#bright starts comfort and harmony swing

[pistachiofiasco]

fevers, medicines, fights

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader Genre: fluff, comfort Words: 2832 Warnings: n/a

Also on AO3!

i finally finished this lmfao it ended up so much longer than i thought it would don't mind me everyone, i'm just happy that i'm finally working towards living my best life and it apparently starts with incredibly self-indulgent fanfics for my favourite menace to society

You could tell as the carriage slowed that your plan to maintain at least some level of dignity and grace had already fallen to pieces.

A short but pleasant trip back to Rhodolite, but a difficult journey home to Obsidian. The changeable weather and the days long travel time had left your body sore and tired, compounding into a minor fever and a not so minor headache. Recovery would likely take a few days of solid rest. It would be such an unremarkable occurrence, if the man waiting beyond the comforting dark of the carriage was anyone other than Gilbert Von Obsidian.

The soft jolt as the carriage stopped felt like a (metaphorical) nail in a (metaphorical) coffin, which somehow didn't feel so metaphorical the longer you waited to step out. The outcome was a forgone conclusion, you knew, but still. An attempt (to delay the inevitable) couldn't be held against you.

A nervous "my lady?" from outside the door told you you had to move, dizziness and queasiness be damned. Even through the dark wood of the carriage, you could feel the increasing pressure of Gilbert's presence on everyone present. He had probably already figured something was wrong.

Pushing up the latch, letting the door swing open, teeth grit against the unsteadiness as you pushed and pulled the heavy (and, made with all his (excessively jealous) love or not, currently infuriating) layers of your dress to at least let you avoid stumbling out like a drunken fool. Or worse.

One foot at a time. You can do this. Just one foot at a time.

One foot at the edge. The driver, from his position by the door, seemed to sag in relief. You spared a glance in his direction as you pressed forward, down to the carriage step, wanting to convey at least some sort of "thanks" and "sorry" and "I promise I won't let him kill you". It was too bright though; you couldn't make out his face as you squinted in the sunlight under blue Obsidian skies.

Your foot landed heavy on the metal step and you could feel your weight shift uncertainly. The tremor of it shot up through you, sending another quake through the back of your skull. Panic was curbed by grim determination. You were not going to fall on your face in front of Gilbert and all these people. You were, however, definitely going to break your heel and possibly sprain your ankle.

Momentum carried you forward and even through the heavy pulsing in your head, the rolling in your gut, and the flush of gross sticky sweat dripping down the back of your neck, you could swear you heard a collective sharp breath. A harmony of dread and despair – Gilbert truly had picked people who could read the situation very well.

Eyes on your feet, you watched with bated breath as the ground drew closer. Even the slightly glossy polished stones made you squint in a blurry glare, as you waited for the impact, the snap of the boot heel, the twist and pain of your ankle rolling. It would spare you from the sting of scrapes and cuts and humiliation at least.

The heel hit the paved stones hard and you felt the shock of it jar its way up your leg, your body, in your head. The pounding increased and the sun bore down and you could feel your teeth grit against the urge to empty your guts on the steps of the Obsidian palace.

You heard, more than felt, the snap of you boot heel. Black gloved hands, black cape, black hair were all already there before you could lose balance, before your other foot could come down to brace you. Hands holding you steady, cape blocking the gleam off paved stones, black hair as good a place as any to bury your face until the world stopped tipping and sliding in all manner of directions.

"Little rabbit."

There was a warning there, more than a question. What the point of warning you now was, you had no clue. You had already crossed the line into 'clearly not healthy and not okay', there was no point picking a fight about it now. You found you didn't have the energy to say it though, instead sighing heavily against his neck.

The black shifted, hands moving to grip you tighter, head ducking to brush hair closer. "Little rabbit." There was an edge now; you were on very thin ice. You knew what he wanted, tried to pull forth the energy to respond. You had been telling him so often to communicate when he wasn't feeling well; you couldn't be a hypocrite now. You could do this, just a few quick words, just the bare bone basics. Not feeling well, rough trip and the weather was unkind, I'm okay, I'm not lying, I'll be fine after some rest, just help me get to bed.

