#I need to get better at applying shadow wash

[gguk-n]

Fading Shadow (Lando Norris x ex-Reader)

Part 2 of Last Straw Inspired by this request

Summary- Y/N moved on. Lando is still stuck, on what they had and what he lost.

{Reader's POV}

The moment I landed back home, I felt relief wash over me when I cried in my mother's arms. I had been holding on to too much, it seems. My father brought my favourite food and we ate together and we laughed together. This was the therapy I needed. My siblings weren't very happy with Lando since they had seen everything unfold on social media but they were happy to have their sister back. I was happy to be back home. I needed this, I needed my people.

I decided I needed a change of pace, a change of scenery. I had been mourning my relationship while I was still in it. Now, I was a new me, I was going to do everything I wanted.

I applied at the company I always wanted to work at but due to there being no vacancies I was assigned a job in a different country and I was ready to take on the world. I knew Lando would never search for me, he never truly loved me but I still wanted to leave. I needed a fresh start.

{Lando's POV}

The silence after the break up was exactly what I needed, or so I thought. I could leave as I wished. I could go out whenever I wanted. I didn't have to explain myself to anyone. It's so much better to be single then to be tied down.

I didn't think I would ever miss Y/N, but I did. I remember exactly when I missed her for the first time; it was after a difficult race and I had finish decently with the shitty cards I had and I just wanted someone to tell me how well I did; but there was no one; no one who knew what I wanted to hear. I felt so alone even when I was surrounded by hundreds of people for the first time in a long time.

The second time I missed her was when I was stood on top of the top step of the podium. I wanted to have her around so I could share my highs with her. I didn't get a 'do you wanna go out to celebrate?' like the last two times and I aired her both time to party with random girls. Right now, I was in the club celebrating my third win of my career and season and I felt empty and alone. Not even the alcohol helped.

The house we lived in was a stark reminder of the time we spent together. All our dates we had. All the times she would teach me how to cook but we would always end up with a big mess and half cooked or burnt food since I would get distracted. In retrospect, I loved every second of it even though I never admitted it then. I love all the time we spent together or the laugh she would emit when I messed up. I missed her and I wish she was here; I was too stupid to admit it then but I do now.

Oscar was getting sick and tired of me using his phone to check on Y/N's social media accounts since she had blocked me every where. I would end up borrowing the other driver's phone to check, just in case. Until one day, her account stopped showing up for Oscar too. I went through almost everyone on the paddock's phone to see if she had blocked my friends. Turns out, she had deactivated her social media accounts; I realised that after one of the gossip pages posted about her deactivating her profiles, across all the platforms.

I would wake up from dreams about her and I would fall asleep to the thought of her. No woman interested me anymore; I wish I was this loyal when we were dating, when she could see that I loved her, not now when she couldn't even see I had changed.

My PR team was losing their shit when I tweeted that. I had to sit through a stupid meeting after everything. It was miracle I didn't start crying in the middle of the meeting.

People had started to notice I guess, since Carlos approached me. "Cabron, what's up?" he asked while I was lying on my couch after media day. "Nothing" I hummed. "I fucked up right?" I asked. "I can't say no" Carlos said. I laughed painfully. "I didn't know how good I had it until it was all gone. I'm an ass and I deserve everything I'm getting" I cried. Carlos comforted me, hugging me tightly. "I just wish she would talk to me, at least once. So, that I could show her that I've changed. I really have Carlos. I love her so much, it hurts" I cried into his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Lando" he said patting my back.

There's a saying, You don't know what you've got until it's gone. I was living that nightmare and I will never stop living it.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Short Frank Drabble

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: Frank is a sweetheart when you aren’t feeling well.

warnings: swearing (I guess?), Frank being sweet, chronic pain mentions

a/n: my chronic pain has been so bothersome this week so I wrote this as catharsis. I hope you all like it!

w/c: 1.2k

Standing barefoot in the sun-streaked kitchen, you let the soft breeze waft over you as it drifted through the open window. The sounds of the city were carried to you atop the wisp of air–the beeps of early morning traffic, the distant sounds of machinery from the nearest construction site. Louder than the Manhattan ambiance, the pair of songbirds nesting on your balcony chirped and twittered. It was beautiful, serene.

Yet, from your place in front of the sink, your teeth ground together as you sluggishly scrubbed at the pan in your loose grip. Every joint in your body was pulsing with agony–a consequence of an injury you never incurred. This wasn’t a new experience. In fact, it was quite common, which was why you were frustratedly washing dishes until your painkillers kicked in.

You had tried to hold out, but after three irritating days and two sleepless nights courtesy of this renewed pain, you’d caved and thrown back a pair of ibuprofen on top of your prescription. There were a handful of reasons that could have contributed to a flare-up, but that didn’t bring you any consolation. Your flare-ups were usually short, and you tended to have a better handle on them than the ineptitude you’d displayed this week.

Sighing heavily, you narrowed your eyes at the charred mark on the frying pan you were holding, setting it atop the sink’s lip to apply more pressure. Vigorously scouring dishes was probably only going to make your existence less bearable, but sitting down and wallowing as your body ached ferociously wasn’t an activity you wanted to partake in. Well, not for the third time in 24 hours.

Finally making some headway on the patch of burnt material on the pan, your face was firmly twisted with a scowl when you heard the deadbolt unlatch. As the door creaked open, you listened to your partner’s heavy footfalls down the hallway towards you.

“You’re home early.” You forced out a huff of a laugh, strained smile across your lips.

Striding over to you, Frank’s broad shadow landed on the sink as he wrapped his arms around you from behind. Squeezing you close, your back pressed flush against his chest, his chin tucking over your shoulder as he planted a kiss on your cheek.

“So? Last I checked, it ain’t a crime to run home to my girl.” He rasped deeply, tilting his forehead so it rested against your temple.

Shaking your head fondly, you leaned into Frank’s solid weight, allowing him to hold you upright. “You didn’t need to do that, Frank.”

“Who said I needed to? I wanted to, doll. Missed ya.” His voice quieted with the confession, your heart clenching with affection over his earnest tone.

“I missed you too. Always do.” You murmured, turning your face to kiss the bridge of his nose before turning back to the dishes.

“How long ya been outta bed, sweetheart?” Despite his best efforts, you spotted the concern bleeding into his words immediately.

Smile faltering, you gave a tiny shrug. “A bit. Wanted to get these done so I could cook something.”

“Shoulda told me you were hungry,” Frank frowned, stroking a thumb over your hip. “Woulda picked somethin’ up on my way back.”

“If I don’t cook the bacon in the fridge, I’ll forget about it again and it’ll go bad, so…” You trailed off, stifling a grimace at how weak the argument sounded.

Frank hummed softly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, thumb still tracing patterns into your soft skin. “Why don’t you go sit on the couch and let me finish these, yah?”

Blowing air through your nose, you felt a small burst of annoyance in your chest. “I’m almost finished. It won’t take much longer.” Your voice was tight as you tried to keep your aggravation from coloring your words. It wasn’t Frank’s fault you were in a shitty mood. He was being sweet. But the suggestion still rubbed you the wrong way.

“Hey, look at me, dollface.” Using a strong finger to draw your chin upwards, he moved his hand to cradle your jaw when your eyes met his. “I’m not askin’ to take over because you’re takin’ too long. You shouldn’t be dealin’ with this crap if it ain’t gonna help ya feel better.”

Chewing at your bottom lip, you felt the telltale prickle in your throat and tear ducts. Shying away from Frank’s intense gaze, you buried your face in his firm chest. “I can do it.”

“I know ya can, darlin’. You’re the strongest girl I know. I just don’t want ya to hurt yourself over some stupid shit like the dishes.” Cupping the back of your head, Frank held you close, shielding you from the world.

Clamping your teeth onto your lip to keep the tears welling in your eyes from falling, you didn’t respond. Frank’s jaw rubbed over your crown as he spoke again.

“Can’t feel good to be standin’ here, usin’ your hands, can it?” Lashes fluttering, you felt your cheeks grow damp as your emotions overwhelmed you.

“No.” You muttered, flexing your hands to lessen the throbbing of every joint within them.

“I ain’t gonna force ya to do anythin’, sweetheart. But these can wait until you’re feelin’ better.” Rocking you ever so slightly, Frank’s hands splayed over your back, rubbing gentle circles as he patiently waited for your decision.

“What about breakfast?” You pulled out of his embrace slightly to scrub at your face.

“I know I ain’t a genius, but I can cook a pan of bacon.” Frank chuckled, swiping a lingering tear from your chin.

“But you just got home,” You pouted, wrapping your arms around him again, nuzzling into his soft t-shirt.

“Exactly. I’m starvin’. Go sit down and I’ll make us some food.” With one final kiss to your forehead, Frank jerked a nod toward the living room. You didn’t protest when he withdrew his arms, stepping out of your embrace and towards the fridge, but you didn’t move either.

Raising an eyebrow at you, Frank cocked his head. “Did I say somethin’ wrong?”

Shaking your head fiercely, you dropped your gaze to your feet, bashfully shuffling in place. “No, just…”

“Just what, doll?”

You shrugged, insecurity churning within you. “You’re still in here.”

Smiling knowingly, Frank pulled the package of bacon and a carton of eggs from the ancient fridge, setting them next to the stove before holding up a finger. “Good point. Wait right there, sweetheart.”

Your eyes trailed after Frank as he paced towards your small dining room table. Lifting a single chair with ease, Frank carried it into the kitchen as if it was made of cardboard—setting it down to the right of the stove. “Better?”

Nodding sheepishly, you sank into the chair. “Thank you.”

Bending at the waist, Frank drew you into a kiss. “Always, sweet girl.”

Pulling your knees up onto the chair, you lay your chin atop them to watch Frank putter around the kitchen as he made breakfast. Though, this time, the smile on your face was genuine.

[silky-nereid]

☘ love like a broken pot || DARK CONTENT

yandere! crime lord x second hand in charge! reader/you

tw : minor & major injuries, manipulation, degradation of self-worth, intimidation and implied murder.

Yandere! Crime Lord who found you when you were nothing; a mere husk covered in scars from a previous crime lord that had been too rough with you and he took it as a challenge to rebuild you; a better you. 

Yandere! Crime lord who is not well-liked in the underworld because he’s known for taking disposable men that were traitors or new people that had either defied death under his wings because the other families would’ve killed them already.

Yandere! Crime lord who isn’t afraid of causing harm to you or to others that are teetering on the edge of betrayal because he’ll purposely step on past wounds of the crew for his benefit. 

He sat on the edge of the bathtub, wearing plastic gloves stained with various mixtures of colors on the once white tank top. Your stained hands applied the tin foil strips to the newly dyed pieces of hair. 

“You’re my favorite,” he said. “You know this, don’t you? You can talk, I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“I.. I know.” Your hands finished folding the last piece of tinfoil on his hair. “But what happened to Ja—“ 

“He betrayed me, he betrayed us,” he explained. “After that stunt he decided to take a swim. Don’t even mention those who betrayed us.”

Yandere! Crime lord who often dyes his hair strange colors and never lets you choose the colors because he has a dartboard to help him choose his dyes but you often have to go and buy the dyes for him.

Yandere! Crime lord who often patches your wounds that you got from missions that he sends you on and enjoys it when you bring back trophies for him to show that you complete the mission. 

Yandere! Crime lord who likes it more when you bring him simple trophies from the mission like a bloodied golden tooth, a switchblade that he eyed; the way it twirled in the hands of the person that didn’t deserve it, golden cufflinks that he could wear or rings that he could add to his fishbowl that he has; enjoys the weddings rings because they are pairs. 

He finished washing his hands, seeing you closing the trunk. Blood remained on your cheek, turning to him. His hand pulled you by the collar of your shirt, eyes stared into your very being; he could break you if he wanted too.

“You’re getting sloppy,” he threatened. “Too sloppy to be exact, next I’ll have the cops at my door because of your sloppiness. Do I need to get Marcus to do your job?“ 

“I’m not getting sloppy,” you confessed. “Just have too much on my plate.”

He let go of your collar, eyeing you up and down and a simple smile carved on his lips. 

Yandere! Crime lord who purposely little by little stops giving you the attention that you as you were slowly getting replaced by someone better than you but still keeps an eye on you somehow; has your schedule written somewhere. 

Yandere! Crime lord who enjoys seeing you wallow in your misery and how you’re discarded ever so quickly by other caporegrimes because you were chipping away at your own patience. 

Yandere! Crime lord who fails to notice the planted bugs inside of his gentleman’s lounge because he’s too busy answering the phone in the miniature barber shop. 

Your eyes looked at the ruins of the gentlemen's club and the hands that caused it. You didn’t mean it, didn’t you? You turned around seeing his long shadow on the floor, covering your hunched form and flipping the golden lighter open and close; eyes that threatened to burn your skin. 

“I didn’t give you an order to cause this.” He gestured to the blood trail that was smeared into the miniature barbershop. “Clean this up.” 

He went from behind the bar, disappearing for a moment and pulling a first aid kit. He walked towards you, handing you the first aid and his hand caressed your lower cheek and neck. Your eyes watered, hands trembling desperately clutching his sleeves and staining the sleeves with someone’s blood; it hurts…

“Why did you betray me?” He asked. 

He twisted the blade further causing a gasp escaping your lips. 

“Just to think I was going to let you finally go to a normal life,” he berated. “But you couldn’t keep your lips shut, singing like a canary to the police.” 

He pushed you away, watching you stumble around. He sat down next to your hunched wounded form, blood formed a small puddle around you and his hand tightly gripped your chin and turned it to face him. 

“You must not be feeling the pain.” He pressed on one of the many open wounds. “There you go.” 

Your blurred eyes watched them pull him away, the ringing in your ears continued. Unfamiliar warm hands that pulled you up onto emergency gurney and looking up at the dusk sky; seeing the colors fade into each other. You looked over to him while he was seemingly being handcuffed, placed into the cop car but he never broke eye contact.

