#and more importantly why are they actually really good at singing on this one THAT ISNT NORMAL 😭😭😭

[sunlightfeeling]

i never appreciated “we are smap!” enough…….

I actually resisted putting her on repeat when it came on during my drive to my parents…

..cuz that was definitely nawwwwt the time to go down emotional song rabbit hole

and so to make up for lost time, she has been on repeat…………for way too long

this is practically self-inflicted agony lmao fuckin help 😭😂

[amoristt]

the night falls like heaven

part 2 (x)

「 ✦nam-gyu/reader ✦ 」 tags: sfw // hurt/comfort, pining, nam-gyu's pov, lots of angst in an edgy way, very light drxg mentions,

a/n: this'll be a 2 part mini series! so excited to get this started ugh tysm to anon who requested this word count: 9.2k | songs i listened to (x) (x) original request (x)

・❥・Nam-gyu was not a man of many regrets. 

If he had to count, he could fit them all on one hand. Mostly from when he was a teen. Younger and somehow even more impulsive than he was now, drinking through money like water and getting into fights he’d never remember. The worst of them all, however, was one he hadn’t thought would really eat at him. It was unlike himself to get hung up over a girl of all things, but good lord, he was hanging. Strings and all, like a marionette, bleeding and sore at the joints. 

Tough to swallow couldn’t even compare to the feeling of when that specific regret suddenly pops up in the same room after years of abandon. If he hadn’t been so down bad, the sight of you would have only ruffled up his feathers enough to remind him of a better time, but in God’s honest eyes, those feathers of his had been ruffled since the dawn of the very instant you left. The door hadn’t even had a chance to hit you on your way out, nothing but dust and tears in your wake. He was stuck fast, left to his own devices, bouncing between wondering why he let it go so bad and whilst also begging God himself to make you stop being such a bitch. 

But the worst part, the worst part is that even now you still carry this aura of over it all around you. Self-respect colliding with the want to be loved was never an easy tango to dance, all steps just pulling and pushing and trying to snuff out useless feelings and red hot passion. But you twirled until he did what he did best and nudged you to the brink of your breaking point. All that sweet, sweet adoration drained from your face and he saw it- dignity. He saw it on you on your  way out of his apartment, storming past him with biting tears in your eyes. And now, years later, he gets to see it again from across the room.

You’re sitting on a high, high bunk you’ve claimed as yours, people watching. Other than the initial moment you’d seen him in the bubble of people, you haven't bothered sparing him a second glance. It was a beautiful moment- your eyes widening, stopped dead in your tracks before you were on the move all over again. He’s sneaking glances through the corners of his eyes, watching you over his shoulder, and you can’t even give him another second of your day. And the thing that really bothers him is that he knows he can’t stop. 

Out of everyone in this room, your distant presence is a fiery beacon in the darkness and he’s an angry, bitter moth. It’s in his very nature to circle and flutter one step behind, seeking the light, burning at its touch. Singed wings and an endless sneer. If only he could just stop touching the heat, he would surely move on. But he just can’t, and the fact that you can pisses him off so much it makes him lose his breath at times. 

He wished, with the very core of his entire being, that you were weaker. Or, at least, stupider. Maybe then you would have lived up to his expectations and showed up to his door, or at his club, teary eyed and lonely without his superior presence around. He could see it behind his eyes at night, the waver in your voice when you’d beg him to come back into your arms, and more importantly, back into your bed. 

I told you so, he’d say, with that shit eating grin and a hand on your waist guiding you out from the cold.

A forlorn, guideless sheep in need of your shepherd. He could be that for you. If only the word boyfriend didn’t make him shudder with every last fiber of his being. If only that specific little thing wasn’t your breaking point. Your face haunted him- that halo around your irises fading into something far away and charred when he’d had the nerve to actually laugh at you for it. You were grabbing your things and leaving, and he sat watching every moment in clips. It wasn’t anything, back then. You were just mad, in a few days you’d be right as rain climbing into his lap and peppering kisses along his throat. You’d be back, he was sure of it. 

But then the days turned into weeks. And then, to his distaste, those weeks faded into months of silence. He started to catch himself looking for you in crowds, visiting places you’d frequented at just to linger around like an awkward ghost in case he spotted you through the shifting crowds. But you were gone- vanished.

Fine. You’ll never see me again, asshole. 

Those words had been etched into the very walls of his cranium since they’d left your lips in a scathing hiss. Such nasty words, but they shook with every consonant. 

Among your pride was a healthy blend of honesty. You had been true to your word- he really did never see you again. Wiped your slate spotless of anything Nam-gyu.

And it drove him fucking crazy. It made him sick to his stomach in a way he did not think was possible. It was out of control- he couldn’t stop thinking about you, you, you. He missed you more than he didn’t, and he was angrier at himself than he’d like to admit. So instead of admitting, he funnels all that anger into the very shape of you. Drags in the idea of you, his memories of you and shoves them down, down, down, until he truly did think he hated you, after all. 

Until he’s clenching his fist so tight he’s drawing blood and telling himself he’s better off now, without some whining bitch in his ear begging him to stick that boyfriend pin into the thinness of his skin. Thinks that without you hanging on his arm all the damn time, he could really go out and have some fun. He thinks, and he thinks and he thinks until he’s thought too much and suddenly he loves you again and he misses you so bad it’s crushing him under the sheer weight of your absence. 

So, Nam-gyu does what Nam-gyu does best once again, and he drowns himself out with the bitter taste of drugs on his tongue and the sear of alcohol in his blood. 

It all stops.

For a time, anyway. 

You always found ways to seep back into his mind one way or another. Songs that would only make it a second in before he was mashing the skip button. A tv show you’d watched together surviving on the screen roughly a whole minute before it’s switched off. Sometimes it was when he saw something he knew you’d like- a shitty video or meme. Other times you came to him in whispers while he laid out on his own living room floor, out of his mind watching the blank ceiling above him twist and writhe under his spotty vision with a needle poking out of his arm. 

But, most times… Most times you would slither your way to the forefront of his mind just before bed. The touch of you, the smell of you. 

The shape of you underneath him. Hands and quiet breaths. He could still hear the noises you made ringing in his ears, stored away in his memories just to taunt him when he was indisputably alone. Soft skin, even softer thighs. Always so warm, and so wet. So willing. You would come to him while he curled over himself in bed, drunk on porn and memories. 

And afterwards, when Nam-gyu had finished, he would throw his head back onto his pillow and ignore the way it felt like there was a lump in his throat. And that would piss him off even more, because fuck, you should be there with him. Laying by his side running your hands through his hair until he’s falling asleep balancing on the fine line of afterglow and dozing off. 

But you aren’t. You’re doing fuck all with who knows in places he’s never been to, places you probably begged him to go but he couldn’t even remember the name of. You hadn’t answered a single one of his texts, you hadn’t picked up a single call and everytime he hears the first couple seconds of your stupid voicemail he wants to crush his phone in his hands. Vexation was a slippery slope into the fires of fury- rage was like a parasite under his skin, eating away at what little rational thinking he had. 

Voicemail after voicemail. Text after ignored text. Anger was the hardest stage- rage grew horns on the crown of his head and it turned him into something he couldn’t recognize. Or, something he refused to recognize- desperate and heartsick. 

It was supposed to be you. Not him. 

He filled the endless gaps of you with drugs often and women when he could. For a short time it would work and he would wonder why he ever let someone else get him so, so low. But then the drugs would wear off. The random woman in his room that he never bothered to learn the name of would grab her clothes and saunter out the door. He stopped letting them stay the night. He could never sleep, stared at the ceiling until 5am wondering why he still felt like shit. He would be right back where he started, sitting on the couch, staring at the door watching you leave over and over again.  

You stopped updating your socials, quit hanging out with the few people that bounced between his and your crowd, successfully scrubbed him of your life entirely. After a year, he resorted to asking around if anyone had seen you. The answer, as always, was a firm no. It was a corrosive feeling, a constant churn and thrum within the cage of his ribs. It made him even more unrecognizable to himself. Made him invite women into his lap just to shove them away when they didn’t smell like you, or sound like you. Or laugh like you.

It had been so, so perfect before. It was fun, and it was hot all the time, and sex with you felt like heaven was a place on earth. Why couldn’t you see that? Why did you have to go and ruin it with your words and pleading eyes? Nam-gyu doesn’t roll like that. You knew that. He’s a free spirit, he tells himself. No chains, no labels. No holding him down. Even if it was at the feet of this gorgeous, gorgeous body and a honey sweet voice that just always seemed to know what to say. Beautiful eyes that always watched, a smile so saccharine, whispering words against his ear so dirty it made him shiver just to think about. 

The world was too vast to be held down. 

But, truth be told, he was held down. 

He is held down. 

When you walked out of his apartment those years ago, he never left that spot, chewing his nails and anxiously spinning the ring on his finger, watching you go. He started seeing it behind his eyes. Replays it, changes the course, wonders where he’d be right now if he’d just said something different. 

Finding you at the games was like divine intervention. It had to be. Some higher power had crossed his path and plopped you right in front of him. With rolling eyes and a deadpan stare at anything except for him, sure but you were there and you weren't going anywhere anytime soon. God had heard his drug induced prayers of stupor. 

Now it was all about waiting. Waiting for the right moment to dive in and recapture you within him and he’d be right back to drinking you in at every chance he had. He’d do it differently this time, do it right so you’d cling to him and wonder why you ever wanted to leave at all. Make you wonder why you were so stupid to have been so stubborn when everything you could ever need was in the palm of your hand. He was sure of it. That strong, bullheaded expression would blitz is something vulnerable in his hands. A lurch of excitement riveted under his skin among the nerves. 

For now, he waits, and watches. Your presence could never go unnoticed by his dark eyes. 

It’s unfortunate for him that Thanos takes a notice to you, too. It’s hard not to, really, when every time he follows Nam-gyu’s locked line of sight it always leads back to you- this little sweet thing perched up at the peak of the bunks alongside the back, watching the room with this bored stare between mundane yapping with other players. 

“Someone you know?” Thanos’s voice had this subtle drip to it, this underlining excitement that Nam-gyu picks up on almost instantly. His expression stays cool, mostly uninterested despite the way he can’t seem to pry his eyes away from you even as he answers.

“Yeah.”

“Who is she?”

And then he’s stuck. Because his mouth opens for a split second to say, my ex, but he can’t quite say that, now can he? But he also can’t say an old friend either, because you simply weren’t. What you two had was something else entirely- a new plane he struggled to navigate, lovely when things were good, a hellscape when they weren't. The lines were always so blurred, fuzzy with sex and warm laughter.

He decides on something mostly true. “Someone I used to hang out with.”

“Girlfriend?” Thanos’s brow raises with his chirp, leaning forward with clear interest. 

“No.” It comes out quick- too quick, and too heavy. Tinged venom with more baggage than even he could handle at times. Thanos catches it on impact and whistles. 

“I see. So you won’t care if I go chat her up? Hm?” 

“Don’t bother. She’s not like that.” Nam-gyu’s scoffs before he can stop himself, this unsettling seed of jealousy planting itself in his chest. 

“Hm… I guess we’ll see, huh?”

You’re dismounting from your bed and climbing onto the stairs when Thanos jumps to his feet, and Nam-gyu can already feel that itchy panic starting to blotch away at his skin. His hands, his cheeks. That seed takes its place within him bearing vicious roots. 

“Man, don’t bother,” He’s touching at Thanos’s sleeve, his shoulder, anywhere he can to try and gather his friend’s attention. “She can be kind of a bi-”

All it takes is a swat to Nam-gyu’s chest to stop him dead in his tracks, words dying his throat. Shut down, watching his friend take quick steps to you, Nam-gyu following close behind to witness.  If only he could be firmer, never demanding, always suggesting. Always rolling over and showing his soft underbelly at Thanos’s whim. Instead, he lets his lips press into a tight line and let’s it all happen right before him. 

You’re on the bottom step and taking a seat, and you see the rapper approaching before he gets a word in, but your eyes skip over him entirely and settle onto Nam-gyu’s. Distress is building in his muscles, but he’s making damn sure to keep himself in check. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone? You want a friend?”

Up closer now, sharing your space, he sees all the things he’d been missing so deeply throughout the years. You still look just as he remembered- still bearing this expression of bemused coolness, still having these all seeing eyes that seemed to cut right through him. 

“A friend?” you hum, and your voice threatens to pull him in like gravity. “You wanna be my friend?”

If jealousy could sprout through his skin, it’d be an ugly beast of horns and claws. But it can’t, so instead, it takes shape in the way Nam-gyu’s eyes are flicking between yours and the rappers, hands wrapped up in his sleeves. 

“Stick with me, yeah? I promise to keep you safe. My number one priority.” And Thanos is patting his chest, flashing those painted nails. Makes Nam-gyu’s chest tighten, his stomach growing sicker by the second. 

Damn, you can see it, too. There’s no denying the way he’s cringing behind that distant smirk, and he doesn’t think to hide the way he’s twisting his rings on his fingers. When you click your tongue, he knows what's coming. 

“Stick with you, hm… Sorry, but I try to work alone. Partner’s tend to, how do I say…” Those eyes of your slice through him all over again, honing into him when you finish your sentence. “Disappoint me.”

Fuck. Disappointment. Oh god, how that sears into Nam-gyu’s skin. The way you look the rapper up and down, visually sizing him up, would make his heart leap into his throat if he were under that same scrutiny. He never understood how you could always be this intense with such a sweet, sweet face. Kindness was certainly a luxury and he missed it, that never ending fire that kept him warm.

“I can change that for you,” Thanos sings.  “I’m a legend here for a reason.”

“Legend? I’ve never heard of you.” Your brows raise in amusement. 

“You will. Thanos.” He puffs his chest out and nods, a half cocked grin playing over his lips. “Guy’s like me, we don’t disappoint.”

The man actually finds the nerve to reach down and pluck your hand, bringing his knuckles to his lips. Nam-gyu feels red hot scorching through his face but he’s locked in place, watching it like a car crash. Relieved when you yank your hand free and shove it into your jacket’s pocket. It’s the only good thing out of this entire interaction, he finds, especially so when Thanos’s smirk falters into a tight surprised line. 

“Don’t go and do all that. Guy’s like you will always disappoint me.” You lean back against the wall of the step, vexation evident over your features. “How about you talk to me again after the next game, yeah? Maybe I’ll feel different. Thanos.”

You always were so good at slamming the door in people's faces, always brought Nam-gyu joy to witness you shut down the advances of some poor loser trying to gain your affections. Thanos knows he’s been hung out in the cold, too. Barking up the wrong tree in the wrong neighborhood in the wrong country. So, he takes a loose step backwards and shrugs. 

“Your loss.” He sighs, and Nam-gyu follows him all the way back to his bunk in brooding silence. 

Wringing his fingers, he can’t help himself when casts a glance over his shoulder to find you one last time before you’re obscured behind metal frames and moving bodies. When he does, he feels a rush of heat in his cheeks when you’re already stuck fast staring right back, watching him go. He’s silent when he sits down at his little corner of the dormitory, silent when Gyeong-su is harping praises at Thanos. Silent, even, when Thanos says he’s determined to bring you to his side of the map. 

However, he noticeably tenses when Thanos mutters, “What a babe, huh? I should go visit her after lights out.”

Almost immediately there’s hands on his shoulders, pushing and nudging him, demanding his attention. The deepest of sighs leaves the rapper, ducking his head to find Nam-gyu’s eyeline. 

“Come on, man. Don’t be pissed, it’s in my nature, boy. Be honest. You into her?”

“Me and her…” Nam-gyu swallows. “We used to mess around.”

“Lucky you.” Thanos’s is shoving Nam-gyu’s shoulders again. “You cut her lose?”

No, she cut me loose. But Nam-gyu can’t bring himself to say that, the words lost and barred at the tip of his tongue. In the silence, Thanos takes it as confirmation. 

“That’s so cold. If I had her, I’d never let her out of my sight. Sheesh.”

Nam-gyu can’t even form words at all, anymore, irritation and envy wrapping tendrils around his throat and snuffing him out. Your earlier words spin through his brain like a carousel- come find me after the next game. Were you being serious? Were you just saying that to mess with him? He knows you- he knows your tone better than he even realizes, but he suddenly can’t decipher what’s honesty and what isn’t anymore. Jealousy blinds him, thick lenses leading him in all sorts of binds. 