Later you'd wonder if you got anything other than "bed" out audibly. As it was, even through the banging of drums in your head, you could tell the air had shifted. The blazing sun felt so far away now, Gilbert's temper chilling against your sweat soaked skin. Words were said over your head, sharp and cutting and clear enough that you could see the image of his daunting smile behind closed eyes in the dark kindness of his neck. Arms moving, shifting under you to lift you like a child even with all the layers of fabric weighing you down. Against the sticky skin of your forehead, you could feel the fast beat of his pulse under his jaw.

Go to Rhodolite for visit with entourage. Write multiple letters saying you're okay. Get sick on return journey. Announce arrival by almost collapsing out of the carriage. Well done me.

Breathing deep, you tried steadying yourself in familiar smells. The medicinal tone was still there, undercutting everything, but it had become increasingly overpowered by something warmer, headier, sweeter, (healthier). Always there was a whiff of vanilla on Gilbert now, as if the delicacies he'd raided from your kitchen clung to him as evidence of his (comparatively petty) crimes.

The thought brought a smile to your lips. He'd been using your vanilla syrup. You could smell it on his breath, despite having hidden it away before you left. Bad man.

As he lifted you, you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck. You turned your head to meet his gaze, and finally get a glimpse of his face after almost a month away. You'd missed him too, after all (though he'd never be fully convinced, never fully understand just how much; how often you thought of him, wanting to show him and share with him the things that brought you joy and the things that reminded you of him. He still considered it going back to Rhodolite, after all, not coming home to Obsidian, coming home to him).

That red eye finally entered your line of sight and you felt your chest clench. There was a look there, beyond the anger ("you said you were fine, were you lying to me") and worry ("someone is going to die if this can't be fixed"). There was a panic, wholly unfamiliar to you. To him as well, it seemed. When your mind is clearer, you might be able to follow the thread of his feelings (you were always better at understanding him than himself). And you might consider how long it has been since Gilbert Von Obsidian has loved anyone, and what happened to the people he had loved before. And, most pertinently, where it had happened. But your head was still spinning, such thoughts feeling far beyond you at the moment. But you knew Gil (not The Conqueror Beast, The Worldwide Disaster, The Emperor Gilbert Von Obsidian, but Gil, just your Gil) still needed something from you.

"Gilbert." It was quieter than you intended, breathier too. You weren't aware of how you were breathing before, but the scratchiness of your throat made you realise you might have been panting. Swallowing you tried again, the sound more in focus this time, with more strength behind it. His eye never left you. "Rest with me?"

It was a question, more than a demand. What the point in either was you weren't sure; you (both) knew this man would deny you hardly anything you asked of him.

You were barely moving as he carried you, extra care being taken to not jostle you in the slightest, all the way back to his room.

A gentle kiss pressed against the skin of his neck, the smell of vanilla right under your nose, safe arms wrapped firmly around you. You were asleep before you even made it to the castle doors.

--------------------------------------------------

"You're awake, little rabbit."

Turning your head, you found Gilbert set up on his side of the bed. There was a strange wooden table, L shaped, jutting over from the edge of the bed frame. Reports and paperwork were laid across it and more were stacked on his bedside table, along with an ink pot and pen (vaguely you recalled a comment you had made weeks ago, half asleep, curled into his chest, holding on to him as he made to move to his desk. You had told him to make a table that wouldn't require him to leave the bed and he had laughed ecstatically as he attempted to peal your fingers from his shirt (you both knew he could have easily broken away from you, you both knew that he was exceptionally delighted at your display of clinginess, and you both knew that he would – lovingly – hold it over your head and you would – lovingly – deny any memory of it)).

Looking back at him, you watched as he pushed the table, turning it away from the bed (he had added a rotating hinge to it, of course he had, the show-off). He shifted back to you, leaning over to brush back some of the hair stuck to your face.

He was moving gently, more gently than you'd ever seen him. You smiled at him, calling his name and reaching for him, and watched as he breathed out a deep breath, shoulders relaxing.  The shadows under his eyes were darker than usual. Well, eye. The eyepatch was in place.

"Are you okay?" You reached out to him, hands finding his neck to play with the black strands there. The aching stiffness in your body and the heaviness in your limbs suggested you had been lying here for definitely more than just a day. He looked vaguely unamused at the question; his usual smile had a slight tilt to it that you could tell was fondness, with just a hint of exasperation. Clearly in no rush to answer, he fiddled with the stands of your hair, adjusted your duvet. He didn't seem mad at least and he wasn't throwing out threats of conquering nations so he wasn't sulking either. As he made eye contact with you again, his smile turned somewhat rueful.

