice to check out once in a while. I like to watch movies where I know the bad guy is going to lose.”

“I had a messed up childhood.”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 8.8

IMdB Rating: 8.8

In Conclusion: It’s criminal that they didn’t do a season 15 Halloween special :(

<< Previous Day | Next Day >>

#Stackednatural #supernatural #spn #3x05 #Bedtime Stories #14x04 #Mint Condition

[muthaz-rapapa]

Let’s talk TroPreCure! (^∀^ 🌺)

i’m so stupidly proud of this dumb pun “tropurikyua~”, hahahahaha

Last post of the year and wow is there are lot to be excited for!

I even had to make a list for the stuff I want to talk about and I’m sure I already forgot one or two things but we’ll get to them as we continue to float~ along the wave to February 28th, mmkay? :)

Now for what has peaked my interest so far. And yes, we have to talk about the following first:

1) HealPre the shortest Precure season??

Unless they plan for double features in February (which I doubt but you never know), HealPre is likely going to reach only 45 episodes long instead of the usual 48~50 before TroPre I’m using this shortening of the title for now so if there’s a better alternative, tell me and I’ll switch out begins its broadcast.

Understandable because the producers probably want to get back to their normal scheduling as soon as possible (toy sales, y’know) and I suspect pushing the start of the new season back by a month is the most they’re willing to compromise.

As for me, I’m quite happy about this since HealPre’s lost its hold on my attention a while ago so the sooner TroPre gets here, the better. Though the downside might be a scrambled climax and a rushed, underwhelming ending for HealPre (I dunno if it’s January’s titles that feel a bit messy or if the hiatus is still throwing me off) but whatever. We’ll refresh ourselves with the new blood Cures so it’s all good.

2) Tropical movie announced for Autumn 2021, no All Stars??

(source)

First saw this mentioned on Youtube somewhere but it’s all over the fandom forums by now. I mean, HealPre’s movie is set for March, the usual time slot for All Stars release. If Toei intended for there to be an All Stars in 2021, there’s no way they would announce the seasonal movie before it so speculations of them skipping it this year are probably true.

To squeeze it somewhere between March and October-ish would force them to readjust their budgets as well and I don’t think even Toei wants to go through that extra hassle after all the trouble the pandemic’s caused for everyone already. It’s just easier to resume All Stars in 2022.

That, and I think Laura being a major character in TroPre despite not having a Cure title (yet) would make for an awkward situation when the three latest teams gather so perhaps that’s also one of the reasons. But I’ll get back to Laura in a bit.

3) Cure Summer is a RAINBOW Cure

So god help me if I see anyone calling her a Pink Cure.

Yes, she’s the lead Cure for this season. NO, she is not a Pink Cure.

Look, even the official website has a rainbow overlay for her profile pic and text font while everyone else’s respective theme colors are a solid hue:

Therefore, RAINBOW.

In promotional material and merchandising, they’re probably going to advertise her primarily with pink bah and at worst, she might occasionally be labeled as a White Cure with multiple subcolors (her outfit is not pink-dominant) but definitely NOT. PINK.

...also, this goes without saying but f***yea, we finally got a lead Cure practically and unabashedly wearing the LGBTQ flag and you cannot tell me otherwise, Toei!

Own up to it! Declare Manatsu/Cure Summer as the Precure queer icon!

I’m not gonna stop yellin’ until you do! 😠

4) Laura = obvious midseason Cure is obvious

First of all, Laura is a babe. I already love her the best and she’s not even Precure yet. <3

Anyways, the set-up is pretty much in the description. Important main character who’s not a mascot, stated to have a self-confident personality and just speaks her mind (oooh, I like~ :D), magical/foreign being from another world looking for Precure to save her home, possesses her own special item(s), has aspirations to become the next Queen (so she’s a princess-candidate or something to that effect, I suppose).

We’ve seen various combinations of these traits in past midseason (and a few starter) Cures so nobody should be surprised when we all guessed that one of the Cures would be a real live mermaid.

The only question is why not just make Laura a Cure from the get-go if she’s introduced to us at the beginning (like Hime or Lala) and having a team of five with no unnecessary extra add-ons later on (like Smile).

Well, there’s a simple answer for that: formula.

Toei is afraid that if they don’t spit out some new animation sequence at the halfway and third quarter points of the show, the kids will lose interest and abandon the series altogether. Which means failed toy sales. Oh nooo... [/sarcasm]

...Yea. 

And this way they can also have Laura available in the Cure lineup for the next All Stars in 2022 instead of making her sit the fight out if we were going to have one in 2021. I’m convinced that’s gotta be one of the reasons. *shrug*

But ok, whatever. Her debut is gonna be later, that’s all. She’s a delayed Cure.  Midseason Cure, same difference.

Moving along to the more important stuff now like what’s her Cure name gonna be, y/y?

Well, knowing Toei, a translation of the term “mermaid” into another language is the most predictable route even though we already have a Cure Mermaid. Not like that ever stopped them from repeating words before (ex. Cure Happy vs Cure Felice). Though if they do go down that road, I hope they opt for the Spanish/Italian “sirena” and not the French “sirène” because the latter sounds too close to how Cure Selene is pronounced in Japanese. And, putting it nicely, we all know Japanese pronunciation of foreign words is as off kilter as can be.

Hell, even the the Portuguese “sereia” sounds aesthetic as hell so it’d be nice if they can just remember there are other languages that exist out there besides Japanese, English and French when making the final decision at the writing table! *stomps foot* >:/

Alternatively, “nereid” or “naiad” are good choices too but they remind me too much of Greek myths and Laura’s from the Grand Ocean which covers more than just a couple of seas (Greece is surrounded by three, btw) so...

I dunno. But whatever it’s gonna be, she’s definitely got a strong association with water and her powers will probably be based on that.

As for theme color, since there’s noticeably no blue or green Cure in the starter lineup, it’s likely she will take up that spot when she debuts around ep 20.

Pink is also open since Cure Summer, again, is technically not a Pink Cure and Laura’s hair and tail fin are hot and light pink respectively but looking at Laura’s design and concept, does anyone seriously believe that?

Her upper torso consists of aquamarine while the body of her tail is definitely some shade of cyan, implying they’re aiming for somewhere around the middle of green and blue on the lighter spectrum.

And yea, I’m aware that green and blue are considered exchangeable in some perspectives with how close some of their shades are to each other but officially, I think Laura’s gonna be grouped with the Green Cures.

Cuz of the hair. If Laura’s gonna keep it the same or a similar shade after transforming, that is. The Blues have always had cool-colored hair so putting Laura in with them might disrupt that harmony whereas if you put her with the few Greens there are (including Parfait), she’d fit right in.

I mean, we’ll see but that makes the most sense, doesn’t it?

On another note, I just want to say that I love how they added frills to her arms instead of letting her elbows go bare naked. It definitely makes her look more like a genuine mermaid than if she didn’t have them (remember, half fish doesn’t mean half the body :P).

5) Magical Items

Frankly, I’m tired of seeing the transformation device being a compact again even though one of the main motifs is make-up this season. But at least, as far as Precure compacts goes, the Tropical one is my favorite cuz of how cute and delightfully colorful its toy version looks! So I guess I’m okay with it.

The Heart Rouge Rod, though? ...I dunno. I think it would’ve been fine without that...straw (?) jutting out at the top. It looks weird, doesn’t it look weird? :S

As for the collectible clip-ons, I can live without those for the rest of my life. Yeesh.

Laura’s items, the Aqua Pot and the Ocean Prism Mirror.

Again with the portable, travel-size housing. *sigh* 😩

Alright, I can let this year slide cuz Laura (I’m so soft for her, omg) probably won’t be getting legs for 20 weeks so she’s got to move about on land somehow. But unless they’re really thinking about turning this idea of carrying your apartment around in your bag/pocket/purse into a reality (cuz that would be effin’ awesome), please be more creative with your toys.

On the other hand, I’m much more interested in the Ocean Prism Mirror but from what Kusyami (the Precure merchandise reviews I follow on Youtube) said in his latest vid, this is the ED dance item so don’t know if it’ll actually have an relevance to the story or not. But I did hear him mention it having something to do with the Queen as well and since Laura wishes to become Queen, maybe it’ll be important after all? Maybe it’s her transformation device?

That’d be super cool. Let’s continue the trend of the midseason Cure having a different transformation item than the starters. Honestly, we should alternate every other year or two but we’ve gone three seasons with all of them using the same henshin gimmicks up till HealPre and I just want a break from that.

6) Fin sleeves??

These look so impractical for combat so maybe it’s exclusive to group attacks.

And/or a sort of precursor to the super forms?

*GASP* Does that mean they all eventually turn into mermaids? 🤩

7) Yui finally became Precure!! 😭

lol, it’s all crack from this point on so don’t take it too seriously but man, after Yuni’s deceptive braids, I thought I wasn’t gonna see anything that reminded me of Yui for a while and lo behold, Sango.

kehehehehehe xD;

Though Yui might be closer to Minori in terms of personal interests (fairytales and storybooks).

8) Akira, the actual Onee-chan version

I didn’t think this when I first saw her but once I read “Onee-san” in her profile, there’s no saving you now. Sorry, Asuka. 😅

Also, damn, do her sandals make her feet look big! Compare them to the heels she wears as Flamingo. Are they even the same?! lololol

9) ...this sounds awfully familiar...

Translation:

Tokimeku Tokonatsu! [Exciting/Thrilling Everlasting Summer!] Cure Summer! Kirameku Hoseki! [Sparkling Jewel!] Cure Coral!  Hirameku Fuurutsu! [Flashing Fruit!] Cure Papaya!

Japanese reiteration:

Mallow/Mao: Pink no tokimeki! Lillie: Blue no kirameki! Lana/Suiren: Yellow no kagayaki!

….........

@Toei 

Care to explain yourselves, punks?! 

୧(ʘ ∀ ʘ ╬)

#it is 1:30 AM and im hungry and still have to do work on new year's eve so i'll come back to amuse-rage later #tropical rouge! precure #precure 2021 #cure summer #cure coral #cure papaya #cure flamingo #laura la mer

[thekitchenismykingdom]

Kitchen Shenanigans - Lovestruck Fanfiction

Relationship - Lucien Rivercrest/Roman Tarrenglade  Rating - G Summary - Lucien and Roman, navigating the waters of a new relationship, spend some time together in the kitchen. Unfortunately for them, they can't quite keep it professional. A/N - I was inspired to write this solely because I was flipping through a food magazine at 2am when I couldn't sleep. The chili potato tart recipe is real, and the crust is delicious.

Another lazy Sunday came to Sweet Enchantments, and the two denizens of the kitchen were spending the day inside, crafting and perfecting recipes. Lucien was busy with a fresh batch of golden éclairs, a charitable donation requested by a supportive and well-respected customer. Liora was only happy to oblige, and volunteered Lucien to prepare something for the event. Lucien couldn’t remember exactly what it was for, but he recalled the organization helped incarcerated magicians find gainful employment after serving their sentence or as a condition of early release.

Living and working at the café had expanded his thought process about magical society and how it treats people, judging them based on their background and ability. While he would have preferred spending his day off in other ways, Lucien knew this was the right thing to do. He had been given an opportunity here at the café, so why not give back and help others?

He glanced at Roman on the other side of the kitchen, who had been preparing some kind of pastry for dinner. A dozen thoughts swarmed his head all at once, but Lucien shook his head and focused on the task before him.

While he carefully filled the éclairs with a marbled lemon and raspberry cream, Roman took his chili tart crust out of the oven. The baking paper crackled as he shook it slightly, the baking weights rolling over each other.

“This smells incredible already,” Roman said with a pleased smile. Lucien paused in his work and sniffed the air.

“It’ll be even better with the filling.”

Roman turned toward Lucien after placing the partially-baked tart shell on the counter.

“Oh? Mr. Cool as a Cucumber broke his concentration for my little tart?”

Lucien smirked and picked up another éclair.

“Mere mortals of the kitchen deserve to be graced with a compliment from time to time,” Lucien replied, not taking his eyes off the dessert in hand before placing it down and picking up another.

Roman shook his head fondly, returning to his tart. He peeled the roasted tomatoes, garlic, and chili and set to work mashing them together, seasoning along the way. He poured the mashed tomato mixture into the bottom of the tart and spread it evenly before reaching for his thinly-sliced potatoes. Arranging them carefully into concentric circles, Roman reached for the pile of grated cheese to his left.

“Perfectly placed potato slices? On your food?” Lucien teased from behind Roman’s shoulder, and Roman jumped slightly.

“Lucien! I’m concentrating!”

Lucien hummed and grabbed a few strings of cheese to taste.

“Mmm. Buttery, and slightly nutty. Good melt factor.”

“It’s a type of Swiss cheese,” Roman explained, sprinkling it on top of the potatoes. “Emeril introduced it to me a while ago, and I thought I’d incorporate it into a new dish I’m crafting.”

“You’re using the first tomatoes of the season?”

Roman hummed and placed the tart into the oven, setting a timer. He stretched out and set to work cleaning his station, opting for a traditional approach as opposed to using magic. Lucien had a habit of needling him about his messy cleaning magic.

“Well, would you like to assist me in finishing the éclairs?” Lucien asked as he observed Roman clean up.

Roman paused for a moment in wiping the counter down, eventually replying, “I might sit out in the garden. Tend to some of the vegetables.”

Lucien blinked.

“Weren’t you out there just this morning?”

“Yes, but it’s a nice day and I have to wait for the tart to finish baking anyway.”

“Hm.”

Lucien slowly walked back to his station, staring at the éclairs. He picked up one of the few left and inserted the tip of the piping bag, gently squeezing until the felt the éclair expand slightly. He worked on two more before asking Roman, “Are you sure you’d rather go outside?”

This time Roman turned to him, curious.

“Did you need help with something?”

Lucien visibly swallowed, but his voice was its normal cool tone.

“I don’t really need help.”

Roman stared at Lucien as he finished filling the éclairs, placing the nearly empty piping bag to the side, squished and crinkled. He walked over and placed his chin on Lucien’s shoulder.

“Do you want me to stay so we can finish these together?”

Lucien was quiet for a moment, glancing at Roman from the corner of his eye.

”...Yes.”

Roman smiled and brushed a kiss against Lucien’s cheek.

“That’s all you had to say,” he said, taking his place beside Lucien at the workstation.

“I’m still new to this,” Lucien mumbled, letting out a huff as he turned to grab a bowl of melted dark chocolate and place it on the station.

Roman understood Lucien’s feelings well; a situation as complicated as theirs required a mutual understanding. Lucien had never acted on his feelings for another man before, and they were both involving themselves with a co-worker. Roman didn’t wan to believe that their good working relationship would be soured if their romantic entanglement ended, but it was always a possibility.

Shaking away these thoughts, Roman gave Lucien a bright smile and reassured, “We both are. We’ll navigate any challenges that present themselves, and we’ll do it together.”

Lucien returned Roman’s smile with his own, albeit, smaller one, before shifting his focus back to the filled but bare éclairs.

“I need these dipped in the chocolate, Roman,” Lucien explained. He grabbed an éclair and dipped it in the bowl, slowly pulling it out and allowing the excess chocolate to drip. He delicately twisted his wrist so the éclair faced up and showed the glossy chocolate finish to Roman.

“Think you can do that?”

Roman was tempted to take a bite right out of Lucien’s hand, but he had no desire to ruin the nice time they were having preparing the éclairs together.

“Of course! Leave it to me, O Master of Pastries.” Roman then set to work dipping the éclairs into the chocolate, flourishing his wrist just as Lucien showed him to ensure the chocolate covered the tops of the pastry evenly.

Lucien, meanwhile, whipped ice-cold cream with a balloon whisk until it stood up in a stiff peak on the whisk.

“Shall we turn it over your head to make sure it’s whipped enough?” Roman suggested, a small smile playing on his lips.

“These aren’t egg whites, Roman.”