He should have talked to you. He should have made the first move and made sure the first time he was breathing your air was alone. Now he’s anxious, he’s resentful, and he’s humiliated for some reason he can’t quite place. It doesn't help when he can’t resist the urge to look at you one last time, just one for the road, and you’re chatting idly with a man lounging on the other side of the steps you’re currently sitting on. There’s a five foot gap between your bodies but Nam-gyu doesn’t care- the anger that rips through him is blind, you may as well have been fucking the man right in front of him. 

It’s all he can see, tunnel vision encompassing him all the way until the moment lines start to form for lunch. Stewing in his jealousy, a bitter taste blooming over his tongue, he doesn’t jump in line because he’s got an appetite, but simply because you were rather eager to fill your belly. He tails you, matches every step and still has to jump out in front of a random player from taking the spot directly behind you. 

You notice him with a fleeting look tossed over your shoulder, eyes darting from the corners of your eyes and then forward, still as a statue. Desperate to not interact. 

Nam-gyu can’t help himself.

“You into Thanos?”

You audibly laugh at him, and the sound makes him shred the inside of his cheek.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?”

Everything. It’s everything to me. 

You look up at him over your shoulder, watching him through your thick lashes with scorn written all over those beautiful irises. There’s a flash image of you- a memory, tangled between the bedsheets, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes and tear stained cheeks with his hand wrapped around your throat. It’s quick but it hits him like a sucker punch right to the gut. He sucks in a sharp breath. He wants to touch you- he almost does, but the line moves forward a beat and you’re moving with it away from his hesitating fingers. 

“I’m just asking.” He’s trying to be coy, but you can see right through him. 

“You worried, Nam-gyu?” 

That hits him like a sucker punch too. He’d forgotten how his name sounded on your tongue, how it rolled off so perfect and pretty even when you were pissed at him. Sometimes specifically when you were pissed at him, this bubbling anticipation running through him in waves, your passion always the spark lighting the fire in his belly. 

“I’m not worried.”

“You are.” Clocked him, again. Peered into the windows of him and saw that angry ocean of spite and regret behind his eyes. “I know you are. I can see it on you.”

“Not worried.” Nam-gyu shrugs, but he can’t meet your eyes anymore. 

Another sigh ghosts from your lips, but it’s quieter, defeated, almost. 

“I’m not interested in your friend. I’m not interested in anyone.”

And then, he says it. Quietly, as if he doesn’t want you to truly hear.

“...You seemed interested.”

“So you are worried.” You’re crossing your arms and he stares down into your hair, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What if I was? You clearly had nothing to say about it. You were right there- you didn’t tell him we had history? Or did I mean that little to you?”

You’re mad. Holy shit, you’re still so mad at him. But then his brain scrambles to tell him the good side of things- anger is not indifference. So in some ways, maybe more than others, he’s still in that little dome of yours ratting around amongst your thoughts. Means that if he does this right, it would mean something to you to be better this time. 

His lips press into a tight line. He should have talked to you, and now it’s biting him in the ass. It seemed like everything always bit him in the end. And he always let it happen, watched and never interfered. You drive the nail you’d plunged into him even deeper when you throw his words, from all those years ago, right back in his face. That last thing he had said to you before you, or the idea of you, had become a black hole.

“You know what, Nam-gyu? What was it you had said? Oh- uh, why don’t you focus on yourself and I’ll focus on me, yeah?”

It stings. It stings so bad that he physically recoils from the sound of his voice on your tongue, words spilling that just don’t seem right coming from you. Bitter resentment rises in his throat, this reflexive coping mechanism to bite back overtaking his senses. He wants to say I shouldn’t have said that. He wants to say, hear me out. But what ends up leaving him is just as ugly as the rest of his feelings. 

“Jesus. You’re still a bitch.”

The very instance those words tumble from him, he’s already regretting it with every fiber of his being. Even more so when you pluck your bento box from the guard and spin on your heels to glare absolute daggers into the very pits of his soul.

“Get over yourself. I’m glad we had this talk, it was very refreshing.”

This time he does jump to stop you, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. “Just listen-”

“No.” 

He doesn’t hide the way he watches you scamper off to your little ledge, hopping up onto your bed and enjoying your vantage point above all else, focusing on your meal. The man you’d been chatting with earlier is in the bed next to yours and that’s just fucking great. The guard has to pry his stare off of you, and a bento box is practically shoved into his chest, urging him out of line. 

Nam-gyu hates the stone anchoring in his guts. Almost as much as he hates how his appetite never quite returned. All food tasted the same when you left, nothing compared to what you’d used to make him. 

The bento box was no different. 

That night, sleep avoided him. There was something keeping him awake- buzzing under his skin no matter how many times he’d rolled over and shifted himself into a new position. Of course he knew what it was- it never really left him, after all. The fact of knowing you were across the room, all alone in your bed, was this incessant knock in the back of his skull tapping him back into reality whenever he found himself comfortable enough to doze off. His mind was stuck on you, as always, wondering what you looked like right now. 

Did you sleep the same as before? Laying on your side, hair messed over the sides of your face and splayed over the pillow, those heavy lashes of yours kissing along the bone of your cheeks. He always told himself that it was you who was attached, that he was some great being and you simply touched the stars through him. How wrong he had been to think that, when the entire time he’d fit so perfectly against you, he a piece to your puzzle. 

How wrong he had been, because when he’s staring up idly at the ceiling, he thinks of the better days in his life. Always, always, it was you. Thinking of you sitting pretty in his passenger seat, watching out the window as the world blurred by in rushes. The wind blowing through your hair, your necklace catching the glint of the sun. You’d feel his eyes on you and you'd turn and smile at him so darling, so lovely, that he thought it could heal. Remembering when you’d walk into a room, shining like a beacon just for him. You’d find his lap, find his hair, find his lips against your own and you’d cry his name like a prayer. 

He was an idiot to have thought he was the something in the nothing- it was you. 

Even when he finally drifted off into sleep were you still infecting the very membrane of his mind. In his dreams, you were just as warm as you had always been. Bated breaths, hanging onto every word that left his lips, fingers that longed to touch and stroke and feel. His heart slowed to a peaceful beat, and his body curled into his pillow and blanket, trying to recreate the shape of you in his arms. For a time that evening, it worked. 

But then he woke up, and Thanos was leaning over his bed asking him if he was dead, and all those wonderful moments he’d relived were gone in a rush of bright lights and endless chatter bouncing off the walls of the dormitory. Like an addiction, the first thing he thought of when he sat up, was you. Thought about you all the way through the winding staircases and into a giant room with rainbow’s painted over the hard floor. So lost in thought that he almost misses it when the speaker starts instructing them- a 5 player minigame race. 

Teams of five. Okay, he could do that. Easy. Gyeong-su, him, Thanos. That was already three. 

It’s natural instinct when he starts to search for you in the bubble of people, his fourth member, even though he’s more than sure you’re all too excited to send him packing. The way you had looked at him at dinner the day before, he wasn’t sure if you’d even entertain a conversation with him at all, let alone join their team. But this is beyond an argument- beyond him trying and failing to lull you in, this is life and death. 

“Hey, there’s your girl again.” Thanos spots you first. He follows Thanos’s line of sight and sure enough, there you are, standing with your hands shoved into your pockets with this far away expression he can’t quite read. 

His girl. It would make him shiver, if he wasn’t already on the brink of tweaking. 

“Let’s go see if she’s changed her mind.” 

Thanos is running his hands through his hair and popping the collar of his tracksuit, a particular bounce to his step when he bounds right for you. Just as the first time, always on the lookout for yourself, you spot him coming before he gets to you. Already you’re annoyed.

By the time Nam-gyu slithers up beside him, you’re already turning Thanos’s first wave of advancements down, a snark to your tone and a glint in your eyes. 

“I’m good, thanks though.”

Thanos blinks, looks left and then right. “You’re good? I don’t see a team?”

“I’ll find one.”

“You got one right here,” He pats his chest again, before he slings his arm over Nam-gyu’s shoulder haphazardly. “Come on. You’ll be safe.”

The intensity in which you roll your eyes is fierce- an expression Nam-gyu really had only thought he could draw out of you. To make matters worse for his friend, you don’t even bother with saying no again. Instead you merely wave a dismissive hand and turn on your heels, meandering into the crowd. 

“You were right, Nam-su.” Thanos’s face drops and he unwinds his arm from Nam-gyu’s shoulder. “Not getting anywhere with that one.”

Nam-gyu is so focused watching you, that all he murmurs is, “It’s Nam-gyu.”

“Yeah. Nam-su, Nam-gyu. Look over there.” He has to force himself to look away, following Thanos’s point in the other direction you’d gone. A girl with short black hair stands off to the side, eyes traveling and sizing up all her potential team mates. Thanos pops his collar again, a hound dog chasing a brand new scent. “Let’s go see what she’s up to.”

For the first time, Nam-gyu doesn’t follow him. He says, you go, you go, and lets Thanos wind himself up all on his own before watching him go. He’s much more concerned with you and your team, this sense of anxiety starting to bud in his gut. 

He finds you like a moth to flame. Your shoulders slump at the sight of him, tired and irked. 

“Not this again.” You groan. “What, do you think you’re gonna come sweeten me up and I’ll say yes? I’m not playing on your damn team.”

Nam-gyu shakes his head and steps in front of you when you try to turn away again. His nerves are on the rise, and so is his temper. You draw it out of him like nothing else, he can’t stop himself. 

“Why not?” He asks, looking down at you with furrowed brows. You cross your arms, barring yourself from him. 

“Because I’m not.”

“This is no time to be stubborn. You don’t know what the next game is. You might need guys on your team.”

“I plan on it. There’s other men here other than you and whatever the hell his name is.”

Other men. Nam-gyu’s mouth dries up, his fingers already wringing in his sleeves. His jaw tenses with his temper, teeth grinding. 

You didn’t need other men, not when he would do anything under the sun to keep you safe. Anyone else may just let you die. Can’t you see that? 

“Why are you being-... Being like-...” He stops himself. Holy shit, his brain actually fires off the warning shot and he stops dead in his tracks staring at you in bewilderment. You adopt this expectant glare, a spiteful uptick to your lips that darkens your eyes. 

“Say it.” You sneer. “Go ahead, say it. I’m being a bitch, right?”

The word fights against his lips to get out. You’re waiting for it, at the edge of your seat, fully ready to take it in and chew it up and spit it out right back at him. But he bites it back and he swallows it down into his chest because this means something to him. Because it might mean something to you. 

“Being like this.” He stammers. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Your eyes widen just a fraction. “Keep me alive?”

“Can you really trust anyone here? You know me.”

“I do know you.” A flash of something provoked and somber rivets within your eyes. Anger mounting, your heart colliding with your brain in real time right before him. “That’s exactly why I won’t be on your side.”

If he’d had his foot in the door before, you were properly shoving it back outside. He doesn't know what to do, so he does the first thing he can think of as a creature of impulse, and unfortunately when it came to you that meant he was all hands. 

“Wait-” He catches you just as you’re turning away, tries to bulldoze over your defiance and smooth out all the harsh edges of your protests with the broad flats of his palms. Fingers clutching your tracksuit at your shoulders and then he’s realizing that he’s touching you for the first time in years. Your skin from underneath your jacket is just as warm he remembers, your eyes are just as doe-like at his touch too. Stubborn and ornery but overflowing with passion and static energy that settled into his bones. He needs it, he needs it. The obsession of you hits him in waves of yearn. 

He needs you more than air, he thinks. 

“Get your hands off of me, right now.” But you aren’t tearing him away- so maybe that’s progress. 

“Come on.” He ducks his head, shoulders slumping, and it physically hurts him to feel this desperate. “Stay with me.”

Oh, you don’t like those words one bit. They hit your eardrums and your eyes narrow in slits, and then yeah, you’re reaching up and catching his wrists in his iron grip before ripping his paws off your jacket. It takes a long moment for you to speak, but when you do, he swears he can hear the devil amidst the heartache. 

“You know that I can’t stay with you. Never again.”

His hands twitch to touch you again- anything to keep you there for a moment longer. 

“Come on.” 

Sadness like pits swirl in your eyes, drags your lips into a frown. “You gotta’ stop Nam-gyu. I can’t do it.”

An awful, awful mass grows in his stomach when you turn your back on him. Gets bigger with every inch you build between you and him, threatens to take over entirely and swallow him whole right in the middle of that room. If it did, and he was to be gulped up by the void, perhaps he wouldn't have to feel like this any longer. And he wouldn’t have to watch you disappear behind all the moving bodies. 

He was weaker than he was three years ago. You made him weaker. Back then, if you’d been so sure of yourself he found it rather easy to deter you. A beastly way about him when he would have just ripped you by the hand and brought you over to his team and made you sit the hell down and just stay with him. Something possessive, something under his skin at the thought of you sharing the same air as anyone other than him. You used to be so malleable in his hands- but he knows, now more than ever, that that was truly never the case. You let yourself be pliable. You let yourself fall to him. He could never, not even now, make you do anything. Not really. 

That’s the part that burns him to the peaks of his soul. That strength about you. You’re so much stronger than him, with an energy iron so it’s like running headfirst into a wall when you’d no longer graced him with your softness. Such a double edged sword, that will of yours. That attitude and the passion made him feel alive. Cold and disposed after you’d properly slammed the gate right in his face. No leverage, no space for him in your heart any longer. 

It’s cold, Nam-gyu finds. Lonely without you. 

And then Thanos goes and invites some random girl with a poor attitude (that isn’t yours) and an even weaker buddy. He tries to tell him- remind his friend of the potential disadvantage but like always all it took was a dismissive wave to get him to screw his lips shut. Rolled over, tongue caught in his throat, weakened. 

He spends a majority of his time waiting for his teams turn arguing with Se-mi and tossing gazes over his shoulder to keep a very keen eye on you, only to find a sneer growing on his features after seeing you chatting with the same player as earlier, the man with the bed next to yours. Laughter and smiles roll from your lips as natural as breathing air, and he’s nudging you with his arm and you’re letting him with this expression of pure amusement. 

That should be him. 

That ugly face of betrayal peeks through the cracks all over again, with guilt and anger and regret following in tow close behind. Sitting on his shoulders like little devils, spinning and racing through his body in waves. If you saw his face- you’d never suspect it, but his hands shake in his lap. His jaw tenses so tightly his teeth could burst into powder. Squared shoulders and an endless drag to his lips. Something in the sight of you enjoying that guys presence is reminding him of all these shitty feelings he’d been faced with when you two were together- well, no, not together, he remembers- and then he’s even angrier. Angry at you, angry at that random ass player you were talking up, angry at himself for letting it get here in the first place. 

Thanos pops open his necklace beside him and draws a fun little pill from its contents, and Nam-gyu makes it a mission to get his hands on one of those sweet little pick-me-ups. The pill is bitter on his tongue but he swallows it down in delight. And it works, too, because the moment the colors start to glow and fuse together and all sounds become this echoing fishbowl of noises, you’re vacated from the corners of his fuzzy mind. For a time, he’s at peace all over again, lost in the blurry joy. 

By the time he comes down, he’s already back in the dormitory. 

Though it takes a moment for him to realize it, he’s taking inventory of all the surviving players. One by one, watching them fill the room and find their creaky beds or their little groups. Most were distraught, though some were particularly perturbed. It takes a couple teams before he understands that what he’s really looking for, naturally, is you. He’s always searching for you, even when he knew you weren’t searching for him back. 

That’s the change, and it dawns on him like a rapture. He’d never had to care before- you were always this constant in his life, something that would always bounce right back if he tossed you aside. He didn’t give a damn if it upset you, he didn’t give a damn if it ate away at you like termites through wood. But now he does, and he gives so many damn’s they’re driving him crazy. 

Any moment spent sober and lucid were moments entirely taken up by you.

Any moment now you’ll come strutting through those doors, head held high and gunning it to make sure Nam-gyu knew exactly how much you didn’t need him. 

But then ten teams turn into twenty, and twenty five into thirty. 

“How many teams were there?” Nam-gyu asks with a voice steadier than even he expected. Thanos doesn’t need to question anything, watching the doorway all the same. 

“Fifty-six.” Se-mi hums from her spot, leaning back against the steps. 

Thirty eventually turns to fifty. 

Too much time has passed, and you’ve still yet to pop out through that doorway. He double checks those who’d already shown their faces, hoping to find you through the cracks of them, but you’re simply not there. There’s a shovel digging pits and moats into his stomach. Another wave of players trickles in and he scans them all over the same, only to feel that hollowness inside him grow once more. They saunter to their beds, to their little groups, taking up space and taking up air that should belong to you. 