"You, little rabbit, are a terrible patient."

"Excuse me?" That hadn't been what you were expecting.

"You sulked every time I asked you to eat something and you refused to take your medicine. You wouldn't listen to me even though I was clearly trying to help you."

Pot meet kettle, anyone?!

You stared at him, trying to parse if this was a joke or jibe, payback for sleeping for too long. He was still brushing your hair back, smile in place. Squinting, you read the lines of his face, his eyes, his lips. He wasn't joking.

Oh, you little...

"Well..." you said, and his one neat eyebrow went up at the sickeningly sweet tone, “now we both know what that's like, don't we?" Your tone was something of a surprise to both of you, with more attitude and more needling than you had intended. Maybe you were slightly offended. Briefly, you wondered if you might have cause to regret this confrontation. He seemed to find it incredibly amusing, lips widening into something more genuine (more childish, like having a spat with his significant other was enough for him to be having the time of his life).

"Are you calling me difficult, little rabbit?" He leaned in further, hovering over you on the bed. He meant to intimidate, certainly, and on another topic you might have backed down. But Gilbert von Obsidian called you a 'difficult patient' and that was not a fight you would run from.

"Well, you're no peach, that's for sure." You tone was dry, nose turned up and, taking a leaf out of his book, you raised one eyebrow back at him.

"That's incredibly hurtful, little rabbit. And after all the effort I went to to help you recover."

You could have caved, softened, and thanked him for clearly watching over you the entire time you were bedridden (there was still a tension, etched in the lines of his neck and shoulders, from worry he wouldn't easily own to – your heart clenched at the idea of what he might have felt sitting and waiting beside you, what memories it might have dragged up). But you were still a bit miffed and his smile was brighter with every word you said, so today you wouldn't give in so easily.

"Oh yes, I'm sure you went through so much looking after little old me."

"Are you mocking my efforts to help you, little rabbit?"

"Are you mocking mine, Your Majesty?"

You stared at each other in silence, eyes narrowed in challenge. Maybe it was the lingering effects of the fever or the still present heaviness across your body and your head. Or maybe you were just having that much fun in this quiet moment with your not-yet-husband(-but-definitely-eventually-going-to-be). There was a quiver on your lips that his eye immediately dropped to and there was no helping the laughter bubbling beneath your next words. "Walter likes me better anyway."

His eye went wide, mouth just slightly open in the Gilbert equivalent of jaw dropped. You had very genuinely surprised him with that one and it was so very rare to see this man speechless. You took in the expression for just a moment, before rolling away, attempting to muffle the snort that you knew you couldn't stop. He would never let you get far though.

As you buried your face in your pillow, you felt the bed shift as Gilbert lunged for you. Deft fingers and evasive hands grasped you, finding that spot on your side that made you shriek with laughter. He was persistent too, half pinning you down as you yelled his name and reached back to try push him away. Tears leaked from your eyes as he pulled you back towards him, turning you in the circle of his arms, still unrelenting, his face a blur of malicious glee. You gripped his fingers, crying for mercy as he finally stopped. You blinked away tears to stare up at him, hovering over you once again, looking exceptionally pleased with himself, with his grin stretched to face splitting proportions.

Reaching up the cup his cheeks gently, you brushed under his eyes, trailing over the new dark circles and creases there. You felt your chest swell once again with how much affection you had for this man, and with the knowledge of just how precious you were to him. You didn't even need to consider everything - just the look on his face was enough. His eye was sparkling, even in his own shadow, and his smile was softer, sweeter; this expression was the most 'truth' that Gilbert could ever offer you. He said nothing, content to watch and rest his face in your palms, enjoying the light pressure of your fingers moving across his face, down his nose, against his lips. He couldn't help take a little nip, quick and sharp enough to hurt surely, but you didn't even flinch.

"...Thank you, Gil, for taking care of me."