“Oh, yes. Well, maybe you should use your big strong arms to hand-whip some egg whites next? Then we can use that bowl trick.”

“Something tells me you want to see me covered in-”

Lucien stopped himself, and Roman raised an eyebrow at him, his smile morphing into a smirk.

“Yes? Go on, Lucien. What were you saying?”

Lucien ignored him and dropped the whipped cream into a clean piping bag, twisting it closed. Quickly he piped a perfect star of whipped cream on one end of each éclair, quickly catching up to Roman.

“You’re lagging,” Lucien pointed out, and Roman sniffed at him, but hurried in his task until each éclair was dipped and covered in a thin sheen of dark chocolate. Lucien hummed his approval as he finished piping the last bit of cream on the final few éclairs.

“What’s next?” Roman asked, and Lucien gestured to a bowl that he had floated over a minute before.

“We decorate the éclairs with a few strands of these candied lemon peels,” Lucien explained, and showed Roman just how many slices to put and how he wanted them arranged. They worked together quietly after that, both men concentrating on the task at hand. Lucien looked over at Roman to evaluate his éclairs, and noticed how his long fingers carefully placed each strand of lemon peel in an artful arrangement on top of the whipped cream.

“The sugary peel is a nice pop of colour against the black and white on top of the pastry, don’t you think, Lucien?”

“I- Yes, that’s one reason I chose this garnish.”

Roman heard the slight hesitation and turned his head to look at Lucien. Lucien swallowed, acutely aware of Roman’s eyes scanning his face, deep red rippling pools that finally settled on his mouth.

“Would you mind if I stole a kiss?” Roman whispered, dessert completely forgotten.

Lucien’s professionalism and respect for the kitchen came to the forefront of his mind, but something else told him that he could make a small exception. Just this once. Roman’s sweet expression rivalled the pastry in front of them, and Lucien found in this moment, he could not resist the temptation.

“Not this time,” Lucien whispered back, leaning in and-

“How are those éclairs coming Luci- Oh!”

Lucien and Roman sprang apart as if pulled by magic, Liora’s voice ringing out in the silent kitchen.

“Ah, Liora, I wasn’t- We didn’t expect-” Roman scrambled, immediately trying to cover for his indiscretion. The surprise wearing off, Liora schooled her features into a neutral mask, the usual calm she exuded settling Roman down.

“I can’t say I’m not surprised to see you both in such a... position,” Liora began, a hand on her hip, “But I hope that the kitchen won’t be a place to tiptoe around in the future.” She gave them both firm, even looks. Lucien fidgeted for a moment, certain that Liora’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than it had on Roman, as if to say she was more disappointed in him for this uncharacteristic lapse in judgement.

“Absolutely not,” Lucien managed to say, standing a little straighter. “This...won’t happen again.” He looked to Roman, who nodded in agreement.

Liora gave them another once over, light eyes practically glowing with intensity, before her posture relaxed and the hand fell from her hip back to her side.

“How are the desserts coming?” she asked, taking a few steps towards the counter and observing their work.

“Nearly everything is ready. All the éclairs are filled and dipped, and only a few remaining pastries need their garnish,” Lucien explained. He picked up an éclair and placed it on a small dish before handing it to Liora for inspection. She accepted the plate and brought it closer to her face, scanning the pastry while slowly rotating the plate. With a satisfied hum, she put the plate down on the table and gave Lucien a pleased smile.

“These look delectable as always, Lucien. Great work. I appreciate you taking the time to help this initiative,” Liora said, and Lucien only nodded. Liora’s support was a welcome thing, unused to it though he was, and he sometimes felt ill equipped to respond to it.

Liora then turned to Roman, one light eyebrow delicately arched.

“I trust that the next time you assist Lucien, things will stay clean and professional?”

Roman actually blushed, cheeks as red as his hair, and Lucien had to hold back a grin. With a cough, Roman stood up straighter, some natural colour returning to his face.

“Of course, Liora. Today was... Today won’t happen again. Promise.” Roman gave her a winning smile then, and Liora nodded her approval.

Looking around the kitchen, Lucien half-expected her to comment on something else amiss, but she merely smiled and told them to keep up the good work that they do. With a graceful turn, Liora walked towards the dining area, but paused and turned to Roman.

“Whatever you have in the oven smells delicious, Roman. I’d love to try a slice at dinner if it’s not burned yet.”

Then she left the kitchen, heels clacking on the floor as she disappeared.

Lucien and Roman were both silent for a moment before Roman sprang into action with a yelp, grabbing a thick dishtowel and opening the oven door, reaching for the tart he had put in to bake earlier. He quickly but carefully set it down on the counter, scrutinizing the top of it. The cheese was well browned and bubbling, slightly crisp in some spots, and the tart crust was just shy of overcooked. Roman visibly deflated as he let out the breath he had been holding, and Lucien sidled up beside him, just barely brushing shoulders.

“It looks fine,” Lucien said, and Roman sighed again.

After a few moments, Roman leaned into Lucien slightly and asked, “Want to go out into the garden with me? I have to wait a while for this to cool, and...” He trailed off, looking thoughtful.

“I think I’ve had enough kitchen today,” he finished, and Lucien thought back to their intimate moment before Liora walked in. Shame burned under his collar, knowing he was better than that, but he realized he never answered Roman’s question and shook the thoughts away.

“I understand what you mean. I’ll garnish the last few éclairs and I’ll join you once I’ve finished.”

Roman gave him an appreciative smile, squeezing his arm and exiting the kitchen. Lucien watched him leave, smiling to himself despite the day they’d had. Everything between them felt new and just a little bit confusing, but Lucien was ready to face these challenges as long as Roman would be there with him.

Wandering back to the éclairs, Lucien picked up the plate with the lone dessert and gave it a once-over. He decided that Roman needed something sweet, so he would bring the éclair with him for Roman to try.

“Maybe if I’m lucky enough, he’ll share,” Lucien said to himself. With that, he left the kitchen to join Roman outside, two forks hanging loosely in his fingers.

#lovestruck #lovestruck voltage #sweet enchantments #lucien rivercrest #roman tarrenglade #my writing

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Other Kinds of Writing than “Pantsing” improvisation or “plotting” Outlining

So, usually people set up a false binary, because why not Europe the world and make everything a binary... so I’ll give other options of how Writers write. (From my vast reading of author notes and interviews and pros and cons of each...) ‘cause whatever you are doing might not be working the best for you, so why not try other ways?

How the Story is written

Improvisation

This means just start somewhere and let your subconscious take over the plot. The downside is if the readers figure this out (which there are markers for it), then they can guess ahead of you by figuring out the best gut punch for the time. The markers for it--though people don’t believe me... are excessive set up at the beginning of scenes, larger plot holes and repetition of plot points which were not caught during editing. I can tell you wrote the story this way when you keep trying to remind yourself of previous plot points in the text. Slash those when you edit. Look specifically for plot holes because your subconscious is likely to change their mind about certain things and you need to track them separately. Famously, Jack Kerouac was known to do everything on impulse and thought it was the highest form of writing. He didn’t want a single word edited. Advantages: Being impulsive can lead to some crazy ideas which can feel new. This is particularly good for character impulsive decisions. Or characters who go by their gut. The characters also tend to be a lot more willful, but it also means you need to keep them occupied with interesting events. Suspense and Thriller tend to benefit for such writing. Writing is fast, editing is slow.

Disadvantages: OMG, the editing is a nightmare. You have to write down every plot point on a separate piece of paper and then make sure you didn’t screw it up. It’s terrible for High Concept plots and where things have to come together neatly in a certain order to make sense. (Which is why Agatha Christie didn’t use it for And There Was None and it tortured her for a year since she was used to improvising everything. She explicitly said she’d write it like everyone did it and then drop the final clues to make it click at the end, which is a sign of an improviser or at most a milestone type.)

(Strict) Outlining (Separate sheet of paper)

Means you write down the plot points one by one. Sometimes writers use a spreadsheet so they can visually see what is happening at the same time. She whose name shall not be spoken, does it this way.

Sometimes it’s just a list of bullet points. The markers for it: It tends to be much neater in plotting. Things interlock neatly. If you have a large complex plot, this is one of the ways to do it. The markers for this are more spotting the way the plot comes together and also often unfortunately marked by flat characters because the event chain was thought of without the characters.

Tolkien from everything I’ve read of the man, mostly outlined his stories. I have a flagging suspicion on one story--which is my favorite, which is a bit more impulse-written because it’s much more introspective and philosophical--two things that don’t do well with outlining. Most epics, for this reason in the modern sense are done with outlines. Some, but not all mysteries are outlined.

Advantages: Having a large interlocking plot suddenly come together can be satisfying. All those desperate parts seem like it’s great. The events come back together. Less editing is always good.

Disadvantages: Flat token characters who don’t have to be there and have cursory agency merely to move the plot along. For Newbies, the plot twists aren’t that interesting and don’t interweave properly with the character’s set ups or choices. The events, then, feel like what the writer wanted to happen, rather than what would have naturally happened. (You can fix this, though, by thinking through the character and how they change and be willing to rework your outline every time the character makes a different choice than expected--don’t fall in love with the event chain--fall in love with the character agency to make change.)

Also, if you screw up one event because of lack of research, it can send your entire book into a tailspin since the point of outlining is to neatly get everything to come together.

Don’t forget to put in some “God events” on purpose. You can throw people off and make them guess it wasn’t heavily plotted by putting a few seemingly random events at the beginning that click or are red herrings which lead to dead ends.

Versioning

NK Jemisin did this... It combines a bit of the outlining with improvisation, but it tries different versions of the same events. I have a suspicion that Patrick Rothfuss also does a bit of this with his claim he also outlines... but I’m not 100% sure on that. This might explain why the books take so long to write. (Versioning and outlining don’t marry too well for speed. If you’re backing up, and then having to rework the outline based on backing up, that’s a total slow down every time.) Markers: There are very few markers. Sometimes people may spot dead end plots, but if you did a good job editing, you took those out.

Advantages: If you edit well, then no one will notice the difference. And you are 100% sure this is the best sequence of events for this character. Also helps when the character is extra bit willful for reasons you can’t crack.

Disadvantages: Time--it takes so much more time to edit the draft. Plus there are versions you have to, by nature of the project throw out no one will get to see. (Wasted paper and energy). Plus it’s super hard to edit because you have to choose which of the many paths you will take and justify it to yourself before making final drafts. How do you know you’re not doing it because you’re enamored of the idea, but it’s not the best version after all? Bad for indecision.

One sentence at a time

Chuck Palahniuk does this. One sentence, perfects it, then moves to the next.

Advantages: You are sure that sentence is perfect and therefore, the whole book doesn’t need editing by the end of it.

Disadvantages: The amount of time it takes to write the book is slow. The wording might also feel pretentious or overworked.

Milestones

I used to play this game called “Mille Bornes” which means milestone. A milestone in a person’s like are things like they were born, married, died, had children, etc. So the idea of this is that you set out things that the character has to hit in order to get to the next set of events. In order for cause A, they need to hit this event first. Because the outline is looser, it still allows them to act within the framework with agency. Also because it’s not a huge outline one has to rework every time, it allows the writer to bounce around more because they already know what their character is going to do to react to said event.

Mercedes Lackey, Andre Norton, Anne McCaffrey all said they used this method. Markers: The plot doesn’t always have that neat clicking sound feel to it. But the character seems to hit important events in regular well-paced order despite that. You can trick the reader by spacing the events and word count for those events differently. Usually these people pick out the ending ahead of time to make sure it doesn’t wander too much. But the ending can also feel a bit flat if one isn’t careful. If you don’t trim your events, side plots can overtake your story where there is no meaning to the overarching plot. Slash those. Newbies who use this method often end up deviating hard from the main point and that’s how one catches them.

Advantages: Takes the advantages of outlining and makes it looser. Takes the advantages of Improvising and gives it structure. Disadvantages: Editing still is a chore. Pacing might also be harder if you aren’t able to predict word count well. People can get too married to their event structure without regard to how the character has changed. They can box the character in. For the reader it feels half directed, and half not. It’s a bit harder to predict, but if you run out of event chains, and the reader guesses your tastes, they will be able to plot the entire book ahead of you and then you’re dead in the water. So plot against your preferences and towards your preferences too. Flat characters for this method are your worst enemy. The events you don’t find exciting, you might skimp out on. Make sure to rework the “boring” events. And cut as many side plots as you possibly can.

Order the story is written:

Linear Forwards- Plot from beginning, start there until you get to the end. Most writers tend to rely on this method and can’t think otherwise. Mercedes Lackey in her notes, beyond making notes about scenes she’d like to include, Anne McCaffrey, Agatha Christie (from how she said she writes), Sir Conan Doyle (Who, BTW, outlined a fair bit, though not completely--you can feel a bit of his impulsiveness peak through), Jane Austen (from reports of her manuscripts etc) and the bulk to writers stick to this method.

Linear Backwards- Know the ending you need and figure out the events that led there--mysteries do this a fair bit. Also some Japanese authors play with this quite a bit.

Skip around- Usually better for thematic or tone plotting. Or High concept. When you want a certain feel for the book, sometimes it’s better to choose on themes and events, write them quickly, then edit. Editing is a pain when done this way because places and seasons can shift by accident. Watch for plot holes. Diana Gabaldon skips around by using a bit of research and then making a scene out of it, and then stringing it together later.

Mixed- Bounce around between the methods... super messy. Lots of editing. And also sometimes lots of skimping on the “boring” bits, which isn’t a good idea.

Try ALL of them in different types and orders. Find which one suits you best and which one you struggle the most with. Get good at the one you like, then try to defeat them all and find out how people react to the story being written that way and what you need to delete and edit per way you wrote it. If there are more ways people write books... then try those methods too.

#Writing #writing advice

[mithrilwren]

3 Turn

Another installment in the Shadowgast Figure Skating AU, inspired by the incredible art of @fiovske! You don’t technically have to read the first piece in the series to understand this one - they more or less stand on their own - but if you’re going to read both, I’d recommend doing so in order. [Also on Ao3] [Find the whole series of one-shots in this AU here!]

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3 turn: a figure skating element which involves a change in direction and edge. The direction of the turn follows the way the edge rotates and curves, either from an inside edge to an outside edge, or an outside edge to an inside edge.

---

1. Forward.

There’s a new skater on the ice tonight.

It’s a rare occurrence, to see an unfamiliar face in competition. Essek has grown accustomed to seeing the same lineup of competitors at every event. The particular selection of faces may change with the location, but the roster is generally static; there are only a select few whose skills are high enough to qualify at this level.

Still, the whirling blur of motion in Essek’s periphery wears a colour palette he’s not familiar with, and as his coach guides him through last-minute stretches at the sideboards, he watches the figure out of the corner of his eye. Not paying full attention, of course - his turn is next in the order, and there are many elements to review in his mind before he steps out onto the ice himself - but he does catch a few details: a grey and black suit, a flash of red hair, the sound of a skate coming down hard. 

Too hard, and the subsequent gasps of the crowd tell him a jump has been fumbled, if not outright failed. 

Essek smirks - not unkindly, necessarily, but with the satisfaction of renewed confidence. Whoever this new blood is, he’s clearly knocked himself out of the running. Not a challenger, then, and thus, not worthy of any more of Essek’s attention.

As the music fades to a close, he lets his breath go in one low beat. He’s ready. He’s relaxed. This will be a good performance.

Essek barely pays the new competitor any mind as they pass each other: him stepping into the rink, and the other man stepping out. There’s no delay between the two routines for flowers to be collected. Evidently, none were thrown. The man must truly be a newcomer - not many rise to this level of competition without accumulating at least a small base of supporters.  But again, Essek reminds himself, this is all unimportant to the task at hand. 

Essek floats out to the center of the ice and places one toe on its tip, hands curving up to frame his chin and cheek in an elegant tableau. The crowd is still, as breathless as his own body, as they wait for the first note.

Then the music starts, and Essek flies.