Where the hell were you?

“Only two teams left,” Thanos hums. “Where’s that girl of yours?”

Nam-gyu can’t force himself to answer this time around. So, instead, he presses his nails between his teeth and nervously shifts his weight from left to right. Though he shrugs, the anxiety within him was palpable, all lines and tension that he tried to bury with nonchalance. But it wasn’t working, and felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out.

Mind racing, thoughts circling him like birds over fresh kill. The final team walks through the doorway, slow as zombies, shifty eyed and hurriedly rushing to their beds. His eyes sit on the door, waiting, waiting. 

No one comes through. 

His shoulders fall limp. 

You didn’t make it. 

“That’s a shame.” Se-mi sighs, the sound swimming in Nam-gyu’s ears. 

Loss, real loss was a foreign feeling within his chest. He’d seen it described in the movies, in songs, this soul eating all consuming weight that blanketed over bodies and crushed, but nothing could have ever prepared for the blistering moment it wrenches itself within the confines of his heart, within the deep ache of his bones. It didn’t settle properly in his throat- his body trying to force the alien ripple of dread stitching itself right between his ribs. It hurts- his lungs can’t take in air. His breath wheezes past his lips in shallow pants, unable to tear his eyes away, like at any moment you’ll suddenly materialize right before him. 

He presses his lip into a tight line and digs his nails into his palms, anything to release a fraction of the agony festering within his body. 

Brain on fire, shaking hands and the image of you dead in a thousand different flashes, a sting to his waterlines that has him scrambling to shove his fingers against the thin skin. 

Don’t fucking cry. Don’t fucking cry.

“Bad luck. Sorry, boy.”

All the skin on his body has flushed red and sticky. He ducks his head down towards his lap, desperate to hide within himself, even more desperate to hide this part of himself from the watchful eyes of his group. He should have just made you join them. Should have thrown you over his shoulder and wrapped an immovable grasp around your arm and held you hostage until everyone had a team and then you’d have no one else to turn to. No one else, nothing else except for him. 

He can’t even hear his friend’s counterfeit empathy over the swell of his heartbeat in his ears. His body is too heavy to hold up, his arms dragging as lead, his head even heavier on his shoulders. Uncanny urges to tear at the skin of his face overcome him and he has to bury them into his hair in release, roughly running his digits through the black locks, trying to breathe and breathe and breathe. A lump the size of a boulder burrows into his throat.

Cracking his eyes open to peek down at his lip, squeezing them shut when his vision is wet and blurry. His lower lip trembles until it’s caught in his teeth, biting hard into the skin. 

Don't fucking cry.

Why did you have to be so stubborn? If you’d have just let him take care of you this one fucking time, you would be alive right now. You should be alive right now- pissed and glaring fury in his direction but breathing and taking up space and existing-

“Ah, they made it. Here I thought they were all goners.”

Se-mi’s casual tone barely reaches him, but it’s got him frantically flicking his gaze back up to the archway, his hands falling from his face, trying to see through the blotches in his sight. A handful of players take soft steps into the room, all shaken up, all bewildered.

There you are. His racing heart stops entirely.

You’re sauntering into the dormitory like a wounded animal, all hands wringing out in front of you and lines drawn into your frown. For the first time, in Nam-gyu’s eyes, you look small. Frightened. Every step you take has a weight to it he’s never witnessed you bear. And even from across the room, even with rigid tears trapped in the corners of his eyes, he can see the grip of fear on the flat of your throat. 

All those jumping thoughts settle into a tunnel vision, you at the epicenter of his quaking nerves simmering down into stillness. He forgets how his chest had twisted as if a knife had been planted between his collarbones, and he forgets how he had almost lost his lunch right there on the floor. All because you’re standing there in the middle of the room hugging yourself, white as a ghost, even paler when you lift your head up and see the way Nam-gyu is trapped in your line of sight. 

Nam-gyu see’s it. No hate, no dejection. 

Relief- this instant where your widened eyes soften, your frown lifts into a slack-jawed breath of solace. It rocks his world when it hits him and it lights a flame so hot under his skin it’s burning through his veins. All the air trapped in his lungs leaves him at once and he can pinpoint the exact moment all the tensions in his shoulders and back melt away in nothingness. The tears dry, his lower lip released from his gnashing teeth.

The man you’d joined earlier pats your shoulder and offers you a pathetic, wavering thumbs up. You can’t seem to return his dull enthusiasm. In fact, you look worse than Nam-gyu’s seen you thus far. Changed, all wires sticking exposed and sparking. There’s this lifelessness to your body when you climb up the stairs and have to heave yourself up into your bed, crossing your legs and resting your chin on your palms propped up over your knees. 

When your eyes meet his, he expects some sort of sign of contempt, or perhaps maybe you’d refuse to meet his gaze entirely. Instead, for the first time since you’d arrived, you find him first. 

You offer him a pitiful open palmed wave. 

The pearly gates crack open and Nam-gyu feels it again- warmth. Even just a little bit, like lighting a match in a snowstorm, huddling around the flame. He half cocks a smile, and he waves back. 

--

Lunch came quicker than he’d anticipated, and much to Nam-gyu’s dismay, you weren’t exactly thrilled to hop into line. In fact, ever since you’d let him jam his fingers back into your closing door, you’d hardly acknowledged anything other than your lap. Even more so upsetting, that player you hung around tapped your mattress to gather your attention, pointing to the line, sighing in defeat when you’d shook your head. 

Jealousy seeps into his wounds all over again, quiet, but equally as simmering. Don’t act like you know her. Little devils tapping away at his psyche. She doesn't need you to check up on her.

But then again, he realizes, maybe you do. 

His mouth dries when the sound of his thoughts footsteps come running up on him. His greed. His innate ability to leave you unchecked and grappling. That was among the sea of problems Nam-gyu had been struggling to grasp. Here he was, trying to drag you back into the tar pits of his hold and he hadn’t even tried the basics of kindness. The step one of it all. Always taking, taking, taking and demanding more at every swipe. Always expecting, never building. 

So he jumps into line before he can second guess himself, and he takes his bento box with a grateful nod and he doesn’t waste a second before he’s chasing the trail of you to your bed. From your high point, perched and unmoving, all he can do is climb the stairs and rest his hands over the corner of your mattress. Your far away gaze lifts from your lap and settles down to him. 

The air is different. The landscape of you has changed. 

“What is it.” Your tone is uncannily flat, but it’s void of its bite, its drive. 

“Can I come up?” 

It’s a simple request, but it leaves a shake at the end of his sentence. It’s only natural when he mentally prepares himself for you to slap no onto his forehead, but you scoot over, and he takes the spot so quickly you wouldn’t even have the chance to say no if you thought about it too much. He hoists himself up and over, fills the gap at your side, just as he should have done days ago. He sits the bento box at the crest of your lap.

“What’s this?” Blinking down at the food, you make no effort to pick it up. 

“Fish and rice.” Nam-gyu shrugs. “Looks like an egg, too.” 

“I can see that. I meant, what are you doing giving me this?”

“...You didn’t get anything.”

As your fingers gingerly touch the container, eyes scanning over the contents, Nam-gyu feels he can breathe easier. This is a win for him- you aren’t fighting him anymore. Still on the edge, always ready to run, but the look in your eyes isn’t pure hatred or outright hurt. A swell of pride overcomes him when you pluck the chopstick and murmur, thank you. 

You’re pliable. Now, more than ever. 

You eat in silence. He lets you eat in silence, even though peace isn’t exactly one of his virtues.  Partly because he doesn’t know what to say to you, but mostly because he’s got this innate fear that he’s going to say something shitty and you’re going to hate him all over again for it. A million words are always shoving and pushing against his lips and he fumbles with navigating them. So, silence, it is. 

But it doesn’t bother him. Silence meant that you were simply just there, existing, the one thing he had longed for over the years. He knew, deep in his heart, he’d fucked up when he began to miss the very presence of you. No sex, no drugs, no push or pull, just you. And now he gets to take whatever you’ll give in micro doses, greedy and starved for you. Fighting the urge to pull you into himself where you could never climb out. He refrains- he forces himself to just be there. 

No longer could he be the creature he had been all those years ago. He had to be different- not all rough edges and clawing hands, ripping and taking. Or dark eyes watching your every move, or jagged words cutting your flesh with the highs and lows of his tone. Something better, this time. Something for you. 

Tomorrow would be a new beast entirely. And, in less than a few hours, the lights would flicker off and bask the dormitory into hues of red and blues. You would lay alone in your all-too-large bed and he would sink into his mattress drugged out of his mind thinking countless thoughts of you, you, you. The distance would feel like miles- he needed you right there, right then, always. Anything other than what he had sitting beside you was a vast ocean. 

The bento box appears in front of his lap, half eaten.

“You’re not going to eat it?” Nam-gyu’s brows knit.

“You should eat, too. What, scared of my germs now?” You murmur, and when he meets your eyeline, he sees something familiar in those hues. Something nurturing, sweet. Tender. 

Nam-gyu picks up the chopsticks, and he eats.  For the first time in years, his food tastes like food.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hi! Sorry to disturb. I'm a quite inexperienced writer, I'm trying to write my first long work and I don't want to just get it out and be done with it, I want to put care in it, so your blog has been super helpful for both small tips and for big deals. So I have a doubt and I thought I'd ask you, if you can't or don't want to answer that's fine!

One of my main characters is a singer but most importantly a song writer so the songs she writes really have a meaning with the story and are meant to get a reaction from her counterpart. I tried a few ways but I can't seem to incorporate her singing very well in my pages, how would you go about it? Do you have any tips?

Thank you and have a good days and holidays if you celebrate xx

Hi! Here are some references and tips from various sources I found for you. Use which ones would work best with your specific story, and alter as needed:

Writing Template: Singing Scene

Part 1

What perspective will this be from? The singer or the audience? Maybe both.

There is more to singing than using the voice.

Will the audiences’ emotions be front and center for this scene or will it be the character’s? It doesn’t matter if you are writing first person or second person. The character can show the reader what the audience is thinking based on body language. 

If the character is singing alone, the audience can be more than just themselves. It could be a deity they believe in, or a loved one that passed away and is present either in physical spirit or thought. Could be a pet or even nature itself (trees, grass, etc) as the character’s audience. They all would respond in their own ways. Maybe the trees dance in the wind while the character sings a melody. Or the birds and bees join in on the tune.

Part 2

Connect a deep feeling and understanding back to the reader.

Remember, overall experience is more important than mechanics.

What is the song about? What genre? How does it sound? Is it slow or fast? Lighthearted or formal? Does the singer have a high voice or a low one, or a mix? 

How does the song make people who hear it feel? Is the singer doing anything else while they sing?

Let’s say the main character has a song stuck in their head. One way to show the reader (if it’s important to the overall plot) is when every time the song gets stuck in the character’s head, the paragraph would stop and a new one would start with the lyrics.

Part 3

Create an emotion profile for why the character is singing

Is there a message you want to convey? This can be shown by how the character sings.

Tone/breathy, maybe the sound of an exasperated sigh would be heard in parts of the singing.

How the character holds tension in the body can really influence the emotion. Are they rigid, loose? Perhaps seemingly overthinking it.

Diction can be shown through how you write the lyrics the character is singing. For example, hard/soft on the consonants using bold letters or capitalization. The character can have pauses and slurring in the singing, shown through the way you write the lyrics.

Breath. Every emotional state has a breathing pattern associated with it. Ways to write breathing for singing would be through body language and onomatopoeia. For example if the character is scared and is hyperventilating: He placed a hand over his heart, barely able to stare into the crowd of onlookers. Wheeze, gasp!  Was all the lyrics we heard from him that night”.

Think about the type of song and the genre. For example, if you’re writing about rock music, the instruments will be guitar, drums, piano. So ‘Her voice rose higher, while trying to follow the raspy, intense notes of the musician’s bass.  

Is this a new song?

If you’re using well-known songs, include action, internal monologue, and scenery description to avoid a reader skipping over to the actual story.

If a song is new or a unique take, you can paraphrase the lyrics in a way that tells you something relevant to the character or moment.

Example: The goofy man staggered down the street in his drunken stupor singing: “You ma-a . . . blue-eyed girl!” He took another swig from the bottle in his hand. “Do you remember when . . . we used to sing: Oh la la, la la, la la, la la, la te da! Just like that!”  He took another swig. “All alone on my own. I thought I saw you the other day. But it was my dreams—” He was silenced by sirens coming from behind him down the alley. He bolted!

Part 4

Create emotion profiles for the song.

Purpose of the song. Is the message in the content of the song or the characters reaction to them?

Songs in fiction have multiple purposes such as giving background details, foreshadow, used as a metaphor, portray emotion or conflict, reflect or mirror events of the story, used for character development, etc. The message you are trying to convey will determine how you write them.

One method is good for when the content of the song is unimportant or secondary to the characters reaction. Simply include a description of the song. Using broad terms, describe the topic and style of the song but keep focus on how it affects the characters.

Part 5

How does it end? Good note or bad? Audience wanting more? Character feeling happier?

Don’t be afraid to end the scene or chapter here.

When it ends, is there thunderous applause?

How are they feeling? What are they thinking? Their posture. Are there any subtle movements in their hands, eyes, and breathing patterns?

After singing the character could simply move on to later that night or the next day. You don’t necessarily have to show what happens right after. It may even make the reader curious. You can show the results of singing throughout the story, for example, if other characters start treating the singing character nicer, or they get a contract deal, or if their depression has subsided. Example:

Intense, was the crescendo as it built to a slow roll that crashed like a great wave into the souls of those that listened. A calming silence fell over the eager audience; they were captivated by the intoxicating tune coming from this slender throat. From the depths of his soul, the lyrics rose and swelled around everyone in that room as if all could feel his misery. In this moment, his pain was their pain and the audience and singer were as one. 

Some Personality Traits of Singers

3,088 singers were surveyed to learn what personality traits and interests make them unique.

Singers are artistic and enterprising. They tend to be predominantly artistic individuals, meaning that singers are creative and original and work well in a setting that allows for self-expression. They also tend to be enterprising, which means that they are usually quite natural leaders who thrive at influencing and persuading others. [Using the Holland codes]

The top personality traits of singers are openness and social responsibility. Singers score highly on openness, which means they are usually curious, imaginative, and value variety. They also tend to be high on the measure of social responsibility, indicating that they desire fair outcomes and have a general concern for others. [Using the Big Five]

Character Development through Music

One device that is highly effective in understanding character is music. Music is nearly universal in its influence.

It’s a bit too easy to just answer the question, “What kind of music does my character like?”

More difficult might be, “What kind of music would my character turn off?”

You might think of an entire type of music or, more likely, a specific song. Maybe a song that would break your character’s heart in two at just the first beat.

Think about instances of revealing character traits using music as a way to show your reader more about how your character interacts with the world.

Music can be explored in literature showing us just how responsive this device can be to character.

Our knowledge of character may be deepened by their interaction with music.

How might this work in your own writing?

Try this exercise, using the first few words from Prince’s iconic “Kiss”:

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE BEAUTIFUL…”

Copy this line, including the quotation marks. Unless your character is Prince, write says, or sings, or said, and your character’s name.

Imagine your character speaking these 6 words.

To whom did they say them? Where are they talking? Are they singing at a bar? Or is your scene NOT connected to the reality of this song at all?

You can imagine that your character is the first person to ever say these words to another. Take time to free-write this scene, and see what happens next.

More references:

On Sensory Language ⚜ Word Alternatives: Auditory

Words to Describe Someone's Voice ⚜ Key Musical Terms

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Hope this helps. No need to apologise, this was such an interesting request for me to look into. So thanks so much for that & happy holidays to you! <3

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

Have you noted that no one from Azula's family was shown to express love and affection towards her?

That is mostly true. Ozai's affection is clearly conditional (and full on manipulation at worse, like we see in the finale), Ursa canonically favors Zuko to the point that we never see her spending any alone time with Azula like she did with Zuko, and while Iroh gave her a toy like he did to Zuko the toy in question was so OBVIOUSLY wrong for a kid like Azula that it's comical AND show's he did not really know his niece at all.

But there is a constant exception.