[ohbo-ohno]

obsesseddd with the thought of kidnapped reader living in the cabin soap and ghost dragged her out to keep her in, being given colouring books and games as rewards for being the sweetest best behaved girl in the world, maybe they give her minecraft or lego’s as a way to distract her and keep her little mind busy while they work around you doing things around the house or fixing things, johnny lies on the sofa with you while you play, his face so close to yours asking you what your building and what each thing is and requesting a kiss every five seconds, making you giggle and blush because he just loves you so much and can’t get enough of you. he wants you in the house on the sofa playing games and colouring in all day every day for ever and ever because you’re his best sweetest most well behaved gorgeous girl. simon watches from wherever he’s standing working and is so proud of himself for finding something that is successfully distracting you enough to giggle and laugh and let soap kiss u all over ur face instead of seizing up or making an effort to get away. you’re settling in just fine and he couldn’t be more proud of you.

to me this is very much so giving DDlg which isn't really my thing, but I do loooove how soft and nice this ask is so I'm gonna play with that aspect of it :)

this is one of those asks that applies really well to a reader who... doesn't really mind being kidnapped. two big strong men want to squirrel her away, take care of her every need and desire? uh, yes please!

but they're still soooo scary :( because they're serial killers!!!! they killed all her friends - even if her friends did end up being really mean to her after all :( they're sweet to her but they also come home covered in gore, and it's very very difficult for her to not get scared when johnny spreads that gore over her face

i really enjoy the idea of this reader forcing herself to be soft and sweet. she's so so scared, tears streaked down her face, but she's got to smile and color with her crayons when johnny sets them down in front of her.

it's a type of sadism that would really work for johnny in particular, i think. he's watching you struggle through this drowning fear to be just what he needs. and you can't fully tell if he even knows you're scared (it's obvious, but you think you're a better liar than you actually are) so you try and cover it up as well as you can.

imagining you playing with legos, or jenga or smth, and being a little shaky and scared but trying to not show it. you glance up and just see ghost, looming in the shadows, blood not washed from his hands or face, just watching you with this deeply intense look. you flinch, lose knock over your little tower or lose jenga, and cry out a little at the loud noise. simon smirks at the reaction, and johnny coos real sad and sweet at you, leans forward to stroke your head.

and you sort of condition yourself to enjoy these things. you don't love coloring at first, but... but it is kinda fun. johnny and simon seem to love your drawings (they put it on a little heavy, you think) and their endless praise feels undeniably good. is it so bad to color something you think they'll like? no, of course not.

so you let yourself enjoy the little childish things - coloring, all the stuffed animals, building little lego castles - because it does feel relaxing.

and all they want from you is your softness, your sweetness. they just want you to be their sweet little baby girl who makes her drawings for them :( give you a Bear Johnny and a Bear Simon (secret little nanny cams) so they never have to really leave your side :( make meals for you and place you on the counter, swipe batter across your nose and watch you giggle :(

[watercolorsam-arts]

Why the Minecraft Movie looks so bad

Okay, let’s see if I can make this work

Hi, I’m Watercolor, currently a student learning animation and visual effects. I’ve got some more technical explanations for why exactly the trailer looks god awful

I’m gonna do my best to explain this in simple terms, but if I don’t explain something very good, let me know and I’ll explain more. Alright, this is gonna be a long post

Starting off with the obsession with backlighting. See how it doesn’t really match the environmental lighting? That’s one of the major things that makes it look so weird to a lot of people. It could have been done to better distinguish the actors from the background, but it does that a little too well and makes them look way too out of place. The environment has a very nice constant (most likely singular) light source, which is most likely an HDRI.

An HDRI (or high dynamic range image) informs the animation software on how the scene should be lit, and is often a weird panoramic image of whatever physical area you want to replicate.

In a reverse case, adding a CG character into a real set, you could take an HDRI of the physical set, and use it to apply similar lighting. Adjustment will most likely have to be hand adjusted by the lighting team (and tbh they add a lot of extra lights in anyway. It just needs to look right) but it’s a fantastic starting point for the compositing and lighting teams.

However, the McM’s live set has way different lights set up then what is seen in the environment.

Here, for example, the live set is most likely being lit by standard 3 point lighting, which are not only the wrong color (the lighting on the environment is much more yellow) but also washes out any shadows that would help define the actors. If this movie wasn’t obsessed with backlighting, you could fix that by lighting the actors and environment from the front, but because the sun is in the back, they have to make the front of the actors unnaturally brighter to see them more properly. I have a slight idea on why the kid in red looks especially “photoshopped” in, and it’s mostly because his hoodie doesn’t have a similar reflectiveness to everyone else’s outfit, and his hair is a more neutral color, causing the highlight to be even more washed out. Also, while we’re here, the cube is a physical prop, but it was not lit up during filming, and all the light output was tossed on after. And it’s really inconsistent and honestly, lazy. For the most part they just hit it with a blue blur effect in post, it doesn’t actually cast any light.

Another major issue is the color difference between the actors and the environment. The color balancing on the actors is particularly garbage, they’re somehow desaturated while also being too saturated, I don’t know how they managed that. But the technical issue on why it looks odd, is because the physical camera cannot physically pick up the same vibrancy as the “camera” in the CG world. You might have seen an example of this when trying to take a photo with your phone, especially of a very colorful event like the sunset. It’s also why “ugly sonic” looked particularly out of place, he was 10x more saturated than anything else around him.

Having the actors on a very low effort green screen stage also completely ruins any chance of getting the proper ambient light or ambient occlusion.

Ambient occlusion is basically the bounce light from other objects in your scene, gamers might know this as a form of ray tracing (ray tracing is live changes in ambient occlusion, games without ray tracing bake in ambient occlusion to get a similar result)

When everything is CG, (again art style aside) looks pretty darn good actually!

I attempted some edits to see if anything could make it look better (left is original, right is mine), and I don’t think proper lighting or anything could actually fix what this movie has wrong with it. They should have made the whole thing animated, I don’t think any amount of bullying would fix this, the studio basically has to scrap the actors, and make new CG characters from scratch in the same style as the rest of the world.

All of this is not the fault f the animators, or any of the vfx team, they did their absolute best with what they had, this is 100% the fault of the higher ups on this project. I have no idea how this good this far into production without ANYONE saying that it was a bad idea (Either that, or a lot of people got fired, which is unfortunately a likely possibility)

[weekend-conspiracy-theorist]

an entry in the tim&steph role swap au

"And what's a little birdy like you doing out on a night like this?"

Robin spun around, rainwater splashing away from those bright yellow combat boots of hers, and gasped. "Oh my god!" Except she didn't sound shocked, or scared, or even righteously angry to find herself mask-to-mask with Catwoman. She just sounded excited, like any other teenage girl.

Selina raised her eyebrows, and dropped sinuously from her perch to join Robin on the rooftop. "What?" she asked, amused, as she paced a slow, wide circle around the girl. Curiosity would kill the cat one day, she knew, but there was no way she could pass up a chance for a good look at Batman's new Robin. The streets were positively abuzz.

This one was blonde. This one was a girl. This one--according to Eddie, nursing a broken nose and looking downright murderous--was just different.

Robin made an annoyed noise, flicking at the small white nub of the commline in her ear. "'Oh my god' like oh my god, B, shut up will you?"

The white out lenses of her domino mask hid the motion, but she could not be more obviously rolling her eyes if she tried. Or maybe she was trying--she pointed at her ear, scrunching her nose up, and made as close to eye contact as she could with Selina through the mask, as if to say, "This guy, huh?"

Selina snorted, the inelegance of the noise washed away beneath the patter of the rain.

"Your costume is absolutely spectacular," Robin chirped, bounding towards Selina--who danced back, staying out of reach, and shook a teasing finger.

"Uh uh, birdy. Flattery won't get you everywhere, you know."

"What? Ugh. No, I'm serious!" Robin rolled her eyes again. "I mean, eggplant would have been better, and I'm kind of crazy about purple pizzazz--you know, like the crayon?--but this is definitely like solid top five for shades of purple. Way, way better than that weird mauve the city uses for the sign backgrounds in Robinson Park. And your boots are cool! I don't think I can pull off thigh highs--"

"No fourteen-year-old can pull off thigh highs," Selina assured her, dry amusement rumbling through her chest. She didn't think the chatter was what Eddie'd been talking about, but he was right: this was a change.

"Well, that's a relief. But I'm not sure if I'll ever get there, you know? There's a specific kind of confidence to wearing thigh highs, and also a proportion thing, and you're definitely, like, 15% more leg than my mom is, which is more or less how I picture myself as an adult. But like, cooler. And with better taste in men." Robin wiped rain off of her face, a sparkling grin lighting up her face, and her cape snapped out behind her as she spun to keep Selina in view. "What are you doing out here, by the way? I thought cats didn't like rain."

"This, that, and the other," Selina purred. "But you never answered me, birdy."

"What? Batman and Robin always patrol. You're the one being weird." She turned her head, pointy chin nearly poking herself in the shoulder, looking back the way Selina had come. "I mean, you engaged me, so it's not like you've got stolen goods on you right now. But you wouldn't be out here in the rain if you didn't have to be either, which means you were doing some time sensitive recon. What's caught your eye at the Gotham Museum of Art?"

"Maybe I just think it's romantic to take a walk in the rain," Selina countered smoothly, refusing to acknowledge the shrewd deduction either positively or negatively. "Where is that hunky shadow of yours?"

"First of all, ew. You also need better taste in men. Second of all--" Robin leaned in, hand next to her mouth as she said, conspiratorially, "Honestly, I don't really care what you're trying to steal? I mean, we break into places and steal stuff all the time--sure, B." She rolled her eyes again, straightening, and placed her hands on her hips. "It's super different, because we're doing it to protect people. We have the hubris to move mountains, laws don't apply to us when we don't want them to, and the Commish has definitely never yelled at you about your methods ever in your life, especially not just a couple days ago about the Maretti case." Her face was pure innocence under the mask, her voice sparkling as she chirped, "No, of course I wasn't eavesdropping, Bossman. You asked me not to and I pinky promised."

Selina couldn't help it; she tipped her head back and laughed. "I like this one," she told the shadows on the next roof over. She'd heard the softest of rustles of his cape when he touched down, the quietest of sighs as his sidekick teased him. "She's got spunk." Selina turned her attention back to Robin, not surprised to find she'd taken advantage of Selina looking away to move in close--a lesser thief may not have noticed the tracker lightly pressed to her belt, but Selina was no lesser thief. She picked it back off, an amused twist to her lips as she flicked it away (Robin pouted), and tilted the girl's chin up with one clawed finger, smirking. "You know how to pick locks, kitten? What about a safe?"

She couldn't see the girl's eyes, but Robin's entire body language lit up. "Oh my god, please--"

"No, Robin," Batman rumbled. He was trying to sound stern, but Selina could hear the amusement underneath, and something in her own chest loosened.

He hadn't sounded like that in a while. Their tussles since... the last Robin... had been lacking that certain je ne sais quoi that Selina had always so savored. He had been laser focused on The Mission, getting back whatever she'd stolen, and not so much on... her.

But she had his attention now.

"C'mon, Bat," she purred, moving to stand behind Robin with her hands on the girl's shoulders, dropping her chin to damp blonde hair. "Let the kid live a little. All work and no play makes Robin a dull sidekick."

That got her a light elbow and a huff. "Partner," Robin corrected her stubbornly.

"Oh, darling, if it's a vigilante partnership you want, you've got better prospects than Batman. Don't you know the Black Canary's somewhere around here in Gotham, too?"

"B-man says I'm not allowed to meet any other Justice Leaguers until he can guarantee I'm not going to cause any trouble."

"So, never?" Selina guessed.

Robin cackled, bright and more than a little creepy, just like the two before her. Had Nightwing been giving lessons, or did it just come naturally once you found yourself dressed up like a traffic light?

The Bat opened his mouth, no doubt to say something annoyingly controlling yet inexplicably charming, but a gunshot rang out a few streets over, and it turned into a bark instead. "Robin!"

"On it!" She ducked out from under Selina's hands, her feet light as she splashed across the roof, grappling gun appearing in her hand almost like magic as she took the last bounding step up to the edge.

He was already turning to follow her, caught in Robin's wake like he really was her over-six-foot-tall shadow, but his gaze swept over Selina before he'd fully turned away. "We'll pick this up next time," he promised, a thread of heat in his voice, and with a great swoop of his cape he was gone.

Robin's faux gagging noises rose high above the distant sounds of violence, and Selina's laughter followed it into the sky.

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer Not-Incorrect Quotes, Back To Random Stuff With No Theme

Alice: [comes into the living room]

Smiler: [is lying facedown on the carpet]

Alice: ...watching the news again?

Smiler: [not moving, voice slightly muffled] I hate that keeping myself informed is antithetical to keeping myself happy.

--

[context: the trio are getting ready for a night out]

Alice: [sitting in front of a mirror, preparing to put on eyeliner]

Smiler: [sitting next to her, bright yellow eyeliner finished, applying a soft purple eye shadow]

Alice: [looks over at them, admiring their technique] You're much better at this than I am.

Smiler: Hey, I've had a lot more time to practice. No fun trips into "supervised hospitalization" for me.

Victor: [from over by the closet, encouragingly] I've always thought your makeup looked nice, Alice.

Alice: Thank you, but still. [fiddles with the eyeliner pencil] I wish that I could just pop it all onto my face with a thought like I do in Wonderland. That'd be so much easier.

Smiler: Yeah, tell me about it. [finishes up and looks over at her] But as we're not in Wonderland...want some help?

Alice: [hands them the eyeliner pencil] Yes please. Just no bright neon colors.

Smiler: [joking pout] You're no fun.

--

Smiler: [reading something on the couch]

Alice: [comes in, moves one of their arms, sits on their lap]

Smiler: [adjusts position to get a better look at their book]

Victor: [comes in, sees this, spots an opportunity for revenge, sits on Alice's lap]

Alice:

Smiler:

Smiler: ...I think we need to have the "you're sure you're not chronically underweight" conversation again.

Victor: [frustrated] This is just how Van Dorts are!

--

Smiler: [finishing up the eye shadow] There! What do you think?

Victor: [looks in the mirror, then away, blushing shyly] It's -- nice.

Alice: [encouragingly, sat next to him] I think you look very handsome.

Smiler: Yeah, that shade suits you! And remember, it doesn't make you any less of a boy.

Victor: [nods, waving a hand] I know, I know, just -- some things are hard to unlearn.

Alice: [kisses his cheek] We get it.

Smiler: [kisses his other cheek] One day at a time. [grins] Though what I'm really looking forward to is smudging that makeup later.

Victor: [blushes harder]

Alice: You get makeup all over the pillow cases, you're washing them.

Smiler: Fair trade.

--

Victor: [comes into the living room to find both Alice and Smiler lying facedown on the floor] Um...

Alice: [muffled] News.

Victor: Oh. [nods, gets down and joins them]

[lonepower]

idk as much about lilin so maybe this is too many, BUT: 2, 4, 5, 7 general, 14 for story and – idk if any of the dark urge stuff would apply for her since she’s your dark urge, right? if so, 15 + 17? if not, 10 + 11? and, 1, 2, 5 for romance?

Yeah, she's my durge! So much of who she is (how much of that is even left) is tied up in that fact, so for these purposes she's still Bhaal's Specialest Princess™ if you're not playing dark urge, and if you are... I guess you'll probably have to kill her, either because she's in your way or because if you're not going to become his Chosen, she'll definitely try to usurp you. Whoops.

(Sorry this took SO long btw, the more I got into her head the more I realized what a... complicated companion she'd make 😅)

2. Do the other companions have special comments or reactions upon recruiting your Tav?

None of them trust her all that much: she's not currently outwardly murderous, but it's really clear there's something not-quite-right about her. Lae'zel disapproves, pretty steeply for early-game, if you free her from her pod (You find her trapped on the beach, where her pod has cracked open and buckled, pinning her legs. You can free her with STR/DEX, leave her to die, or if Zel is in the party, give her a merciful death). Astarion sees her washed out complexion and sharpened teeth and sunlight sensitivity (got that szarkai disadvantage) and is torn between trying to (not-so-)subtly deflect any Ambient Vampiric Behaviors onto her, and not drawing attention to it in case Tav notices the similarities. Gale wonders if she might be a fey of some kind and advises you to watch your wording around her; Wyll actually vaguely recognizes her, having noticed "such an unusual moon elf" once at a function, and muses that something is definitely off (perhaps drawing a connection later to Duke Stelmane?).

4. What sort of general actions raise or lower their approval?

Despite the hit that her INT took by being lobotomized (it's 9, oof), she was a scientist—up-and-coming head of the physickers’ guild, not that she remembers this—so curiosity and intelligence will go a long way, as will any kind of magical or intellectual hubris (reading Thay, bargaining with Yurgir, getting both Mayrina and the hair from Ethel, etc) or dialogues using the [medicine] skill check. Reassuring her about her memory loss, lapses, and general Durgeiness will net approval pretty quickly, but will also heavily influence her to lean into them, so if you want to actually help her you're going to have to balance some regular approval loss. If that's not your concern, though, being vicious or unnecessarily cruel is always a good way to make her like you ♡ Conversely, she doesn't actually disapprove of being nice or offering to help, as long as she gets to kill someone, so she approves equally of (for example) slaughtering the grove and of slaughtering the goblin camp.