---

Once all the roses and little gifts are collected from the ice, Essek rejoins his coach in the kiss-and-cry. The red-headed competitor is already far from his mind as they wait together for his scores to be announced. 

(The cutesy name of the simple, black-clothed bench, surrounded by a chorus of video cameras and fake flowers, is something of a derisive joke between the two of them; neither he nor Mirimm would ever be caught dead doing either in public.)

The only expression Essek allows himself as the numbers are read out is a small smile: first place standing, as expected. Mirimm’s reaction is equally subdued. She doesn’t congratulate him, not on what was already a forgone conclusion. 

(And still, his heart eases as he hears the final tally, even though he knew that his performance tonight was without critique. There’s an unhelpful anxiety that accompanies every kiss-and-cry, so ingrained he can barely separate it from the brighter feeling of anticipation. He can’t seem to shake the lingering dread that one day the scores will be announced, and he will be found lacking, and the perilous peak on which he stands will crumble away.)

After returning to their seats, Essek watches the rest of the skaters from the audience with vague interest. He knows most of their routines by rote, along with their faces. The season is spent perfecting only two sets of choreography per person - one short program, one free skate - and he’s seen most of them performed already, whether televised or in competition. Still, the art of skating is beautiful in itself, and even familiar routines are a pleasant enough diversion as they all wait for the final scores, that will determine the skate order for the next day. 

Finally, after the last skater has received their marks, the ranking is read out to the audience. Essek’s name is the first announced, of course. As the top-placed competitor, he will go last. That, too, was never in question. 

The name ‘Caleb Widogast’, at a stalwart middle rank, crackles over the loudspeakers, and Essek starts. He cocks his head, trying to capture the remnants of the sound before the announcements continue. Something about that name… he’s sure he’s heard it before. Essek turns to Mirimm, leaning down to murmur in her ear.

“Why do I know the name ‘Widogast’?”

Mirimm - an elderly woman, with so many years of experience under her belt that not even her wizened face and hunched, almost goblinish appearance can diminish her reputation as one of the skating world’s premiere coaches - squints, her mouth set into a troubled frown. He’s not accustomed to seeing even that much emotion from her, and certainly not in public. Her answer takes far longer than it should for such a simple question. 

“I suppose that would have been before your time, wouldn’t it?” Essek carefully suppresses a wince. Having achieved so much by such a young age might be a badge of honour for some, but he often tires of being so continuously reminded of it. He would rather be set apart by his skill, not his circumstances. “He was a prominent competitor in the juniors circuit, many years ago. ” Her voice grows more craggly as it dips low, softer, as though she’s talking to herself and not to him. “I didn’t realize he’d started skating again.”

“A hiatus? Was there a reason?” There are few explanations that are conceivable to Essek, why someone would choose to give up the sport, even temporarily. You don’t leave a life like this up - not at this level, not after so much work and pain and investment. Even he, even after-

Well. It’s not something you just abandon.

Again, Mirimm pauses before answering. “I don’t know the whole story, but… I believe he was under a lot of pressure.” The inflection on the word pressure doesn’t quite sit right with Essek, and his own frown deepens. “The Empire is very... rigid, with its athletes, as you well know.”

Essek’s mouth parts slightly. Then Widogast is a Dwendalian skater. Now that’s interesting. Stranger still, that no one would have informed him of the man in advance, but if even Mirimm didn’t know he was competing...

“That’s all you can tell me?��� 

“That’s all I’m telling you.” She fixes him with a hard look, and he sighs, knowing a final answer when he hears one. He’s learned not to question the hierarchy, over the years. As supportive as Mirimm is, and as high as he rises, there are still some things he’s not privileged enough to know. Being sponsored by the Dynasty itself comes with a laundry list of pros and cons, after all, and as much as he’s aware that his role in the conflict between nations is symbolic, it is not unimportant. The threads of political posturing between the Empire and the Dynasty are long-rooted and deeply meaningful, and appearances are more vital now than ever, in this time of perilous peace. He takes that responsibility as seriously as any aspect of his own career.

Still, his curiousity is peaked, and he barely hears the rest of the names in the order, too busy turning over one in particular in his mind. 

---

There are also pros and cons in being the last onto the ice, Essek muses the next day, as he waits for his turn to arrive. On one hand, he’s stuck ruminating on his own upcoming performance for longer than any other skater. On the other, he finally has a chance to watch the other routines properly. 

He waits with bated breath for the name ‘Caleb Widogast’ to be announced. From his seat near the front of the stands, he has a perfect view to suss out this mysterious competitor, and he intends to make good use of that advantage. Even if Mirimm refuses to share more, there’s a great deal he can learn from simple observation.

His catalogue begins the moment the man steps out onto the ice. There’s a certain awkwardness to Widogast’s movements, as the man drifts out to the center of the rink - a dipped head, and hunched shoulders, nothing at all like Essek’s regal posture. His eyes are nearly hidden beneath the long, wavy bangs that tumble out from his loose ponytail. It’s a curiously unpolished look: not strictly against regulations, but certainly not the finessed coif of a typical skater, especially not with hair of that length. Essek wonders if he does it himself, or if his stylist is simply unskilled. The messiness doesn’t seem intentional, rather, it almost looks like the ponytail began as a tighter pull-back, but wasn’t secured properly. 

His outfit, at least, is neat, if slightly old-fashioned. The hard lines of black and grey are typical Dwendalian attire, and Essek thinks again of Mirimm’s words. Rigid. That is certainly a word to describe the suit. He can’t say that Widogast looks terribly comfortable in its constrictive folds and creases. That type of outfit requires a precision to pull off that his hair and his posture don’t match. Everything about the look is like two halves at war from within, and Essek wouldn’t be surprised if the man loses points on presentation before the music even starts. 

In the quiet moments at center ice, Essek watches as Widogast breathes out, arms crossed in front of his chest. His shoulders come down, as though he’s forcibly told them to relax. Then the first note sounds, and Widogast takes off towards the rink’s edge in a burst of energy, launching into a routine that leaves Essek more confused with every bar.

The man is obviously quite technically proficient, but whatever rigidity he managed to force out of his shoulders, he clearly hasn’t shaken it from the rest of his body. His steps are intricate, but stiff, and though his movements smooth out into something more like a dancer’s elegance by the end of the first step sequence, Essek is keen now to the tension that shudders beneath. He isn’t surprised at all when Widogast’s first jump finishes a full rotation short of the intended triple lutz. Even if the set-up was executed well, it lacked confidence, and no jump approached with hesitation will ever succeed.

Still, the landing is clean, and though the rest of the routine is fairly unremarkable - full of the traditional upright forms and purposeful movements that he’s come to expect from the (admittedly, small) number of Empire skaters he’s competed against over the years - with each passing moment, Essek only finds himself more transfixed by the series of contradictions that make up ‘Caleb Widogast’. 

Who is this man, who skates with all the skill of a champion and the confidence of a fifteen-year-old trainee? 

Why is his outfit so strict, and his hair so wild? 

Who would give up skating for long enough to fall out of memory, only to return as a shadow of their former glory?

Essek must know more. 

He watches Widogast’s face as the song comes to a close, hoping to catch a glimpse of his reaction to the past few minutes. Is he pleased with the middling performance, or disappointed? But as soon as the music dies away, his head is already tucked back to his shoulder, and he hurries his way off the ice even before the polite smattering of applause finishes. No flowers again, and no whoops or cheers from the audience. Even the other Dwendalian entrant - Vadim, oft bronze-medalist, powerful jumps - offers no vocal support to his countryman. He sits a few aisles away from Essek, watching the routine just as intently as him, but without any hint of comradery hidden in his tight-lipped expression. If anything, his look is assessing, rather than familiar.

Stranger and stranger.

Essek’s eyes follow Widogast as he steps out of the rink and heads towards the kiss-and-cry. There’s no coach waiting there when he arrives. Widogast takes a seat by himself, and the next skater takes to the ice. The music starts again, and still, nobody joins him. Widogast picks up his coat from atop his bag and wraps it around his own shoulders, clutching the fabric to his chest as he waits for the scores to be read. 

Essek’s heart unexpectedly pangs. He’s no stranger to being on his own - he prefers it, nearly always - but still… he never realized how lonesome that bench could look. 

Essek prides himself on being able to predict any score within five points, and this time is no exception. Not a bad showing, per se, but nothing spectacular. Even with only half the scores tallied, the podium is already out of Widogast’s reach. Essek is too far away to judge his expression as the numbers are read from the loudspeakers, but his reaction is far from dramatic. The man sits quietly for a few moments more, then gathers his bag and returns to his seat, ignoring the handful of microphones shoved in his direction as he passes the press box. He doesn’t move from that seat, not for as long as it takes Mirimm to tap Essek on the shoulder and remind him that he should get downstairs and stretch for his own routine. 

It only strikes him as odd a half-hour or so later, as he gets up off the cold concrete floor and returns the foam roller to its case, that Widogast’s seat wasn’t next to Vadim’s. If anyone else from the Dynasty was in attendance, they and Essek would have been seated together. A show of patriotic solidarity is never amiss, and the Empire tends to be even more strict than his own country in that regard. But he doesn’t have time to contemplate the question further, because Mirimm is already hurrying him along, back to the rink’s edge just in time for his routine to start. 

The rest of the night passes in an accustomed blur - the flawless performance, the kiss-and-cry, the inevitable triumph. It seems barely more than a blink of the eye before Essek finds himself on the podium, listening to the last strains of the familiar anthem fade away. He receives his medal gracefully, dipping his head as the ribbon is placed around his neck, but when he looks up again, it’s to scan the crowd once more, looking for Widogast. 

The search is fruitless; his eyes land on an empty seat, and no trace of where the man went. Perhaps he left once he knew the final results. Essek can’t help but be a little disappointed - he has always been insatiably inquisitive, and this Caleb Widogast is an enigma like no other - but it seems tonight is not the night he’ll satisfy that curiousity. 

Essek exchanges civil handshakes with the other medalists and makes his way back towards the locker room to collect the remainder of his things, while the crowd begins to filter out of the arena. 

Progress is slow, constantly impeded by eager fans looking for autographs or photos that his station - and the ever-present cameras - don’t allow him to refuse. Mirimm knows not to wait around, and by the time he manages to (politely) fight his way out of the stands, he finds himself in a mostly abandoned facility. The occasional conversation still wafts through the echoing concrete corridors below the rink, but most of the other skaters have left already. He’s pleased by the solitude, not least because his left leg is aching fiercely, and in an empty hallway, he can allow himself the slightest limp. He keeps his ears open for any hint of incoming footsteps, of course, but it’s an unexpected boon after a long day.

The locker room is empty as well. Still, Essek ducks into one of the shower stalls and turns the lock before unzipping his bag. He moves aside the foam roller’s case and reaches in, pulling out the brace that lies beneath. Essek holds it in his hands and leans back against the wall, considering. 

The pain is worse tonight than usual, but this isn’t exactly a regional show. The reporters will be trained on him the moment he emerges into the lobby. Better not to risk it. Essek slips the brace back into the bag, wincing as he pushes himself off the wall, and unlocks the stall door. 

He can manage, and there will be a hot shower waiting for him once he passes through the gauntlet of reporters and returns to his hotel: a well deserved reward.

He takes another step, and his thigh muscle shudders beneath the weight. Essek grits his teeth.

He can manage. 

Essek is nearly to the back stairwell that will take him back to the lobby when he hears it - a new, unplaceable sound, drifting from around the corner. He steps closer, and the sound becomes clearer. Quickened, irregular breathing. 

He walks as quietly as he can to the bend, and peers around. 

A man is braced against the wall, arms crossed over his eyes as he leans his weight against them, his face turned towards the ground as he gulps shallow breaths of air. The shock of red hair, now fully escaped from its tie and spread loose over quavering shoulders, is unmistakable. 

It’s Widogast.

Essek means to back away as silently as he came. The man is indisposed, and no matter how great his curiousity, he wouldn’t spy on someone in such a private moment. But his leg, the treacherous thing, buckles on the first step back, and that slight stumble is enough to bring Widogast’s head whipping up. His bright eyes - blue, very blue, improbably blue - land on Essek, and Essek freezes, feeling more chastened than he probably should, considering he truly hadn’t meant to intrude.

Widogast immediately straightens, sucking in one last breath before bowing his head. “I am in your way. My apologies.” 

The soft accent catches Essek off guard. Stereotypical as it might be, he was expecting the more severe dialect of King Dwendal. As a child of the Dynasty, brought up in wartime, there were few other Empire voices that were recognizable. All he had were the propaganda speeches on the radio and the indistinct image of a faraway court on the television. He was not a soldier, and would never meet a child of the Empire face to face. At least, that’s what he’d assumed, at the time.

“Are you…” alright, is the word he wants to say. If it’s not an outright panic attack he’s startled the man out of, it was something close to it. But to acknowledge that feels too... forward. They’ve only just met, after all, and he is still a representative of the Dynasty. He must never forget that, or the caution it entails.  “...going up?” Essek finishes, gesturing at the stairwell.

Widogast grimaces, a pained look that smoothes out to something more neutral as surely as his movements did on the ice. It’s almost disconcerting, how calm he seems now - how steeled - when only a few minutes ago he could barely breathe. 

“I will, in a short while. Please,” Widogast says. “Don’t let me keep you.” His eyes move to Essek’s chest and widen in realization, and Essek is suddenly self-conscious of the golden medal that still shimmers between strips of back gauze. “My apologies again, Herr Thelyss, and... congratulations, on the victory.”

“Thank you,” Essek says slowly. So he knows who Essek is. Has the man been studying up on him as well? But he forces the momentary paranoia down. He is the reigning champion, three years running, and today’s victory sets him well on the path for a fourth crown. Of course this man would know his name. Who in the skating world doesn’t?

Still, Essek makes no move towards the stairwell, and neither does Widogast. Finally, Essek breaks the stalemate. “Shall we go up together?” 

It’s a reckless suggestion. If they’re seen emerging together, the reporters will eat them alive. He’s under firm instructions from both Mirimm and the Bright Queen herself that he’s to maintain a civil, but distant, relationship with those Empire competitors he meets. But he can’t help but want to continue the interaction, now that circumstances have brought them together. He might not get another chance like this, imprudent as it might be.

If anything, Widogast’s expression becomes even more pained, and Essek watches him physically hold in a shudder. “Please, go on,” he says again. “I’m sure you’re a busy man.”

An even more reckless thought occurs to Essek. “You’re very right. To be honest, I’m not sure I feel like spending what time I have with the vultures tonight,” he says, regarding Widogast with an air of nonchalance. “And - forgive me - you seem a little tired yourself. Perhaps we should show ourselves out the back? I know another exit.” There. Plausible deniability for the both of them.

Widogast fixes him with a stare as piercing as Essek’s ever delivered, and he knows he’s been found out. That might concern him more, if he knew what, precisely, he was attempting to conceal in the offer. He hasn’t quite parsed out his own intentions - only that the enigma of Caleb Widogast has him intrigued, and he wants as much time as he can steal to begin to unravel the pieces of that mystery.

“...If you are offering, then… I would be grateful.” Widogast dips his head again, sharp expression fading to something almost weary. “I’m not sure I’m up to facing them tonight either,” he admits, more softly.

“Then the rear exit it is.” Essek turns, and a few moments later, footsteps hurry to join his as he leads the way through the twists and turns of the underground structure.

The truth is, Essek knows all the back entrances, to every major rink on the competition circuit. He often comes a day early to walk the halls, scouting out the surest route that will avoid the flash - or worse, the blinking red recording light - of the cameras. In a pinch, he’s even acquired building schematics, if advance travel wasn’t an option.

He can manage, after all - he always does - but there are some nights where he’d rather not have to.

The two of them walk in silence. Though there are a thousand questions burning on Essek’s lips, he knows that there is a time and place, and that this isn’t the appropriate one. Better to show as little of his own hand as possible, while he still knows so little about the man’s connections within the Empire, and… well, he doesn’t want to push Widogast further, not after what he just witnessed. 