Zuko's relationship with Azula is complicated. He clearly admires her strength and power, but he hates how she uses it. She lied to him many times, was seen apparently cheering Ozai on during the Agni Kai, tried to have him imprisoned and even said she'd celebrate being an only child - and then allows him to come home as a hero after Ba Sing Se, even though SHE had the control of the Dai Li and was not yet aware Aang could have survived, meaning she had nothing to gain from it.

And when she lets him know that if he's caught talking to Iroh people might think he is a traitor too, and explicitly says "Believe it or not, I'm actually looking out for you" Zuko drops his innitial suspicion that she wanted something and that's why she was helping him.

On The Beach, he just follows her when she say their old family home is depressing and they shouldn't waste their time there. When she's asking him who she is angry at, she mentions herself and Zuko explicitly says that is not the case.

He doesn't trust her and know she has a tendency to mock or full on lie to him... yet when he wants to know about Fire Lord Sozin he asks her about it, and lets it slide when she mocks him by saying he should make sure the royal painter got his good side - for a character as quick to anger as Zuko, that is a big deal. In Nightmares and Daydreams he also goes to her to find out if he'll be allowed at the war meeting.

More importantly:

1 - Iroh's infamous "She's crazy and needs to go down" line was only said because ZUKO, without anyone putting that idea in his head before, suddenly went "I know what you're going to say. She's my sister and I should be trying to get along with her"

2 - Zuko only jumped into the fight in Ba Sing Se when Azula was being cornered by Aang and Katara.

3 - Zuko looked genuinely shocked and even distressed when she was falling off that cliff. He just sounded so shaken saying "She's... not gonna make it..."

4 - In the writer's own words, Zuko felt no hate but only pity when seeing her breakdown. Katara tried to comfort him because, canonically, even though Zuko and Azula are enemies, this was never what he wanted because he still sees her as family. That's why the Last Agni Kai's music is not the epic you'd expect from a battle, but a tragic one.

5 - Aaron Ehasz, the lead writter for the show, probably the person with the most influence after Bryke, has REPEATEDLY said that he always felt Azula should have gotten a redemption arc, Zuko being an Iroh figure to give her advice and be the only one still by her side when all else was seemingly lost to her forever.

Even the comics (most of which I HATE, mainly because Azula's storyline checks nearly every box for "the mentally ill are inherently evil/less human, so it's fine if literally every other person on the planet mistreats them") didn't fully abandon their complex dynamic.

Zuko is not a perfect sibling, and for a long chunk of the story he seemed too focused on his own issues for Azula to ever be a factor in his mind (aside from the moments in which she was a potential/explict threat), but he DOES still feel a sense of obligation towards her, to the point that it made him do something no one else in their family had done before or since - actually look at Azula. Not the prodigious daughter/perfect weapon, or the problem child that is difficult to handle, or the pontentially deadly enemy that was in the way, but Azula.

His 14-year-old sister that got on his nerves a lot, was far from the kindest person alive, and that he had a ton of issues with, but that he could never fully hate or even be indifferent to. Because she's family. Because he remembers a happier time in which the gap between them didn't seem so big. Because if things had been slightly different he could have been her. Because he went from wanting to be her to seeing just how miserable her life ended up being - especially compared to the one he now had - and feeling deeply sorry for her.

Now if you guys excuse me, I'm gonna go cry in the corner. Have some wholesome/bittersweet fanart if you wanna cry too.

[superblysubpar]

series masterlist | part two ->

📻 tracks: 01 - 07

6,246 words // my blog is 18+ // please see the masterlist for warnings - this chapter contains mentions of alcohol, weed, vomit, nausea, and brief mentions of homophobia and cheating

There’s something grotesquely satisfying about the sound her converse make as they cross the tiled floor of a kitchen fit for a house on Cornwallis street. Meaning, one that isn’t chipped, dulled, or old and wise beyond its years like the tile in her kitchen.

Though oddly satisfying, she has absolutely no desire to know what sort of substances have combined to make the sticky floor so, well, sticky, instead choosing to focus solely on the nice way her head sort of vibrates and how maybe if she’s really really nice, Steve will run his hand through her hair.

She hums to herself at the thought as she leans against the counter littered with crinkled solo cups and a punch well past its prime, the wood resting against her hip thumps from the base of the music coming from the dimly lit living room. Bananarama fades into Kim Wilde and her lips twitch, the words of Kids in America leave her mouth under her breath as she starts to make the drink she was sent upstairs for.

📻“…I sit here alone and I wonder why. Friday night and everyone’s moving. I can feel the heat but it’s soothing, heading down.”

It’s interesting that she’s liked almost every song since arriving upstairs, and she wonders who snagged the stereo long enough to change the mix and make such excellent selections when a voice she’s positive rivals angels singing startles her from behind.

“Oh thank god, you passed.”

Robin spins to find the prettiest girl she’s ever seen, truly, honest to god, she thinks it might be a privilege just to get to look at you. She’s only ever had glimpses, brushes with heaven as you wandered down horrendously lit high school hallways and past her at movie theaters or main street, never giving her your full attention as you are now.

There’s this way you smile at her, like you already know her, and that combined with the slip dress and leather jacket you have on is making it really really hard to think a thought other than: wow.

“Wh-“ Her voice fucking cracks, like one of the pubescent twerps that cling to her and Steve and she hates how hot her cheeks are, no doubt the freckles that reside there are now stark against pink skin as she clears her throat. “Sorry, are you…were you talking to me?”

Well, shit, now you’re laughing and it’s the greatest sound she’s ever heard. Right up there with Nena, The Beatles, and Joni crooning out of her speakers when she’s lying on her floor and absorbing their magic. She doesn’t even care that the laugh is more at her than with her, though the way you do it has her thinking it’s actually the latter for once.

“Yeah,” you take a step closer, your hand extended, along with your name offered up. “I’m your new co-worker, or well, you’re mine.”

Robin shakes your hand and tries to remember all the advice Steve has ever told her, most importantly: to breathe. Which is a mistake:

You smell so fucking good.

“Oh my god, I love this color,” your fingers intertwine with Robin’s. They curl underneath hers to hold up her hand for a closer look and you gasp, all cute and perfect and charming, “It sparkles.”

You’re inspecting her nail polish, so dark purple it’s almost black, and Robin clears her throat again.

“Ye-yeah. So, um, what did I…you said I…passed?”

“Oh!” you laugh again, rolling your eyes, “Sorry, I’m always doing that. It’s like I can’t keep up with my own thoughts sometimes, you know? Anyways, yes. You passed.”

“I…what?”

You actually let go of her hand just to press both of yours to her cheeks and she thinks she’s entered some sort of other dimension. Which is, well, not unlikely in Hawkins. Though this situation she finds herself in doesn’t feel all too typical of what normally occurs when that happens. There’s usually more lightening and adrenaline pumping through her veins and everyone is wet-

“You’re the one I’ve been waiting for.”

So, maybe? Because she’s sure it might be lightening and there’s definitely something pumping and she’s not wet in the sense that- ookkaay, really panicking now, because, hello? There are a lot of people around and again, this is Hawkins - her neighbors went to school with her parents in this very same town. The prom king works in the mayor’s office.

“I’m…what? You what?” Robin stutters out.

“Every single person Keith has hired has been so horrendously horrible and not a drop of good taste in music in their souls and I just can’t fucking stand to work with someone who will hate my music or I’ll hate theirs another day. And you,” you squeeze her cheeks and you smile that smile again, “My beautiful little angel, passed the test.”

So, yeah, cool, the world is probably ending because as you called her an angel she could smell strawberries on your breath. It somehow works with the brown sugar and coconut she can smell on your skin and she prays it lingers on her own as your hands drop and you point to the items in her hands.

“I watched you pour that. Lemonade and whiskey? Is it good?”

“I… d’ya wanna try it?” Robin offers it up to you, happy to finally find some sort of motor skills working.

Your fingers bump hers again as you take the cup and sip from it.

“I’m…I’m Robin, by the way,” she offers as you swallow.

Your smile dazzles her, so much so, she’s sure she’s got spots in her vision. Your tongue licks out over a plush bottom lip to catch stray lemonade.

“Yeah, I know,” you tease, “Oh hold on…you’ve got…”

Your hand reaches up as you take a step closer, then closer. The tips of your high heels tap the white toe of her converse as your fingers reach up to her face. You’re so close she could count each eyelash if she wanted to, can see blue sparkle and shimmer on your eyelids, can now tell the source of the smell of strawberry is not from your breath, but your glossy lips. They part as your fingers gingerly brush against her cheek, lemonade and whiskey mixing with the strawberry and having a very dizzying affect.

And then you hold your fingers up to her mouth and say:

“Eyelash. Make a wish.”

Robin blinks at you, her stomach the new home to what quite literally might be a billion butterflies.

Your eyebrows raise expectantly, beautiful eyes meeting her gaze before they dart down to her mouth when she blows the eyelash off of your finger tips.

A sigh leaves your body, and then the sound of your throat being cleared right after, as you take a step back when your name is called from the other room - all rowdy and testosterone filled and not at all how your name should be called. Not if she had anything to do with it, anyways.

“I’ll see you on Monday?” Your smile hesitant and voice a little full of what Robin is wishfully thinking is hope.

Robin nods, unsure her voice will work anymore.

“Thanks for the drink…can’t wait to see your mixology skills in the daylight, Buckley” you sing as you twirl away with a glimmer in your eyes and a smirk on your lips before you shout into the next room, “You hollered, dear?”

Your dress swishes just below your ass as you walk away, and that’s when she decides that all that karma and shit people are talking about is true and she is in another dimension and it just might be heaven.

She fumbles with the door handle to the basement, and each limb feels heavier and heavier the further she sinks into the basement.

Eddie’s head dangles off of the edge of the couch to see who it is, brown waves cascading to almost the floor while an unlit cigarette is held tightly between his lips.

“Good lord, took you long enough.” He rolls his eyes as she removes the cigarette from his mouth and pockets it.

A clatter comes from her left then, balls scattering across green felt, then the other’s voice exaggerates, “Are you shitting me? You were gone for an hour and you didn’t bring down my drink.”

Robin continues to walk towards the chair she had been trying to absorb into before heading upstairs, fingers tingling and eyes wide.

Eddie sits up, narrowed eyes and a tense jaw, ever the protector on alert from the state she’s returning in after being around the douchebags that make up most of Hawkins.

“Why are you so quiet? What happened?”

Robin’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“Oh my god, she’s broken,” Steve jokes, though his eyes convey his actual worry. He’s always fucking worried.

Eddie hops off of the couch with ease and the grace of a fresh baby deer and quickly makes his way to directly in front of her. His hands rest on his knees as he squats to get on her level.

“Hey,” his tone serious until she looks into his eyes. His lips twist in that way she knows means he’s about to say something stupid. “Did something cute walk by upstairs?”

Steve rolls his eyes and leans down towards the pool table again, muttering under his breath, “Forgets my drink because of a girl she’s never going to talk to-“

“For your information shitbird,” Robin’s voice discovered again through spite, “I did talk to her, and I didn’t forget your drink, she took it, and yes, she is very cute, more than cute, she’s-“

Eddie claps his hands in front of her to get her attention again, making her mouth clamp shut and her shoulders rise.

“Who?”

Robin says your name and the boys exchange a look.

The look.

The one that they always share when she gets a new crush and it’s obviously a bad idea and they’re seeing into their futures. Seeing their looming fate of pulling a red-rim eyed and sniffly nosed Robin out of her bed and removing the needle from the Nat King Cole record on its twentieth rotation before force feeding her milkshakes till she’s sick, but closer to her normal, pre-crush state.

Again.

“Robs…” Steve starts.

“Listen, I know, okay,” she interrupts. “But, like, I swear she was flirting. I couldn’t have been imagining it. I couldn’t have been.”

Eddie sits back onto the frayed couch, leaning forward and rummaging around in his metal lunchbox as he says, “Explain.”

She tells them everything.

Eddie’s now blowing smoke towards the ceiling and letting a low whistle out with a small chuckle.

Steve’s standing in the bitchiest stance she’s seen from him yet. A cocked hip and arms crossed and a frown on his face.

“She…I taught her that! That eyelash thing is my move!”

“I know!” Robin yells excitedly.

But her face falls when Steve’s features pinch.

“Robin…”

He hesitates and she sighs, collapsing back into her chair.

“Spit it out, dingus.”

Steve sits on the edge of the pool table and runs a hand through his hair. He looks at her with those stupid, sad, Steve eyes that make her unable to hate him even if she wanted to.

“She likes guys,” he says it simply, apologetically, and quietly.

Robin’s stomach rolls, the butterflies long gone at the thought of you in the back of his car doing stuff she’d never get to do with you, even if you did like girls. Thoughts of you kissing half the guys in Hawkins clouding her vision - that’s why the room is getting so blurry, no other reasons.

“Right…” she says, limply, and just as quiet.

Girls like you don’t like girls like Robin, it’s as simple as that.

“I’ll…maybe she changed her mind? That happens. Or maybe…maybe…” Steve hesitates then stands, “Drink? Something with a cherry?”

“Make it twenty.”

A thumb swipes over her forehead she can feel sweating under its touch, tender and soothing.

“Why…” her voice too hoarse to keep going plus the taste of cherries left in the sun for too long - sour and something that lingers and is distinctly bad - on her breath makes her stomach churn.

She forces her eyelids open to see a blue swoosh and a too white for them being used so much sneaker in front of her eyes.

The blue swoosh swooshes and her stomach spins, so her eyes squeeze shut.

She moans.

“Yeah,” he brushes a curl behind her ear as she realizes the hard floor underneath her is extremely cold and did she mention hard. “I’m gonna need some clarification on that why. Why are you on the floor in my bathroom? Or is it a more rhetorical and philosophical why like the ones you were asking me last night?”

Flashes of a moment in this very room, her hair clinging to her damp cheeks as she asked Steve why girls couldn’t like girls and he looked at her so heartbroken and then caught her hair as she heaved something bright red into the toilet the top of her head is now pressed to the base of.

She squints open her eyes again, looking up at the boy now looking out his bathroom door, through his room, and at his window with a small smile on his face.

“How are you using words like rhetorical and philosophical correctly this early after last night?”

Steve turns his attention back to her, he shrugs his shoulders.

“Guess those college courses really know what they’re doing, huh? Plus, I only had two,” he holds up his fingers just in case she forgot what that number means, “Cherrybombs. You had about seven I think.”

But then she hears the voice, the one that’s just beyond Steve’s open bedroom window in her own room, singing about sailors loving a girl named Brandy almost as much as they love the sea.

“Ohh,” she laughs, scrunching her eyes closed and turning her forehead into the makeshift towel pillow he must have thrown under her head at some point. “That’s why. Your girlfriend’s home for the Summer finally.”

“Quit it. You know she’s not my-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just your best friend. Just as platonic as me,” she starts to sit up.

“Exactly-“

“The girl you confessed you liked in a bathroom a little bit like this.”

Steve frowns at her, but then quickly looks at the window, the song almost over.

“I gotta go, but you can stay here and take a nap on my bed, get cleaned up, and then head home. We’re gonna…”

He trails off when she nods, swollen eyes hidden behind the heels of her palms and her voice comes out too hoarse and emotional for her liking.

“Right, right, I forgot about your tradition. I’ll get out of your perfectly styled hair. Looks good today.”

“Robin…” Steve hesitates. He looks at his window, then back at her with a smile, though a bit forced, his tone doesn’t leave room for argument, “You’re staying. It’ll be fine. A pool day is just what you need, plus, maybe you can get some advice from someone who isn’t me. But I gotta go, I did this whole…”

She waves him off, but grabs his wrist as he starts to get up, offering a quiet but genuine, “Thanks Steve.”

He kisses the top of her head and then grimaces, “Please shower, you smell like whiskey and cherries, and not in a good way.”

📻“I wouldn’t if I were you, I know what she can do. She’s deadly, man, she could really rip your world apart.”

Steve’s soul mate, the very much not platonic one (though that seems to be only clear to everyone but the two of them), slides her sunglasses up onto her head and looks at Robin. Eyes wide and eyebrows high on her forehead.

“She what?!”

Robin just finished the eyelash story. Again. She’s sensing a pattern with the reactions to it.

“I know,” Robin groans, her fingers drift lazily in the pool, doing nothing to cool her heated skin at the thought of your fingers touching her cheek. “It was…”

“Swoonable?” The love of Steve’s life grins in a way that’s all knowing and smitten herself and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve sighs from the other side of her.

“Yeah,” Robin clears her throat, adjusting her legs and wincing as they squeak against the inflatable tube, “That’s one word for it.”