She is still super racist a noble-raised drow somewhere deep down, so she'll disapprove of what she sees as demeaning oneself before or conceding to "lesser" races, such as kissing the goblin's foot or stopping Nere from murdering the gnomes. (She does approve of leaving him to suffocate, though.) She also tends to disapprove of shying away from knowledge just because it's "tainted" or "unnatural", ie if you soothe or destroy the Necromancy of Thay, or if you let Gale cleanse the shadow circle in Balthazar's backroom. And if you actually treat her Urges as A Problem that she needs to put in work to help fix, she'll disapprove, at least at first—but it will turn out much better in the long run.

5. Are there any instances where your Tav can permanently leave the party, depending on player character actions?

There's pretty much nothing you can do that will get her to leave, but there's plenty you can do that just straight up kills her. Non-Durge players can give her back to Kressa Bonedaughter, avoiding that fight. (Lae'zel approves; Astarion approves if your approval with both of them is low, and disapproves if your approval with one or both of them is high; and everyone else strongly disapproves.) She'll volunteer to be Malus's test subject, but you can scroll-of-revivify her afterwards (earning an inspiration point and a big chunk of approval from her, a little approval from Shadowheart, and a lot of not-quite-disapproving-horror from Wyll, Karlach, or Gale). If your approval is low enough, she will try and kill you, and will revive hostile no matter what. If you help her get the Slayer form, she'll use it in the final battles, but then you'll have to fight and kill her while she's in it unless you're planning to rule the Absolute together.

7. Do they have their own personal quest that spans the course of the game?  Can it take different branching paths depending on the choices the Player Character makes?

This is the one that took me the longest, because honestly, having the dark urge as a companion character could actually be really cool, but it would also be pretty complicated! I think at its core it would revolve around a hardening/softening (or I guess "embracing/resisting") mechanic similar to Leliana in DA:I, where there's a hidden ticker for both player and ambient actions, similar to approval, that influences how far she's leaning into or fighting against her Urge. 

Stage one of the actual quest is of course figuring out the amnesia-and-murderosity thing, which mostly kicks into gear in act 2. If you pass a (pretty low, like DC5 or something) perception roll in the illithid colony you can ask her "hey... you don't happen to know why there's Another twitchy doll-like blind-eyed bone-pale silver-haired crazy lady waltzing around down here?", which of course she doesn't. Kressa's notes will also help with the figuring out the mystery thing. As for resolving it, there's two paths that I think would be fun: Withers, or the Mycology Husbands. If you do the whole parasite potion sidequest for Omeluum, you can ask it about mental shielding wrt the Urge. It can't help you in act 1, but promises to think about it, and if you then rescue it from the Iron Throne, that unlocks the turn-her-illithid ending (but she still has to be softened enough to accept it). Withers will, in turn, cryptically help you with the probably more rewarding route of "get this girl some goddamn therapy," which will require enlisting the others to actually, y'know, take her seriously. This starts after she kills—let's make it the backup bard so that poor Alfira isn't doomed no matter what. (If you're durge, there'll have to be some other way to handle this. this grove ain't big enough for Two demigod serial killers...)

On the other hand, if you're going the evil route, she's not complaining. If you want a goodbad end, just get her approval high and leave everything else alone, because her default state is "agreeable most of the time, and also extremely dangerous"; voilà, you've got an excellent attack dog. If you're also Dark Urge, though, you're going to have to watch out, because she won't be as keen to share the Chosen title with a competitor. If you don't soften her enough before act 3, she will turn on you, possibly in the Tribunal arc but definitely when the time comes to decide how to deal with the Absolute. And if you soften her while not resisting your own Urge, she's not going to appreciate your hypocrisy and will probably try to retaliate just on principle!

--

14. How does Tav react to the PC becoming a mind flayer? Can they offer to become one themselves? Does their reaction change if they’re romanced? 

Depending on your approval and what direction her quest has taken, she'll either be sort of melancholically approving, or just brush it off. "We've both become something our old selves wouldn't know." versus "I don't care what you are, if you're a threat I'll kill you and if you're not you're not." 

She doesn't offer to become one by default, but if she's softened enough and you've done that route of her quest, you can suggest it as a way to break Bhaal's control over her. In this ending she'll either return to the Underdark (if romanced, or if the Emperor/Orpheus are dead) or stick with your other illithid ally to help and/or learn from them.

10. How do they react if the PC licks the dead spider in the Gauntlet of Shar?

Whether the player passes or fails the constitution check: "Oh, that looks good. Can I have some?" (Devnote: absolute, earnest sincerity)

[Rotten spider meat added to inventory]

You get +1 approval and some interesting facts about the chemical composition of displacer beast saliva if you give it to her.

11. What do they say if the PC tries to force them to go up on stage with Dribbles the Clown?

TAV: Lilin, why don't you go? You seem like you need cheering up.

LILIN: [+1 approval] Okay.

If she has high approval, isn't softened, and passes the hidden perception/dexterity roll, you only have to fight “Dribbles”'s lackeys, because she puts her arm through his ribcage when he tries to grab her. 

--

1. Is your Tav a romanceable character? Are there any specific requirements to romancing them?

I think she could be, but I think it would go over poorly with a lot of players, because there's no way it wouldn't be either Weird or Difficult in like a lot of ways. for safety's sake we'll just say she can't be romanced as another dark urge at all, so we don't have to account for "wellllllll if they're not the same species are they really related", because that's Way more discourse than it's worth lmao. You can sleep with her at the goblin or tiefling party, where she's (outwardly) politely flattered and (privately) startled and more than a little relieved that you'd even think of her that way; all the other companions have been handling her like she's made of glass, so she's desperately glad that someone here is treating her like a consenting adult and not something to be equally feared and pitied. It's probably a prerequisite to romancing her at all, actually. Gale is in the background giving you this look:

Lilin is at least 35 years older than him and can kill him in more ways than he has scrolls, thank you very much.

2. Does your Tav need to be flirted with to start the romance, or will they approach the PC themselves if approval is high enough? / 5. Does the romance have different branching paths, or just one route to take?

Approval doesn't matter for the first fling with her, but you're going to have to get it pretty high to actually propose any kind of romantic partnership. You'll have to walk a pretty fine tightrope, too, because being patient or kind with her or downplaying her issues at all will raise your approval but is—as the companions in my playthrough learned with a lot more surprise than I thought they were due—going to do the opposite of help, reviling or lecturing her is going to close her off, and encouraging her is going to end badly for everyone. A lot of things that net approval will also point towards her Bad End, especially if you're the only one taking her seriously (which, as you noted with Amity, literally nobody except Halsin does). Making sure you're not her only lifeline will do a lot of good here; I imagine there could be an interesting role for Withers, given the part he plays in a resistant durge's ending, but you're going to have to get some of the others (Shadowheart, who she's close with in my playthrough, and Halsin, who actually fucking takes the "amnesia and murderous compulsions" thing seriously enough to suggest causes and solutions, come to mind) to come around as well. If you manage to undo the brainwashing, free her from Bhaal's control, and help her build an actual healthy support network, you could probably get a pretty good ending! On the other hand, there might be a fun GoodBad ending too where you do what Gortash proposes and rule the Elder Brain together. (If you try this as Durge, she attacks you in the very last scene and you have to pass a series of checks to 1) Not Die 2) kill or mind-control her and 3) maintain control of the brain, all while being Lightly Stabbed.)

tl;dr she is probably not worth the trouble akddnrh.

[stillafanofsonic]

Silver: (Walks up to Eric with an eyeliner mess)

Eric: Dude… what happened??

Silver: Eric! So you like my eye paint?

Eric: Um… It’s uh… no. C’mere, you did this?

Silver: Ow, yes, is it that bad?

Eric: Well, yes, you need a solid object to draw the lines, and to be more gentle with it.

Silver: (Sigh) I’ve tried to get better! I’m super good when doing Shadow’s eyes, but it’s just so hard when I have to do it on my own.

Eric: Here, go wash up and I’ll teach you how to properly do it.

Silver: REALLY?!?!!!

Wade: …you know how to apply eyeliner, how? Did you have your own emo phase?

Eric: NO! I had to share some foster homes with a lot of girls.

Wade:

Eric: …. And an emo phase

Wade: I KNEW it!

.... okay anon, I need you to be honest, did you figure out how to get into my notes? It's okay to tell me, I won't be mad /j

but I do love Eric teaching him to do his makeup

[roosterr]

firewatch | day 01

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john price x gn!reader wc; 2.7k summary; a firewatch tower in the heart of a state park is as far away from your trainwreck life as you can get. the company of the man in your radio is just a bonus.

(if you saw this the first time i posted it no you didn't) my entry for the o captain challenge hosted by the lovely @glitterypirateduck, using prompt 61; first day at a new job! this au lives in my brain now please enjoy!

the air is crisp here. bright orange sunsets, dry summer heat, the gentle sound of birdsong and the wind through the trees – it was all a welcome change of pace, and with the added bonus of being nothing like your home in the city, but isn't that exactly why you’re here? the solitude, a blank slate, and some much needed peace and fucking quiet.

a branch snags your leg as you step through the underbrush, but the sting it leaves behind is little more than an afterthought. your backpack hasn't changed you left, but it feels heavier somehow as you jerk it higher on your shoulders. tiredness hangs from your limbs and makes it a struggle to push forward, but the lookout is in view now, and with night closing in fast, you want to get there sooner rather than later.

the wind is louder all the way up here – and it has a chill to it now, that nips at you through your airy clothes – but as you make it up the first few steps, the wood creaking under your weight, the view over the forest fills you with a melancholy sense of awe that tightens in your chest. it's beautiful. if only you could've had a better reason to see it.

the rest of the stairs are a breeze compared to the trail you've been following all day. the sun has only just dipped below the horizon, bathing the landscape in an indigo wash and shrouding the trees in cool shadows. 

with the last of your energy, and one final glance over the steadily darkening view, you push open the door and step over the threshold. it's completely dark inside once you close the door, with the shutters closed over the windows, but there's a wonderful calmness to it that almost soothes the ache in your muscles. 

you feel blindly for the generator switch, as you'd been told to, following the red glow until it's under your fingers and you can press the button. the bulb overhead flickers to life, and the small room you'll call home for the next few months is bathed in a dim yellow light.

you blink as your eyes adjust, and take in your surroundings. central in the room is an osborne fire finder – which you, of course, knew existed before you impulsively applied for this job – and a small but effective kitchen along one wall. there's also a log burner nestled into one corner, and a desk beside the door stacked with cardboard boxes labelled 'tower 7 supplies'. 

your gaze finally lands on the bed in the far corner, and a sigh of relief passes your lips at the sight of the comforter folded on top. perhaps it had seen better days, but you had reached the point where you simply didn't care anymore. you slip your backpack from your shoulders and drop it in the general direction of the desk chair, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor in favour of smoothing out the bedding.

your fingers barely get to brush the fabric before you're interrupted.

"evenin', tower seven." from a worn yellow radio, partially hidden between two boxes, comes a voice that cuts through the otherwise silent room. his words are distorted slightly by the static, but you can still make out the deep gravel of his tone.

for a moment, you can only blink at the object, hands still hovering over the comforter as your tired mind catches up. you drag your feet back over to the desk with a muted sigh, kicking your backpack in the process and nearly stumbling over yourself, but you manage to grab the radio and stay upright.

"uh… hello? whoever this is?" you reply, the obvious uncertainty in your voice making you cringe as you hear it.

the stranger on the other end shares none of your hesitation, responding within a second of you finishing your sentence. "john price. i’m in tower six, east of you." 

you make a noise of recognition, nodding even though he has no way of seeing it, "right, the guy mentioned you on the phone." 

"saw your light on, thought i'd say hello." john says, with a lot more energy than you can muster right now. it would've been a welcome distraction any other time, but right now you just want him to stop talking so you can finally sleep.

"good to meet you, neighbour. i'm…" you stifle a yawn, and open and shut your mouth a few times trying to decide what to say next. "…i'm gonna go to bed. no offence"

you hear him scoff through the interference, "not even gonna introduce yourself?"

"you already know who i am, don't you?" you grumble, your eyes locking wistfully onto the mattress that awaits you as you try to hold back another yawn. "listen, if i don't go to sleep in the next thirty seconds, i'll probably die."

there's a pause before he responds again with a chuckle. "alright, i won't keep ya, we'll talk tomorrow."

you don't bother answering, and instead just slot the radio clumsily back into its station. you flip the lightswitch, plunging the room back into darkness, and shuffle slowly back over to your bed. you tug your boots off, and you're out as soon as your head hits the pillow.

when you wake up, the sun is already low in the sky, casting long shadows over the park below that don't quite reach your tower yet. your muscles burn and ache like you knew they would, but there's also a relief that comes with knowing you have no obligations to tend to – apart from your duties as a fire lookout of course, but that was trivial compared to what you left behind.

the air is still warm outside, the breeze that passes by your tower cooling to a pleasant degree as you pause on the balcony. you're not sure you like the way the wood creaks as you slowly make your way around, and opening the shutters took a lot more arm strength than you were expecting, but it was more than worth it for the view you got from your desk.

the journal you reluctantly bought at the advice of your therapist sits open in front of you, your pen twirled absently between your fingers as you gaze out at the horizon instead of the blank page before you. wasn't writing out your feelings supposed to make them easier to deal with? then why was it so difficult to come up with a single word to put down?

with a frustrated huff passing your lips, you drop your pen onto the desk and your head into your hands. when your therapist had suggested keeping a diary as a part of your healing journey, you really didn't think it would be this difficult. you've been sitting here for twenty minutes, and all you've managed is the date.

"mornin'," your lamenting is interrupted by john's voice through the radio again. you're almost surprised that he actually wants to talk to you, but then again, there aren't that many people out here to talk with anyway. "i can see you at your desk, so i'll assume you got to sleep on time and didn't die last night."

your lips quirk into a smile as you reach for your radio, flipping your journal shut and shoving it to the back of the desk.

"uh, yeah, sorry. guess i overslept." you reply, somewhat sheepishly. you didn't even bother setting the alarm clock on your nightstand before you passed out – in fact, you didn't even plug it in, but you're honestly not sure if it would've made a difference. "what time is it, like, six?"

"quarter to seven."

you squeeze your eyes shut and cringe to yourself. "...oh."

john chuckles, a deep rumble that slightly eases the embarrassment of passing out for most of the day. "s'alright, that hike knocks everyone out for a day or two."

there's a comfortable lull in the conversation, and you take the opportunity to look over the fire finder, scanning the area east of your tower in an attempt to pinpoint exactly where john's is. you find the annotation for tower six easily and turn to gaze at it through your east window, the silhouette of it clear against the early evening sky.

you wonder if he's doing the same thing, or if he even talks to any of the other towers. you don't have any neighbours besides him, the interviewer had mentioned that to you, but you know john does. he seems eager to talk to you, the same as last night, so either way you suppose he's just happy to have a fresh face to talk to.

it's not long before the quiet is cut short by john's voice crackling through the radio again. "what’s your story then? must be a good one to have you all the way out here."

you make an indignant face at his question, as if he can see it. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

"c’mon love," the nickname should feel odd, he's only one step above a stranger to you, but it flows so naturally off his tongue that you barely even question it. "there’s only one reason anyone takes this job, and that’s to get away– from something, someone, somewhere, all of the above,"

"all of the above, let's just leave it at that." you mumble, brow furrowing. your eyes dart back to the journal laying untouched in the shadow under the window.