It might be the shrewder choice. Widogast is more vulnerable now, at least emotionally, than he might be later on, and Essek could probably press him and learn some of what he wants to know. But still-

But still. He feels how he feels. There’s no use pretending something else. 

They come at last to a different stairwell, this one leading up to a set of heavy metal doors coated in cracked orangeish paint. Essek pushes the doors open and holds the first for Widogast, and the two of them exit into an alleyway. From the opposite end of the narrow path, the lights of the street blare and fade: cars, passing into the gathering night. Essek looks once more at Widogast, holding his coat closed against the chill of the damp night. Each wash of light catches the outline of the man’s hair: a glimmer of auburn against the grey brick at his back, tumbling in loose waves around his jaw.

“Thank you,” Widogast says again, this time with open, unguarded sincerity, and as the man finally meets Essek’s eyes, the back of his neck begins to prickle. “I am in your debt.” 

“Indeed. Perhaps I’ll ask a favour in return, the next time we meet?”

Essek means the banter to be light - playful, even - but Widogast doesn’t smile. He does nod, however, expression altogether too serious for the tenor of the conversation. “A favour,” he says. “Alright.”

“Till the next time, then,” Essek says, and starts towards the alley’s exit. Widogast follows on his heels, but Essek holds up a hand. “Give it a few minutes, in case there are watching eyes on this side.” Widogast frowns, but as Essek points to the symbol of the Bright Queen subtly embroidered on his sleeve, he nods again in understanding.

Essek chances one last glance back before he slips out of the alleyway and onto the street. He sees Widogast framed against the door: a figure in grey silhouette, and still impossibly alone.

---

The shower does help with the pain, and he’s able to go to bed that night without splinting the leg at all, which is a better outcome than he’d hoped. By tomorrow, he’ll be back in the Dynasty, in the comfort of his own home, and for now at least he has creature comforts: good wine, a soft bed, and an evening to himself, without needing to speak to a single other soul. This is his preferred way to celebrate a victory.

As he lays down to sleep, red hair and blue eyes flutter through Essek’s mind, an inescapable interest still burning within him. He finally gives in to the compulsion at almost one in the morning, dragging himself out of bed and back to the sitting room portion of the suite. Pulling open his laptop, he quickly types a name into the search bar. 

There are dozens of results for ‘Caleb Widogast’: old videos at low resolution, standings from various tournaments, even a few news articles in languages he doesn’t know. He clicks on one of the videos first, indulging himself for a minute or so in grainy clips of a boy with the same red hair - though much shorter - as the man he met today. But there’s something about the experience that’s almost uncomfortably voyeuristic, and he quickly abandons the pursuit in favour of the articles. 

The few that are in the common tongue are intriguing, but sparse, and all uniformly disappear after a certain date. By three in the morning, he’s exhausted every dead end, and come to one inevitable conclusion: Caleb Widogast - the junior’s champion, a prodigy, just like Essek - existed for many years, and then he simply didn’t.

After today’s standings, Widogast won’t be moving on in the circuit. The next leg of competition is all that matters. Essek shuts the laptop, tired and frustrated, and resolves to put the conundrum out of his mind. 

And, for a time, he succeeds.

2. Pivot.

The next time they meet, a season has passed, and Essek has his fourth championship victory. Riding high off his success and all the accolades that followed, the exhibition rounds before the next circuit are a breath of fresh air - literally. 

The warm shores of Nicodranas seem an unusual place to host an ice skating event, but perhaps the international planning committee has tired of all the cold and dreary locales they’re typically forced to frequent - or maybe somebody had a summer home that they wanted to make use of. Either way, it doesn’t quite suit Essek’s constitution, and he begrudges not having a good excuse to wear his typical heavy mantle outdoors, but it is a change of pace.

He’s taken aback when he spies the name ‘Caleb Widogast’ on the day’s program. Countries usually announce their designated entrants for these events months in advance - how is it possible that both he and Mirimm could be caught unawares yet again? But when he asks, this time Mirimm brushes him off entirely, and he’s forced to stew in silence as he waits for the man to appear. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long. Widogast’s lot falls first in the order, and Essek settles in to watch the short program he missed all those months ago. 

Alas, there’s not much to watch. If he thought the man was unpracticed the first time he saw him skate, it’s worse now. These non-qualifier rounds are meant for testing and perfecting choreography before the competition truly begins, and Widogast is obviously still working out the kinks in his routine. The jumps are turbulent, nearly all under-rotated, and even his more melodic passages lack presence or style. Once again, the second half improves on the first, but in a short program - as the name implies - there isn’t much time to make an impression. Essek fully expects to see Widogast’s face fall as soon as he finishes. 

But he’s caught off guard as the music reaches its crescendo, then fades, and a raucous cheer rises from somewhere high in the stands. He’s close enough this time to see an embarrassed smile break over Widogast’s lips, and he gives a little wave to whoever made the noise before skating off the ice. 

The kiss-and-cry isn’t empty this time either when he arrives. Someone is sitting on the bench, in a tracksuit of blue and grey. They’re too far off to discern any other details, and Essek finds himself rising and descending against his own better judgement, ignoring Mirimm’s pointed look as he makes his way towards the semi-circle of cameras. 

Now that he’s closer, he can start to get a sense of Widogast’s companion. Tall, olive-skinned, with close-cropped hair tied up into a top-knot. Despite the baggy clothes she wears, the woman is obviously athletic. Muscles bulge beneath the flimsy fabric as she gives Widogast a hard pat on the back, and he leans in closer to her. She’s younger than him, Essek notes, and not built like a skater - nothing about her is delicate. It’s also unlikely she’s a coach, not at that age. A friend then, or a lover? He’s seen some skaters wait with their husbands or wives, even parents, when their coach isn’t available. It’s certainly a possibility.

He slips away before Widogast’s scores are announced, not wanting to risk discovery by either the man himself or the reporters that circle like sharks around the booth, waiting to snatch an interview from anyone who stops too long. He’ll have to find another excuse to reintroduce himself, somewhere farther from the ring of microphones. 

He finds his moment halfway through the roster of performances. It’s a carefully engineered crossing of paths, as he descends to find a glass of water at the same time as Widogast and his companion dip off from the rest of their group, heading in the same direction. 

Because, apparently, Widogast does have a group now: a few mismatched individuals clustered in the upper rows, far from the seats reserved for performers. That must have been where the cheer came from. Maybe he’s accumulated a small following between the first event and now.

Essek sidles up beside the pair, walking in lockstep for a few moments before speaking. “I was wondering if I’d see you again.” Widogast pauses, glancing over towards Essek, and puts his hand up to the woman as his eyes widen.

“Caleb, who’s this?” the woman asks, stumbling to a halt just inches shy of Widogast’s back. Her tone is entirely too aggressive for meeting a stranger, and he wonders what about himself provoked that level of suspicion in so short a time. 

“Essek Thelyss,” he says, giving a slight bow. “Your friend and I met a few months ago.” Her glare only intensifies, and Widogast puts a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s alright, Beau,” he says, then turns to Essek. “It’s good to see you again. I… understand congratulations are in order?” Essek inclines his head. 

“They’re appreciated, but not necessary. I’m happy to focus on what comes next.”

“I understand that completely.” Widogast’s words seem more steady now than they were before, and his posture straighter. Perhaps it has something to do with the woman - Beau - at his side. Some need others to prop them up, when their own courage fails. Essek is not one of those people, but he doesn’t judge those who do too harshly. It’s a difficult world they live in. “I intend to do the same.”

“And how was it, exactly, that you two met, Essek?” Beau crosses her arms, flexing until the muscles ripple beneath a sheen of acrylic blue, and Essek doesn’t miss how she subtly shifts so that she’s placed between the two of them, like a surly tomcat guarding its kill. He still doesn’t know what he’s done to warrant this kind of aggression from her, and he opens his mouth to retort, but Widogast beats him to the pass.

“Beau,” he warns. “This isn’t… it wasn’t him.” She turns her glare to her friend, and Essek watches on, even more perplexed, as a silent conversation ensues beneath the actual words spoken. “And this isn’t the time, or the place.”

Beau hesitates, but seems to find what she was looking for in Widogast’s eyes. It’s her turn to breathe out slowly, as she turns back to Essek. “Sorry, man,” she says. “Didn’t mean to jump down your throat.” She sticks out a hand, and he reluctantly takes it and gives it a light shake. Her grip is incredibly strong, and Essek doesn’t try to match it, aiming instead to take his hand back quickly, before any joints leave their sockets.

“No offence taken,” he says as she releases him. “I should return, anyhow. My turn will come soon.”

Widogast looks for a moment like he might protest, but eventually his mouth snaps shut, and his expression shifts to something between embarrassment and contrition. “It was good to see you again, Herr… Essek.”

The informality of the address takes Essek by surprise - no Empire skater has ever called him anything other than Thelyss - but his mouth quirks up at the edges. He gets the feeling he’s being mollified. He’s more surprised to find that the obvious manipulation is working. “Till next time, Caleb.”

If it’s offered, then he can return the gesture. He couldn’t be blamed, for following Widog- Caleb’s lead. Courteous, but still sufficiently distant. That still lies within the confines of his mandate.

Yes. That is a line he can defend.

And besides, it may not matter much. He’s learned all he needs to know at this point. Caleb’s poor performance at their first competition was not a fluke, thus the man remains an enigma, but not a threat. Essek is happy enough to lay the matter to rest. He has greater concerns to focus his energy on.

...

Herr Essek.

He’s never heard his name spoken before, in an accent like that.

Hmm.

3. Turn.

As for the third event, their paths don’t cross at all. Essek notes the familiar name in the program at the start of the first day, but doesn’t have the time or the inclination to seek him out over the course of the competition. This is, in many ways, the most important tournament of the season, though it isn’t the one that will determine the overall champion. New skaters debut here, and the tone of the whole circuit will be set by the results of this first event. He must perform. Any other distraction is a death sentence. 

And of course, with that anxiety mounting, the pain grows worse, as it always does. A flare, the likes of which he hasn’t felt in years, begins to burn steadily by the conclusion of the short programs, and the distraction is so great that even Mirimm notices his discomfort, when he can’t stop himself from squirming in his seat by the fifth hour. It’s undignified, and he hates his own weakness more than that of his body. He has better control than this. 

The pain will pass, if he can put it out of his mind. 

His performance in the free skate still earns him the top spot of the podium, but it’s a shakier thing than either he or Mirimm are comfortable with. For the first time in almost two years, and after a few very stern words from his coach, Essek concedes to the braces at the end of the second day. The constriction makes his gait awkward, and he waits until he is absolutely certain everyone else has left the building before attempting to sneak out to the street. His car will be waiting for him at the curbside, ready to spirit him away on the double as soon as he emerges. All he needs to do is follow the memorized route.

In this particular arena, the changing rooms are on the same level as the rink itself, and the path to his chosen exit takes him within a breath of the sideboards. He can taste the biting chill on his lips as he walks between walls of fibreglass, rather than concrete. 

Essek’s heart nearly stops when he hears the schiff of blades against ice drifting through the wall to his left. Someone is still here, skating.

He will have to walk past at least one opening to the rink before his path is clear. He slows to a more careful pace, lest he be spotted. It’s too late to go back and change out of the braces now, and if he’s recognized, the person would surely wonder about his altered steps, maybe even ask questions, maybe even tell others about what they saw, and… 

None of that is acceptable. So he will not allow it to happen.

At the first break in the wall, Essek pauses, then dips his head around the corner. It takes him a few moments to spot the figure on the far side of the darkened ring: a wraith of black and crimson. The shape drifts in and out of sight, obscured by the same wall that hides Essek. 

Late as it is, the rink is closed for the night. There should be nobody left here but the cleaning staff, and as always, his curiousity gets the better of him. Essek risks sticking his head out a little farther, trusting the darkness of the hallway to keep him safe for long enough to sneak a glance at whoever has snuck back in.

The only light in the arena falls from a single overhead array, casting a haze of sallow yellow over only half the ice, littered with patches of red from the emergency exit signs. He thinks at first that’s what he’s seeing - the reflection of the emergency lights - but the flashes of red behind the plexiglass are too fast-moving, too unstable to be echoes of something stationary. 

He steps closer still, pressing his back to the edge of the wall as the figure glides into the haze once more, curving backwards in a relaxed arc. Strips of red material that line the long sleeves of his black shirt shimmer as he passes through the transition between darkness and light. Essek squints, trying to make out any identifying features, before the skater slips into blackness once more.

He thinks, for a moment, that it almost looks like-

But that can’t be. The movement is too legato, too relaxed. If it really was-

The skater disappears, then emerges again, spinning out into an effortless combination - triple salchow, double toe loop - and sinks into the landing without a flinch or a stumble. His leg comes up as he transitions into a layback spin, the edge of the skate barely grazing the tip of his ponytail as he grasps the skate behind his head. Unmistakable auburn locks, still halfway to escaping from their tie, fan out as he spins, and spins, and-

It is him. 

It’s Caleb.

Without thinking, Essek steps closer, mesmerized by the sight. The spin narrows, and his foot comes down to a point as Caleb’s hands rise into the air, held together in a perfect spire. The pace quickens, so fast now that even if there was all the light in the world, Essek wouldn’t have been able to make out his face. The only sound is the whisper of his skate against the ice as the spin resolves, and he glides into darkness again. The tension releases, and Essek realizes he was holding his breath.

This Caleb is nothing at all like the one he’s seen in competition. The transitions he uses, the posture of his arms, the suppleness of his movements are softer, less biting than before - and yes, less powerful, but more graceful in return. It strikes Essek all at once, what the difference is: Caleb is not dancing like an Empire skater. His moves tonight lack the academic precision of any of the other Dwendalians Essek has competed against, whose style he now recognizes in the remembrance of Caleb’s earlier performances. Those routines were an imitation of a philosophy, one that didn’t sit comfortably on Caleb’s shoulders.

Whatever this style is - this bowling, wild, unpredictable dance - it’s something new. Something original.

Caleb reappears into the light. Double toe loop, single toe loop, double salchow, and straight into a quadruple flip, with barely a breath of space between the two. The final jump under-rotates by a mile and Caleb’s hand smacks down onto the ice as he falls out into an erratic spin, only rescued from a total wipeout by a last ditch turn onto the inside edge of his skate. Even so, he skids almost to a halt, and Essek puts a hand to his mouth, caught between horror and admiration.

He could have injured himself there, seriously so. To force a combination like that into the leadup for a quadruple jump... it was a one in a million chance of success, even for someone of Essek’s calibre. He must have known that he would fail, and likely twist an ankle in the effort, if not worse. Why risk it? Is it a strategy for the next competition, banking on difficulty over execution to boost his score? 

But it isn’t a routine that Caleb’s practicing. There’s no music, and if there was, Essek can’t imagine what piece would match the sequence of mismatched moves he’s attempting. 

No, this isn’t practice for the next event.

This is experimentation.

This is creation.

At last, Caleb glides to a stop at the center of the ice. Chest heaving, he raises his hands and pushes back the bangs from his forehead, hair held in place at last by the sweat of exertion. A panting wheeze becomes a smile, becomes a grin, becomes a laugh, and the sound peals out across the rink, echoing from the farthest corners. Essek feels the same joy swell within his own chest, the same excitement at having done the impossible, even if the effort was imperfect.

He doesn’t fall in love, in that moment. It’s still too soon, for all of that. But something in his heart falls out of place, and into Caleb’s unknowing hands. There’s a force drawing him towards center ice, tethering them together - a connection, when he has not felt connected to anyone, in so very long.

Essek slips away, letting Caleb experience his last moments of giddy triumph in peace. He’s already desperate to see him once more: the real Caleb, not the shadow he’s witnessed in competition. Essek doesn’t know how he’ll manage it, but he will. He is determined not to let this be the last time. 

And there has never been anything he’s been determined about, that he did not achieve.