Robin frowns and looks up at the lilac tree near the end of the pool pessimistically. “But it doesn’t matter, because she likes guys.”

Steve smiles softly, sadly, at her, at least his pity filled eyes are hidden under dark Ray Bans.

“But…what if…” the thought trails off from un-platonic soul mate’s lips before her bottom one tugs between her teeth and she sits up in her tube more, water dripping and clinging to her skin exposed in the red bikini she has on that’s honestly criminal.

Steve shifts in his own tube, then stares at the sky.

Poor guy.

The temptress Steve’s now clearly avoiding looking at shrugs her shoulders.

“What if she likes both?”

Robin squints at her before she asks, “What?”

“What if she likes guys and girls. That’s a thing.”

“It is?” Steve asks at the same time Robin asks, “You really think so?”

“Oh my gosh, we really need to get you two out of Hawkins,” she says with a laugh.

Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve’s face falls, and she’s fairly certain the love of his life doesn’t either.

The sunglasses slide back over her eyes as she looks at Robin, speaking quietly, “Seriously, come visit me in New York. We’ll go out.” Then a bit louder as she lays her head back on the pool float, “But, for now, I say don’t rule her out. Steve and I can come over during a break or something and help you figure it out. It’ll be great, okay?”

Robin squeezes her hand.

She hopes Steve’s future wife is right.

📻“I wanna shine like the sun. I wanna be the one that you want to see. I wanna knit you a sweater, wanna write you a love letter. I wanna make you feel better, I wanna make you feel free.”

Honey and vanilla float through the air, each scent mixing with brown sugar and something coconutty every so often - seventy six seconds kind of often, not that she’s counting - whenever the fan blows just right.

It’s dizzying, the smells mingling with the sound of your voice singing quietly along to a variety of records. Only broken up occasionally by a soft curse word and a thump, or a bubbly “Welcome into Holland’s! Let me know if I can help you find anything - I know right? It’s the “Don’t Bee Cruel” Robin cooked up today. You should absolutely go get one, I’ve had like twenty.”

You’ve had two.

But each time your shoulders relaxed on your first sip, your hand squeezed her upper arm in excitement.

“Holy shit, Robs.”

Robs.

She honestly hasn’t let anyone ever call her that except Steve, but she doesn’t hate it when it’s coming out of your lips. One’s that are glossy and pink and smell like strawberries again.

You lean on the counter as she works on making you a third drink, talking excitedly in an overly caffeinated craze, “God, this is gonna be so awesome. If you make a themed drink each week around our sales and you’re pretty creative right? Took art classes a bunch? We could paint on the windows or I’ve been trying to get Keith to let me get some different lighting and paint on the ceiling tiles…hold on-“

Robin’s hand stalls with the drink she’s handing over in what she’s already determined to be your favorite mug - lavender colored, as big as a cereal bowl, with little daisies painted on it.

But your hand grabs her other one across the wood countertop with a gasp.

“You got rid of the purple?!”

Her cheeks warm at your touch, the way your fingers curl around hers and the way your lips pout, jutted out and begging to be kissed.

“Oh, um, yeah. I usually change them every few days. I’m sort of obsessed with matching them to my clothes or my mood or just because I chip them so much as like a super bad nervous habit so I…”

She trails off, remembering to breathe and to also not spit every thought out, because most people don’t care and have already tuned out, but you’re still listening, eyes watching her.

“So you…?” You ask, still holding her hand.

“Change them. A lot,” Robin finishes, lamely.

But you just nod, inspecting the new color. They’re blue, but not bright blue, almost gray. Melancholy. Yearning. Hungover again. Crabby, like a storm cloud hanging over her head.

Your finger brushes over a nail as you take the mug from her other hand, your brows furrowed together and head tilting quizzically as you ask, “You’re sad?”

Shit.

“Um,” Robin flexes her hands as she lets it slip from yours and shrugs, “I guess maybe I was when I painted them? I had on Joni Mitchell, maybe that rubbed off on my color decision.”

Smooth, Buckley.

A smile before you take a sip, like you get it, then a hum that’s searching, thinking, leaving your pursed lips. Foam rests on your top one as you ask, “What would you paint them now?”

“Pink,” she says it softly, without thinking, staring at your mouth. “I have one that’s not pink pink, a little shimmer in it, like flecks of red or gold or something.”

“Pretty,” you murmur.

Robin hums and then looks away, clearing her throat as she gestures to your mouth, “You have, um-“

You laugh, embarrassed, before you swipe at your lips and then tilt your head up for her to examine, “Did I get it?”

“It…” Robin begs her hand not to shake as it lifts, thumb swiping over the corner of your lips and lingering as she says even softer, “There.”

A sigh leaves you, not unlike the one you let slip at the party on Friday night, and for a brief and magical moment, Robin’s fingers are still curled under your jaw, her thumb against your lip and both of you aren’t breathing she’s pretty sure, and she’s not looking at your eyes because she’s still looking at your lips, but if she happened to glance up, she’d find you looking at hers too.

But a customer calls for help, and the moment is over.

Robin is sure your face looks disappointed to go.

She’s sure she can’t be crazy.

That she’s not imagining this.

Which is what she’s telling Steve over a milkshake and turkey burger.

She smacks his fingers as they reach across the table.

“Quit it. Onion rings are for friends who offer advice.”

Ever the athlete, Steve sees her defense and sets a play in action. Waiting for his opening in the scuffle, his other hand yanks one free seamlessly.

He grins as he bites into it, speaking around the too hot onion and fried dough lolling around in his mouth, “What’re you talkin’ ‘bout. I gab you advise.”

Her nose scrunches.

“Close your mouth, heathen.” She swirls her whipped cream down further into the untouched shake. “And ‘just do it’ isn’t advice, it’s a shitty sneaker slogan.” Steve rolls his eyes as she takes a breath, only getting started, “And might I add, pretty hypocritical when it’s coming from the man who quite literally won’t do it.”

“Oh,” Steve swallows, he slurps a giant sip of cold coke before he smacks his lips together. “I assure you, I’m doing it all the time.”

The idiot literally winks. Robin’s eyes narrow.

“How are we friends?”

Steve snaps and points at her.

“That’s it. That’s the advice.”

Robin blinks at Steve, who goes to take a bite of his own burger, like that’s all he’s going to say on the matter.

She throws a straw wrapper at his nose.

“Don’t act like I know what that means! And don’t you dare speak with burger in your mouth.”

Steve rolls his eyes and licks ketchup from his finger and makes a big show of chewing then swallowing.

“Do you even know if you like…” he trails off when two idiots in letterman jackets walk by, then sit right behind them, so he turns his head to the ceiling and finishes, far quieter, “Froot Loops? The cereal?”

Robin’s turn to roll her eyes. “What?”

“I love cereal,” Steve places a hand on his chest, still speaking in a hushed tone, “But it took me awhile to find the right kind of cereal. I had to shop around.”

“You know I can’t really shop for cereal in Hawkins, dingus.”

“Right, but you already know what kind of cereal you like. Fruity.”

Robin rolls her eyes again. Steve keeps going.

“The question is, there’s a whole lot of fruit related cereals out there. Pebbles. Loops. That crunchy granola kind with the chunks of fruit in it.”

“Please tell me you’re arriving at a point here soon?”

“This new…brand,” Steve winces, squinting his eyes as he tries to round to home plate with this metaphor, “Could be a kind of fruity cereal you don’t even like. Sure the box’s got pretty colors and a snazzy logo, but do you really like the taste of it?”

“Did you just say snazzy?”

Steve holds his burger up to his lips and shrugs.

But she think on what he’s getting at, and it’s a shock to her, truly it is, when what he’s saying sinks in and makes one hundred percent sense.

“I need to…find out more…about this…cereal?” Robin asks, softly, clarifying.

Steve nods, takes another large bite of his burger and shoves it in his cheek, “Take it out of the bag and really look at it, taste it, figure out what kind of bowl it looks best in-“

“I got it.”

Steve nods to her plate.

“I get an onion ring now, right?”

📻“Isn’t she lovely? Isn’t she wonderful?”

Turns out, getting to know if she actually likes this cereal is easy. Easy like her Steve cereal. Easy like Eddie O’s.

You’re excited to tell her about your favorite foods and colors, pet peeves and subjects you struggled with in school. Your dreams for your future and everything in between.

The problem is, Robin is not the only one who wants to take cereal you off the shelf to bring home.

A fact she already knew, but ever present and creating a growing gaping giant canyon between her and you. The name of said canyon?

She’s Not Into Girls, Buckley, And You’re Only Going To Get Hurt - Get Out While You Can, Fairly Unscathed.

It’s a working title.

But the thing is, no matter how large the canyon becomes, there’s you, building up the rock and making a path to cross it. Though wobbly, and thin, and signs urging her to make sure she’s prepared for the tumultuous journey - it’s crossable. It’s there.

One minute you’re laughing with a guy who’s got swoopy Steve Harrington like hair, squeezing a manly bicep and batting your lashes, and the next, you’re grabbing Robin’s cheeks or booping her nose telling her how obsessed you are with her. The more days she spends with you, the words “what if she likes both” float through her brain, lay anchor and remain solidly at the forefront of her thoughts.

She could work with liking both.

At least she thought she could, until this morning.

Robin never showed up to Scoops early. Largely in part because of the Steve Harrington of it all - until she started to find him not so bad and realized she could laugh and goof off with the idiot who stole her first real crush. But even when her and Steve started to get along, Scoops Ahoy filled her with a mountain of dread, knowing she’d have to face another day of mundane tasks, sickly sweet ice cream that somehow smelled horrendous on her clothes and hair after a shift, rude customers and unpaying sampling tweens.

But Holland’s was different. There was you, of course, but there was also the promise of music that didn’t suck and remind her of pirates. Coffee and pastries. Calm customers who wandered the aisles and hummed along to songs they knew but couldn’t quite recall the lyrics. People who lingered in the coffee shop and read their newspapers or books despite it being Summer.

She liked the quiet of the start of the mornings here too.

You weren’t a morning person like her, and she enjoyed watching you blink tired eyes at her as she wandered in and the way your smile was sweet but sleepy. Sometimes you’d yawn and your shirt would lift a little as you stretched. Her favorite part was when she’d slide a steaming mug over to you and you’d start to come to life after a few sips. The way you’d always close your eyes as the record player’s scratch would crackle out of the speakers, the soft thud of the needle meeting vinyl, and then quiet instruments and music would fill the store. And by the end of your drink, the record’d be just finishing and you’d put on something much more upbeat, you’d start chatting with her, and-

Okay, so maybe like ninety percent of the reason she comes early is because of you.

This morning however, the shop windows are still dark and you’re nowhere to be found. Robin frowns at her reflection in the door as she searches her backpack for her key she’s never needed to use.

The metal tumblers click as it unlocks, the faint chime trills as she pushes open the door. She flicks on light switches as she passes to the back of the store where her coffee counter rests.

Every step of turning on machines, measuring out scoops of freshly ground coffee for the first pot of drip, putting away clean dishes left to dry the day before are all interrupted after a few seconds by glances up at the front door.

Each tick of the clock pushing closer and closer to eight only makes her frown deepen, until she sees you hurriedly walking up the sidewalk. Her shoulders relaxing as you enter until she sees the look on your face.

You’re brushing under your eyes, keeping your head down as you drop your things behind your desk at the front of the store.

“Sorry,” your voice is hoarse and you clear it and fumble with the cash register and continue, “I’m late.”

“I won’t tell,” Robin tries to joke but your sleepy smile is less sleep and more on the verge of ‘I’m just trying not to cry right now’, so she starts making you a drink immediately.

“Ha-ha,” you sniffle and start on all of your morning tasks but without turning on a record.

Robin feels like this is an emergency now, because while she doesn’t know you completely, she knows that for someone like you to not turn on music, things have got to be pretty bad. You seem like the kind of person that falls into an album like her when she’s sad - and the only time she can’t do that is when her feelings are too big, too strong, that not even the shared pain or understanding struggling artists lend with their lyrics and art is enough.

She holds your favorite mug in her hands full of cocoa and marshmallow and cinnamon and she hesitates as she rounds her counter, watching you frown at a clipboard. But she takes another step then another until she’s in front of you and sliding it across handmade posters and signs taped to the wood tabletop encouraging guitar lessons, new releases, and a sign up for a battle of the bands at the Summer carnival.

“Everything okay?” She asks softly.

Your face is still tilted down towards the mug, but she watches your chin wobble as you let out a shaky exhale.

When you look up, your normally bright eyes are muted in their color, glassy as you point to the mug and don’t answer her question but instead say, “This smells so fucking good.”

Robin smiles, lingering next to the counter as she lets her fingers trail over some of the used vinyl up front because it’s on sale, eyes on her converse that are littered with doodles as they shuffle her weight, unable to sit still while she wonders who’s made you so upset and how can she fix it.

“I…” you cut yourself off as you swallow a big sip, eyelids fluttering as you lean forward on the counter, hands cradling the mug. You keep your gaze on it as you shake your head back and forth slowly, contemplating something. Finally you look up at her and she swears all the air leaves her lungs when she asks, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Robin just shakes her head no, gaze returning to the records, spinning one of her rings around on her finger as you keep talking.

“I don’t either, well, I did, when we met at that party I did.” You come over to where she is, abandoning the coffee so you can flip through the stack next to her. Your shoulder brushes hers with every movement through the stack and Robin takes a deep calming breath as you continue softly, “He was an asshole. Still is.”

You spin around, crossing your arms as you lean against the table and mutter, “God he was a good kisser though. Good lips. Better hands, you know how it is and I just…”

She’s gonna throw up, right here on the vinyl.

Your fingers rub at your temple as you laugh, coldly, “I fall for it every time. Every time I break up with a guy and I go on some other dates and he comes crawling back, begging for another chance, and I give it to him and then it all blows up in my face. Every single time.”

Your voice wavers and your chin ducks to your chest, the strap of your baby blue sun dress slips down your shoulder as you sigh then confess, “I caught him cheating. Again. Making out with Grace Roberts. Right out in the open at the diner. I…” you laugh and lean your head on her shoulder as you admit, “I dumped a strawberry milkshake on his head.”

“Good,” she says, miraculously able to speak with no air in her lungs, “Though a guy who’s stupid enough to lose you deserves something far nastier and harder to get out than a shake in my opinion.”

Your head lifts as she says it, laughing and mumbling in agreement, “Mm, like gravy. With chunks of meat in it.”

“Exactly,” she says softly, now looking into your eyes.

The conversation is so wildly unromantic, but there’s this energy between you two. Bodies turned opposite directions, facing different walls, yet your heads are turned towards each other, both of you waiting for something tight between you to snap.

Robin doesn’t even think as her fingers slip up your shoulder and fix your strap, pads of them buzzing as they brush along your skin. Her breath hitches as she watches goosebumps rise to the surface in their wake. Your eyelashes flutter together, your chest seems to move up and down with extended time between each rise and fall, like it’s taking more of your focus and energy to take deeper breaths.

The tick of the clock feels like it’s counting down to something she doesn’t know what. You look at her hand still on your shoulder and swallow, loud enough between the lack of distance between your faces. Voice soft because it can be as you murmur, “Your nails look like a Stevie Wonder album cover.”

Robin glances down at the burnt orange with red sparkles as the thundering of her heart makes her feel like she might pass out. She painted them last night, after her shift with you where you sang loudly along to Stevie and twirled around the shop and sang into her whisk at one point.

She flexes her hand against your strap and let’s it fall, her knuckles trailing down, grazing your arm as she pulls out some of her Steve Harrington charm lessons from a scrambled egg of a brain and asks, “Yeah? Which one?”

You shiver at the question, following her fingers before your gaze lands on her mouth. Your lips part as your head tilts while you think. She watches your hand twitch next to hers now resting next to it on the box of records as you say, “The one with…”

Robin thinks she’s dreaming as you trail off and lean closer, eyes still on her lips as you whisper, “Isn’t She Lovely…”

Then, in the time it takes her to blink, it’s all over. There’s a chime above the door, you jump at the noise and stand up too straight, creating distance between the two of you like none of it ever happened.

But it did happen.

What if she likes both.

[paracosmtooclosetothesun]

thoguhts on Hunter TOH :3 (I am asking about fictional characters)

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE GIFT YOU HAVE JUST GIVEN ME. Thank youu!!!