"relationship troubles?" he asks. the question itself is innocent enough, but the lingering thought only causes your frown to deepen. "that's why most people come out here."

"yeah, something like that…" you mutter in reply. a sigh escapes you as you drop yourself back into your chair, picking up the stray pinecone on your desk with your free hand. "anyway, enough about me, it's your turn smartass."

you hear john huff, something like a laugh, and the sound lightens your own  expression. "is it now?"

"you said it yourself, only reason people ever take this job is to get away from something." your lips quirk up at the corner now the tables have turned, and you distractedly roll the pinecone back and forth on your palm. "so what are you running from?"

"don’t pull your punches, eh?" he hums, his tone flat. 

"just following your lead, price." there's a long pause as you wait for his response, the smile slowly falling from your lips with every second that passes is silence. "you don't have to tell me, y'know."

"no, no, it's–" he cuts himself short, clearing his throat in an undeniably uncomfortable manner, "i lost someone, a good friend, few years ago now."

your jaw falls open, the pinecone dropping from your hand as you freeze in shock. you try to find the words to comfort, but they get stuck in your chest and all you can muster is a solemn; "i… i'm so sorry…"

"don't be." he replies, quieter than before, in a way that makes your brows pull together. "was my fault."

another long silence, but this time a small guilt forms in your mind. if it was enough to drive him out here, it must be a memory worth forgetting, and you can't help but feel bad for bringing it up – despite the fact that you couldn't have known. still, he sounded so defeated, and you don't actually know him more than the two conversations you've had with him, but he didn't sound like himself at all. you make a mental note to stay away from the topic.

"so, uhm," you stumble over breaking the silence, dropping your head into your palm as the shame creeps up your spine. you need to change the subject, you don't want to leave it on that upsetting note, so you pick the most obvious small talk question you can think of. "what did you used to do, before this?"

"i was in the sas, for about twenty years." john answers, thankfully, still with a distant sound to his voice. you'd half expected him to be done with you after that bombshell, but it seems you didn't completely scare him off.

"oh, no shit!" you reply, your surprise this time a lot more lighthearted. "that's way better than what i used to do…"

john breathes a chuckle, and you smile to yourself in triumph. "highly doubt that, love."

you respond with a good-natured scoff and roll your eyes. "seriously? there's no world where an office job is cooler than the fucking sas."

"i think you'd be surprised." the sound of a door opening and shutting is faintly heard in the background as he speaks, and then the unmistakable creak of the floorboards under him. "it's hard work, y'know."

"c'mon, you got to see the world! all i ever got to see was the inside of a meeting room. for several unnecessary hours at a time." your smile morphs into a grimace at the memory of your old job – you were more than grateful that part of your life was over now.

"i'd've killed for that amount of down time a few years ago," he muses, something nostalgic in his voice as he continues, "never had a moment's peace in the service."

you told your head and hum thoughtfully. "yeah, i guess i never thought about it like that. but don't you find it a little… slow out here?"

"'course i do, but sometimes that's exactly what you need. never'a guessed i'd enjoy bein' bored outta my mind, but here we are, eh?"

"you're probably right." you release a deep breath, your eyes finding the red clouds of the horizon and following the last rays of sunlight to the treetops below. "always wanted to be someone who had things happen in their life, but as soon as things started actually happening to me, all i wanna do is go back to how things were."

you feel the hesitation before he speaks again. "this about your all of the above?"

"yeah..." you sigh, bringing your free hand up to smooth over the crease between your brows. "so maybe being bored outta my mind is what i need."

"you'll get used to it. might even start to like it– i did."

"here's hoping." you try not to dampen the mood, but you can only manage a quiet mutter in return. your stare follows the dark forms of a couple of birds against the indigo sky, and you find yourself wishing for that kind of freedom. you have to shake your head to bring yourself back to the present. "but anyway, i won't be completely losing my mind. i have you to bother, don't i?"

"right back at ya, rookie."

you snort. "rookie? seriously? thought you quit all that military shit."

"old habits die hard." he replies, the smile he's undoubtedly wearing evident even through the radio. "supposed to be a cold one tonight, might wanna stock up on firewood."

"i'll take your word for it, i saw some by the shed yesterday." you stand from your desk and stretc your back with your arms above your head. by now, only the very last of the sun's rays still light the sky, and when you step outside the air has already gotten noticeably cooler.

"think i'll sign off for the night, then." his words draw your eyes over to the barely visible shadow of tower six against the dark blue of the night. "if you ever need anything, just gimme a shout, yeah?" he sounds more serious now, leaving no room for doubt that he's genuine, and after a second he adds in a murmur, "even if it's just for a chat.".

"i will. talking with you is nice." you smile to yourself, soft and more heartfelt than you've managed in a long while. "plus, i'll get pretty lonely out here if i ignore my only neighbour."

he chuckles again. "can't argue with that. g'night, rookie."

"night, john." you return, slipping the radio into your pocket. you'd woken up this morning – evening, actually – with a deep uncertainty weighing on your mind; for this job, what drove you here, what will happen after. for now, though, you find it easy to ignore that doubt and focus on where you are now. you came here to escape, and you'll be damned if you let what happened haunt you here, too.

before you descend the stairs, you give one last glance over your shoulder at the distant lights in john's tower, and thank god that this job listing found you when it did.

[caffeinejournalist23]

Film Review: The Grand Budapest Hotel - aka When Movies Outside of the MCU Could Look Expensive

I was just starting high school when I first saw this movie – keeping in the theme of luxury and cinematic beauty, I had just seen Leonardo DiCaprio and Toby Maguire in The Great Gatsby around this same time too. I’m led to think that 2014 was the last year we had extravagant wealth exercised in all aspects of film making - between the richness of contrast in the photography, the golden wit of comedy within the dialogue, and the star-studded casting, The Grand Budapest Hotel is among one of the few films within the past decade not released from Marvel studios to give the audience an experience of cinematic luxury.

            I happen to be taking a digital photography class this semester and in watching this film I could not help but apply some of my newfound knowledge in photo/cinematography; as an amateur photographer, something I’m learning to utilize in bettering my photos is to alter the contrast. The SparkNotes version of “contrast” means the degree of distinction between light and shadows and the tones that that contrast creates; the richer the contrast is within a photo/film shot the more the shadows are exemplified, which gives the shot more depth and realism. When contrast is used poorly the shot looks dark and blurry, but when contrast is altered properly the film can be beautiful, dramatic, and compels the viewer’s attention. This movie beautifully and strategically uses rich contrast within scenes - especially in the montage of Gustav and his prison mates escaping the confines of the prison; the prisoners fight to escape in the dead of night and the mercenary murdering on behalf of Dmitri (Madame D’s son) has his threatening shadow looming over the main protagonists throughout the film until his final showdown with Zero and Gustav in the blinding-white mountains – a drastic shift in lighting/contrast I find intentional. Something I noticed is that the contrast deepens as the movie progresses into darker themes; the beginning of the film is almost washed-out in its brightness – which correlates with the flamboyance of Gustav’s personality and Zero’s naïve first impressions of the hotel, but then as the story progresses with Madame D’s death, her greedy son hunting down Gustav and the “Boy With Apple” painting, and the xenophobia of law enforcement threatening Zero’s livelihood, the film gets richer and darker in contrast – to the point that the final scene shared between Zero and Gustav is filmed strictly in black and white. 

            The dialogue/script for this film is ridiculously clever; the jokes were funny and the diction/language was easy to follow despite the unfamiliar world/environment and “old timey” culture. When I first heard Gustav’s “proper” aristocratic accent, I was worried that I would need to go back through the filing cabinet of Victorian English literature as far back in my mind as 2019 in order to keep up with the story – but then Zero took over the narration and humorously replied to Gustav in perfectly modern English - specifically when Gustav laments about Madame D after she parts from the hotel; he lists his many admirations for her in frilly upper-class European style and Zero agrees with Gustav by simply saying “yes sir,” “no sir,” and/or “truly”). I like that the script makes this film a contribution to both the comedy and drama genre; the plot is suspenseful, and the comedic dialogue/circumstances do not diminish the intensity of the conflict between the protagonists and their antagonists. An example of this is when Gustav and Zero take the Boy With Apple painting Madame D left to Gustav in her will and replace it with an obscene painting of two naked women masturbating (in the “general trivia” for the film provided by Prime Video it is confirmed that the artist of this painting called it “Two Lesbians Masturbating”); the obscene new painting and the ridiculous obsession/fancy for the Boy With Apple Painting are humorous, but these comedic elements do not sacrifice the seriousness of the situation – ridiculous or not, Gustav is being hunted by Madame D’s family and lives are being lost in the pursuit for this priceless painting.

I would say that this film could contribute to an emerging subgenre I’d like to call “Cultural Comedy” because the film creates a culture that is unfamiliar to us as an audience but then uses elements such as language and plot in a way that is incredibly familiar to us as modern-day Americans; this subgenre would include The Grand Budapest Hotel,The Dictator, and Coming to America – just to name a few off the top of my head that I think would fit into this category. These “cultural comedies” also emphasize a theme of wealth; often times the plot revolves around either clearing the main character’s name in the eyes of the law to obtain a wealthy inheritance or reclaiming wealth/status that is jeopardized by the antagonist/the protagonist’s character flaws. 

All in all, I love this movie and would highly recommend it to anyone. Fun fact: this film, in addition to The Great Gatsby, inspired me to heavily consider studying cinematography and a career in filmmaking. If you like anything Victorian (i.e. “Downton Abbey,” “Victoria,” and “The Crown”) and love witty comedies such as The Dictator or Swiss Army Man, I would highly recommend watching this film; it’s classier than a Seth Rogan film but funnier than The Favorite. Maybe don’t show this to your Kate Middleton-obsessed grandmother, but certainly recommend this to your cool British Literature professor.

[lo-kom]

Bag screenprints

1st image- prototypes/tests on canvas material. This was probably when this more dense print came out the best. Afterwards with the thicker grey fabric the image started to breakdown quite quickly.

2nd image- testing my screenprints on a very thin fabric. The image came out very crisp and I was happy with the level of detail that came through the screen.

4th and 5th image- first full-scale screenprint. As I moved to the thicker fabric it became more important that I perfected my technique- making sure I flooded the screen in one go. Applying the right level of pressure when printing for the full image to transfer completely, lining up print correctly so that one print blends into the next, and doing all of this in as little time as possible to avoid the paint drying out etc. The more I repeated the process the better I got at gauging things eg. the right amount of paint needed to print vs when I needed to add more, how I could use the shadow cast by the image on the screen before it had been flooded to help me adjustment the alignment, how much paint needed to be on the screen in order to fully the flood the mesh etc. I also developed my own methods to achieve crisper prints, such as adding a bit more than a 50:50 ratio of textile medium, or adding water to avoid the paint drying off so fast, using a hairdryer in between layers to make sure paint was fully dry before I added a new layer with a different colour etc etc.

First grey fabric screenprints- Even though I had already tried printing on different fabrics quite a lot I wasn't really prepared for how the paint would react with thicker waxed cotton material. Especially with the fabric being waxed which meant that the paint was never entirely absorbed into the fabric but kind of just sat on the surface.

Later on, as I printed the first full-scale bag design I was trying to repeat-print my image onto textiles and the paint began to dry. I had to wash my screen to tackle this however, in between washes I realised some of the emulsion was rubbing off my screen, making my images far more blurred. I think this was an issue particularly because this image was so dense, so it felt like the print was almost decaying the more I printed onto my fabric.

Later on I found out that I could mitigate this issue by trying to avoid washing the screen as frequently, but I also made my monogram designs a lot larger, which meant that even if the emulsion did come off slightly when the screen was washed, it wouldn't be enough to lose much of the detail in the print.

Red large-scale screenprint on grey cotton- my second attempt at printer on a larger scale. This series of prints went far better and I was able to achieve a much greater level of detail. In part this came from what I had learnt about not cleaning the screen too regularly when it does dry, but this was also to do with the fact that the images I exposed on my screens were far larger in size, so the lines in the images came out a lot clearer.

Last image- a third potential bag design I ended up developing. In the end I went with the previous design because I think it was easier to understand that the images used were themselves referencing the market and so the audience gets a bit of a clearer understanding of the self-referentiality of the design.

[sydoniegrim]

SCRIPTS FOR MOON PHASE RITUALS

⚡️ charging ritual (full moon)

(to recharge spirit, energy, body, and spiritual tools)

- full moon oil

- hair oil (for health)

- hair scarf for post ritual wrapping

- 4 directions/ elements symbols (to cast a circle)

- tools (set out to charge)

- cleansing medium (bell, incense, selenite, or herbal smudge)

- picnic blanket

- choose magical video or music to play during charging

set space outdoors (as close to witching hour as possible) with blanket and pillows, set out tools that need to be charged; get dressed in ceremonial outfit (? Special dress or underwear??), and gather oils. Cleanse tools, space, self.

Cast circle in the setup space. Sit in moonlight on blankets, play magical music choice, and apply oil first to scalp and hair massaging deeply throughout, and then to skin. Make sure that oil is thoroughly rubbed into skin, and not left oily.

Set timer for 33 minutes, lay back and soak in the energy charge. When done, wrap hair for protection. Close circle and clean set up. Put away all tools now that they are charged.

change into night clothes. Do NOT shower or wash oil out. Allow charging to soak in overnight while sleeping.

🗡️ shadow work (last quarter moon)

(to duel with demons, heal traumatic wounds, & accept inner shadows)

- journal

- fancy pens

- comfy clothes

- clean aesthetic space

- warm, cosy cuppa

- chosen prompt

- 4 directions/ elements symbols (to cast a circle)

- hair scarf

- cleansing medium (bell incense selenite or herbal smudge)

get dressed comfy, gather tools and ready space to write in comfortably. Wrap hair/ head with scarf for protection. Make tea.

Cleanse. Cast a circle.

Meditate on prompt for 5 minutes and then journal it out. Follow DNMS protocol to repair traumatic feelings, self sooth and regulate emotions.

close journal, close circle, make another cuppa.

do skincare-self-care routine.

🪩 manifesting ritual (new moon)

(to drag into existence hopes and dreams; to make plans reality)

- hair oil (for growth)

- head scarf

- vision board

- new vision photos/ scraps

- manifesting affirmations

- journal

start by preparing body; shower body. apply hair oil, massage into scalp, and put on head scarf. apply lotion and a nice casual outfit.

journal based on these prompts: what manifestations do I see already coming to fruition in small or large ways? what work am I putting in to make my manifestations a reality? what practices and habits do I need to change or adjust to better manifest my ideal season? are there ways I can be more specific with what I want to manifest? what manifestations will I be altering/ specifying? cut out new vision board photos and visualize the specific ways you’re manifesting those things into your life. Add them to the vision board for the year. When done, sit with the affirmations in a meditative state and repeat them three times.

🔮 divination work (first quarter moon)

(to connect with self, inner shadows + inner divinity, and spirit)

- divining tool (tarot, bones, tea)

- source material (helpful books)

- Journal

- Head scarf

- prompt (tarot spread, spirit connection questions, etc)

cover head with scarf. get a fancy little drink to sip, sit down at clean table. Play good music (jazz, classical, lofi, etc). Meditate on prompt, work with the tool, connect with it, take important notes down. When finished divining, journal abt the experience.