Essek contents himself with that certainty, and only realizes as the car door slides shut at his back, that somewhere in the last hour, his pain disappeared.

#critical role #cr fic #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #my writing

[jq37]

The Report Card -- Fantasy High Sophomore Year Ep 1

Sophomores and Spring Break 

Note: Hey guys! I decided to try something a little bit different and slightly more structured than my usual recaps for FH: Sophomore Year. I’m hoping this will be a little easier for me and a more useful tool for keeping up to date since there will be a lot more eps to keep track of and they’ll be easier to miss. Lemme know what you think and if you want raw, unfiltered opinions on anything specific, feel free to send me an ask. I’m always down to go off about literally whatever. 

We’re back, baby! It is Sophomore Year at Aguefort and the gang is on Spring Break. A lot is going down so lemme break it down. The Bad Kids, having defeated Kalvaxus last year, are all entitled to a share of his hoard and all the red tape is finally cleared so they all get 20k gold each (which is an insane amount of money converted to USD if you use the WOTC conversion rate of a gold coin being around $145 (circa 2006 when they answered the question)--which would be close to $330 with inflation). Jawbone and Sandra-Lynn are moving in after less than a year into a profoundly haunted house and it’s kind of a Full House situation because Adaine, Fig, Kristen, and Tracker all officially live there (plus it seems that Zayn has also anchored himself to Adaine’s tower--btw, Adaine took the tower that the haunted house obviously has) and you know all the other Bad Kids are gonna be there on the regular. 

More importantly, Aguefort gives the gang their big project for the year--finding the crown of the Nightmare King which was stolen at the end of last season--which is worth 60% of their grade (Adaine does a full Hermione at this information). Each of the gang has info about the NK but the trail has mostly gone cold. Luckily, Fabian just got a hot tip about where Falinel is keeping Aelwyn and she seems like a pretty good lead to start with since she was super tied up in the bad side of all the messiness of last year. Adaine is displeased to say the least. 

Going off to find the crown is super exciting story-wise for two reasons. First of all, it means the gang gets to hire, well, hirelings to help them and temporarily join the party! They ping basically every cool NPC they can think of (except for Tracker for some reason which is BONKERS because (1) she probably would have done it for free and cutting her in would still be keeping the money in the family, (2) she’s dope as hell, (3) she’s a cleric and the party can always use more healers, (4) she’s a werewolf so presumably she has skills that would help in the woods, and (5) they’re t r a c k i n g down a crown and the girl’s name is literally T R A C K E R, but I will not backseat D&D) and eventually end up with Ragh (who has been without an adventuring party all year, poor guy), Sandra-Lynn (swayed by a nat 20 rolled by Fig), Cathilda (!?) ,and, for some reason, Gilear (which Fabian is happy about, mainly for the opportunity to maybe bump him off on the way). Second of all, if you recall, Elmville is a pretty modern town but the rest of the continent is less fantasy high, more high fantasy. Horses and lanterns and all that pseudo-medieval goodness. They are gonna stick out like a sore thumb. I am very here for it. 

Everyone goes home to rest up but, after some ominous dreams, only four of them wake up. Riz and Fig are left asleep and then Brennan mic drops and ends the episode which is a power move and I am extremely upset about it but also, respect. Right for the jugular immediately. I heard Murph and Emily are on tour in the UK next week which probably has something to do with this but, in the moment, I did not know that and I really felt the hammer drop in my heart. It was wild. Cannot wait to see where we go from here. Plus, who doesn’t love watching characters freak out because their friends are in danger?

Random Thoughts

I have no idea what the title of this episode is or if it’ll even have one and not a number but I gave it a placeholder one for now. I also don’t have access to the stream yet so I didn’t get to include some info I wanted to (like a record of nat 20s, and nat 1s so I can track their stats for the school year) and I probably missed some stuff because my brain can only hold so much info guys. I’m not Brennan. 

I mentioned this yesterday during the stream, but there will never be anything better than the pure D&D joy of everyone, in character, talking over each other to clown on each other. They get the friend-group banter that’s a hair breadth’s away from bullying so true to life and it’s so fun to watch. On the flip side, the opening scene with everyone introducing themselves and affirmatively claiming each other as their best friends was also peak D&D. Found family= best trope. 

Fig and Adaine burn spell-slots at basically the same time to try and beat each other to the best room in the (Scooby-Doo ass) house--which is exactly the kind of thing that would happen in this world. It’s such an intuitive setting. I love it so much. (BTW, Fig ends up staying in the false space under the revolving grand piano because, of course).

Fabian and Gorgug went to recruit Ragh, who assumed they were propositioning him for a three-way. In his defense, they did do it in a super proposition-y way and they were in the middle of the LGBTQ student union.

Also, Gorgug gives Ragh an inspiring speech about thinking you’re your own dad which makes him burst into tears. 

Speaking of, Jawbone offhandedly says he’s poly but, like, based on some of the stuff he’s said, I feel like that’s not really a reveal. He also gets along well with Gorthalax and would be down w/ a three-way if Sandra-Lynn wanted to which, again, totally checks out. 

Arthur Aguefort uses Chronomancy to rewind time and catch a snide comment Adaine made under her breath, which is exactly the kind of frivolous use of God-like power I’d expect from him.  

I really love Adaine’s energy coming into this season. She’s in therapy. She’s in a good home environment. She’s comfortable enough with her friend group to do stuff like prank Fig (love that they’re gonna be living together now). And she’s good friends with Zayn now which I want to see more of based on their one interaction in this ep which was very cute. I am already on record as saying I would be down with her getting a ghost boyfriend--I mean, for the aesthetic alone--but I’d be happy with just more friendship. 

Fabian is also hilarious this season because you can tell he’s gone a bit soft from having friends and leaning into that (the friendship necklace with Riz) but also he’s fully aware that it’s happening so he’s, like, ping-ponging back and forth like, “These are my friends,” and, “What am I saying? I used to be cool,” and it’s very funny. Very happy the Aelwyn storyline is happening right out of the gate, both because I think Aelwyn is a very interesting character with a lot of potential for nuance but also because Fabian reacting to her and Adaine reacting to Fabian reacting to her is always gold. 

Prompted by an offhand conversation from Fig about rock and roll, Brennan--earning another feather for his Cap of God Tier DMing--goes on an impromptu five minute long improved diatribe about a bard who played such a good concert that it instantly impregnated everyone in attendance (dudes too) who gave birth to kids with sick rocker hair and denim jackets and ascended to Rock Heaven on their 18th Birthday. You truly have to watch it to believe it. At a certain point I thought he was gonna drop it but that was the moment he doubled down and kept going. Amazing. 

Watching Murph, in real time, make up a girl/boy/whateverfriend in Fantasy Canada was a gift. 

I don’t have access to the stream yet but best quote of the night that I can remember is Kristen choosing her room: This is triggering and I’ll take it. (Her line about her lesbian starter kit and the one about wanting a horse were also bangers). 

The group talks about what they’re going to do for transportation outside of Elmsville since they don’t really use cars out there and they somehow get from “disguise Fig’s tour bus” to “commission Aguefort to create a brand new animal that can hold six people plus hirelings, one of which is Fabian who is also riding his motorbike”.

I love that Sandra-Lynn’s Mom Powers work on Tracker. 

Basrar doesn’t accept the invitation to come with on the quest, but he does give Kristen a bag of infinite ice cream sandwiches, which is basically just as good, IMO. 

Oh Gilear. The man is sleeping in the Seacaster garage, being bullied by skater kids, and now he’s stuck on this quest with his ex and Fabian who actively wants him dead.  

Speaking of, I’m psyched to see more of Sandra-Lynn. She was kind of a sleeper badass at the end of last season. 

Ragh is keeping secrets which I hope the cast doesn’t forget because it could be nothing serious (like the high school drama happening with Skrank and the 7 maidens--maybe he’s just crushing on Gorgug who did full kiss him during Promocalypse) or it could be Serious Business that will blow up if the don’t stay on top of it. We’ll see. 

Oh, almost forgot. Adaine wants an emotional support frog. Every time I think I can’t love her more.   

Detention

Fig for Not Respecting Personal Boundaries

Fig goes full Emily right out the gate and, after finding out that Skrank (nerdy bird dude who apparently can get it) was not only dating Ostentasia (rich, popular dwarf) but also dumped her in pursuit of Danielle Barkstock (one of Ostentasia’s party members, the scandal), disguises herself as him with Danielle to figure out what’s going on. And, wouldn't you know it, when she gives herself away, Danielle immediately is shocked and appalled, as you would be, obviously. We also learn that she’s still catfishing Dr. Asha which is, how you say, for sure a crime. Fig, please, I’m begging you. Cease. 

Honor Roll

Fig, Riz, and Adaine for Researching the Nightmare King

Fig made both lists, look at that. Wasn’t my plan for this to be a three-way tie (also didn’t expect to use the word “three-way” this many times in this writeup) but I think their contributions were pretty much equally valuable. Rainsolo on the Discord wrote up this summary of the lore dump Brennan gave them.

#fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #the report card #report card

[certified-dumbass]

Hey guys!

Guess what? I wrote something! So this is part one of my fic “Countdown”. It centers on Ren getting chucked into hermit craft and being able to see numbers on how dangerous every mob (and player) is!

Here’s the Ao3 link

Chapter 1: Falling out of the sky

Ren did not wake up that morning thinking he was going to fall out of the sky. In fact, Ren did not want to wake up that morning, idling and staying in his bed for much longer than he probably should have He checked his clock when he finally got up, only to see it was already 3. “Well,” he muttered, “Not surprised,” He started walking around his base he had built up. He strolled past the random and messy rows of medieval houses, glancing at a creeper hole he had yet to fix up. He broke into a jog and lightly ran over to a much taller building that held his storage system. He quickly pulled out the stone variants he needed for his project, his tail brushing the floor. He marched out with his stone in hand, and started off to the main structure; a massive castle he had been working on for the past few weeks. He passed his pig farm as he walked, watching the numbers above their heads flick up to a three. You see, something had happened last time he was thrown into another world. When he first got there, the first thing he saw was creeper. Instead of running away like normal, he sat there in confused shock as a number started flicking up above the creatures head, going up to a five. He then exploded. Eventually, he had gone to the end, seeing what type of numbers would appear over the specific monsters heads. The enderman was a three at first, but then Ren looked at one in the eyes. The number flicked up to a six, and the slenderman knock-off nearly killed him. The enderdragon clocked in at an eight, which surprised him. Switching over to a stack of dirt, Ren began pillaring up to one of the towers he had been working on. He sighed, mentally preparing himself to begin. Hours later, he had finally finished this relatively small tower, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. Glancing up from his work, he realized he had worked much longer than he thought, the sun just peaking over the horizon in a beautiful pink and red sunrise. He sat down and ate a potato, just enjoying the sunrise. He must have fallen asleep, because he was woken up by his amazing ears picking up a hissing sound. Whirling around, he was face to face with a creeper, it blowing up right in front of him, blowing him back. He started falling to the ground, the fall to surely kill him. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, so he just sighed and let it take its course. That is until he was no longer falling off a medieval castle tower, but into a rapidly approaching wooden house that looked way too tall for its own good, a white flag with a hole in it, and… was that a dabbing pengu- His thought was so rudely interrupted by a house crashing into him, sending him sprawling in a small, unoccupied room. “What in the actual fu-” Ren coughed, right before passing out. Joe was peacefully writing in a book for his new roller coaster, enjoying his work, watching the sun rise; or more accurately, the world spin he thought; when he heard a loud whizz, followed by a crash. Glancing up from his restful writing, he discovered that there was now a massive hole in the precarious peak that was Grians house. He rose from atop the Cherry on Top store where he had chosen to pick his perch, and decided to sort out the source of the screaming. Whisking on his wings, Joe took off towards hemitville. Reaching the top of the wooden abode, he stared down into the massive hole the comet had created. Staring down into the wide hole, he saw an odd sight. There was a new player; not all that interesting; he looked like most new players look with the blue shirt and jeans, but this new guy had grey wolf ears and a tail. It was not often new players had extra extremities, with the only others being X’s turtle tail, Python’s snake tail, and Wels’s hooves and tail. “Are you okay, my furred friend?” Joe called down, not expecting much of an answer. To his surprise, the player groaned, trying to sit up. Joe jumped down into the room and gently forced him to lie back down. “You took quite the fall there,” Joe said caringly, “You might have broken a bone or five,” The new guy glanced up, narrowing his eyes, “Why is it so bright out?” Joe glanced up, but nothing seemed to be different. “Maybe your old world was darker,” the poet theorised, “But I don’t think that happens very often,” Ren glanced up against the glaring light of day, frustrated at his eyes. This nice person with the southern accent he was talking too finally moved his head over the sun, and he could see his face a little better. He had a brown flop of hair that nearly covered his cobalt blue eyes, which were in turn covered by thick glasses. He wore the same blue shirt Ren wore, but with a large white @ symbol over top. More importantly, Ren looked above his head to see… an EIGHT!?! There is no way that this nerdy looking guy could possibly be as dangerous as the enderdragon. Joe looked at the new guy, noticing the features of his short brown hair and striking yellow eyes. He helped him up. “My name is Joe Hills, helpin’ as I always do from Nashville, Tennessee. What’s your name, my good sir?” “My name’s Ren Diggity Dog! Coming from… nowhere in particular! Uhh, could you show me around or something? Are you the only one here?” “Well, no. This is a multiplayer server, but new people arrive every now and then. Let me show you around our current location, then let you explore by yourself.” With the help of Joe, Ren made his way out of the tower-like-house and back safely onto the ground. The glasses dude was very talkative, and explained the whole server that was revealed to be called hermitcraft and its participants the hermits in their walk around the town, all the while Ren was marveling at the crazy builds. “So, I hope I was a helpin’ hand!” Joe finished, “But I gotta head back to finishing my new minigame, see you around!” He took off using those elytra he always had on, while the wolf man stared after him in envy. He decided to take a look around for a place he could get some sun glasses, as his eyes were straining at this point. He stared at the ground as he walked, his head still aching from his fall. Eventually the reality set in that he wasn’t going back to his quaint old medieval town. He was stuck in this new place, needing to make new friends. Not like he had any in his old world anyway. He was walking mindlessly, not really looking where he was going, when he walked directly into another person- hermit, rather. Ren stumbled back, then got up to apologize. “Dude,” he said, “I’m really sorry, I-” He was interrupted when the other hermit turned around, having great big round surprised eyes and a shocked mouth, both of which were unnaturally large. Ren yelped, taking an involuntary step back before realizing they were just a pair of gag googly eye glasses and a face mask. “Nah, dude,” googly eyes guys said with a pleasing accent and a laugh, “It’s perfectly fine!” This new guy seemed to have the SAME shirt as Joe and himself, with the same brown hair as well. I really need to change if it’s this repetitive. He thought. Remembering to glance above his head, this new guy seemed to be a four, so basically an almost-gremlin. “My name’s Keralis by the way,” the nice accent guy said, “It looks like you’re new here too!” “Yeah,” Ren laughed, “I really am. Hey, do you know where I can get some sun glasses? My eyes are killing me!” “Oh, uh, no not really,” Keralis said uncertainly, “Like I said, I’m very new. But you could ask one of the older hermits from this season! I bet they would know!” “Thank you! Have a great day!” “You too!” As the two walked away from each other, Ren wondered where in the hell he would find another hermit. His head throbbed in response, telling him he needed to lay down, he just fell out of the freaking sky. Sleep is for the weak! He thought triumphantly as he promptly passed out.

#hermitcraft #mineblr #minecraft #Rendog #renthedog #Keralis #keralis1 #Joe hills #joehillsTSD

[sturlsons]

french in 1.5 years anon

Kinda random but I just found out that I’ll be required to be intermediate/advanced in French by the next 1.5 years; ALL I KNOW IS THAT MEIRDE IS A BAD BAD WORD! Idk if you’re a native speaker but I was wondering if you could provide me of any good French language resources (or language in general since I’ll be needing to learn Arabic soon as well), and like tips for language learning and how to go about it? Sorry to bother you haha this is MY stress but I appreciate any help! Have a great day!