Apologies in advance for this being so long but—

“Hunter is trans” is an ice cold take at this point but specifically he’s a trans boy who overcompensates by being Extra Masculine and having so much internalized misogyny. Good job Belos /sarc

School is perfect in his eyes. There are clearly established rules, a metric of success, and all he has to do to get the validation of all these adults is learn about things he’s interested in. He and Amity are tied for how many times they can raise their hand first. Of course it’s not perfect— he struggles with the social aspect and having no natural magic— but it clicks for him.

He likes to antagonize people. For fun. Specifically adults. He gets a rush of power and comfort for being able to tick people off and not have to fear consequences from it so sometimes he genuinely just acts like an asshole to establish that he has control over the situation. 

Him and Lilith make me actually insane. Remember that scene where Lilith was projecting about King’s dad in Keeping Up A-Fearances? Yeah, these two have similar issues and they’re both the bat and the hornet’s nest. 

I actually am not a huge fan of Hunter being a palisman carver because, I know I know it’s a way to counter the harm he was complicit in and he loves palismen, but it’s clearly a parallel to Caleb. A way to show how much he’s “like him”. And IIII don’t like that! In my heart he’s either a history teacher or a beast healer (wildlife biologist/veterinarian).

I personally headcanon him as having DID and have thought way too deeply about what alters he would have and how they would affect his day to day. Started with interpreting “I’ve heard that strong emotions can manifest” and researching mindscapes as someone trying to self diagnose and it expanded from there.

More about him and Lilith. They do not like each other BUT Lilith establishes a historical revisionism correction project using her time pool prowess and Hunter wants in on it. He would NOT pass up on a chance to visit the “Savage Ages” in person and take all the notes his little heart desires. Yes they reconcile but most importantly Hunter gets to time travel and gush about everything. They have to reconcile just so they each have someone to ramble to.

Hunter and Luz’s bond is everything to me. Calling it queerplatonic would be too specific. It’s absolute relationship anarchy. The only label you could possibly apply is “Do Not Separate”.

Yes I want Hunter to get therapy but he has to drag his feet every step of the way. This boy was raised by a Puritan in a military establishment, I want him to have the most old-fashioned, maladaptive, condescending opinions toward psychology ever. Journaling? Why don’t you punch the wall like a NORMAL person. 

Waffles was a “foster fail”, as my friend called it. Hunter was in need of a palisman as essentially a disability aid, and Waffles was in need of a caregiver. (Really, it’s impossible to tell who was fostering who.) Waffles is a feral kitten of a palisman who was Not treated well in the past and Hunter adamantly refuses to see her as His palisman for fear of disrespecting Flapjack. They have a rocky road of connecting with one another but there is love soso deep there and. I cry

He and Gus have the most obnoxious Hamilton phase ever. You put a theatre kid who’s fascinated by human culture and an ex-military history nerd together and suddenly they’re singing Guns and Ships.

Give that boy a wolf cut!!!

Andddd that is! More than enough! Thank you again for the ask <3 I am always happy to talk about the blorbos

[sirfrogsworth]

I keep wanting to write the ultimate post on autotune but I just never quite finish. I think there are 3 versions of almost-done autotune posts in my drafts.

So I'm going to leave out the technical and try to simplify my points.

Autotune is not the devil.

It is not good or bad.

It is just a tool.

It can be used well.

It can be used poorly.

And most importantly...

Autotune cannot make you sound good.

In fact, reverb and EQ can do more to make a bad singer sound okay than autotune.

All autotune does is correct pitch.

Singer sings the wrong note.

Autotune shifts that note.

Nothing about that makes you a better-sounding singer. It doesn't change your tone. It doesn't give you more range. It doesn't give you more power or dynamics. It doesn't give you vibrato.

It just makes you... in tune.

I have never heard anyone say of a great singer, "Wow, they are so in tune!" No one cries over a beautiful performance because the singer hit all the right notes.

And I guess if you are wildly out of tune, people might say you are a bad singer, but I would actually say that makes you an *inexperienced* singer. And whether you are good or bad cannot really be determined until the tuning issues are addressed. (Which most of the time is just a matter of training and practice.)

Good singers can sing the wrong note. It happens quite a lot, actually. Especially with material they aren't familiar with yet. In fact, every singer hits wrong notes. Even people with perfect pitch hit the wrong note. They just know immediately when it happens. This is because singing a note is a physical action and if your vocal mechanisms are not warmed up or you have a cold or the temperature is hot or cold, it is impossible to know if you are going to hit the perfect pitch at any given time.

This is why people warm up and rehearse and do scales before actually singing anything.

Autotune's main use is to fix good takes that have a few sour notes. That is what it is used for 95% of the time. Otherwise you are burning through expensive studio time doing take after take until you hit every single note at the perfect pitch. Sometimes a singer will do an AMAZEBALLS version of a take and they hit one sour note and instead of trying to create that lightning-in-a-bottle moment again, they just nudge the one note and save the performance.

You do not notice autotune the vast majority of the time. If it is used properly, autotune artifacts are completely inaudible.

In fact, I would argue that autotune makes inexperienced singers sound worse. That robotic sound you sometimes hear means the singers were very out of tune. The more out of tune you are, the worse autotune sounds. The more in tune you are, the more invisible it is.

There are very few people who are actually tone deaf. Which means everyone can be taught to sing in tune with decent consistency. And so if there is an instance where someone uses a lot of very obvious sounding autotune, it means they weren't interested in practicing. Or that they got tired of doing multiple takes and had better things to do.

And it isn't that they are a *bad* singer necessarily, but they are probably a lazy one.

Now, there is a different discussion about using autotune to "fix" notes that probably don't need to be fixed. Some variation in pitch can be a good thing. It can show emotion and give notes some spicy flavor. Sometimes singers will start out of tune and shift up to the right note. Like a vocal guitar bend. Being perfectly in tune can sound sterile. And sometimes overzealous producers will let their perfectionism get the better of them and make sure every single note is accurate to the cent and it brings a lifeless feel to the song.

When musicians complain about autotune, this is usually what they are talking about. Not some nepo baby with a record deal who couldn't be bothered to practice their song enough to get it mostly in tune when they sing it.

You should only use autotune to fix pitch when a note truly feels wrong. Like, it is so out of tune that it breaks your immersion.

Otherwise, leave it spicy.

[thechillsquid]

Weird Grunkles- Blind Eyes Au

Little Drabble writing for the au cause I can

—

Dipper stared long and hard at one of their puesdo-grunkles, Bill, for what felt like an hour before he finally couldn’t stop himself from speaking, “How in the world did you get up there? More importantly, why?”

Bill was by far one of the weirdest people Dipper had come to know since coming to Gravity Falls, only really being beaten by Toby Determined by just barely. The guy was of an average build, about a head shorter than Stan (and just as wrinkly), with strange tattoos along his arms and legs that the boy was about 90% changed daily.

It took a moment to actually get a response, Bill staring back through his curtain of white-streaked curls before shrugging, “Squirrels were looking at me funny, kid, someone’s gotta chase em off.”

The preteen quietly repeated that to himself before asking slowly, “Are you… like stuck up there?”

He got a beaming, almost painfully wide, grin, showing off one golden canine and the gap between the older man’s front teeth. “Perhaps!”

Really Dipper couldn’t fathom half the shit he saw Bill do, espically when he was apparently older than Stan and Fiddleford (and trying to get any answers about any of the three’s ages was a nightmare he’d long given up on trying to figure out). The guy wasn’t exactly strong like Stan or much of an academic like Fidds, but he was sly and scarily insightful. As well as probably insane, seeing as he was most definitely pushing 50 years of age at the least and still got into situations like this.

This wasn’t even the first time this week that Dipper had spotted the guy in a spot where no one should be, like on top of the totem pole or balanced in tree branches. It was weird and unnerving and Dipper was fairly certain the guy wasn’t actually human.

“I’ll get a ladder…”

“Ask Specs, good ole Fez’s got a fear of heights,” Bill practically spoke in a sing-song, settling down so his back was against the tree’s trunk now. “Thanks, kid!”

Dipper just nodded slowly and went to find grunkle Fidds.

This town was so weird…

[deathlonging]

What are your top five favorite movies and why

movies are so hard bc teaching yourself to love the medium when you didn't grow up with it is a far more painstaking process than people will have you believe. worth it though for better or for worse

it has to be said that the top four on my letterboxd --shadow of a doubt (1943), passing (2021), us (2019), jab we met (2007)--aren't really my specific favorites they're more like. all timers that serve to illustrate the (very narrow) range of my taste. they don't define, merely illustrate lmao so this answer is going to differ

but the definitive list for now goes like this in no particular order. under a cut because this is so long. oh my god it's so long

love and leashes: i love a good sexy romcom but it is so hard to pull off that fucking effortless charming little balance of chemistry conflict and humor in one fell swoop. too short and you fail to convince viewers of the Love. too long and it feels like you're trapping characters for your voyeurism. the pressure on romcoms is particularly hard because they're so underestimated as a genre as far as i can tell--not by the public or marketing and press but by the industry--and not really taken seriously for reasons of misogyny, being less likely to adapt existing ips, etc

none of this has directly anything to do w L&L but it does serve to show just how impressive it is that it pulls off what it does--a bdsm relationship between a man whose gf dumped him for his perverse desires, and his coworker rediscovering her sexual pleasures when he draws up a contract w her to be his dom. he's nice enough but the parts where they show her alone in her room--she lives with her mom--are what hit the hardest. it's an anti kevin can fuck himself because the switch that flips is entirely in the love interest's favor, and our girl falling for him is almost incidental to her delighting in being able to cut down to the marrow of someone like this and have them thank her for it because she did it well. anyway ! ate up the very good movie that is secretary (2002) to me bc regardless of personal preference i do enjoy watching a dom who's a woman far, far, more. it's got a best friend talking herself into an age gap relationship it's got the protagonist pressing her heeled foot into her love interest's back while he begs for more it subverts the battle between vulnerability and comfort by nesting the former in the latter so it creeps up on her, and she has an emma woodhouse moment. perfect movie

jab we met: this one is actually in my letterboxd top four. i can like promise i enjoy more than just romcoms but tbf this is the blueprinttttttt train movie and bella swan depression montage movie and most importantly mutual subsummation movie--i will never get over him singing that there's no more of him left in himself. speaking of which all the songs are incredible. i thought the song format of bollywood put me off it turns out i was just watching all the wrong movies with terrible soundtracks. if you watch one movie on this list let it be this so so good for real.....

la haine: some might say this is recency bias because your narrator watched it yesterday but real tragedyheads know it's got no equal and the second it ends the realization hits you quickly, efficiently. i wrote an unnecessarily long review of this on letterboxd already so here i'll just say i love how they banter...i saw a review that said you can feel the underlying rise of mutual disdain and well i just don't think that's true ! i think all these boys have even when they hate each other is that they love each other, because they understand each other. thats what keeps them together, and what lets them disagree

dogtooth: i have nothing to say this was just a really enjoyable watch and not at all as weird as everyone was making it out to be. creepy, though, of course, to its credit. i always love a story about the oldest daughter waking up and this is among the best of them. movie that makes you go fuck you have to read lacan right now. i actually can't say anything more abt this i have to clock in to my job at the intertext factory....a film worth checking out for the horrors of the family. incest warnings.

passing: for the fifth i struggled between this and shadow of a doubt but yuri wins out rather surprisingly. i think i'll have to rewatch both movies to decide which one i like better, but the gothic double commonality sets me at rest abt the decision. anyway this might be one of those few cases where the movie is more evocative and fluid than the book. the black and white is a great choice, stylistically and thematically meaningful, and every single movement and glance feel so loaded. one of those movies where Nothing Really Happens, until everything does. you know the kind. you've read hill house. that's all there is (relief) vs that's all there is (horror). you know.

[spaceorphan18]

The Lady Whistledown Papers : 2x01 Capital R Rake (Part 4)

Welcome back, Gentle Readers, to The Lady Whistledown Papers, where I’m taking an in-depth look at Penelope Featherington and Colin Bridgerton’s character arcs and romance within the show Bridgerton!

For previous issues, follow tag : The Lady Whistledown Papers

Portrait of the Featheringtons

Lady Whistledown is particularly vicious -- going after Anthony (Pen and Anthony don't really get much interaction, it makes me wonder what their dynamic is like) and then continues to goad the Queen (which, girl is getting incredibly bold). Meanwhile, we cut to the Featheringtons lounging around -- and I feel like is this what they do most days? It seems like a very boring existence.

While reading LW, Finch giggles and snorts as Penelope has made another plant pun in her writing, to which he appreciates. I kind of love that he is a LW fan, and really, he seems to enjoy Penelope in general. I kind of love that. Penelope is thrilled as his amusement, and is glad someone appreciates her cute, little plant puns.

But maybe more importantly, the juxtaposition is that at the ball, she's being clever and witty, while being ignored not only by suitors but by literally everyone. Meanwhile, as LW, everyone is reading her, and enjoying her. And, I should say -- the usage of the same kind of plant pun humor is also a reminder that Penelope and LW are the same person.

Btw, I love her little smirk and book snap as she jumps up at Finch's compliment. She must really enjoy when her family actually appreciates her.

Penelope might be in good spirits, but Portia is not -- and begins asking Varley if they can get anything for the candlesticks, as she's now starting to sell anything she can to get some income.

Penelope notes this - and while her sisters aren't alarmed, she is, and she is well aware that her family needs some good fortune and quickly.

Also, side note -- I want to know what Penelope is reading!! We get no good shots of the book. Though it looks like the book she was reading at the very beginning of the episode.

[I just want state that the scene in between this one and the next is a delightful Bridgerton family scene -- I still adore all the family dynamics, as it remains one of my favorite parts of the show. Also, Anthony is a great main character.]

Letters

Can we take a moment and appreciate how beautiful Pen looks in this scene? Like, seriously, look at this girl. There's a reason they show puts her in ugly dresses and has her hair in weird configurations -- because it'd be hardly believable that anyone wouldn't notice her if she looked like this at the balls.

Anyway, Penelope's in her room when she hears Prudence's irritating singing coming down the hallway. (Omg, I love the throwback to Season 1.) She just knows Prudence is going to be a nuisance, so she has to act quickly, as she's doing some LW things. She scurries to get the floorboard closed and covered again.

And... this makes me curious. Did the house just happen to have a loose floorboard there, and little Penelope discovered it one day and uses it for her secrets? Or did she make an effort to cut the floor open to have herself a hiding spot? Yes, these are the kinds of questions I think about.

So, Prudence does barge in and the first thing she asks is why Penelope is being so quiet. And... it's a very weird question. How could Penelope be loud? I realize Prudence probably spends a lot of her time singing badly, but there are only five of them in that very big house -- it's hard to believe there's any way that any of them could be making that much noise.

But anyway, Penelope tries to ignore her and states that she is reading. Prudence continues being invasive, stating that Penelope is incredibly boring, and then goes on to why she's really there -- she wants to complain about how Phillippa is now preoccupied with Finch -- and I have to imagine that Prudence isn't really thrilled that she's losing the sister she's bffs with.

Also, the look of annoyance on Penelope's face when Prudence says petrified wrong. Like, the levels of her sisters' stupidity grate on her ever last nerve.

Prudence then decides to snoop on Penelope's desk, and finds that there's a letter there she's amused by. I kind of wonder if the show wants you to think that Prudence has found a Lady Whistedown column? But I mean, Penelope is pretty smart and would never leave that writing out for her sister to read.

It is interesting, however, that she leaves her letter to Colin out in the open, however. But I suppose that is less scandalous? (Though it's pretty scandalous -- as unmarried men and women who weren't related to each other and aren't courting don't write letters to each other. Just another example of the two of them breaking the rules.)

It's also interesting that -- Penelope has been writing him for months now, and no one in her household has noticed. I'm guessing that Penelope is always jumping for the mail first, because he's definitely writing her back, and there's no shortage of letters there, and she must be getting the mail every day, because I'm sure someone would be suspicious that Pen would be getting so much mail.

I also kind of love that this is such a sister moment with Prudence taking the letter and Penelope crying for it back. Idk, it just reminds me of the times I've fought with my siblings like this.

The noise brings Portia into the room (and, lol, Portia looks like she's got a constant headache these days) and wants to know what the fuss is all about. Prudence spills the beans about Penelope writing Colin.

Portia's reaction is... fascinating. She isn't really that alarmed by it, and the first thing she notes is that all the letter writing has gotten her hands dirty. And then she kind of eye rolls about it -- as though she doesn't understand why Penelope would be wasting her time and energy.