[gothamvengeance]

Bryce lets herself be directed, be moved. Another sign of concern, of fear within Bryce. No dosage of Scarecrow's toxin could stop the Bat. She had endured so much, and she would always pull through. But now? If the fear toxin showed something happening to Selina? Bryce was not so confident at the moment. A great disservice to Selina, who could take care of herself. Who had always taken care of herself; and Holly.

But that was it, wasn't it?

Bryce locked her arms around Selina's back and gently welcomed her in, head nuzzling her hair as she softly planted a peck or two while embracing her.

Just because Selina can take care of herself and Holly doesn't mean she has to do it. So long as Bryce added, not subtracted. So long as she didn't belittle and interject. Well, if she did, Selina was certain to show where the Cat came from and put her back in her place.

Bryce snorts, a smile tugging at her lips as she tilts her head along with Selina's punishment of knuckles. "I do know you better, Selina. But it might be because I hate the Bat. She is filled with ugliness to me. There are many heroes and do-gooders who go out there with their faces exposed. But not me."

"Batwoman is an ugly person. Violent, temperamental, closed off." Sure, some of these also applied to Bryce; but never to that degree. Even if she were truly TRULY pissed off! She'd never react like Batwoman would. And yet these thoughts, about Selina having fallen for Batwoman first. It brought a chuckle from Bryce who lets her eyes fall shut. "Was it when I ate the donut you got me and got a soda with you?" That was, very out of character admittedly. But it had been a long night and Bryce, quite frankly, was done with that evening. And a little secret: Sometimes it was amusing to see people react to Batwoman doing something surprisingly mundane. It made them feel like she was less of an alien entity, a myth that lurked in the shadows. And she'll never forget the way the cat looked at her that night.

The embrace grows a little tighter, a little stronger. More covering; protective. Fingers running through Selina's hair, others rubbing her back. And soft pecks as Selina apologizes.

"Don't."

"Don't..."

"I get it."

Maybe that's why...

Maybe that's why they could understand each other so well.

The masquerade of the Bat and the Cat. Who collaborate and understand. They hold their ground, stay strong and move on. Which then changed for the two eight-year old girls staring at one another. One with blood on her knees, and the other with blood on her hands.

And right now, after so much has happened. The girls are starting to talk to one another.

Trying to wash away the blood. It's not going so well. The bloodied knees is choking, grabbing the wall for support, gasping for air. Clawing for reality.

The bloodied hands is crying, putting hands on the bullet wounds, copying what she had observed. Grappling for freedom. It'd help if they grab each other instead...

Bryce slowly opens her eyes. Having processed what Selina had said, slowly pulling apart from their closeness. But not releasing the other just yet, instead she brings her hands to Selina's cheeks, thumbs caressing them, foreheads gently put together.

"Logic is for people with smarts different from ours... They call me the world's greatest detective. But I couldn't even figure out how the woman I love feels about me."

"But I get it now. You made it clear to me. And I heard you, I feel you. I'll know now to do better. To be more honest. And to not leave you here... It'll take time to adjust. And I hope you will forgive me and offer me patience; but also hit me when I stray from the path."

"And I will hold your hand and give you my cape. I'll give you all the time you need, and let you cuss me out as often as you want. So long as you let me in. Let me help you with those feelings... I might not be as good with words as you are. But I think our nightly therapy sessions have been pretty decent so far." A dry chuckle, short-lived.

"We can give it a name... or we can leave it as is. Change it in the future. But it's more than what was. I just want you to know that."

One hand pulls back to gently flick the kitten head on Selina's collar. "I'll name it anything you want... If it helps convey that I see you, that you matter to me. That you're not just a person; but my special person."

“that’s — that’s always kind of the problem, anyway.”

that rueful smile crosses her face. it almost finds itself as though it was never meant to leave, as though that burdensome sorrow always finds itself balanced on the bow of her lips. maybe it always sucks — she doesn’t have another word for it. it sucks.

she has two oscars sitting on her bedside table and she doesn’t think it’ll ever hurt less when somebody falls for it. there’s something she feels that’s almost hateful, and then it becomes almost hurt, and eventually it’s a dull ache, a beat.

the cat isn’t real. the cat is a figment, an awful creature that’s been crafted for the purpose of survival. dreadful, awful, violent survival. the beast been created to be nothing but that — an animal, something more suited to a habitat than a home. the cat bites and claws and snarls, selina’s most precise rage made violently, flagrantly visceral. a pile of guts is more equivalent to the feline than the elegant dresses she wears, the sleek suit not near as simple or symmetrical as she.

it’s an act, a play in only one part that takes place on a stage that never stops whirling. every single moment in that suit she yearns to be seen for it — she wants, more than anything, to be made whole in another’s eyes. she thinks she could be real that way, the real kind of real.

“yeah. selina kyle is an illegitimate orphan who didn’t grow up anywhere. i don’t know what to do with your life. you didn’t leave daphne or the cat with all this, you left selina with it.

….and i appreciate that. but… i can’t do all this by myself.

i just felt… not real. like i just… wasn’t a person. to you. and i felt myself fade. i just… stopped.”

and now she’s starting again. like she’s been wound up yet again, like she’s been created anew, like this is a new her over and over. but she listens, accepts these gestures with enormous greed and covetously consumes them all on her own. avarice is the language she speaks with fluency and she relearns it with eager ease.

disappointment lingers like dewdrops on a cold morning but she shakes them away easily.

it’s really the genuine intent that counts, she reminds herself. she softly, softly, softly kisses a cheek with overflowing fondness. she lingers there to press her nose against, to hide almost shyly in the bat’s shadow.

—the squeeze alarms her. she blinks, taken aback in some faint delirium, some brief respite she’d wandered off on and, heady with that, had lost her own head. she’s surprised — bryce takes her hands away and selina returns them, gently tugging wrists to link behind her neck, to hold her there comfortably. she reaches up to swipe a strand of black carefully behind an ear, to whisper,

“yeah. don’t know if you know this, but i’m great at disrupting plans. i can’t even plan for me. you think i know what i’m saying..? i don’t. i’m just… being honest.”

she doesn’t lie in her personal life. but there’s an expression she affords bryce — a more aware creature, one not quite as bereft as selina, might cover the flat blink. might take some initiative to try to soften the thing. but she doesn’t, and brown eyes blink again, frightfully glassy in the most comical way. her eyebrow lifts.

“do you… do you think i didn’t fall in love with batwoman? like… do you think i don’t love you when you’re the bat? you think that wasn’t the first you i fell in love with? come the fuck on, you know me better.”

a knuckle gently digs into the hinge of the other’s jaw, a joking little gesture that insists she remember who she’s talking to. bryce had insisted it — they’re the bat and the cat, after all — and selina will reiterate that fact. they’re maybe the only two people who can understand each other.

she can’t pretend she doesn’t want to be seen. the idea hurts. so she won’t entertain it, fuck that. no. she’ll do what she wants.

she’s entirely unafraid to take that on. meekness isn’t (often) in her vocabulary.

“i’m still eight. every fucking day. i wake up and for a second there’s blood all over my knees. holly sleeps in my bed and i think she’s me for a second. i wake up and i start to choke until i reorient myself. it’s a fuck of a thing, but it hasn’t gone away yet, so. at risk of being morbid, it beats the alternative.”

she laughs like the hinge of a rusty gate, burying her face into the juncture of a shoulder. the rough, razor laugh racks her body and she apologizes. sometimes she sees herself outside herself and all she wants to do is shake herself by the shoulders, scream in her own face.

“—sorry. jesus. that… wasn’t on purpose. —i don’t want you to change. i just want you to be here with me, too. bryce. batwoman. all of you, both of you. i know you hate it, but you’re really a hero.

like, genuine article.

and when you left… i don’t know. it hurt in a way i can’t just make sense out of it. when i don’t have answers, when i’m alone it just—“

she swallows again. harder.

“—it gets hard to try to be logical. which pisses me off. which makes me worse at everything else. Repeat, ad nauseum until — let’s go with now, optimistically.”

oh, would that she could be anyone else.

[miirshroom-art]

A little jade turtle figurine.

[staytheword]

falling rain

falling rain — one shot [ back to general masterlist ]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors, please do not interact!!

• bang chan x female reader, other stray kids members are mentioned/featured, as well as other idols (itzy’s yeji, ateez’s san, nmixx's lily).

• non idol au, friends to lovers. angst, fluff, post breakup sadness and melancholia. drinking. explicit language. smut, oral sex (f receiving), protected sex.

• word count: 11k (11,199)

You fell out of love. It happens. All you need is time to piece yourself back together. But as you and your friends meet for a movie night, you don’t expect your ex to be there - yet he is, and it looks like he’s doing much better than you do. Luckily, your friends are there for you - especially Chan.

• permanent taglist: @ughbehavior​ ; @upallnight-s​ ; @changbinluvr​ ; @rosexjimin ; @nasiaisan

• story taglist: @tanyas97 ; @hyynee ; @moonlightcandy00 ; @drhsthl ; @flakeisthebest

• author’s note: Here it is! Thank you for your support on the preview, I am so glad you guys liked it and were excited for the full story. I hope you enjoy it! Take care <3

The rain is cold against your skin. 

You look up at the sky through your transparent umbrella. Swirls of pale gray cover the horizon, blurred by drops of rain sliding down the plastic material. It was darker earlier - the rain will stop soon. 

The bus stops in front of you, its brakes squeaking. You close your umbrella and get on, sitting where you usually do, at the back, next to the window. Placed between your legs, your umbrella is getting your jeans wet, but you don’t care. You close your eyes, letting the music in your ears soothe you. You’ve been taking the same bus route everyday for years, so you know exactly how much time you have before your stop. It’s not like you’re afraid of falling asleep, anyway. You never sleep in transportation, and it’s not like your mind has been able to rest easy recently. 

Your playlist transports you through melancholic melodies, pianos and violins lulling your senses. Your favorite songs do not let you forget the ache - they remind you of it, softly, tenderly. That’s what you want, anyway. 

You’re not interested in forgetting. You just want to heal.

When you open your eyes, your stop is a minute away. You press the button and get up, ignoring the inevitable looks of the other passengers on the bus. People are always staring. Always judging. Often, you care. These days, not so much. You can’t control them, what they do, what they think. They’ll see the shadows under your eyes, the pale skin, the chapped lips, and they’ll tell yourselves, she isn’t sleeping much. She looks terrible. She must be going through something. 

So what if I am, you want to tell them? Aren’t we all? 

When you step off the bus, it’s barely raining anymore and you decide not to open your umbrella. You let the rain slide through your hair, against your hands. You’re so cold but you’re used to it. You haven’t been able to warm up in a while. The rain feels good, actually. It makes you aware of your body, of your skin. As you walk towards your apartment building, you tilt your head backwards and let the rain fall down your cheeks like tears. 

Daylight has almost vanished when you unlock your apartment door, and you step inside with a sigh. You’ve grown to hate this place so much, but there is nowhere else to go. You should look for another apartment, but moving seems like an insurmountable amount of shit to go through and you just don’t have the energy. Maybe in a few weeks. Maybe in a few months. Maybe. 

You start by taking a shower, the boiling hot water contrasting with your icy cold skin. You wash your hair, apply lotion. Your movements are slow but you get there eventually. Wrapped in your bathrobe, you open your closet and stare at your clothes. It’s not that you hate them, you just have no idea what to choose. You’re not going someplace fancy, so you end up slipping on a simple pair of jeans and a warm sweater. 

You should probably eat something, but your stomach is in a tight knot. There will be food at Yeji’s place, anyway. 

As you check your phone and realize you still have some time before you have to leave, you let out a long sigh and sit on your bed. You’re not sure you really want to go, but your friends organized this movie night a while ago and they are excited for it. Yeji’s place is perfect for it - she has a projector, which allows the movies to play as wide as the wall. Everyone has been tasked to bring their favorite snacks and drinks. It’s going to be a chill night, and you’ll be happy to see your friends, but everything feels exhausting. 

You promised you were going to be there. So you will go. 

It’s not like they will bother you, anyway. They all know you pretty well, although some more than others, but they are all aware of what is going on with you. No secrets to have. Still you don’t want to be a bore, and you know you’ll do your best to smile throughout. It’s not that they want you to - but you’ll still do it. It’s just who you are. 

At least he won’t be there. Yeji said he wouldn’t - had plans already, apparently. It would be okay if your ex was there - actually, you’ve seen him a couple of times already since your breakup. But you need to be in the right mindset - and today you aren’t, so it’s good he’ll be absent. 

You let out a long sigh and stand up to dry your hair. 

You apply simple makeup, a bit of eyeliner, some mascara. You put on your favorite necklace. You decide to wear perfume. Little things to make you feel better, like you aren’t crippled inside, like you don’t have a decaying organ in your chest. It’s recent, that you’re able to do that. A week ago you would’ve showed up in sweatpants and messy hair. 

Little steps. 

As you grab a tote bag to fill it with the snacks you bought yesterday, you get a text from Yeji. 

Everything okay? 

Come anytime <3

She’s checking up on you and you’re grateful for it. Not a lot of people do, not even your closest friends. You don’t blame them - you haven’t been good company and sometimes it’s hard to find the right words. Some of them have been anxious that your breakup with San will mess up their friend group, and in fear of seeming like they’re taking sides, they just decided not to say anything. They take care of you differently - but sometimes you hate that they can’t talk about it with you. 

Yeji doesn’t do that. She’s been there for you at every step - and it’s not because she blames or dislikes San. It’s just different for you and her, because your friendship not only goes way back when your friend group got together, but also way beyond. 

Leaving in 5, you text back, and she sends a heart emoji. 

Once you’re ready, you slip on your jacket and stare at your reflection in the hallway mirror. You look your normal self, except for the obvious exhaustion on your face, and the slightly vacant look in your eyes. 

You can do this. 

You won’t let your stupid, broken heart define you or your life. 

When you get to Yeji’s, she pulls you into a tight hug. A few people are already there - Jeongin is already snacking on a huge bowl of popcorn, talking to Lily, who’s on her phone scrolling down Pinterest boards. Changbin and his girlfriend, the newest addition to your friend group, are bundled up under a blanket on the couch and wave at you. 

You follow Yeji to the kitchen, putting the cans of soda you brought in the fridge, adding your snacks to the pile on the counter. 

“You look really pretty,” Yeji tells you with a smile. “Is that the sweater we got together the other day?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m still not sure about the color, though.”

“No, it suits you. I promise.” 

You give her a sincere smile as she empties a bag of potato chips in a bowl. It’s quiet in the apartment, but you know it won’t last very long - except for Changbin, the loudest people have yet to arrive. 

“How was work today?” Yeji asks. 

“Fine,” you shrug. “Boring.” 

She gives you a long look. 

“You know you don’t have to stay there, right? You can find something else. With your skills it would be easy -”

“I know, Yeji,” you say in a low voice. “But not right now.” 

You play with your nail polish, chipping a small piece from your thumb. 

“Right now boring is good,” you nod, your voice a little more firm. “When I can focus more, I’ll look for something else. Promise.” 

She smiles, taking your hand to give it a squeeze. “I just don’t want you to waste away where you don’t belong. You’re worth so much more.” 

“I appreciate it.” 

You put your head on her shoulder for a second as Jeongin’s laugh resonates through the apartment. It’s a sweet and familiar sound, and you start to believe it was a good idea to come. 

Grabbing the filled bowls of potato chips, you and Yeji join the others in the living room. You sit down next to Jeongin, who quickly shows you the funny puppy video Lily has shown him, and you giggle at the screen. As Yeji starts to set up the projector, the door opens on a few more of your friends and you know it won’t be quiet anymore. 