HEY. so i really fucking dropped the ball on this one, i’m sorry. 2019 has been one health fiasco after another (or more like the same fiasco again and again) and i kept telling myself i want to sit down and make a proper post for this, until i realised that that’s just never going to happen given the way things are rn. and i’d rather give you a quickly-written post which is actually helpful than never write that perfect bullet-pointed one. 

first of all, i’ve been in your EXACT position (so no, i’m not a native speaker) except i had about...six months to go from je m’appelle teesta to voyez-vous, le problème qui se cache derrière tout ça n’est pas le manque de respect mais la personne dont il s’agit or whatever. i was like, i can so do this. (spoiler: i didn’t, because i was 18 and overconfident and stupid and didn’t actually know how to learn a language.) GOOD NEWS: having learned 3 more foreign languages since then, i am now REALLY GOOD at learning languages REALLY FAST. 1.5 years is a good amount of time, so don’t stress.

i’m going to go generic on this, with some extra tips about french since i speak it, unlike arabic. 

first thing, that typical thing everyone hates to hear but knows is coming from the mouth of an accomplished person (pat on my back) in any field whatsoever: you’re going to have to work really hard and practice like fuck. 

there’s just nothing else that can replace it. i’ve filled up notebooks and notebooks with japanese verb conjugations, once i did like 1800 of them in one sitting. but you better believe that a bitch will never forget those now. resign yourself to putting in at least three hours of your day to this until you get to the level you need. (and three hours is...kind. at my peak i was literally reading through french dictionaries at the library, 10 AM - 8 PM. i treated it like a workday.)

now, what you need to establish is: are you a hands-on learner or a digital one. 

i don’t really care for all the auditory learner and visual learner stuff, i don’t know about anyone else but i personally used those as excuses to avoid certain exercises. unless you have actual disabilities preventing you from accessing certain methods of learning, you can train yourself into anything. it’s a matter of practice. i could barely understand a new song without reading its lyrics first, now i eat up podcasts. 

SO. the question here is different. a hands-on learner, like i used to be more or less throughout my bachelor’s, is someone who absolutely cannot retain information unless they’ve written it down BY HAND at least once. pen and paper. (i’m still like this but i’ve learned to combine it with digital methods to go faster.) if this isn’t a hurdle for you, congratulations. your process is going to go that much faster, at least for french. (you’ll have to spend hours practicing your written arabic however, if you’re not familiar with the script.) 

now, if you’re a hands-on learner, you need to add an extra hour to your daily time. no matter how fast you write, you will take that time. and you cannot shorthand your way into languages. you need to understand how french is spelt, what accents it uses, that they put a space before exclamation points, question marks, and semicolons. (side tip: learn the IPA. it will be useful to you forever in language learning, at least for the romance languages.) i’m not gonna teach you how to make notes since i’ve never benefitted from copying someone else’s style, so if you don’t have a set method start establishing that. you need regularity and rhythm when you learn a language. my grammar notes look the same regardless of the language. i don’t have my french ones since it’s been years and i didn’t take good ones then anyway, but here’s my japanese and russian stuff. 

JAPANESE NOTES // RUSSIAN NOTES

now, it bears mentioning that these notes are NOT the notes i take when i don’t know shit. these are final level notes. they’re brief, idiosyncratic, and only reminders. something to refer to when i’m revising and suddenly forget a rule. the first notes i make are much more elaborate, whether they’re pretty or not. i’ve gradually lost the fucks i had about really going ham on academics so my russian notes are very messy, but my japanese ones from back in the day are magnificent. here’s a look. during lesson one i realised that japanese and my mother tongue, gujarati, are syntaxically similar as shit, and i started taking notes with references in gujarati. it sped up my learning process 2x while my french classmates were still going “BUT WHY IS IT LIKE THAT”. 

PRACTICAL GRAMMAR // THEORETICAL GRAMMAR

if you plan to learn more languages in the future, this will be so valuable. sometimes a phrase i learn in russian doesn’t make sense in its french explanation, but a phrase in english might use the same logic. bam, put down the translation in english then. you get what i’m saying? the more languages you learn, the easier it gets to learn languages. 

now if you’re a digital learner, i’ve got great news for you. duolingo and anki are your best friends. duolingo’s memed to hell and has a system that might not work for everyone, but they’ll do the brunt work of compiling grammar notes for you in the beginnings/ends of their lessons. note those down and transform them into anki flashcards, and you can learn grammar concepts without doing 20 exercises. (do those exercises if you can, though, nothing beats mindless practice.) now anki is an intimidating-looking but actually super intuitive app that basically builds digital flashcards for you and shows them to you in a rhythm based on your own learning speed. it’ll show you the front of a card, let’s say merde. you say the english translation out loud, shit, and hit enter. correct! was that easy? anki’ll show it to you in 10 minutes. hard? it’ll show you in 1 minute. super easy? merde won’t come up again until tomorrow. eventually you get so good at it that you can bury a card for 2 months. anki will also show you the same cards reversed, which is harder but trains you better. you’ll see shit and have to remember what it’s called in french, which is more difficult than you’d think it is. 

you can use anki for more than just vocab, like i mentioned. it’s a little tricky learning to convert grammar concepts into front/back flashcards, but you can do it. for example, here’s a sample of one of my russian grammar cards: 

front ^^

back once i hit enter^^

see? not that difficult. now don’t be an idiot like me who manually entered every single flashcard into anki. you can find pre-made packages online (but you can’t guarantee they’ll be correct) or you can make your own without killing your fingers. what you wanna do is open up a spreadsheet and make two columns, A for front of the card and B for back. it’ll look like this:

then you’re gonna save that spreadsheet as a .CVS (comma separated values) and import that into anki. bam, your flashcards are made for you with half the effort. there’s also a script floating around somewhere to make excel translate words automatically for you, but i don’t recommend that unless they’re really easy words. google translate can fuck up. reverso is your friend. 

you need to review your anki cards every day. it’ll take less and less time as you go along. i can review 300 russian cards in 15 minutes now. but you need to keep the rhythm going. download ankiapp and sync your cards, review them on commutes or in the hallway or whatever. trust me, it’s magic. 

apart from this, if a traditional textbook helps, go for that. i’ve always used textbooks and workbooks, more as supports than as principal methods, but it does help. it’s structured and organised and these people know how to train you. bescherelle is a good go-to for french. 

media is always a great way of immersion too, until you get to the country itself. it’ll show you how french people speak french. when i first came to france i didn’t have that experience and even though i spoke an arguably decent amount of french when i got here, it was like, if this is french then what the fuck was i learning in high school. if you like watching movies this is your chance. watch the classics first so that you can get an idea of french pop culture. amélie (though the pop culture aspect here is about shitting on it) and les intouchables, for starters. watch your favourite films, first subbed, then subbed and dubbed, then just dubbed. i watched all ten seasons of friends with french subs, it was wild. with music you want to start off with some indie-ish singers since they will universally sing softer and slower, making things easier to understand than idk, la tribu de dana. (if you’re into bts there’s a hilarious video of their baepsae choreo set to la tribu de dana.) anyway - angèle, cœur de pirate, céline dion, fréro delavega, uhhh that fucking french sufjan stevens. what’s his name. VIANNEY. don’t fucking listen to biglo and oli or like, fatal bazooka right away. you will not understand shit. i barely understand it. white people are wild. ooh listen to stromae. orelsan too, he’s a rapper but he has a relatively clean diction imo. he also sang the french opening for OPM. they call him orelsan-san in japan.

last but not the least: if you have the opportunity to interact in french with people, DO IT. native speakers will do their best to help you and be kind about it. people who learned french might sometimes be assholes from experience. it’s a whole superiority complex thing, and very hypocritical. anyway - online or IRL, wherever you can practice your french, do it. it’ll be immensely helpful. there’s nothing like the frustration of not being able to express simple things to get you motivated to get better. do your best to immerse yourself - changing the language on your devices can make a difference too. 

i think that’s all i have and again, i’m sorry for taking this long to finally deliver, thanks for your patience! if you have any specific questions don’t hesitate to hit me up, on anon or not. 

good luck - it’s not going to be the easiest but nothing is as gratifying as beginning to understand the workings of a language. you’re gonna love it!

#teesta talks for ts #uni tag #anons #replies

[usodanee]

Why do you think the History of Hope’s Peak Academy was in Ouma's lab? It's weird how Saihara didn't follow up on this even in the trial

Hey anon, thanks for the question! Let’s dig right in then? Spoilers for V3 below, but since the question is already a spoiler you knew that.

Okay, without keeping this too long, this answer might disappoint you a little since it’s not based on a crazy theory or whatever, but I think it was placed there intentionally, but it didn’t have much to do with Ouma. I’m gonna give you a few theories I think are the most plausible answers. 

First of all, let’s start with Ouma’s lab, which is hidden until the very last chapter. It’s the very last ultimate lab we uncover, minus Amami’s lab, but Amami’s lab would have opened at an earlier point in time if Amami had stayed alive. Ouma’s however was unintentionally uncovered by Kiibo when the entire school was wrecked, and it’s likely to assume that if Kiibo hadn’t started destroying things we would have gotten another treasure from Monokuma to unlock Ouma’s lab as the final area. 

Now as to why Ouma of all people was meant to have their lab revealed after everyone else… there’s no right answer to that. My theory is that it has to do with Ouma’s character and what he was meant to be, as it is very clear that Ouma was always meant to be set up as some kind of villain. With set up I mean, intended by Shirogane and the rest of Danganronpa, which is why Ouma eventually did what he did, as things got more complicated and the group was more and more manipulated by the circumstances presented to them. Ouma, as he acknowledges himself, was going up against forces he had no control over. Nobody was truly able to trust him, and so began to work on his own to stop the mastermind and the killing game, which eventually led to the events of Chapter 4 and 5. However, while I feel like things were intentionally set up to make Ouma a suspicious person (as his personality as a liar was also a set up, and liars are generally hard to trust) what went beyond their planning was that Ouma claimed to be the mastermind in order to stop the real mastermind. It’s a big vague and up to interpretation to what kind of extend personalities and plotlines were set up, but it’s very obvious that Ouma, at some point, went against what Team Danganronpa wanted out of his character, as even the real mastermind, Shirogane, couldn’t see through his trick in Chapter 5. 

So in short, Ouma was meant to be a suspicious person, perhaps even meant to be some sort of fake mastermind, but Shirogane was always meant to be the true mastermind and I do believe that it was also intended for her to reveal the stuff about “everything is fiction” at some point, since it was her main argument to drive everyone into despair in the final trial. What went wrong however was Kiibo blowing the entire place up, since his “inner voice” was cut off, and Ouma and Momota working together to stop the true mastermind in Chapter 5. 

That’s what I assume, so with that in mind I’d like to look at how the game was supposed to go down if none of this would have happened. Let’s say Ouma had survived Chapter 5 because he didn’t try to stop the mastermind, and an entirely different murder took place with an entirely different culprit, motive and victim. Let’s pretend Ouma wasn’t involved in any of these events and Kiibo hadn’t taken damage from Momota’s failed execution.In that case the remaining survivors (now including Ouma) would have likely gotten another item to explore the academy and perhaps found an item to unlock the pathway to Ouma’s lab. 

Let’s say at that point, even if Ouma wasn’t involved in the events of Chapter 5, people were still suspicious of him. And then they found that lab. First of all, it raises questions as to the extend of Ouma’s talent, as obviously the silly wigs and toys and cartoon villain-esque set up would have perhaps given the impression that Ouma wasn’t as evil as he seemed. Perhaps that was meant to be another plottwist? The suspicious guy is actually just a silly little clown boy! But we can’t be sure about it, as even when we discover the lab in the game as it is, it’s not until Saihara checks Ouma’s motive video, we get a 100% confirmation that Ouma’s talent is not what it seems. 

I’m talking a lot, but it boils down to the fact that I think the History of Hope’s Peak Academy was placed in that room at the very beginning, much like Amami’s survivor’s perk video was placed in his lab before the game even started. So let’s talk about Amami for a quick second.

Amami is the survivor of V2 and was allowed to send himself a message he unfortunately never got since he never reached his lab. Monokuma mentions however that since Amami died, his lab has been closed off for everyone so it’s unlikely someone went inside while the game was running. The laptop with the video was placed there with the intention that Amami would eventually watch it, while also letting him know that he himself failed. Amami, before his memories were manipulated at the start of V3, entered another Danganronpa game with the intention to stop Danganronpa. As Amami in the video mentions however, that if he’s able to watch this message, it means he already failed (as the game has been going on already and many people died already) I feel like the video was meant for Amami alone. Giving him the full message and a general idea of who he was and what his intention was before entering the killing game, but placing this message in a place unaccessable until a few killings happened is cruel. It’s like saying “You finally got it, but it’s too late now!” And would have probably gotten to poor Amami. 

Besides, we have to remember what it means for Team Danganronpa, that their survivor from V2 has the intention to stop Danganronpa in general. They wanna keep going with Danganronpa for another 50 seasons and this teenage boy wants to stop them? Of course they’d set it up in a way that the circumstances made it basically impossible for him to succeed. Even if he saw that message, people had already died. Poor Amami man I love that dude. 

Okay, back to Ouma then. So if Amami’s video was placed there intentionally for him to see it if he survives this long, just to let him know his original intention failed, then I can assume that the History of Hope’s Peak Academy was placed intentionally in Ouma’s lab too. Though… I don’t think this book was placed for Ouma in particular, but rather for everyone else besides Ouma. I’m gonna explain.

So, as said, let’s assume Ouma made it through Chapter 5 and his lab opened up normally, however it was intentioned to open up. That means everyone, Ouma, Saihara, and everyone else, has access to it now and can explore it. Unless idk, Ouma was the first one to see it and took the book and hid it somewhere, it’s likely that everyone else got to see it too. Everyone else was already working together at that point too, so if something this suspicious showed up, surely they would have shared it. 

And this is where things get a bit messy because there are multiple possibilities in my opinion.

So all of the flashback lights people got until that point didn’t talk about Hope’s Peak at all. Perhaps for the 53rd game of Danganronpa, they really intentioned the whole weird Gopher Project backstory, but I have my doubts. We see the flashback room in Chapter 6 and get a general idea as to how flashback lights are made. We also get to know that the memories have been made up the entire time, the Gopher Project memories as much as the Hope’s Peak Academy memories. As a quick reminder: They only got the Hope’s Peak Academy memories AS A RESULT of what Ouma did in Chapter 5. Everyone was basically stuck in depression hell because Ouma was revealed to be the “mastermind”, the outside world is dead, etc. The reason they got a new flashback light with Hope’s Peak Academy memories was to motivate the cast and keep going. Basically, because the show must go on. So it makes me wonder if they had gotten that particular flasbhack light without all of these reveals too. Or of they had stuck with the Gopher Project story, as these two clearly don’t mix. We don’t know, but we can assume that Shirogane was desperate for the group to go on after what happened, and that’s why they got the flasbhack light at all. If the contents would have been the same if Ouma hadn’t done what he did? We don’t really know.

We do know however that it’s a possibility either way, as the flashback lights could create basically everything. Whatever kind of memory was convenient at that moment, they could make it. So in the end there’s no real way to tell as to what extend everything was planned and what was improvised because of Ouma’s plan to rebel against the mastermind. As with a lot of things with V3, we just don’t know what’s the truth for sure. 

Another possibility I considered is that there was some sort of way for Shirogane to access Ouma’s lab and put the book there AS A RESPONSE to what happened in Chapter 5. Since you know, it was her flashback light who led everyone to believe Ouma worships Junko Enoshima, and Ouma and Momota both didn’t even know who she was lmao. So if we assume Shirogane only mentioned Hope’s Peak Academy at all out of desperation because everyone was just laying in bed and dying, then perhaps she planted this “evidence” to further present Ouma as a worshipper of Junko Enoshima. 