Your tone might have been too sincere, too loaded with everything else you wanted to say but didn't have the words for. Perhaps if your feelings weren't so strong, didn't sometimes make it hard to breathe when you so much as thought of him, it might have been easier for the words to leave your mouth. But as it was, you found them, so many thoughts and feelings clambering to get out, stuck in your throat. Gilbert knew you, better than anyone else (though Mr Akatsuki and Rio would strongly disagree). Gilbert recognised everything you wanted to say, all of it culminating in three tiny little words ("I love you I love you I love you") that you pressed against his lips.

He kissed you short and sweet and you kissed him soft and warm. Again and again, until he hummed and pulled back to smile at you again, brilliant and dazzling and radiant.

idk if this makes sense to anyone else but sometimes canon!MC is a little too puppy-coded for me and i need a more cat-coded interactions (but that might just be me who knows)

gilbert taglist: @scummy-writes

[chamerionwrites]

Tag Nine People You'd Like To Get To Know Better

FAVOURITE COLOUR(s): Rusty red-orange, deep cool spruce green, bright cobalt blue, wine red, the various shades of slate green/grey/blue.

FAVOURITE FLAVOUR(s): Weirdly difficult question, in that what I think I most enjoy about food is the way that different flavors and textures complement each other to become more than the sum of their parts. But I am a huge fan of deep rich fruity-savory umami (sundried tomatoes, a great red chile sauce, things braised in red wine) as well as absolutely any kind of citrus or fresh herbs.

Also, while this isn't exactly one thing and it might be simpler just to say that I like strong flavors, I fall firmly into the These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things camp on a lot of polarizingly funky/briny things (smoked salmon, goat cheese, blue cheese, olives, anchovies, preserved lemons, etc).

Also the taste+aroma of both fresh bread and corn tortillas hot off the comal is imo the human equivalent of catnip, ie "provokes immoderate feral delight on some bizarrely primal level."

FAVOURITE MUSIC: The very sexy Bermuda Triangle where blues/rock/folk bleed into and/or influence one another. Anything else that takes my fancy, including but not limited to a lot of soul, post-punk, and highly danceable salsa or big band swing stuff. Sad jazz. Gratuitously melancholy strings. Great lyrics, great harmonies, deep rich vocals.

FAVOURITE MOVIE(s): I have never in my life been able to pick one favorite book, but Pan's Labyrinth is easily my favorite movie.

FAVOURITE BOOK(s): This is the impossible question to me but The Periodic Table, Signs Preceding The End of The World, The Things They Carried, The Little Drummer Girl, and everything Arundhati Roy has ever written are all on the list somewhere.

FAVOURITE SERIES(es): The Same Sky is exquisitely good and The Night Manager is my id-stroking comfort rewatch. I also loved Andor and the first season of Hannibal.

LAST SONG: I was just going through this tag earlier.

LAST SERIES: Thanks to holiday craft fair season I have had zero ability to do longform TV anytime within the last few months. (Also, frankly, multi-season TV series are the one of the most difficult media formats for my brain to engage with; it's a fantastic storytelling medium when done well, but I personally have a much harder time sitting down for two hours of TV than for two hours of reading and thus getting started often feels like a huge commitment. I am really a 3-6 eps and done miniseries person at heart.)

That said I am a big podcasts-while-working person and I've been listening to a lot of Friends At The Table and Bad Gays recently.

LAST MOVIE: The Wind That Shakes The Barley, which has been on the Somehow I've Never Seen This And I Really Should list for a while. It has promptly been moved to the OFC It's Possible To Make A War Movie That Doesn't Glorify War, Y'all Are Just Fools And Cowards list.

CURRENTLY READING: ...I have to admit that I'm re-reading Kissinger's Shadow (to Mark The Occasion).

CURRENTLY WATCHING: Nothing (see above), though I have ambitions of giving Black Sails a shot.

CURRENTLY WORKING ON: The sketching stage of some linocuts, some experimental worldbuild-y map-drawing (important as Cartography And Its Imperial Misuses are kinda thematically and plottily relevant to the story, at least in its nebulous conceptual form).

TAGGED BY @silkenred (thanks!), and TAGGING (only if you want ofc) @sassysnowperson, @tobermoriansass, @cosmonauthill, @essayofthoughts, and anybody else who feels like doing this. (No really, I'm shy about tagging but please do the thing if you're interested.)

[raointean]

Day 1 - Dwarves

“Remind me again why it must be you, Disa?” Durin asked even as he helped Disa into her cloak.