Chan, Jisung and Minho are yelling about something, raising the volume of the conversation a million dozen decibels, and you shake your head at the sight of them. Chaotic and loud as they are, even in your state you are grateful for them, because whatever the circumstances they can always make you smile, or, at least, provide welcome distractions. 

They drop down in the remaining spots, either on the couch or the floor, Minho diving his hand down Jeongin’s popcorn bowl and Jisung arguing with Changbin about the type of beer he bought - of course, as usual, Jisung’s only answer to Changbin’s complaint is a simple traitor. 

“THIS AGAIN…” Changbin yells at the top of his lungs. 

You can’t help but smile. That game has been going on since Changbin moved out of his apartment with Jisung and Chan to move in with his girlfriend - Minho took his spot since, and there really isn’t any bad blood between them, but Jisung loves to remind Changbin how he abandoned them. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Minho says, sitting down between you and Jeongin. You took the spot at the end of the couch, a blanket covering your legs. “How’s it going?” 

“I’m okay,” you say with a smile. “What about you?” 

“Fantastic. Did you check out that link I sent you?” 

You start to talk a little - you and Minho work in a similar domain and it’s always nice to exchange ideas and anecdotes. You find yourself immersed in the conversation, the noise of all your friends chatting and laughing mixing into a background noise you can’t get enough of - it definitely helps the black hole inside your chest. You don’t feel so cold, you don’t feel so empty. You know it won’t last, and reality will catch up to you quickly, but for now you allow yourself to relax. 

“Y/N.” 

You turn towards Chan, who has stopped at your level. He’s smiling kindly at you, looking a little tired - but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Like you, Chan barely sleeps. Neither of you can stop the ceaseless train of thought in your heads - while you stare at the ceiling, Chan works. 

“Hey, Channie.” 

“You want something to drink?” 

“Yeah, maybe a soda.” 

“Cool, coming right up.”

“Oiiiii, what about me?” Minho whines. 

He asks for a can of beer, followed by Lily who has finished her previous one, and soon everyone is yelling at Chan to bring them something to drink. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, and you chuckle. 

“Let me help you,” you say, standing up. “Y’all are lazy,” you add, squinting your eyes at your friends. 

Their protests all tangle together and you laugh, following Chan to the kitchen. 

Your friends. 

They are all precious to you, all in their own way. 

But Chan. Chan. 

The first time you met him you felt your heartbeat accelerate because he looked so damn charming. A kind smile, eyes like stars, and an energy that immediately soothed you. It did not take long for you to develop a crush on him. How could you not? He was kind, funny, talented, and smart. He truly cared for the people in his life and never broke a promise. Handsome, too, of course. The kind of guy that made you weak in the knees, that sent your thoughts reeling whenever he touched you. 

Your crush had always been one-sided though, which was fine. You had quickly worked to overcome your physical attraction to him and made it a priority to develop your friendship. Because Chan understood you. You found yourselves exchanging looks and agreeing on similar things often enough so that one day, you sat down next to him during a party to ask for advice and you ended up talking for hours, forgetting to get drunk like everyone else. 

You are not particularly close. You don’t know everything about each other. You mostly see each other with the rest of your friend group - rarely alone. You don’t text each other everyday - in fact, you barely do. But he’s a steady presence in your life, a friend you rely on, and you know it’s the same for him. 

Tonight, you’re especially grateful for him. 

Chan gives you a smile as he opens the fridge. 

“I like your sweater,” he says, handing you a pack of sodas. 

You put it on the kitchen island, smiling. 

“Thank you. I like your earrings. Are they new?” 

You’re used to Chan wearing his silver hoops, but today he’s sporting a simple black dot on one ear, a small lightning bolt on the other. 

“Yeah, I felt like a change,” he nods. “They say it’s good for us, right?” 

“I guess,” you answer simply. “It suits you.”

“Thanks.” 

You exchange smiles, gathering all the desired drinks slowly. You glance at him sometimes, at the angle of his nose, at the dark curls that brush his ears. Your crush on Chan eventually faded away, although never entirely. You have just buried it so deep inside you sometimes you forget it is there - you haven’t thought about it for a long time.

Then again, your heart has been entirely occupied by San. 

Heart.

Body.

Soul.

All of which lay in pieces, now. 

Chan must see the shadows in your eyes, because he frowns a little, looking intently at you. 

“Is something wrong?”

You shake your head, trying to shake the bad thoughts away at the same time.

“No, no, don’t worry.” 

Chan gives you a smile and a short nod, although he’s still frowning. He can feel you don’t want to linger on it - you hope he knows it’s not that you don’t trust him. Besides Yeji, Chan is perhaps the friend you trust the most. 

You remember every single hug he’s given you. 

Always so warm. 

Always at the right time. 

He probably doesn’t know some of them gave you the strength to hold on. The most recent one, about two weeks ago. 

“Can I have another one, please?” 

The barman gives you a nod and turns to prepare you another beer.

Besides you, Yeji gives you a long look. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” 

“Just one more,” you tell her, lifting an index. 

She smiles, throwing an arm around your neck. She keeps a close eye on you - that’s why you feel comfortable to indulge in another drink. You need it, after all. Since your breakup with San, you’ve barely touched alcohol, choosing instead to drown in snacks and utter isolation. 

So for your friend, it’s a step forward that you’ve agreed to come tonight. 

It’s just you, Yeji, Chan and Jisung. A quiet night at the local pub. 

A few beers, a board game.

When you have a new full pint, you and Yeji head back to the table and sit down. All of you decide to play another game, and Jisung starts shuffling the cards, telling you some dumb joke. You know he’s doing that to make you feel better, and it works. You find yourself smiling so much your cheeks hurt a little. 

You place your head on his shoulder, affectionately, and cross Chan’s gaze. He’s smiling, too, fondly. 

Your friends are talking and your heart hurts so fucking much.

You miss San. You’ve fallen out of love a long time ago, you now realize, but it’s still painful. You have to start over. You have to find yourself again. It’ll be long work - but you’ll do it. And as you look at your friends, you think to yourself they will make it easier. You’ve been drinking a little, and the emotion swells in your chest. 

“Y/N, don’t cry!” Yeji cries out, noticing the tears on your cheeks.

You have not even realized you are crying. You touch your skin in surprise, letting out a giggle.

“Awwww, no, honey,” Jisung says, drawing you in his arms. 

He rocks you like a child and you laugh as more tears drip down your eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I love you guys so much.” 

“Nooo, you’re gonna make me cry too,” Yeji cries out, taking your hand.

“I know it’s not… Not easy for you, because San is your friend, and…” You sniffle. “I don’t want this to be difficult for you.”

“Don’t say that, Y/N,” Jisung whispers. “We’re your friends, too.” 

“We’re here for you,” Chan nods. 

Crying and laughing at the same time, your friends decide to keep playing to get your mind off of things. You’re grateful.

Yeji wins, of course. She always does. Once all your beers are finished, you agree to go. Chan will drive Yeji home - he’s only had one pint. Jisung lives close to you, so you decide to walk together. 

You say goodnight to Yeji. She places a kiss on your cheek, squeezes your hand. Chan draws you into a hug. 

It’s so loving. So steady. 

It takes the breath out of your lungs. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he says in your ear. “I’m here if you need me.” 

You’re too dumbstruck to reply. But you know you’ll remember those words for a long time.

You do. 

You still remember the words - you can still hear them. 

He’s here.

He loves you.

Like a friend, of course. 

But that is more than enough.

“Y/N?” 

Chan’s voice brings you back to the present. You shake your head and chuckle.

“Sorry. I was just lost in thought.” 

He nods, biting his lip nervously. “By the way, I wanted to ask. There’s this concert next -” 

That’s when you hear the door open - followed by a voice.

His voice.

Your blood freezes in your veins, and you stare dumbly at Chan, unable to move. 

You feel like bursting out in tears. No, no, no. 

Not him, not tonight. 

You feel Chan’s eyes on you. Yet, you don’t really see him. He delicately puts a hand on your wrist. 

“Y/N…” 

You try to gather your thoughts. You should’ve prepared, just in case. You feel so stupid. Of course it was all going too well. 

You’re startled when Yeji bursts in the kitchen, puts her hands on your shoulders and seeks your eyes. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, honey -” 

“What the hell?” you hear Chan mutter next to you. “I thought he wasn’t supposed to come.” 

“He wasn’t,” Yeji hisses. “I swear, he told me he couldn’t.” 

“Fuck’s sake, this dude…” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. 

Slowly, you look up at your friends, gathering a smile. 

“It’s okay,” you say, your voice clear. You take Yeji’s hands in yours, nod at her. “I’m fine.” 

“Y/N…” 

“I’m fine,” you repeat. “I’ll be fine.” 

You look at Chan next, and you feel like your heart will burst out of your chest. There’s something in his eyes you can’t identify, a spark that is also a shadow. He’s frowning, his body slightly bent towards you, like he’s about to pull you into a hug. You clear your throat and nod, praying to all you can not to let your voice tremble. 

“It’s all right,” you say. “He’s our friend. He should be here.” 

And to some degree, you mean it. 

Yeji gives you a tight hug, and you can hear Chan let out a long sigh from behind you. You can’t linger on it - you have to focus on yourself. 

Stay calm. Breathe. 

You can do this. 

The breakup was hard for the both of you, you remind yourself. You loved each other, you really did, that much you’re sure of. San was never that good of a liar. You have a much more vulnerable nature than him, which was always a source of conflict between you, but you know your breakup affected him. You remember the tears in his eyes. The vein in his neck, pulsing, as he held them back. You remember the way his hand clenched yours. The way his words came out broken from between his teeth. 

It’s over, isn’t it? 

You fell out of love. 

It happens. 

You take a deep breath. You still want San to be your friend. You’ve agreed that you would try, and you intend to follow through on your words. 

You take a step to follow Yeji back to the living room, but Chan puts a delicate hand on your shoulder. You turn around, plunge your eyes in his. You’ve always thought of them as a haven, a night sky full of stars, both deep and bright.

He stares at you with a clenched jaw and a furrowed brow. He smells as he always has, a smell you’ve wanted on your pillow for so long - and it still makes you slightly dizzy although you know there’s no chance with him. 

“If at any moment you want to go home, tell me, yeah?” he whispers to you. “I’ll drive you.” 

You’re a little entranced by the soft lines on his full lips and the way his low voice scrapes - but you manage a nod, after what feels like a long second. 

“Thank you.” 

He nods, gives your shoulder a squeeze and lets you go. The warmth of his hand lingers there, and it gives you courage to move forward. 

San has already taken a seat next to Jisung and glances at you when you walk into the room. Your friends are kind enough to keep the conversation going, so the room doesn’t fall silent, but your heart sinks at the bottom of your chest. 

Because San doesn’t look tired. He doesn’t look sad. 

In fact, he beams. 

Eyes sparkling. 

New clothes, new watch. 

A smile so wide it slices right through your heart. 

Fuck, he looks so happy. 

You have to bite your tongue so you burst out crying. You stagger a little bit, but Chan is right behind you and it prevents you from falling back. His warmth, the voices of your friends, everything makes it better. 

“Hey,” you manage to say, although you’re not sure how. “You look good.” 

“Thanks, you too,” he tells you, but his voice is distant. His eyes are too, like he doesn’t even see you anymore. Not like he did before. 

It’s abundantly clear - your ex has moved on. 

It’s not that you still have feelings for him - you just need time to grieve what you had. San was a huge part of your life for a long time, and suddenly he isn’t there anymore. That absence, that void, that’s what is difficult to deal with. Being so goddamn alone all the time. No one to make you feel loved. No one to love, either. 

You’re still putting yourself back together. 

You’re still healing. 

Not him. He’s done it. 

You should be happy for him, and in a way, you are. You’re not mad he’s moved on. But it happened so quickly. It hasn’t even been two months. You were together for more than a year. Maybe you’re jealous, maybe you’re bitter. But mostly it hurts. 

How long is it going to take you? Why are you so goddamn sensitive? 

You breathe out and help Chan bring everyone their drinks. San’s laughter is a haunting melody and you can’t wait for the movie to start so you can think about something else. You take your previous seat, and Jeongin rubs your back affectionately, offering you the bowl of popcorn. 

Chan sits at the opposite side of the room. Pathetically, you wish he was still next to you. Instead you focus on the images that start playing, projected on the white wall in front of you. It’s a movie you’ve already seen, but that’s ok. It’s not like you can really focus, anyway. 

Because all you can see is San. Funny, clever, happy. You know him, you’d know if he was pretending, but he isn’t. He’s liberated. It’s the only word that comes to mind. You wonder for how long you’ve been bringing him down. If he realized it and hated you for it. If he couldn’t wait to get rid of you. If he was just looking for an excuse and -

You close your eyes and put a stop to the intruding thoughts.

No. It wasn’t like that. 

Was it? 

You don’t know anymore.

You barely follow the movie because your thoughts keep spiraling. Around you, your friends are chatting, making jokes, and commenting on the movie. Jisung’s laugh is so loud it takes over sometimes and you take refuge in it. But your heart feels frozen in place, in the middle of two beats, unable to go forward. You stare into nothing. You don’t even touch your soda. The popcorn, either - so you hand it back to Jeongin. His presence feels good, too. 

You hate yourself for being unable to live in the moment. For letting your mind wander like it is, dizzy and unkind. 

In the movie, people say what they think. 

In the movie, loving doesn’t seem so hard. 

In the movie, it doesn’t rain. 

It’s a blessing and a curse that everyone is watching the movie, and that you’re sitting in the corner, in the dark. Your eyes are filled with tears and suddenly one escapes and slides down your cheek. You fidget in your seat, faking a yawn to wipe it away. You pull the blanket over your trembling body. You laugh when the others do, although it’s heartless. Nobody notices - or so you think - and it’s a good thing. 

You try to focus on the movie. It’s entertaining, it’s funny, and for a minute, maybe, you succeed in feeling better. Then you see, from the corner of your eye, San pulling out his phone. He stares at the screen, and in the dark, its blue light illuminates his face. He smiles at it and types a few words. You know that smile. Fuck, you were that smile, once. 

You clench your jaw, hard, and wanting to look away you accidentally fall into Chan’s eyes. He’s looking at you, and although you can’t see his face very well in the darkness, you notice the worry in his eyes. He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t say anything - but you hear his silent question. You need to go?

You shake your head slowly, forcing a smile. I’m fine. I’m fine. 

He nods. He doesn’t believe you. 

You stand up on shaky legs and head to the bathroom. Once you close the door, you don’t even open the light. You wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of your own reflection. You just breathe out, breathe in, and then breathe out again. The tears fall down your cheeks, warm. They taste bitter on your lips. 

Why can’t you be like him? Why can’t you move on, be happy? 

You take a few minutes to collect yourself. It’s fine - you don’t mind seeing San. It’s good, if, unlike you, he’s able to rebuild himself. It’s all you wish for him, and you know it’s all he wishes for you, too. He’d probably be honestly sad to know you aren’t doing well. You can never tell him, of course. You’ll pretend as well as you can - you can’t allow yourself to be vulnerable with him for now. You’ll keep it for yourself, shamefully, selfishly. 

It will be fine. 

You’ll get over it. He did, so why not you?

Once you feel ready, you head out the bathroom, and Chan is there, leaning against the wall. 

“Oh, shit, sorry,” you chuckle. “I didn’t realize someone was waiting. Did you -” 

You stop as Chan puts his hands on your shoulders and pulls you to him. You fall into his arms, and you’re a little shocked so you don’t move at first. Still, Chan holds you there. You stammer. 