Lastly, if we put those two ideas together, there’s also the idea that Shirogane planned to mention Hope’s Peak Academy at some point right at the beginning. As I mentioned above, I do believe the whole “Everything is just a story and all of your memories are fake!” was supposed to be the big plottwist in the end. It was always meant to be that way, it’s just that the way that led up to it wasn’t entirely how Shirogane planned. 

So if we assume that, then this was how the game was likely going to be run, according to Shirogane’s plansThe killing game starts, Amami might or might not make it until he can see his own lab and see that he was the survivor of the previous game, everyone keeps getting memories of the Gopher Project, Ouma is set up to be a suspicious person and people start to assume he is the mastermind but he is not, everyone eventually finds Ouma’s lab and the History of Hope’s Peak Academy and perhaps gets a flashback light of it to further “prove” that Ouma is a remnant of despair, the whole Ouma being a remnant of despair being revealed to be a lie by the true mastermind Shirogane and it’s revealed that every memory has been fake and they were part of a show all along.

Something like that. It makes sense in my opinion that the whole plottwist was always meant to be “we’re all in a show” because of Amami’s survivor’s perk and also Kiibo’s entire existence. It also makes them feel very hopeless and powerless but I mean we all know that best boy Saihara didn’t take any of that shit in the end (which also went against Shirogane’s plans, obviously) 

Also, if things really went according to the plan I mentioned above, then Ouma himself would have gotten the flashback light about Hope’s Peak Academy too. We all know that flashback lights are able to change entire personalities, so I do believe Ouma could have ACTUALLY become a remnant of despair if he was hit by that flashback light. And everyone else would have likely believed he’d been a remnant of despair since the beginning, since Ouma was intentionally set up to be at the very least suspicious.

Okay then, long answer short: 

I think it’s possible that the History of Hope’s Peak Academy was placed in Ouma’s lab at the beginning of the game. If that’s the case, I think it was with the possible plottwist in mind that they could make Ouma out to be a remnant of despair, as he himself would have believed so too if he was exposed to a flashback light that made him a Junko worshipper. However we do know the Hope’s Peak Academy memories don’t line up with the Gopher Project story and don’t line up with the History of Hope’s Peak entirely. I think even these “errors” were intended however, to give them a hint to the ACTUAL real plottwist, that ALL memories they’ve been getting were fake. 

So Ouma was meant to be set up as a fake villain, everyone would have been focused on him for a while until it was revealed neither the memories of Hope’s Peak nor the memories of the Gopher Project were real. Shirogane is the real mastermind, not Ouma, and this was all part of a show. 

The other (unlikely imo) possibility is that Shirogane put the book there as a response to Ouma’s actions in Chapter 5 and it was more spontaneously put there than anything else. I believe the other possibility is more likely though. Ouma was meant to be a fake villain, a fake mastermind, and that’s why the memories and the book were placed where they were placed.

I hope this was understandable to some extend lmao this got long and messy but there you all go. 

#kokichi ouma #ouma kokichi #v3 spoilers #new danganronpa v3 #rantaro amami #[ ooc ] #analysis

[tkmedia]

Have ‘morally reprehensible’ Italy peaked too early?

Get your views on Italy and much more in to [email protected]… Italy v Belgium I enjoyed both games of football last night but in particularly the Italy v Belgium game with so much attacking intent on both sides. What I do not understand is how Italy get away with so much, I guess I would call it cheating. It gets called gamesmanship or the dark arts but it amounts to the same thing. It was highlighted perfectly by the BBC commentators at half time and full time in relation to Immobile where, as ex-pros, they were all laughing and joking about his antics. Would this be the reaction if the game was against England? I suspect not. Many years ago, John Nicholson wrote an excellent article about a mate of his (probably a bass player or a drummer) who got away with things because of who he was and John likened this to Italian Football and the then Italian president Berlusconi. By John’s reasoning, Italy and their president got away with things that other countries/presidents couldn’t because it was expected of them. This still seems to be the case and they have almost become a parody of themselves. I have no affiliation with Spain but I do hope that they get past this highly skilful but morally reprehensible Italian team. Gwarrior (LCFC) Italy peaking Anything can happen in the semi against Spain, and I’m sure the best team will win, but is there anybody out there who still thinks Italy peaked too early? Dario (gutted for Spinazzola, he’s been immense) Club team Italy play like a really well drilled club team despite playing a very different game to the Italy I’ve always known (apart from excellent game management/dark arts). How does an international team do that? Aidan, Lfc (Based on my 1 game experience of watching Doku, and limited football knowledge, I confidently suggest Liverpool should sign him) Quick Euro thoughts… – Spain’s Pedri is an absolute talent, could easily see him becoming the talisman of Barcelona once Lionel Messi does leave – Switzerland did themselves proud and a few of their team put themselves forward for a potential summer move, Yan Sommer anyone? – Italy could just win this whole thing, really impressive blend of old style Italy and new style – Ciro Immobile with the finest acting since Luis Suarez against Norwich – Is Roberto Martinez actually a good manager because I just can’t tell – Jeremy Doku is going to be yet another player Rennes make an insane profit on in a short space of time Mikey, CFC Chip on England’s shoulder… I used to wonder why so many people dislike England during International tournaments. I now understand because I’ve joined the queue. It’s so frustrating and annoying to hear the English media seemingly proclaim England the best team in the world because of one victory…ONE VICTORY…against a team you all claimed were no longer the force they use to be. Suddenly, every other team has a deficit and only England is going from strength to strength… Really?…REALLY!!! The worst thing is you have been playing the worst football this tournament has seen(Yes it’s the worst. If you have the best attack in the tournament like you claim, you shouldn’t be parking your team’s aeroplane on the pitch). Nelson (I can’t wait for Ukraine to give you guys a thorough trashing so things can go back to normal.) Lagos. KDB When the pressure is on in the biggest games, the great players stand up and make a difference. Not for the first time, Kevin De Bruyne was nowhere to be seen when playing on the big stage. Jamie, Eire

Dropping Sterling… First off, let me begin by saying I am not a fan of Raheem Sterling. He wouldn’t be on my fantasy team and I can’t understand why Southgate likes him so much. However, he is the leading goal scorer for England in the tournament and seems to be on a hot patch. How does dropping him make any sense? What other team would drop their leading goal scorer going into an important game? I would drop Kane, who let’s be honest has been woeful. Was not his goal also a tap-in? Yet the bias media celebrated the goal like it was some magical work of art. For Spurs yes he is magic, for England he has been below par. This same media is debating whether to start Grealish, he is England’s best player. He changed the last game as soon as he came on. I do think England will have enough for Ukraine, but Denmark will be a tough battle and could be the end of the road for England. Christian Gooner – Toronto Sterling right of reply… Enjoyed the replies to my Sterling email, less so the comments baselessly calling me part of the ‘Brexit/boo the knee crew’ and suggesting my analysis of some relative weaknesses of a footballer is based on ‘hatred’ – inaccurate, weird and offensive, ‘Luxongo’ et al. Sterling is a very impressive man on and off the pitch and has suffered deplorable abuse of all kinds – but it doesn’t make him (or anyone else) above fair criticism of his standard of play, nor does it mean anyone criticising his play should be associated with that abuse. Still, it’s useful to know how people must feel when they are ‘no-platformed’. Anyway – some perfectly reasonable opposing opinions (and it’s ok to disagree – I think?), but I have to take issue with Rob saying ‘ You simply cannot choose “whatabouts” over “reality”’. It seems he’s essentially saying that if you win, no one should ask: ‘what if we changed this, would we be better?’. A main point of my email was that if you rest on your laurels and don’t go through that exercise, eventually you are likely to come unstuck, just as we did in 2018. If you go through it and the answer is ‘no, we’d be no better’ then fine, but don’t stick your fingers in your ears and sing la-la-la at the process. I like John G’s comparison to Linker and Greaves because Sterling has obviously done well to be in a position to score his goals. There’s plenty of merit in that view if the idea is that Sterling and Kane are an old fashioned front two with Sterling as the poacher, but is that really the way people think we’re playing and the main role people expect Sterling to play? The other problem is that in 1990 Lineker played in an XI with Beardsley, Waddle, Platt and Gascoigne. Not quite the seven defensive players we deployed in the last 16. If it wasn’t already a long email, I would have said yesterday that I’m more (but not completely) in favour of playing Sterling if we revert to an attacking four for the rest of the tournament, but in a 5-2-3 there is pressure on Sterling to create and, as Derek points out, we create a ‘paucity’ of chances with him as one of our attackers, with a number of promising scenarios breaking down as a result of his decision making and/or poor touch (something that’s pretty hard to prove or disprove with stats). Anyway, assuming Southgate persists with Sterling, obviously I hope I am proved wrong – it’s just that there’s a difference between what I hope and what I think. Shappo The real ambition in the tournament With the hands of time ticking inevitably towards another great sadly leaving the game, it’s clear that one man at the Euros is seizing the world stage to show that he’s ready to take over. In a match filled with stars, only one has stepped up to make it about them. No hesitation, confidence in spades – he’s stolen the show. Michael Oliver is clearly the next Mike Dean. Ryan, Bermuda (a normal human being would err on the side of a yellow and go to VAR, but never Oliver or the great Deano. Own those game-ruining mistakes I say!) Time for a Sin Bin? Football is an evolving sport. VAR is becoming less intrusive as we get used to it. But for me it is the acceptance of constant fouls that now needs addressed. Trips, pushes, niggles that stop the game and often stop real attacking opportunities, but are not bookable until about ten have been let go. So time for a 10 minute sin bin. A punishment that will impact on the game, give the perps a real disadvantage, and stop them doing it. The evidence is there from rugby. The ref warns then bins. It would make football a better game. Tim Haaland dreams… Imagine this: Haaland stays put in Dortmund this season.  His goals output next season drops with Sancho’s departure. (Haaland’s father reportedly went “F**k…” upon hearing confirmation of Sancho’s transfer to Man U”.) Man U goes on a deeper run in CL say semi-finals… What are chances Haaland joins Man U next summer -to re-unite with the man that assisted the most for his goals, and with the man who coached him in the youth ranks?  Many ifs, but one can dream… Lionel, Singapore Salzburg is in Germany? Hi there, I’m not taking issue with Lee’s general point about the BuLi being a less physical league , but Takumi Minamino signed for Liverpool from Austrian side Red Bull Salzburg. Austria hasn’t been a part of Germany since, well, some unpleasantness that is rarely discussed in the British tabloids, and certainly hasn’t been mentioned at all recently… Dara O’Reilly, London Souey Anyone who doesn’t have a man crush on Graeme Souness is made of stone. BB Read the full article

[airconditioningservicecontr-blog]

Air Conditioning Service Contractor For Hire in Vancouver

Air Conditioning Service Contractor For Hire in Vancouver

We have found this post about HVAC Repair directly below on the internet and believe it made good sense to share it with you over here.

What’s the cheapest way to heat your home this winter?

We all want to keep our homes nice and warm in winter, without spending a fortune. To find out the best way to save on heating, we did some research into the pros, cons and costs of electricity, gas and wood.

Find out which is the most cost effective and efficient way to heat your home this winter.

Electricity

Startup costs

You can buy a cheap fan heater, which is very efficient for warming a room quickly, for under R200. A 9-fin oil heater costs around R800. The better quality the heater, the more you will pay.

Cost of electricity

The heat energy of a heating device is measured in kilowatts (kW). The current cost of electricity in Johannesburg is R1.24 per kW. A 9-fin oil heater or an elctric fan uses around 2kW in an hour, so at R1.24 per kW, it will cost you R2.48 per hour.

Remember, though, that during peak times (between 07:00 and 10:00 and 17:00 and 21:00 on weekdays) in certain municipalities in winter, electricity can be billed at 2.5 times the standard rate. This Time of Use Tariff means that you’ll be paying R6.20 to use a heater during these times.

Heat generated

In South Africa, our heaters are limited by the type of power they can draw from our plug points, so the maximum heat they can generate is 3kW. However, as most of our heaters are imported, the maximum they can generate is 2kW, in line with European limitations.

Pros

Electric heaters are available in a range of sizes, functionality, cost and heat efficiency. In addition, the costs of heating a room with electricity are not overly high. And it’s convenient - as long as the power’s on, it is always available at the flip of a switch.

Cons

Electric heaters are dependent on the Eskom power supply, which means that if there is no power, you will have no heat. Certain types of heater – oil heaters, for instance – take a long time to warm up. Other types – like bar heaters – give a more immediate radiant heat, but there is a risk of burning yourself or even starting a fire. Electric heaters do tend to dry out the air but a humidifier or bowl of water nearby will solve that.

Gas

Startup costs

A portable gas heater starts in the region of R800 to R1 000. A 9kg gas bottle requires a deposit of R300 and the gas itself costs R200 for each refill.

Cost of gas

It is calculated that a 9kg gas canister, which costs around R200, will be used up in around 30 hours – so that’s R6.67 an hour.

Heat generated

Mobile gas heaters can give out over 4kW of heat. You can manually adjust their temperature to give out less heat, and thus use less gas.

Pros

Gas heaters deliver instant heat and are therefore very efficient at warming a room – or your cold hands!

Cons

The costs of gas and gas heaters are comparatively quite high. Also, gas heaters consume oxygen and so the room must be well ventilated. And you will have to arrange for gas to be delivered to your home, or take your gas bottles to be refilled.

Wood-burning stove

Start-up cost

David Wantling, a heating expert and the managing member of J Macdonald and Sons (trading as macD Fire House), says that a wood-burning stove or a closed combustion fireplace costs between R10 000 and R25 000, with installation of around R5 000.

Note that the following calculations do not include open fireplaces, which are very inefficient; only around 15% to 20% of the heat radiates into the room while the rest goes up the chimney.

Cost of wood

The cost of fuel for a wood-burning stove is far less than the cost of using electricity or gas. A bag of hard, well-seasoned wood containing around 25 pieces costs around R45. David estimates that a fire loaded with six pieces will burn for more than six hours at a moderate level. This means that the stove will consume about one piece of wood per hour at a cost of R1.80 per hour for an output of 6 to 8kW of heat. The cost is therefore around 30c per kW.

Heat generated

Closed wood-burning stove have an efficiency of up to 80%. Wood stoves’ heat outputs are generally rated as: small – 3kW to 6kW, medium – 5kW to 9kW, and large – 8kW to 12kW, and very large - above 12kW. The size of the space would determine the size fireplace you need.

Pros

Wood-burning stoves give off a lot of warmth very efficiently, and wood is an inexpensive fuel to burn in this way.

Cons

The start-up costs of buying and installing a wood-burning stove are fairly steep. And you will have to make arrangements to purchase wood.

The conclusion

Wood-burning stoves, while the most expensive to purchase, burn wood at a slow rate while generating a lot of heat, and are the most-cost effective way to heat a room.

Electric heaters are the cheapest to purchase, and their running costs are the second cheapest after wood stoves.

Mobile gas heaters are generally more expensive than their electric counterparts and their fuel is more costly than electricity and wood.

Of course, most people make the decision to heat their homes based on the equipment that they already have available and the convenience of getting hold of the right type of fuel. However, with the rising costs of all types of fuel, it is worth considering the financial implications of any heating solution that you opt for, so be sure that you go into any purchase or installation with your eyes open – especially with the wide range of products and models on the market.

https://www.1life.co.za/blog/heat-home

Pioneer Plumbing has built a reputation of honesty with our long time returning customers. We’ve found that “doing the right thing” in all aspects of our company has brought us to where we are today, and will continue to guide us into the future. Don’t hesitate to call and ask us any plumbing, heating, ventilation, or gas related questions. Chances are if you have a tricky issue, we can solve it.

We have a few goals for our clients. One is to be available for you. It is very uncommon that when you call us we are unable to make it within the same day. We give our repeat customers priority service so if you’ve used us before and you have an emergency, we are going to do what we need to, to get someone there.