Penelope defends herself -- exclaiming that Colin is her friend (which is kind of an extraordinary statement for the time period).

But, I mean, I love LOVE that the show made sure to add this piece of their relationship. The correspondence that Penelope and Colin have been doing while Colin's been traveling is so important and so special. (And I kind of wonder who started writing to who? Did Colin think to send her a letter as something reminded him of her while away? Or did Pen start writing him after Eloise grew bored of giving responses? I'm so curious as to how this all happened.)

The letters, however, are integral to their story. It's a place where the two of them can be themselves without the confines of what society allows. It's a chance for Penelope to be her clever and witty self and express the person she is without fear. And ironically (?) it's the same voice that she probably uses for Lady Whistledown.

And I'm of mind that through these letters are how Colin really fell in love with her. And it's somewhat fascinating that he unknowingly fell for her and Lady Whistledown at the same time. It's clear that he never reads the column, because how could he not pick up on the same phrases and the same sense of humor and the same writing style. She probably does not mask her writing as her Lady Whistledown persona is a reflection of her true voice, and undoubtedly her letters to Colin would be the same way.

Anyway, these letters are something that is very important to her. If you watch how she clutches the letter as her mother scolds her about it, how she has it close to her as she defends herself, and calls Colin her friend. The fact that Prudence is making fun of her and the fact that Portia is completely dismissive of it is incredibly hurtful to her. This relationship means everything to her.

It's interesting that Prudence rolls her eyes -- thinking that Colin would waste time on her, because clearly she doesn't notice the amount of mail that Penelope is getting back. But also doesn't notice that the only one who does pay any attention to her is Colin Bridgerton.

And another side tangent though - I do wonder what Prudence and Phillippa's opinion of Colin is, especially after the whole Marina thing. I mean, I don't think it's much -- but they are aware of how much Penelope spends time with the Bridgertons. And I can see them thinking it's hilarious that Penelope seems to be infatuated with her bff's brother. (I'm guessing, too, that Eloise didn't spend too much time over at the Featheringtons -- and encouraged Pen to spend time with her family instead.)

But, I mean, again while Portia is a bit blind to it -- she becomes completely distracted, asking if she could sell the books because the money issue is way more an actual thing to be concerned about, I do wonder if Penelope's sisters picked up on her feelings towards Colin. At least as so far as her being enamored when he was around would be another thing for them to make fun of her about.

Anyway, Portia scolds Penelope for wasting her time with 'silly letters'. And declares that if Colin is her friend -- then she is, in fact, Catherine the Great. And, I mean, that's the saddest thing. Her own mother doesn't take her seriously. In any other context, this would be seen as a scandal, but Portia finds it frivolous. She doesn't believe that her youngest daughter would find any kind of connection with a man and that's just... sad.

And poor Penelope is just deflated. She had been riding high on all the success of Lady Whistledown, but the reality is that in reality, she is just a girl clinging on to what little stability she has while those who should love her the most mock and ridicule her. It's incredibly disheartening.

Portia leaves by telling Penelope to clean her hands because how dare anyone think she would be a commoner. It's like the finally needle into Pen's side, like Portia has to take one last jab before she leaves. And, oh, how Penelope just has to stop and take a deep breath to reorient herself. She has survived another day of torment.

Penelope uses writing as a way to escape her life, and as a way to deconstruct the world around her. It makes me wonder what she does next -- write a scalding LW column to release her anger? lose herself in fantasy writing to Colin? Or does she have a journal for thoughts too private to even share with anyone at all.

[utilitycaster]

did companion quests this morning before driving for two hours for nothing (site visit that got fucked up) so I'm going to send some emails but first let us recap because it is a WILD series of events I have had.

Went to the Necropolis (I always start singing The Church's Metropolis in my head when I say "Necropolis") to lay flowers on Emmrich's parents' graves while he talks to me about lichdom. I'm aware of the consequences thereof though I know it's a ways off, and learned wild new things about Hezenkoss, but specifically it sets up such a fascinating conundrum. Great job; it's fun to play this as a Mourn Watcher who isn't a mage, incidentally, because the dialogue actually handles that scenario gracefully for once.

Went back to the Lighthouse, where Lucanis and Davrin were getting drunk and swapping stories. They're bonding! Finally!

Went to Dock Town to go to dinner with Neve, who is like "Hal's not there so sorry we're skipping stones" and this turns into her having an epiphany on the case with Aelia. It's a good moment and I'm going to talk about it later because...

Lucanis's companion quest (which, as I understand it, is NOT available if you chose to save Minrathous) is also in Dock Town; Teia and Viago have information that's too hot for Treviso so they meet you in the Cobbled Swan instead. They reveal that Caterina's ring was thrown out, which is NOT a thing Illario (only Dellamorte present) would do, which means it's a signal. At this point, Spite takes over and addresses Rook and you go into Lucanis's Mind Palace Prison and it's INCREDIBLE. Genuinely one of the most intense and wild social encounters. I have like 5 memes in mind for later. Literally the only criticism I have is that as you go through the four "locks" (insecurities slash traumas slash Lucanis being more than a little suicidal) is that the Veilguard Team Insecurity should have been represented by Davrin rather than Harding; ngl I missed a lot of Harding's mixed feelings about Spite because that's very early in the game and I tended to do Rogue + Mage partners for quests early on and wasn't as good at eavesdropping on Lighthouse conversations so I kind of missed Harding's trepidation, whereas Lucanis and Davrin's animosity is made much more central. But Caterina and ESPECIALLY Neve (who, because I'm romancing neither Lucanis nor Neve, gets some UNHINGED commentary from Spite) and Illario are all flawless encounters. And THEN after you convince Lucanis to work with Spite and most importantly that he deserves to live and stop punishing himself forever (fun fact! the comedy mask options, which usually aren't my bag? feel really natural and good here, which I think makes sense, as a person who has irl talked more than one person, including myself, off both some dark emotional paths and also bad trips, usually not at once) you both come to and Viago and Teia are like why are both of you dissociating. focus up. A+ quest only one note.

I then returned to the lighthouse where Neve has Emmrich do necromancy on a Shadow Dragon's skull, which is all very nice, and THEN immediately Lucanis is like. Rook! I baked a pie that is Neve's favorite! Have I fucked up everything ever? And, of course, I was like "please for the love of the maker, in whom Rook doesn't believe* tell her how you feel." Anyway this rules.

I think I'll have to finish the full playthrough to give final judgment, and I do think saving Minrathous would be interesting, but from what spoilers I know and from what I've said previously about Neve I think saving Treviso is genuinely the stronger story. Like, on a main story narrative level Treviso is more defenseless and the Shadow Dragons are screwed but Minrathous itself isn't nearly as fucked up by the dragon attack as Treviso would be, but also the Dock Town folks rally better than the Antivans do and that extends very much to Neve and Lucanis. Neve is furious and heartbroken, but she shows up to the story deeply cynical and there's something extremely rewarding about having her come back and say "I knew it, I can only rely on myself, people always let you down, everything sucks and the work will never be done" and to, through persistent work and patience, show her that sometimes people fuck up or let you down and they didn't mean to hurt you and sometimes they can make amends (to the point that we are on quite good terms now!) whereas if you abandon Treviso something breaks in Lucanis and never really recovers. Like, both of them are very pragmatic, but Lucanis does, deeply, want to see the best in people despite everything, and Neve is already, as I said, very cynical and self-reliant even before she's hardened. Also frankly she comes into the story somewhat more mentally well having not immediately been in a torture prison experiencing demon possession for the past ten months. Not that anyone here is mentally well, the reason I'm so obsessed with this story is because "a bunch of highly competent bisexuals with extreme perfectionism issues and various flavors of anxiety and depression move into magical co-op housing, fight god" is, you know, kind of my whole deal, but Lucanis is much more fragile than she is to start.

*I literally played Mourn Watch entirely for the Old Kingdom/Locked Tomb/General Goth Tendencies of it all, and also because I saw a chart that said it was one of the less popular factions and so I was like well then, I shall pick that one, but I cannot stress how much as a Jewish person it speaks to me. Like wow a focus more on ritual and works and importance of knowledge and duty as opposed to faith? Thinking cremation is a weird death custom? The belief that there is a particular importance and selflessness in the work you do to lay the dead to rest? Kind of meh about the main religion of much of the surrounding world but must admit the aesthetic fucks? Anyway. Highly recommend Mourn Watch.

Also btw I learned no one knows what Vorgoth is (which is very funny because we know what he DOES, he executes people who do high crimes against necromancy) but we don't know if he can fuck. He DOES collect landscape paintings? Also if you're Mourn Watch Myrna is kind of mean to you and it's pretty great.

[mama-qwerty]

After witnessing Wade's low budget rock opera fever dream, I want to know how a SCU project can tackle being a full musical while also giving a logical explanation for why everyone is singing… but more importantly, who's our lead character taking center stage?

Okay, I put this ask on the back burner for a few days because I couldn't come up with a good answer for it, but it was so interesting to think about. Then it slapped me upside the head as I drove home today.

Who's our lead? Knuckles.

I can almost hear the eye rolls - Of course Qwerty would put Knuckles center stage.

HEAR ME OUT

My headcanon is Knuckles likes musicals, because everyone in a musical actually admits how they're feeling. He has a very hard time determining that in real life, and character motivations in most movies are handled subtly, making them hard for him to follow, so having people flat out say (or sing) what they want or how they feel is refreshing to him, and he's grown to appreciate music more since his little road trip with Wade.

So maybe one night after the family watches a musical, Knuckles kinda muses to himself how nice it would be if life were more like that. If everyone simply said how they felt instead of trying to deceive others. The ME catches wind of this 'wish' and grants it.

Next morning, he goes downstairs and Sonic's singing about how they're all out of Froot Loops or something. Knux doesn't pay it any mind, because it's Sonic, and the guy tends to break into some sort of sing-songy thing every 5 minutes.

He's off to meet up with Wade for something or other. Wade's kinda singy, too. But, again, Wade likes music, so it doesn't really stand out.

Knux goes about his day, slowly coming to the realization that everyone around him is bursting into song. And while he doesn't really know a lot of Earth music, the songs they sing seem awfully specific to whatever they're doing, or whomever they're interacting with.

It hits him. Just like a musical.

He rushes home to talk to Tails about it--the fox is smart, he'll know what to do--when Tails starts a ballad about how he loves his new home, and is so afraid of doing something wrong to be kicked out. Music comes out of nowhere, and Knux is dumbstruck as Tails goes into this big finish about finding a home where people love and care for him.

Uh. Okay.

He goes to Maddie. Her song is about taking care of others, but feeling a little stressed about it.

Tom. His is about how he wanted to make a difference in the world, but discovered that being a father was what he truly wanted.

Knux is starting to freak out. Everyone's singing, but no one seems to realize they are.

He's frustrated and confused and has no clue what to do, when he starts singing. About his lost tribe, his time roaming the galaxy, his shame at trusting Robotnik. And finding his new tribe, his new home. He feels something in his chest, something he hadn't felt since he lost his tribe all those years ago. Acceptance? Peace? But he's a warrior! He shouldn't care about such things!

But he does. He likes these feelings, and has realized how much he missed them.

And realizes that he likes his new life. His new home.

And as he finishes his song, belting out the final notes, he feels a shift. The mysterious music that had appeared out of nowhere was gone. As he made his way back home, no one breaks into a well-choreographed dance. No one as much as hums as they tend in their garden.

The curse is lifted, and he feels more at ease with himself and his new situation than he has for the entire time he'd been on Earth.

But, he had to admit, everyone bursting into song was a little annoying after a while.

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9 Ep 78: Awkwardness, Overcome

Luigi was so wrapped up in wrestling with responsibility and morality that just like with his father, he didn’t notice Noemi until she sat down next to him.

He looked up in confusion; desperately glad to see her but embarrassed to be in such poor shape. Her wince when she got a good look at his face didn’t help put him at ease. “You have quite the shiner there, friend. It’s not too late for us to bail if your family isn’t as friendly as you thought.”

Luigi gingerly reached up, grimacing as his fingers met the bruised and swollen skin encircling his right eye, all the while struggling to process that Noemi was really here and that she’d said us. “I guess I must look like the monster I really am right now, but even I’m not evil enough to ditch Dad tonight.”

“Evil!?” she asked. “Whatever gave you that idea?” Luigi explained about the fight with Leroy, Amaya's angry words, his father's disappointment, and his larger secret shame. “I really hurt Beau. Am I going to keep hurting people because I can’t control myself?”

Noemi shook her head “You are a lot of things, but evil certainly isn’t one of them. Just the fact that you feel so terrible about what happened with Beau proves that.” When his downtrodden expression didn’t shift, she gently squeezed his hand and decided to try a different approach.

Turning playful Noemi said in a sing song voice: “Ooo look out, I’m evil Luigi! I’ll defend my friends from your insults and then become your co-captain and maybe best friend on the team! I’m so mean I have tons of friends and… she looked meaningfully through the window at the dancing and laughing crowd inside … way too many relatives who want to party with me.”

She made vampire hands to snatch at the now bemused Luigi who was watching her tirade with a much more put upon, but much less pitiful, look.

Noemi smiled as Luigi chuckled, feeling much better after her lighthearted show. “Thank you for that. I guess you’re right, maybe I’m not evil, but I obviously have some work to do controlling this stupid temper and making a better habit of repairing relationships like I did with Beau.”

Luigi knew that making amends for bad behavior wasn't the same as not causing the trouble in the first place, but saying sorry to those he’d hurt was a step in the right direction. He resolved to reach out to Bryon on Social Bunny one day soon and apologize for that whole mess as well.

Noemi agreed “There’s always room for personal growth. That’s… actually why I decided to come here after all.”

Now serious she explained “Luigi, I’m so sorry. Social situations are so hard for me, and this big wedding is terrifying. After you left that night, I tried to tell myself it was for the best, but I couldn't get you out of my head. The silent apartment you left behind taunted me with every empty room.”

“I looked at the future I was headed for and I didn’t like it one bit. I don’t want to end up a recluse afraid of crowds, but most importantly I don’t want to end up without YOU. It took me forever to find the courage, but I decided to come here and get my boyfriend back. Assuming you’re still willing to introduce us to your family that way.”

Luigi’s expression morphed into an excited smile. “Are you kidding?! You show up, turn my misery into happiness once again, and offer everything I wished for! I’d like nothing better than to take my girlfriend inside and show her around.”

Rising Noemi took a deep breath, muttering nervously “Let’s get this over with.” Luigi leaped up to embrace her, grinning like a fool.

“I’ll be there for you every second, and if all those hours of Sims Forever have taught me anything, it’s how to come up with a story to explain away an unusual situation!” They walked inside hand in hand, shocking his parents with his transformed mood and even more unexpectedly altered date.

True to his word, Luigi spun truth and lies into a smooth explanation. Meeting and discovering they shared a major at Harvestfest, their friendship deepening over time, and the awkwardness Noemi felt about meeting everyone again causing them to keep it all a secret until now.

His elders took the whole thing in stride. Peachy joked “there’s nothing wrong with keeping it in the family!” while Valentina simply said, “its lovely to see you again dear”.

With that hurdle overcome at last, Luigi led his reclaimed lady to the dance floor. Just like before that fatefulHarvestfestdinner he was excited to take their relationship to the next level now that they were out of hiding and Noemi was finally free of the burdens of the past.

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[auroragehenna]

AI-less Whumptober

Day 5 - Sensory Saturday (Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”)

"Torture, watching stuff, singing" - Universe

TW/CW: Overstimulation of skin nerve endings, attempted forced to beg, restrains, creepy whumper, defiant whumpee, mostly Whumper POV Word count: 983

"What are you up to this time?", Lyra asked Adam who was standing with his back to her. Staring at an array of tools she knew were there. Talking helped her feel more brave and, more importantly, prepared for whatever was about to happen. As she lay restrained to the dentist chair/bed.

"Questions over questions. Its almost as if you're training to become me.", was all he gave her as a response. He didn't see her perplexed and then disgusted mimic. Now armed with a small pen-like gadget and a duster with long feathers in his hands Adam finally turned back around. "Let's get started, shall we."

Lyra's gaze instantly darted to the items but she couldn't really make sense of them. At the feathers the thought of tickle torture shot into her mind and she paled yet quickly shoved it down. He wouldn't do that…Right? Right?