“C-Chan, I’m okay, you don’t have to -” 

“Y/N,” he says, and there’s something about the way he whispers your name that makes your heart ache. “I saw you crying. Please. You don’t have to hide.” 

Gently, you let your head fall against his chest. He hugs you a little tighter. 

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” he whispers. “You don’t have to hide.” 

You nod. He said it in such a way, you don’t know what it is. 

You are friends. 

You’ve been for a long time. 

Despite your crush on him, despite the awkward period where he was aware of it but didn’t say anything, despite all of that, you are friends. 

But Chan has always been more than that for you.

Chan is a pillar, Chan is a mess. 

Chan is both the lighthouse and the storm. 

You like the feel of his arms around you. The way his chest moves as he breathes. The texture of his t-shirt. 

Oh, God. Not again. 

You can’t let your crush come back running. You’re just sad. You’re just lonely. It wouldn’t be fair to Chan, would it? He’s your friend. He’s not a pretty face you can choose to lust over whenever you’re lonely. 

Don’t do that to yourself, Y/N. 

Don’t do that to him.

Chan is your friend and he is only trying to be here for you. 

“Do you want to go home?” he whispers in your hair. 

You take a deep breath and nod. Chan takes a step back, smiling kindly at you. You do the same, although it’s a little faint. He bends his knees slightly to be at your height, gently rubs your cheeks to remove the tears and replace your hair. 

“Let’s go, then, love.” 

You don’t have time to gawk at him for using a nickname he’s never said before, because he turns and waves at you to follow him. 

He tells your friends you’re feeling a little sick and he’ll drive you home. You say there’s the flu going around at the office, and you hate lying to your friends, because you know some of you will believe you and some won’t. Right now you don’t really care - even if they all knew it was a lie, they wouldn’t judge you. You make sure to not avoid San’s eyes and smile at him. You don’t want him to start asking questions. 

You get your things. Yeji gives you a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, making you promise you’ll text tomorrow. You nod, squeezing her hand and glancing at your friends. There will come a day when you’ll be yourself again. 

You just need time.

Time and a lot of courage.

When you step outside, with Chan right behind you, you realize it’s raining again. You look up at the sky, now a profound black painted by hints of grey clouds. You run to his car, the rain heavy and cold.  

The car is clean and smells nice. Chan pulls back his hoodie, starts the engine and drives away as you look back at the apartment building. You wish you were stronger. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Chan says, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping on his thigh to the rhythm of the song on the radio. 

“Do you?” you tell him with a smile. 

“I do,” he nods, matching your smile. “You’re telling yourself you should be stronger.” 

You gawk at him, feeling both embarrassed and scandalized. He shrugs. 

“Didn’t I ever tell you I can read you like an open book?” 

“Tsk,” you retort. “Wasn’t that when we played Mafia?” 

“Whatever applies to Mafia applies to real life.” 

“Not sure that’s true.” 

“This is.” 

You glare at him and he does the same, playfully. You feel much more relaxed now that you’re here. It was always easy to talk to Chan - never does that change, whatever the circumstances. You are much alike in that you tend to put others before yourselves, often at the sacrifice of your own feelings. For some reason, though, that didn’t work between you. The walls immediately fall apart.

“So I’m an open book, huh?” you say, staring at your hands. 

“To me, yes. When I have my eyes on you.” 

“And you had your eyes on me tonight?” you ask without thinking. 

“Of course,” he answers, stopping the car at a red light. “I stayed sober, kept a close eye on you. Just in case.” 

You wince. “Just in case I started crying hysterically or made a scene?” 

He shakes his head, looking at you. The red light reflects on his face, enveloping the car in its hue. The rain thumps on the car in soft sounds. Chan’s dark hair is messy on his head, charmingly curled at the tips. 

“More like in case he did something,” he eventually says. 

“Why would he?” you ask with a frown, assuming he’s talking about San.

“Well…” Chan sighs. “He can be a dick sometimes.” 

You’re surprised by his words - you never would’ve thought that Chan disliked San. On all accounts, they are good friends. Chan chuckles nervously at your look, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry. I know you were a thing for a long time, but… It’s just what I think.” 

“Did he do something?” 

Chan shrugs. “It’s just a feeling. Never really did anything. Except breaking up with you, of course.” 

You scoff. “He’s an asshole for breaking up with me?” 

“Yeah,” Chan stammers. “Just - like - who would ever let a girl like you go?” 

His words don’t make a lot of sense to you. They come to you muffled, as if you are plunged in a dream or in a drunken state. You honestly can’t believe your ears. 

“What are you -” 

He quickly waves his hand, looks away from you to the road ahead - and fortunately for him, the light turns green, so he has a good excuse to change the subject. 

“Don’t mind me. I’m just rambling.” 

You really don’t want to let this go. Your heart is racing, and you honestly wouldn’t know San’s name if someone was to yell it in your ear right now. All you can see is Chan, his tightened jaw, gripping the wheel of his car, driving you home. His words echo in your head, and you’re trying to put everything together. 

Did you miss something? Clearly, Chan has something on his mind, an itch he can’t scratch. Have you been so intoxicated by your grief and sadness that you blacked out? You haven’t been a good friend, that much you know. You just wanted to feel better, first. You were of use to no one feeling this sad and broken. But Chan’s agitation has clearly been there for a while. How long have you been this blind? 

You open your mouth, trying to find the right words. Chan, what is going on?

Chan, are you angry at me?

Chan, please, tell me what’s on your mind. 

You sigh in frustration. You’re silent for a while, your thoughts spiraling, and just when you’re just about ready to ask, your phone rings. You glance at the screen instinctively, and San’s name is like a slap on the face. 

Are you okay? he asks in a text. Tell me when you get home. 

Hints of your boyfriend. Remnants of the past. The text feels like a ghost is speaking to you. It makes you angry. It makes you ache. 

You might not love San anymore, but you miss him. 

“Are you okay?” Chan asks.

“Yeah,” you nod. 

You’re about to say you’re fine, which has become an automatic response, but you remember what Chan said. I can read you like an open book. So instead, you take a deep breath. 

“It’s San,” you explain. “He’s asking me if I’m okay and to text him when I’m home.” 

Chan scoffs, and there is nothing amiable in the sound. “The guts on this guy,” he mutters. “I’m literally driving you and he knows that.” 

You frown, sensing the anger in his voice. 

“Seriously, Chan, did something happen between your two?” 

Chan shakes his head. He doesn’t want to look at you. 

“Chan,” you insist. “Tell me, please.” 

He lets out a sigh, gripping the wheel tighter. 

“We might’ve had… an altercation.”

“An altercation?” you repeat. “Like a fight?!” 

“Not a fight,” Chan sighs. “Not a physical one, anyway.”

“What the fuck happened?” 

The words escape your mouth. An uneasy feeling washes over you. Nobody has told you about this. Nobody has said a word. 

“When did this happen?” you ask when Chan doesn’t answer.

“Like… a week ago, I think.” 

“Why didn’t no one -” 

You interrupt yourself and close your eyes. Looking out the car window, you realize you’re already parked in front of your apartment building. How did it go so fast?

For how much longer are you going to keep losing track of time? 

“Chan,” you say, your voice shaking. “Please tell me what’s going on.” 

He looks at you with timid eyes. They shimmer in the darkness but you can’t focus on them. You are trembling and you can’t hold on to a single clear thought. Your mind is a blurry mess.

Chan looks out through the window before he takes a deep breath. 

“I didn’t want to do this tonight. You need to rest, you -” 

“If you don’t tell me now, I’ll never be able to sleep, so it will be worse.” 

You feel your hands shaking, so you clench your fists. Outside, the rain accelerates, pounds loudly on the car. The sound is almost unbearable but you don’t care. 

“If you’re trying to protect me, I’m grateful,” you add, when you see he’s still hesitating. “But I can take it. I’d rather know.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, his voice quivering. 

“We’re friends, right?” you tell him. “That’s what you said. Be my friend, Chan.” 

He sighs and rubs his eyes. You’re scared, and yet a part of you feels perfectly calm. You hate the fact that something was hidden from you, but you’re so ready to withstand whatever storm is heading your way.

You’d rather stand in chaos than into nothingness. 

At least the chaos makes a little sense. 

“Before I say anything…” Chan sighs. “I don’t want you to take any of this on you, yeah? I know you’ll feel bad, but please, just remember -” 

“For fuck’s sake, Chan,” you say with a nervous laugh. “Get to the point.”

“He has a girlfriend.” 

You stare back at him. 

“What?” 

“San. He has a girlfriend. I thought it was too soon, that it was disrespectful of you, so I told him and it got heated, but… Yeah. Shit. I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

It’s like the rain suddenly got quiet. 

A girlfriend. 

You should’ve known. You saw it, after all. The phone, the text, the smile. The happiness in his eyes. The trendy clothes, the new watch. All the hints were there. 

He has moved on. 

More than you expected. 

Everything happens quickly. Your body acts before your brain registers it, and in the blink of an eye you’re outside in the pouring rain. You slam the passenger door behind you, you forget your bag, you don’t even think about it. You just walk forward.

It’s bitter cold. 

In seconds, you’re drenched. 

Your knees feel weak and you’re sure you are going to fall.

A sob escapes your throat. 

It shouldn’t hurt that much. 

You hate your heart. 

You hate how vulnerable it is. 

You want to move on, too. 

“Y/N!” 

You turn around, halfway to the door of your apartment, to find Chan running towards you. You raise your hand slowly. It’s shaking like a leaf.

“It’s fine, Chan. I’m f-” 

“Stop saying that!” 

You’re a bit surprised at the sudden anguish in his voice. He stops inches away from you, getting soaked by the heavy rain. It slides down his cheeks like tears, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. He looks at you fiercely, his eyes blazing with light. 

“I’m sorry, I just - I see you’re hurting and it’s killing me.” 

You don’t know what to tell him. You wish he would go away. You wish he would hug you. You wish the pain would just stop.  

“Y/N -”

“I don’t care!” you scream, the sound getting lost in the rain. 

Chan frowns. 

“I don’t care if he has a girlfriend,” you cry out. “I just…” You shrug, your eyes lost in Chan’s. “I just want to heal, too. I want to move on, too. I’m sick of being sad. I’m sick of hurting.” 

There is such despair in Chan’s face you can hardly bear it. You wish you could tell him not to take the weight of your pain on his shoulders, but you know him better than that. He can’t help it. That’s why he’s here with you.

“You just have to give me time,” you say, your voice falling apart. “I’ll be fine eventually.” 

He lets out a sigh, slides a hand through his drenched hair. A raindrop slides down his face, gets caught on his lips. 

“Please, let’s go inside,” he pleads. “Let me be here for you.” 

You hesitate, but the cold rain keeps you on your toes. You want to be home, in your own space, but you also don’t want to be alone. So you nod, and Chan lets out a sigh, thanking you in a whisper. 

When you step inside your apartment you’re a little shy to turn on the lights because it’s messy, but you can’t really be bothered about that right now. Chan waits on the other side of the door, a hesitant look on his face. 

“Come in,” you tell him. 

He nods, closing the door behind him. Your place is modest, just big enough for one person, situated in the semi-basement of the building. It does not get much light, but it feels cozy and it is cheap. 

The first thing you do is get a towel for Chan so he can dry his hair and his clothes. He hangs his hoodie on a hook near the door; luckily the t-shirt underneath is only damp. His dark blue jeans took the worst of the rain. You suggest giving him some dry clothes, but he insists he’ll be fine. 

You tell him to get comfortable and go to change in your room. Your limbs feel weak as you slip on a pair of sweatpants and a crewneck. You cannot stop thinking about Chan's words. 

San has a girlfriend. 

He has opened his heart to love again. 

The rain keeps falling. 

It’s time you heal. 

When you come back to the living room, Chan is anxiously staring at his phone. He puts it away when he sees you, smiling a little timidly. 

“Feel better?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Want a drink?”

“Sounds good.” 

You give him a gentle smile and you both head to the kitchen, where you fill two glasses of soju. He takes one, clinking it against yours. You drink it in one go. 

“Now that feels better,” you sigh. 

Chan smiles at you fondly, and you nudge his arm. 

“Chan. It’s all right. It had to happen.” 

“So quickly, though?” he winces. 

“We all heal at different paces,” you say softly. “Or maybe it’s his way of healing. Either way I’m happy for him.” 

Chan leans one elbow on the kitchen counter, giving you a long look. You hold his gaze, confused at the sudden calmness you feel.

“You said you can read me like an open book,” you remind him, pouring yourself another drink. “Am I lying?” 

He smiles briefly. “No.” 

“Cheers.” 

He takes another sip, and you imitate him. 

“How about we sit down?” you propose. 

Once in the living room, you sink into the couch. Chan sits at a comfortable distance, twirling his glass between his fingers. It’s strange to see him at your place - because of the size of your apartment, you rarely have friends over. You remember him driving you home a couple of times, but he must have been inside only once or twice in the three years you’ve lived here.

You talk a little, about everything and nothing. You drink some more, perhaps a little too much, but the soju warms your body. Chan relaxes, too. The bottle is quickly empty. 

You both fall silent, and you stare at the bottom of your empty glass. The tears come back too easily. 

“Chan?” 

“Yeah, love?”

You peck your lips. Hearing him say that feels too good. It’s so new, but you already don’t want him to ever stop. 

“Is she pretty?” you utter.

“Y/N…” 

“She must be. Pretty and smart.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“Do you know her?” 

You look up, and Chan shakes his head. His hair is untidy, his cheeks a little red, his full lips as inviting as ever. 

“I don’t. Ji told me they met at a party.” 

You let out a shaky sigh. “So everyone knows?” 

You hate the way your voice shudders, but you can’t help it. Chan shuffles closer to you, gently taking your hand in his. It’s warm and familiar. 

“No,” he answers in a soft voice. “Just a few. We wanted to wait for the right moment - well, actually, I thought San should be the one to tell you.” 

You laugh, wiping your tears. “No offense, but that would’ve been worse.” 

Chan snorts amusingly. “Oh. Good thing it didn’t happen, then. I thought it’d be a good idea.”

“It’s a terrible idea.” 

You both end up giggling, and Chan doesn’t let go of your hand. You sniffle. You don’t let go either.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” you say. But why are you so invested in this?”

“In your breakup?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m not invested in your breakup,” he shrugs. “I’m invested in you, you’re my friend.” 

“But it’s - you don’t have to, you can just be like the others, not take a side, you don’t have to fight anyone.” 

“Why wouldn’t I speak out? It bothers me, you know me, I don’t shut up when it comes to people I care about.” 

“But San is your friend, too.” 

“But you’re -” 

You frown. “I’m what?” 

“You’re Y/N.” 

The tenderness in his voice takes you by surprise. It seeps through his lips, echoes in his eyes. You feel your heart twist and turn - and just like that, his fingers slip away from yours.

“Sorry, I…” He closes his eyes, shakes his head. “Hell, I’m doing it all wrong tonight. And I should really stop drinking. How the fuck am I supposed to drive back home?” 

“Chan, wait,” you say, ignoring him. “What are you trying to say?” 

He sighs heavily. His face falls in his hand, and he breathes there for a second before he looks back up at you. He looks so tired.  

“I know you had a crush on me,” he breathes. 

You smile nervously. “Why are you bringing this up?” 

“Because I have a crush on you, too,” he says. 

You blink, and it’s like the world tilts. You haven’t been drinking that much, it can’t be the soju. Still, you feel dizzy and warm. Chan is looking at you with fondness and anguish. 