Two is to be upfront and honest. From our quotes to our service techs on site, we don’t like to beat around the bush. We will let you know our concerns, our recommendations, and our opinions on how we would handle each situation as if it were our own residence where the problem occurred. We won’t tell you the job is only a 2 hour repair when we have had situations where it turned into an all day repair.

Three is to stand behind our installations and repairs. With mechanical work, it is very common for jobs to get larger or go sideways as you get into them. If we give you a quote we will stand true to the price, if we complete a job for you and you are unhappy with the finished product, we will come back and make it right. In return, all we ask is that you communicate with our office respectfully and honestly so that we can make sure at the end of the day you are happy with our services!

So next time you have a plumbing, heating, cooling, or gas question, repair, or installation you would like quoted, give us a call! Were here to help.

HVAC in Vancouver

  Why Heating Repair is Bound To Happen When Up Keep Is Ignored

There are many ways to maintain your furnace system. Chances are good the system shall be running full-time in the winter. In fact, it is usually on more than it must be because it is unable to maintain an efficient atmosphere. When trouble shooting and optimizing your heating segment of your furnace system, there are various areas to look at.

The Air Filter

This part is what gets mentioned the most in chats about heating maintenance, but is sometimes neglected. If there is a obstruction, you either run the risk of not disbursing heat properly or perhaps starting a fire.When the air filter gets dirty air cannot flow through either which suggests the furnace must work harder and could also mean a likelihood of fire. If the system is not circulating heat effectively, it is working harder. You want eliminate any exposure to fire. Neither scenario is good for your wallet or your well-being..

Assess The Blower

Have a look at the blower blades to ensure they are free of crap. A messy fan will work harder to blow the air around and of course use higher energy to preserve the temperature level you choose it at. Therefore strain on your furnace system and your budget since more fuel is needed to continually run the blower.

Check To See That The Fire Damper Works

Next, look at the fire damper to ensure it is running the right way. This will ensure that the risk of fire is reduced and that the system works more efficiently.

The Flex Duct

Air ducts can get damaged over the years. If a duct has collapsed or become blocked, the system will believe that the right temperature has been achieved, which will be false. Finally your system will be working harder to maintain your house cool while you continue lowering the thermostat to reach comfortable settings.

Make Sure The Insulation Is Secure

Insulation is often forgotten but is one of the most common reasons why an furnace system does not work properly. Be sure to check the insulation and confirm it has never become loose and resulted in gaps involving the ductwork and the exterior. If this has happened, your system will not reach optimum temperatures and work overtime to attempt to accommodate.

Air Ducts Need To Be Sealed

Make sure the ductwork is hooked up everywhere to all pieces. These detachments can cause space in the air flow and result in a loss of hot air in your home, since it will be escaping through the gaps.

Return Air Inlets And The Zone Dampers

Be sure that that return air intakes are free of dust and debris so air can easily flow. Check your dampers verifying that they are in the right spot. Through the year we may change the positioning of the damper for many reasons (i.e. getting into a tight space or arranging for storage). For a properly working system, check to see that your dampers are in the best spot.

If that is a little too much to handle yourself, we suggest you hire an area plumbing contractor certified for furnace and heating repair. You will find a number of heating companies around you who can take care of all of this quite competently. For the right results you can set up annual upkeep for furnace and the heating people will call yearly to take care of it.

https://www.google.com/maps?cid=16109373416364653742 https://vancouver-plumber.business.site/

https://www.pioneerplumbing.com/

Pioneer Plumbing & Heating Inc

626 Kingsway, Vancouver BC, V5T 3K4 Phone: [phone]

Business Hours: Sunday Open 24 hours Monday Open 24 hours Tuesday Open 24 hours Wednesday Open 24 hours Thursday Open 24 hours Friday Open 24 hours Saturday Open 24 hours

  I stumbled upon that blog entry about Home Furnace Installation when doing a lookup on the internet. Loved our content? Please quickly share it. Help someone else find it. Thanks so much for your time invested reading it.

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[footbaliimagines]

attention (a hector bellerin imagine)

this is the sequel to happy birthday (if you haven’t read that yet or want to refresh considering I posted it about 45 years ago it’s linked here) but more so from hector’s perspective this time. it’s vaguely based on attention by charlie puth (an absolute BANGER) and I hope you like it :+)

maybe you just hate the thought of me with someone new

you just want attention

you’re just making sure I’m never getting over you

It’s July, the peak of summer, and the weather outside is humid and surprisingly warm for London. Hector and his friends are celebrating for one last time before the new season begins, as a final hurrah and opportunity to go out and not worry about the consequences before the return of strict dietary regimes, a cycle of unending training sessions and weekends busy driving up and down the country. The club is hot and sweaty, with the thumping bass and sporadic bursts of bright light not helping the humidity in the slightest.

She’s wearing that dress again.

And she’s swaying side to side, head tilted back ever so slightly, hair tumbling down her back in messy, loose waves and hips moving to the beat. The flashing lights of the club are reflecting off the silver of her earrings and her dress is gripping her curves, taunting him, teasing him, as she sucks on her straw. It’s an innocent action but Hector’s mind can’t help but wander elsewhere.

He wasn’t expecting her to come tonight.

(It’s probably a good thing, too, a blessing in disguise that he was unaware, because otherwise he probably would have convinced himself that turning up at all was a bad idea full stop, and that staying at home, wallowing in Game of Thrones, would be much more appealing.)

Hector clenches his fists and leans back on the sofa behind him. His friends are surrounding him and laughing and knocking back shots, slapping his shoulder and his knee and whenever a particularly good song comes on, jumping to their feet. All he can do, on the other hand, is watch her.

It feels creepy, and he knows that deep down he shouldn’t be staring at her so intently, but coming out and wearing a dress like that and dancing like that so nearby meant that anything else would have been virtually impossible.

She has to know what she’s doing.

(She must know.)

And it must be on purpose.

Hector can’t help but muse that it’s all probably a massive cry for attention- and not just anyone in the club’s attention, because if this were the case he wouldn’t care and he’d be happy for her to go home with anyone she pleases- but his attention.

(She was doing a pretty damn good job at capturing it, if that were the case.)

She flips her hair over her shoulder and gives him a look, dipping her head forwards slightly. They’re standing metres away from each other, and the space of the dancefloor between them is littered with people, but she’s always had this funny habit of being the only person he could focus on in a crowded room. When they make eye contact again, she presses her lips together in a smile.

(Or rather, an attempt at a smile. It was more a mixture of a glare and a frown, and her eyes are burning into him to such an extent that he when he stands up to greet her, he nearly trips over his own feet.)

Her eyes are gleaming under the lights, shrouded in smoky eye makeup and narrowing slightly, captivatingly, as she sends a coy smile his way.

“I didn’t think you were coming tonight.”

They were familiar words, reminiscent of his birthday party and the last time they spoke, and he’s ready to burst out laughing at the coincidence when Little Mix start to play in the background again.

(Alex’s doing, probably.)

(He can’t say he blames him.)

“This is becoming quite the occurrence, isn’t it?”

Hector nods and exhales. “Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s been a while.”

“How have you been?”

“Fine.” She shrugs, dismissively and calmly. “Are you here with Emily?”

“No.” He replies, and he watches her ears prick up and her eyebrows raise slightly. “She, um, couldn’t make it tonight.”

“Ah,” She nods slowly, before convincing herself that they must have broken up and running with the assumption. There’s a hint of a smile on her face that makes Hector’s blood suddenly run hot. “That’s a shame.”

(To her, it really, really isn’t.)

“No, what I meant was that-.”

She continues, smugly, “You don’t have to explain. Some relationships don’t work out, it’s not a big deal.”

“We’re still together.” He clears his throat. “She’s just busy tonight. We’re still together.”

She grimaces. “That’s embarrassing. Sorry about that.”

He watches her eyes dart nervously around the room, everywhere apart from looking at him, and the smile she had previously adopted, that sadistic pleasure she had taken when thinking they had broken up, has dissipated entirely. Hector almost takes pleasure in watching her squirm.

“No worries.”

“So, you and Emily, then?”

Hector nods slowly, “She’s a friend of Calum’s. We met through him.”

“How long?”

“About a month, give or take a week, I guess.”

She compliments, “She’s lovely.”

(She’s not lying, and she knows deep down that it would be ridiculously unfair to harbour any bad feelings towards Emily.)

(But vodka is currently clouding her judgement, and it hurts, so much that sometimes she thinks she can’t breathe, and heartbreak has made her bitterer and angrier than she’d ever care to admit.)

Hector swallows, his throat dry and restricting his ability to breathe properly, and he runs a hand through his hair. It feels wrong, to talk about another woman with her, and it feels like cheating, in some weird, warped way, despite their current relationship being non-existent, or civil, at best. “Yeah, things are going great.” His voice cracks ever so slightly, revealing the lie he’s telling, but he swallows and nods quickly to play it off as a tickle in his throat.

In reality, things aren’t going so swimmingly. Arguments relating to his apparent inability to commit and disagreements about the direction in which their relationship was going were becoming increasingly common.

(But she of all people doesn’t need to know that.)

“I’m happy for you.” She looks across at him, and maybe it’s the vodka rushing to her head or maybe she’s finally accepting things, but she smiles at him and speaks, “I want you to be happy, Hec.”

(Her smile is sickly sweet, and he knows her too well to fall for it.)

“And I want you to meet Jack.”

The next thing Hector knows, there’s a 6”4 brunette stood next to her with his arm looped around her waist and his right hand offering a handshake. Hector watches his hand snake up around her ribcage and squeeze her side, and he’s almost certain he can taste vomit in the back of his throat. “Nice to meet you.”

She watches his face fall, and smugly asserts, “He’s training to become a surgeon.”

It produces a dull ache in his bones and an emptiness in his gut, and he nods and swallows, smiling forcibly. He’s almost as attractive as a man could possibly be, Hector muses, he’s tall, sculpted, handsome, and he’s virtually drowning in self-pity until he stumps up the courage to look at her again, and he notices the way that she doesn’t make proper eye contact with Jack or appear to listen to what he’s saying at all.

(It’s then, to Hector’s great satisfaction, that he realises Jack’s being used for nothing more than to piss him off.)

(And to his annoyance, it’s been 2 minutes and it’s already working.)

She turns to Jack, placing a well-manicured hand on his chest and fluttering her eyelashes, “Can you grab me another drink, baby?”

Hector leans back and smirks. If she seriously thought that this was going to grab his attention and get a rise out of him- well, he could watch this shit show all day. Jack nods, and wanders towards the bar, and she settles beside him. “He’s great, isn’t he?”

He rolls his eyes, narrowing his eyes and sighing, mock-dramatically, “Makes me wish Emily was here. She would have loved to see you again. God, she probably would have got on well with Jack too!”

“What a fucking shame that is.” She smiles, that sickly sweet, forced smile again, and turns to gesture to Jack again, who was queuing at the bar. “Did I mention that Jack was-“

“Actually, I was saying to Emily before-“

“I don’t want to fucking hear about Emily!” She squeaks out.

The outburst seems to shock her just as much as it does him, and she groans in embarrassment, leaning back against the wall and twiddling the straw of her drink between her fingers. It’s a tell-tale sign of nervousness, of backing down from their verbal battles, and he’s intrigued. When she speaks this time, her voice is softer, and it’s almost like she’s pleading. “Can we just not talk about Emily, please?”

“Why?

“I hate the thought of you with someone new. Thinking- no, knowing, and seeing with my own two eyes- that you’re getting over me is just a bit of a kick in the guts.”

“Yeah, because I’m having a great time sitting here watching you fawn over Jack too.” He rolls his eyes. Hector sighs, and he approaches her; both the familiarity of her perfume and the way that she slowly, carefully, shifts her body in his direction don’t go unnoticed by him. “But I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“Not getting over you.”

“Um-“

“And I’ve wanted to tell you that for a while now, but every time I hold back.” He shakes his head and sneers, “Because I know that’s exactly what you want. You want to watch me squirm and get me to admit to you that I still love you and that I’m not over you, and I-“

“Hector, what the fuck-“

He shakes his head and snaps, “I’m not stupid. Is that why you’ve come here tonight, in that kind of dress and with your makeup done all special, when I know for a fact that you hate clubs in this part of town? I can tell you’re after my attention, and I just wanted to say that it’s doing my fucking head in.”

“You are unbelievable.” She scoffs and shakes her head, before placing her drink down on the table beside them. “I came here tonight because, believe it or not, I have friends here too! And funnily enough, how I dress and how I do my makeup are my own fucking choices, so I don’t think- no, I know- that you have zero right to talk to me like that.”

Her words sting slightly, and he winces before sipping gingerly at his beer. “You’re right. I was bang out of order, and I’m sorry. Sorry.”

She nods curtly, as if to acknowledge his apology but deem it unworthy of a response.

Hector can’t help but probe further, “But come on- he’s not really your boyfriend, is he?”

She scrunches up her eyebrows, and crosses her arms self protectively over her chest. The proximity between the two of them that is swiftly dashed, and she takes a step back. “Actually, he is.”

“You’re such a bad liar.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes, uncrossing her arms. “Well- he’s not my boyfriend boyfriend per se, but we’re still seeing-”

“I knew it.” Hector laughs and knocks back the rest of his beer, propping himself up with his right arm on the ledge between us. “I know you far too well to fall for your little white lies.”

There’s a change in the tone of his voice, and instead of spite there’s some fondness evident. The smile they exchange, a nervous, small smile, is the first of the night not to be laced with malice or another ulterior motive.  

She winces, feeling her heels pinch her toes, and leans onto the same ledge for support. Their arms are mere centimetres away from each other now, and the tension leaves his neck for the first time that night. “Still watching Game of Thrones?” She flashes her gaze up at him.

“Attempting to.” He chuckles. “It’s getting a bit stupid, and there are too many storylines. I can’t keep up.”

She giggles and teases, “Just because you can’t concentrate on more than one storyline at the same time doesn’t make a show stupid. It makes you stupid.”

A pleasant lull settles, but Hector’s still too wary to let himself relax entirely, given the way things ended last time. She dips her head, and whispers, glancing back up at him, “Hey- do you want to get out of here?”

He freezes and raises a single eyebrow, “But you have a boyf- that guy.” Hector gestures at Jack in the corner.

The way she smirks, and the subtle roll of her eyes, as if she’s diminishing any importance of Jack to her in the slightest, gives Hector the slightest inkling of hope. “That guy doesn’t mean anything to me. He’s nice and all, but the second we take things outside of the bedroom it’s like talking to a brick wall.”

“So- is he your boyfriend or not?”

“He certainly hasn’t stopped me from flirting with you all night, put it that way.” She rests her hand on his forearm lightly, and she cocks her head towards the exit. “And the fact that you have a girlfriend hasn’t stopped you either.”

“What are you implying?”

“What do you think I’m implying?”

She picks up her jacket in the crook of her arms, downs the remainder of her drink before tossing it to the table and grabs her handbag. When she smiles at him this time, it’s different, and it sends his stomach flipping. Her eyes are seductive, captivating, and when she runs her tongue over her top lip, Hector is pretty sure he momentarily forgets how to breathe. She leans down to his ear, and her perfume drifts over towards him, “Let’s get out of here.”

There’s an extra swing in her hips as she walks away.

(And Hector can’t help but follow her.)

ummmm am i dreaming or have i finally actually posted this

i know i’ve said this has been done for literally like months but every time i’ve re read my draft i’ve found things i didn’t like and you guys know how fussy i can be (there are still bits i want to change with this but i thought it’d be better to just bite the bullet and get on with it) i really hope you like this!!! as always please let me know what you think :)

millie xxx

#my writing #hector bellerin #hector bellerin imagine #hector bellerin fanfiction #footballer one shot #football imagine #footballer imagine #footballer imagines #arsenal fc imagines #arsenal fanfiction #footballer fanfiction #football one shot