Adam chuckled at her paled face. "You flatter me, Thýma.", he said walking up to her and laying the tools down next to her onto an attatched plate. "How much I want to know what just went through that precious mind of yours. But alas I have other plans." With those words he picked up the pen and pressed a button at its side. Electricity crackled to live between two small prongs at the top and he pointed it towards her restrained body before letting it wander over her limbs and torso. Just barely hovering. "Where to start, where to start, hmm?"

Lyra took a composed breath at the elctricity, she knew how it felt but this one looked small in comparison to the others she experienced. But that didn't necessarily mean it was harmless. The anticipation was killing and she wholeheartedily believed that the bastard knew that. As he hovered the pen over her arm Adam's hand brushed her skin and a sharp intake of breath escaped her lips. To her horror.

Adam didn't stop at her intense reaction, only chuckled darkly. Then without further warning he dragged the prongs up Lyra's entire side. Revelling in the way she twitched and convulsed in the restraints. But only little pressed sounds escaped her throat but it was alright, they had time. "How did that feel? Good? Good.", he asked cheerfully, not really wanting or allowing a response before he again dragged it over an exposed patch of skin. This time her left leg, if it wasn't restrained he would get kicked straight into the face.

"Argh.", Lyra grungted through pressed together teeth. "Do you actually know how to use a taser properly or do you need a manual?!", she asked angrily. What was he doing?! This didn't make any sense?

"Huh, oh why is this way of using it not to your preference? I can switch tools its really no trouble at all." Adam put the taser pen down and picked up the feathered duster instead. With his left hand he pushed stray strands of hair out of her face and stroked her cheek, delighting in the way she had nowhere to go. Then with the duster as an expansion of his own arm he carefully, all but gently stroked it over her body. Especially the areas he just electrocuted. Grinning saccharinely sweet at all times.

Lyra's groans nearly turned into whimpers at this. The already sensitive and irritated skin burning and stinging. But she would not give him the satisfaction. No way. Only problem was her nerve endings screaming at her!

Adam now gently stroked the feather tips over Lyra's throat and face, enjoying how her face scrunched up in desperation and she pulled at the restraints that barely allowed for her to turn her head from side to side. But even then she couldn't escape the touch.

Lyra pressed her cheek into the cool leather of the "chair", enjoying the harsh and cold sensation against her burning skin. The small moment of partial reprieve. But she coudln't stay like this forever...She couldn't strand it. Suddenly two warm fingers creeped underneath her cheek and forced her to turn back around.

"Aww, what's wrong, Thýma?", he asked, voice dripping from faux sympathy. He leaned down until the tips of his red hair tickled her face and momentarily coloured it with red maroon lines. "You know how to make this stop.", he explained and cocked his head. Letting the hair over her face move with him.

Lyra could barely focus on what he was saying. Her skin and nerve endings burned! As somebody serverely touch starved she never thought she could feel this way! So desperate to get away from the touch as she was now. With no idea as to how long she could stand this without betraying her own principles.

Adam straightened back up but didn't remove his hand from her face. Instead dragging the nails over it, over the eyelids, cheeks, temples and also the throat.

As Lyra was sure she couldn't handle much more without some kind of stronger reaction than the evidences of weaknesses she had already shown a loud sound tore through the otherwise silent hall.

Adam's face fell into an annoyed snarl as she fished out his phone and walked away to take the call. After an undeterminded amount of time he returned, clearly annoyed. "Well, little bunny, looks like you're lucky, I have to be leave for a while, I'm sure you won't mind staying here for a while, do you." And with those words and a last stroke over her stomach he left.

Lyra was left staying there, half naked and restrained to the chair. Nerve endings still on fire. Finally she was able to take a shuddering breath and let out the whimpers she kept trappen inside for all this time. As much as she appreciated this break, Adam's return was dreaded as the sensory deprivation that would settle in now would make it way worse afterwards...

Taglist: @ailesswhumptober, @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt, @shattermind-8

[musicismymoirail]

Since I've back on my Infamous kick, I decided to sit down and try to actually figure out Fel's look. I really wanted him to have full silver hair, but it wasn't working for me so black sides for a nice contrast? I like it a lot more, and it still fits his 'very much in love and inspired by moon thanks' vibes, lol.

I also feel a touch bad for him because boy is majorly dysphoric when people can see his freckles and natural hair color, but that's gonna be hard to hide while on a tour bus and in front of cameras constantly. I don't think anyone outside of the band has seen either, not even Orion.

And since I did this for X.O., have some silly headcanons.

• Band is Goodbye Blue Monday. It fit him better than X.O. and I'm glad~ They're more.... indie with folky and minor punky vibes? I always imagine it's a bit like The Decemberists or meWithoutYou's It's All Crazy! It's All False! It's All a Dream! It's Alright album?? Like, this song is super Fel! c:

• Fel claims he was a remarkably stupid child, and his main story to back this up is when he was super young, he was terrified of darkness. He thought the moon was too, since it disappeared a lot so he'd sing to it to try to make it feel less scared. Fel's origin story for his singing and song-writing is just his weird compassion and love of the moon.

• Kid went to college but dropped out pretty early into his sophomore due to his crumbling mental health and realizing how much of it was simply trying to please his folks. I imagine this Didn't Go Over Well with them (especially Mom) and it's partly Fel has no love left for them. He may be a bit of a Stepford Smiler, but even he has his limits, thanks! 💖😤💖

• He went to Harvard too, so Mom might've been doubly upset he dropped out. He had planned on eventually going to Law School, but the Band and Seven won out (and he is happier for that, despite ...everything.) That being said, I always feel like his undergrad was in comparative religious studies or something. It just feels very Fel??

• The band's big hit is based for the old fable, the Moon and Her Mother. It became a bit of anthem of shitty relationships (parents) and gaslighting. There's a healthy debate among fans if it's about Seven (and if so, if Seven's the moon or the mother), Fel himself, Fel's own parents, or if there's any true-to-life to it at all since it is based off a fable. Mainly, Fel just hated the fable and wanted to write something for the Moon …and more parental feelings slipped in then Fel realized at the time, lol. Moon's Momma is harsh and Fel didn't realize how harsh at the time. :')

• While he's good at putting on a face and playing up his flirtious and carefree personality, Fel himself is a painfully sweet and anxious soul. Growing up was a lonely experience. His family moved a lot, though always in the Boston and South Shore area, and Fel found himself more often than not bullied by his peers. Weird, stupid, freckles, shy, take your pick. Kids found a lot of flaws to constantly pick and make fun of.

• Fel does have an (obvious) crush on Orion. Orion is a very attractive and smart and dedicated and witty. And more importantly, Orion is safe. Orion tolerates him kindly, but it's nothing more than that. It helps his heart after Seven. I think when he realizes that attraction isn't as one-sided as he thinks, Fel will have an absolute freak out. "Why would you even like me?! Don't you have better taste?"

• Kid's self-image is pooooooooooor.

• Fel enjoys cooking too! There's only so many tv dinners and take-out you can eat, but Fel grew tired of them both about he was 13. He's an exceptionally good cook and baker, and loving cooking for his friends. He makes them all special meals or treats for their birthdays every year and I can't wait for him to cook for Orion for the first time. c:<!!

• Also, Fel definitely has a Thick Boston accent when he talks. He's not embarrassed by it though sometimes he hangs his head when he hits the Boston especially hard.

• Kid also digs Clefairy despite his gothy punk aesthetic, much like X.O. digs Gengar despite her opulent pink aesthetic, lol. ^^;;;

[shynypeacekitten]

Five Times the Residents of Littlewood Stuck Their Noses Where They Don't Belong

Summary: Explained by the title >:) Hpapy bornday

Pairing: Marley x Oliver

Tags: Fluff, crack, swimming in a river in Egypt, Oliver being absolutely down bad, nothing bad happens ever au, no angst no trauma nothing

Warnings: My knowledge of this universe is limited to what I’ve been told and also the slideshow so maybe ooc, I also made up the relationship dynamics 😭, underage drinking mentioned, fleeting mention of drug use at school, I say “Oliver” 48 times

Word count: 1.7k

Oliver liked it in Littlewood. He really did.

It had Marley, lots of cool new friends, safety, Marley, a good supply of potatoes, Marley, and a place where he didn't have to fight for his life at every moment. 

Except, Oliver grumbled in his mind, maybe he kind of did.

Take just a few months ago, for example. Oliver had been sitting there, minding his own business and replaying an interaction he'd just had. Normal stuff, right?

There he sat, face cupped in his hands and elbows propped up on the table in front of him as he remembered how his very good friend Marley had walked by; Marley had been looking ahead at first, but he must have seen Oliver out of the corner of his eye because he'd turned to smile and wave. Marley's eyebrows had raised a little, his lips had curled into a small smile, and he'd lifted his entire forearm to wave at Oliver. 

That was a lot of effort for a wave. 

Marley had also been looking ahead; was Oliver sitting far enough into his field of vision for him to have casually noticed him, or did Marley just have more awareness for black blobs in his peripheral vision? Maybe he—

All of a sudden, Oliver heard this agitating, grating voice approach and make itself comfortable right in front of him.

"God, you're hopeless." 

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Oliver shot back, begrudgingly opening his eyes to torture them with the sight of his good friend, (good riddance, you mean) Piper Fang, leaning back against the table behind her and across from Oliver, a stupid grin on her stupid face.

Piper's grin only widened. "I don't knoowww," she sing-songed, tilting her head irritatingly to the side. "I can actually greet my friends like a functioning human being."

Oliver went to make a comment about how she had no friends, but stupid Piper—who always had to be one step ahead—saw it coming and spoke in sync with him, putting on a mocking voice and making a face.

Even when she finally got up to leave, Piper reached out to smack Oliver on the head as a parting gift. The two briefly fought for possession of the rabbit’s head before Piper managed to snag one of his ears, and the several losses left Oliver in a foul mood. 

But Piper wasn’t finished with Oliver yet.

A month after the fateful greeting, Piper went and got herself an annoying boyfriend who reminded Oliver a little bit of Marley but not very much because Marley was not annoying and not overconfidently good at everything. 

And most importantly, Oliver did not have beef with Marley. 

If Marley wanted to get beef with him, though, maybe—

Anyways, Oliver had been hanging around with his amazing friend Marley when he looked over the fox's shoulder to see Piper and Isaiah very obviously spying. 

They were standing by Isaiah's obnoxious motorbike, both faces turned and openly staring at Marley and Oliver. They didn't even turn away when Oliver made offended eye contact with them over Marley's shoulder! In fact, Piper had opened her jacket to reveal a shirt with the words "DUMP HIM" in large red letters. 

Where did she get that shirt? Did she just wear it around in case the opportunity to clown presented itself? Why were they friends?

Marley was not taking it anywhere near as seriously as he should have, and he simply laughed and rolled his eyes when Oliver brought it up to him, chuckling about how the two were menaces.

Shortly after, Oliver heard the unmistakable sound of Isaiah's motorbike revving and the combined voices of Idiot Number One and her horrible choice of a boyfriend. He didn't hear what they said over the roar of the bike that served as his unwanted alarm clock most days, but he could bet that it was something suggestive and stupid, judging from the shit-eating grins speeding past him and the embarrassed blush creeping up Marley's cheeks. 

How did one see a blush on red fur? Oliver didn't know. 

Perhaps life and its phenomena would be easier explained if he could brush all the blame off on Piper or her now (thankfully) ex.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

Wulfric the raven was a pretty cool dude. He'd helped Oliver and his friends a lot while they'd been trying to survive together, and he'd told them of Littlewood and its safety.

He did, however, give unsolicited advice that Oliver didn't even need.

For example, Oliver had been minding his own business, watching—ahem, listening to Marley talk about the cool photos he took on his most recent mission for resources when a loud "HEY, LISTEN" squawked from above.

Now, Oliver had heard this greeting many times and didn't startle anymore, but what befuddled him was what came next: relationship advice. To be specific, romantic relationship advice. It wasn't very good, either.

As Wulfric yapped on about consent and tea for some reason, something rose in Oliver's chest. 

It felt a bit like fear, but what reason would Oliver have to be fearful? Perhaps if he secretly liked Marley and felt that Wulfric's bad advice hinted at his hidden feelings and he didn't want to confess by way of a sentient bird, but Oliver didn't like Marley that way, so that couldn't be it. Was he embarrassed? Perhaps. Maybe he was a little irritated, too. He and Marley were not dating each other; they were not dating anyone! Oliver told Wulfric so.

"Oh? What's that?" Wulfric suddenly perked up with way more perk than he usually gave. "I think I'm being called away by The Wizard. Oops, gotta go!" And he flew away, leaving no one convinced.

Oliver's face burned, and it was because he didn't want to be given relationship advice when he wasn't even in a relationship and because he would definitely never be interested in Oliver that way at all. 

It was not because Wulfric's bad NPC advice was treading into very dangerous territory with Marley right there, because there was no dangerous territory when Marley was there. 

Because Oliver did not like Marley that way. No, sir.

It seemed no one else could see that, however, and yet another person Oliver could blame for sticking their nose where it didn't belong was resident Golden Boy Anthony. 

Tony was awesome, except for that one time he'd mom-friended too close to the sun and gotten everything completely, totally, definitely wrong.

It was the morning after Oliver and Marley had decided to be the reckless teenagers they were and engaged in a light spot of underage drinking.

Okay, a lot of underage drinking. A tremendous spot, if you will.

If his head didn’t hurt so badly, Oliver would have been wondering how and why they were not seen or stopped. 

But it did. 

So he was not. 

Perhaps it had something to do with the apocalypse.

Mind-numbing logic aside, Oliver had been very hungover and wondering what his alcohol tolerance would be if he'd drunk as well as done drugs back at school when the sun itself came waltzing into his room.

Squinting against the onslaught of good influence, Oliver saw the blurry outline of Tony placing an assortment of snacks and some water on a table before approaching the bed. Tony fussed over Oliver for a bit, muttering about "kids these days" and "should have taken a fire extinguisher for Marley", and then said something so outrageous it could have been a figment of Oliver's hungover imagination:

"I'm glad you two are taking steps to further your relationship together, but please don't forget to look after yourself while pursuing Marley." He gently scolded. "I want you both to—"

He didn't make it much further before Oliver jolted, eyes widening as much as they could without causing pain and a waterfall of denials tumbling from his lips. What did Tony mean ‘further their relationship’? He wasn't ‘pursuing Marley’!

None of this seemed to deter Tony, who only gave Oliver a Mom Look™. 

"Okay," he sighed, the corners of his mouth suspiciously twitchy. "Just make good decisions, and be sure to think things through." He turned to leave, paused, and looked back just before closing the door.

"Go see Marley when you've eaten and had something to drink. I think it'll make you both feel a bit better."

Of course it would, Oliver thought. Because they could poke fun at each other for being in pain. No other reason.

But Tony had been right. Seeing each other often put Marley and Oliver in a much better mood, hangover or not. Much like how seeing Oliver had put a smile on Marley's face all those months ago, Oliver felt as if simply being in the presence of his fox friend made him a better person. The strength of Marley's fire warmed and defined the shape of Oliver's shadow, and Oliver didn't know who he'd be without it.

Which is why it should have been completely normal and expected for him to greet the very platonic light of his life by running full speed at him, flinging himself bodily at his sun, and cheering, "MAR MAR!"

That, however, was not how anyone else saw it.

An "awwww" came cooing from behind, and Oliver whipped his head around to see Jackie holding her face, a rapidly growing smile spreading across it. "You two are adorable! I'm so happy for you—"

"WE'RE NOT TOGETHER!" Oliver shoved away from Marley in a panic. "I mean— I'm very straight I love girls so much they are so women," he rambled, eyes flicking from Marley's faintly confused face and what looked like—but could not have been—a knowing smile on Jackie's. What did she know? There was nothing for her to know!

"We are very good friends isn't that right my super awesome boy friend who is just a friend and a boy and who has some very important things to do with me right now mm hmm sorry gotta go." And he grabbed Marley's arm, turned, and sped off, lungs burning from the exertion of speaking without breathing and definitely not because his heart was working overtime.

It didn't matter that Jackie was almost literally a cloud of bubblegum and friendliness and okay with it. It didn't matter that even Piper's stupid ex thought he could see and say something about it. It did not matter that every one of their friends and their talking ravens were supportively poking around in their business because there was no business to be discovered.

Oliver did not. Like. Marley. That way.

Right?

for @thesplashyeth