He didn’t say had.

He said have.

His words are right there, still on the tip of his tongue. 

In his eyes. 

So damn bright. 

No - he’s here because he’s your friend. That’s it.

Isn’t it? 

“I don’t understand,” you breathe out.

“I never acted on it because San had wanted to ask you out for a while,” Chan explains with a shrug. “And you know me. I never put myself before others. And although I sorta knew you had a crush on me, I convinced myself San was better for you.” 

You look down at your hands, feeling completely overwhelmed. 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” you whisper. 

“Because you were so happy with him,” Chan says, his voice shaking. “You found each other and it was good, and who was I to say anything? At one point it didn’t even matter anymore, and I buried it deep inside of me, told myself I was over you. You were over me, after all. It was just a crush, anyway. I was so sure you’d be in this with San for the long run.” 

So did I, you want to say. Your throat feels so dry, however, you can’t say anything. You can just stare at Chan. He smiles at you almost carefully. 

“When I heard about your breakup… Everything came rushing back. The other night, after we got drinks, and I saw you crying… I was just so worried about you. So gutted to see you hurt, it was almost unbearable. And then he said he found someone else and I couldn’t understand, and we argued. It was heated, but it’s fine now. We’re good.” 

You close your eyes because the world can’t stop spinning. You were so cold earlier, but now you’re almost sweating. You’re too warm. The world is ablaze. 

Chan is your fire.

“I’m not saying I’m in love with you. I can’t say I am. But if I let myself go…” He stumbles on his words. “I just might.” 

Time has stopped. You can barely breathe.

You feel the sting of shame.

The delightful warmth of Chan’s confession.

You’ve been so blind.   

“You just mean so much to me,” he says, his voice both low and soft. “I just want you to be happy. I just want you to be loved as you should be loved.” 

When you open your eyes, it feels like he’s sitting closer to you although he hasn’t moved. He’s not touching you, but his smell overwhelms your senses. You can’t look away, and he watches you back.

“How I wish I could,” he breathes, his eyes drilling into yours. “Fall into you. Show you how you could be loved. ” 

You drink his words like they’re the essence of life. You feel, in each one, a wish, a hope, a possibility. Ropes that were drawn and never knotted together. Lifelines, waiting to be grasped. 

“I never was,” you breathe. 

He frowns. “What?”

“Over you,” you explain. “I never was over you. I’m not.” 

He closes his eyes. 

“Fuck, Y/N, don’t tell me that.”

“It’s true,” you say, voice trembling. “I loved San, of course I did. But you were always in my heart and you will never not be.” 

Chan’s eyes drip down your eyes to your lips. You feel an ache inside your chest. It’s like it’s starting to rain indoors. What an odd feeling. 

“You don’t love him anymore?” he asks carefully, weighing every word.

“No.” 

Your voice comes in a whisper, but it’s full of certainty. 

“But Chan, I…” You swallow. “I can’t - I can’t listen to what my heart says about you, it’s not fair, you’re not… You’re not a stand-in, you’re not - you’re more important than that, and…” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

The question catches you off guard. 

“Just once,” Chan smiles. “I want to taste your lips. Just once.” 

What could you say to that? How many times did you dream about Chan’s lips on yours, wondering what they felt like? Were his kisses kind, delicate, hungry? You’d see him drink whiskey and wonder if the taste would linger on them. You’d see him kiss another girl and picture yourself in her place. 

And now he was offering you a kiss.

Hell, he wanted to kiss you. 

So you find yourself nodding, and Chan takes a long look at you, as if he’s waiting for you to change your mind. You remain immobile, lips parted, awaiting his. Slowly, he plucks them, grazing them against his - and they sink into yours, soft, like a cloud, deep, like the ocean. 

You collapse in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck. He slides his fingers through your hair, his other hand embracing your waist to pull you closer. You can’t hold back a sigh from escaping your lips, and Chan responds by kissing you deeper, the movements of his lips getting almost feverish. 

“Chan,” you moan when you gasp for breath.

“Fuck, I can’t stop,” he growls, placing small kisses on your lips.

His fingers dig in your skin, and you desperately want to disappear against him, so you move your leg so you can straddle him. Chan wraps himself around you, and you feel the dampness of his clothes but you don’t care. You take his face in your hands, plunging back into a needy kiss. Chan’s hands wander on your back, on your hips, on the back of your neck. You can only lean into him. His tongue teases your lips and you open your mouth to let it in. It plays with yours, and you can feel walls tighten. 

By now you are fully making out, your hips grinding against his. You can feel him getting hard, and it sends your mind reeling. 

“God, you’re so perfect,” he moans around your lips.

“I’ve thought about this so often, Chan,” you admit.

“Same,” he grins. “I… Fuck, I can’t tell you this.” 

“Tell me,” you insist, trailing kisses alongside his jaw, on the delicate skin of his neck. It makes him shudder, and can almost feel his cock pulsating under you. 

“I thought about your lips,” he breathes out. “Your body. How you would sound moaning against me…” 

“Fuck, Channie…” 

You clench at his words, pressing your core on his erection. He grunts, his fingers slowly making their way under your shirt. You tug at his, and suddenly, like a flash of lightning, you realize what you are doing. Your heart skips a beat, and your mouth dries. Everything rushes back. You stop, and he does the same, leaning back. 

He looks more attractive than ever with his hair tousled by your fingers, his full lips red and wet from your kisses. 

“I’m sorry, I just -” 

“Is this going too fast?” he asks you gently. 

You hesitate. “It’s not that. I just - I don’t want to give the wrong impression.” 

Chan frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Like you’re just a rebound or something,” you shrug.

Chan smiles - that cheeky grin of his, his eyes sparkling at the same time. It toys with your heartstrings. How could anyone not adore this man? 

“I don’t care,” he answers. “I’ll be your rebound.” 

“Chan, I’m serious,” you sigh.

“So am I,” he says, twirling a strand of your hair around his index. “If it’s something you want, then I’m here. I want to. And it doesn’t have to mean anything tomorrow, or ever. We’ll always be friends.” 

You breathe out, briefly closing your eyes. All you want is to keep kissing him, to forget the world in his arms. To be desired, to be loved. 

It’s all you want.

But your heart still aches.

So much has happened tonight - you feel so heavy. 

You sigh again. “I just… Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

Chan cups your cheek. 

“It’s okay, love,” he says, placing a kiss on your forehead. “It’s all so fresh. I can leave if you -” 

“No,” you quickly interrupt him, pushing a finger against his plush lips. “Please. Stay with me.” 

Chan nods, his eyes not leaving yours. You should move. You should get going - get a glass of water, sleep it all off. But you can’t move, lost in Chan’s gaze, your body a bundle of nerves. You lean forward, settling your forehead against his. 

“It’s killing me,” you chuckle nervously. 

Chan giggles, and the sound is delightful. “We have time, love. I won’t let you go, now. I got you.” 

He places a soft kiss on your lips.

“If you’ll have me.” 

As an answer, you give him another kiss. You slide your fingers through his humid hair, inhaling his scent. 

“Will you sleep here tonight?” 

“I’m here, baby.” 

The word makes something melt inside of you. You shiver, and instinctively, he sprawls his warm hands on your back. 

You’re overwhelmed by the tenderness and the hurt. 

You feel so loved. 

So abandoned.

So alone.

So supported.  

So seen. 

Your lips find him again like a magnet. You kiss him deeper than before. You’re losing your mind. 

“Y/N,” he breathes in your mouth.

The words escape your lips. “Fuck it, I want you.” 

He groans, his fingers diving in your skin. His cock twitches under you, making you lose all sense. 

“I want this, Chan,” you sigh, biting his lip. “But I don’t - I don’t want you to think I’m using you, all right? You’re my friend, I care about you, I -” 

He laughs. “You can use me all you want.” 

He starts kissing you again, feverishly, as if it hasn’t just been a few seconds since he last did it. You arch your back, closing all distance between your bodies. Chan starts placing kisses down your neck, his tongue teasing your thin skin. 

“I’ll make you feel good, baby girl,” he whispers. “I’ll make you forget for a little while. Do you trust me?” 

“Yes.” 

“It’s just you and me tonight. Let the rest fade away.” 

He puts his strong hands on your ass, and slowly moves it. You sway your hips, and the friction of his erection against you makes you moan softly. You plunge your face in the crook of his neck, kissing his shoulder blades. 

“Just you and me, yeah?” he whispers.

“Just you and me,” you nod. 

In a swift move he removes your shirt, groaning at the sight of your bralette. It’s made of a thin lacy material, so he can perfectly see your nipples, and immediately leans in to brush his lips against them. You shudder, your nails digging in the back of his neck. 

He removes your bra to gain access to your breasts, gently massaging them in his hands and sliding his tongue around them. Meanwhile, you caress his cock above his jeans, loving the way he tenses at your touch. 

“Hold on to me,” he tells you in a breath.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he lifts you up, only to gently lay you down on the couch so he’s on top of you. 

“Let me see you,” you breathe, grabbing his t-shirt. 

He obliges, removing the piece of clothing so you revel in the sight of his toned chest. You take off your sweatpants and stare as he removes his jeans as well, giving you a better sight of his athletic body. His boxers do nothing to hide his erection.

“Before this goes any further,” he says, and his voice sounds so raw it sends shivers down your spine. “Do you have -” 

“Bathroom,” you say with a nod. 

He smiles, bends to steal a kiss and disappears. You look up at the ceiling, suddenly very aware of your nakedness, of what you are about to do. 

It feels like you’ve been through ten days in one. 

This morning you woke up with dread. 

Now you are filled with hope. 

Is this going too fast? Should you wait? 

Maybe. 

You don’t want to. 

This feeling in your chest, that Chan helps surge, that threatens to burst - all this light, all this love. It’s been a while since you’ve felt that. From someone else, from yourself. 

So what if it’s too fast? You want to live. 

And if there’s a person you trust, it’s Chan. 

“Got it,” you hear him say as he reappears. 

You don’t really know what to say because you have all this love and light inside your chest and words would not feel enough, so you stay silent, only pull him back into a kiss. He lays on top of you, warm and a little unsteady. You can feel he’s a little nervous, just like you, but you don’t mind. You need his softness. You need his realness. 

You push his boxers down, feeling his cock touch your stomach. The sensation is enough to clear your mind, and you bite Chan’s lower lip a little. He answers with a slight chuckle. 

You want to tell him how crazy he makes you. How nice it is to feel him so warm and hard. How much this means to you. But for some reason, you can bring yourself to say anything, and neither does he. You just breathe together, febrile and eager. His fingers graze your wetness, and you shiver. Sensing your pleasure, Chan applies some pressure on your folds, leaning two fingers on your clit. You arch your back, moaning a little louder than you expected. Your hands reach for him, palming his cock, your own fingers brushing his tip. 

“Fuck,” Chan grunts. “Y/N…” 

“Channie, please,” you whisper. 

“Wait,” he answers. “I want to do something first, if this is my only chance.” 

You frown, opening your eyes as you feel him move. You quickly understand what he means, however, as his lips trace a path of wet kisses on your stomach and your thighs. Soon his breath is against your core, and you forget how to breathe. 

When his tongue touches you, it’s like a hundred sensations at once, and you can’t hold back a shaky moan. Your fingers grab the couch as Chan pushes your legs further apart. He kisses you, pressing his tongue into you, attentive to your reactions. 

“You’re gorgeous, you know?” he says, although you barely hear him. “Keep moaning for me, baby girl.” 

A surge of pleasure goes through your body, enveloping you in silk, and you grab Chan’s hair, instinctively pushing him against your clit as his tongue encloses it. 

“Fuck, fuck, Chan, I’m…” you whimper.

“Are you coming?” 

You nod, and he buries his nose in you, embracing your sensitive spots. Your orgasm makes your whole body tremble against him, and he holds your legs as you do, making sure to accompany you throughout. 

As you come down, slowly, you blink back into reality. You look at him a little timidly, realizing your fingers are still tangled in his hair. You place your palm against his head, caressing it tenderly.  

“I’m so sorry,” you mutter. “Did I hurt you?” 

“Not at all,” he chuckles. “It was beautiful.” 

You bite your lip and he moves so he can kiss you. Your taste is on his lips and his tongue and it’s making you a little dizzy. 

It’s been a while since you’ve felt as good as this. 

Not that the sex with San was bad - but it faded at the same time your love did. When you broke up you had not touched each other like that - barely kissed, even - for weeks.

Although you’re sensitive, you really want to make Chan feel good. You need him inside you, stretching you, making you whole. You align your legs so his cock falls between them, and you grind slowly. His breath hitches against your lips, and you take it as a hint he likes it. 

“You made me feel so good, Channie,” you tell him in between kisses. “I want to do the same for you.” 

“Fuck, you’re so warm,” he lets out. 

“I want you inside me,” you say. 

He nods fervently, puts on the condom he got from the bathroom and aligns himself with your entrance. You feel so relaxed and tense at the same time, tucked in his arms on the couch, the rest of the world faded away. He enters you slowly, letting you time to adjust to his size, and you breathe out slowly. 

He feels so different. He feels so right. You are a bundle of nerves he unmakes.

He thrusts his hips at a measured, exquisite pace. Each time he goes deeper, and you cry out in pleasure, your fingers digging in the skin of his muscled back. You feel the fever, you feel the want. He breathes heavily against your neck, holding you tight. 

“You okay?” he asks in a whisper. 

“Don’t stop,” you tell him, arching a little to facilitate his movements. 

Chan doesn’t stop. As he makes love to you - because it is what he is doing - you sense his thrusts getting a little more erratic. In the quiet of the living room you hear nothing but the sound of him plunging inside you, his cock smeared by your wetness, his breathing mingling with yours. It is so erotic, so loving, your second orgasm is building quickly and deliciously. 

Chan accelerates. You pant, moaning nonsense. 

“Come with me,” he breathes, and that is the last thing you need to come undone. 

It’s enthralling how your soul escapes you and yet stays right there, against Chan, around him, with him. As you clench around his cock, you hear a delightful moan escape his throat, rough and hoarse, and it keeps you right above the clouds with him as he comes inside of you. You feel him twitch before he relaxes slowly. 

His lips find your forehead and he plants the softest of kisses there. 

As you sink into the couch, he removes himself from you, and lays down on top of your body. You don’t mind the weight - in fact, it feels just right. His nose is in your neck, his breath tickling your sweat-covered skin. Your fingers slide in his hair, and you close your eyes. 

You give yourselves time to recover. As the high fades, you feel Chan’s breathing relax and get more steady. 

“Channie,” you whisper with a smile. “Don’t fall asleep.” 

“Hm?” he groans, lifting his head to look at you. 

With his hair all over the place, his small eyes and swollen lips, he looks ready to pass out. It elicits a large smile from you, and you tenderly caress his cheek. 

“Let’s get to bed,” you tell him. 

He nods. You stand up on shaky legs, and help him on his feet. Together you close the lights in the apartment, and then you take his hand to guide him towards the bathroom. You take the time to clean up and head to the bedroom. The lights are off except for the fairy lights hanging above your bed. Once you’re there, you open a drawer, take out a t-shirt that will fit him. 

You slip under the sheets, Chan next to you. He pulls you into his arms, and you put your head on his shoulder. 

The rain has slowed to a drizzle.

Who knows what the sky will look like tomorrow? 

For now you just want to sleep against Charm’s warmth.

“Get some rest, love,” he whispers to you. 

“Goodnight, Channie.” 

“Goodnight.”

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