“Because I am the princess of Khazad-Dûm. The reports of singing coming from the north walls indicate that there could be an entire civilization living right next door!” She placed a comforting hand on his chest. “Don’t worry. I’ll be well protected. I’ll only be gone a day or so.”

Durin nodded, the worried crease in his brow not smoothing in the slightest. “I know, I trust you. Just, be safe?”

Disa pulled him in for a kiss with a bright smile. “Of course, love.”

“Princess!” The foreman, a wizened, black-bearded dwarf, bowed to Disa as he gave his report. “The rock is thin, as we thought. One more push and we should be able to break through.”

“Good!” Disa nodded. “And the beings on the other side?”

The foreman shook his head. “We haven’t heard anything since we started digging, Princess. They definitely know we’re here and are probably hiding from the noise. Or they set up a perimeter if they’re… intelligent.”

“Right. Only one way to find out, I suppose. Finish off the tunnel,” Disa commanded. The foreman bowed and relayed the order to his workers and Disa tried not to let her apprehension show. There could be anything on the other side! Orcs or goblins would have been her first assumption if it weren’t for the singing.

Reports of angelic singing had been coming in from miners for weeks. As harmonious as it was, however, it was distinctively not elvish. It could not be described as particularly dwarvish either. Perhaps some wandering group of Men had become lost in a cave?

With a mighty swing of a hammer, the last of the barrier crumbled and, just as suddenly, a spear came hurtling through the opening. It missed the dwarf who had opened the tunnel, but only just. 

“Stay back!” a woman’s voice called through the tunnel. “Identify yourselves or we shall kill you all! We have many warriors here.”

Sindarin! That language was not widely spoken amongst Men as far as Disa knew. She was glad Durin had taught her to speak it. “We mean you and your people no harm,” she replied. “I only wish to know who you are and to speak with you.”

The dwarves listened with bated breath as the woman thought about her answer. They heard murmuring and shuffling from the other side of the tunnel until, at last, she called back to them. “You may come through. Just know that I will not hesitate to kill you should you attack.”

“I would expect nothing less from a leader,” Disa answered.

Disa went through the tunnel first, closely followed by her two guards. The cavern was wide and high, with a surprisingly level floor. It was filled with people, bioluminescent fungi, and faintly glowing sheep.

In between Disa and the cavern stood a semicircle of warriors, tall and strong, but with pointed ears. At first, she believed them to be elves, but then she noted the bend of their ears. A trait she had only seen in one other person before. 

Idly, she wondered if these were Elrond’s kin. They certainly did not dress like him with their simple woolen trousers, tunics, and dresses. Several of them also wore fur cloaks and wraps. And their weapons were nothing like those of Lindon. They carried longbows instead of elvish shortbows, and spears instead of swords.

A woman towards the center of the semicircle stepped forward. “I am Daniel, chief of chiefs.” She certainly looked the part with her greying mane of fiery hair and the broadest shoulders Disa had ever seen on a female of any species.

“What is your business here? We are not trespassing.” Disa resisted the urge to narrow her eyes at Daniel’s defensive tone.

“I am Princess Disa of Khazad-Dûm. We recently annexed this portion of the mountain, although I cannot fault you for not knowing that. It was not widely spread news.” Daniel’s gaze hardened, as if she were preparing for a fight and Disa was quick to smooth the situation.

“Do not fear, Chief. The king will not oust your people in the middle of winter. In fact, I am certain he would be amicable to discussing a long-term arrangement. May I ask how you found this place?” Disa was hesitant to ask the question, but more background information was needed if they were to have any hope of forming a long-term alliance with these people.

Daniel eyed her for a long moment. “There is an opening in the mountains to the west. One clan found it several centuries ago during a particularly cold winter. I made an arrangement to pay tribute to the goblins whose land this was and our clans have gathered in this cavern network every winter since.”

Goblins had not been seen in that part of the mountain range for decades and Disa had a feeling that Daniel was more than aware of that. “You only use this cavern during the winter?”

Daniel nodded. “Yes. We are nomads, but the winters are cold and we do not like to stay among elves or men.”

Disa wondered why that was. She had thought that peredhil were more open minded than people of “purer” ancestry. But perhaps Elrond was just odd in that way. Or perhaps he had no relation to these people at all.

“I see. Well, I’m certain something can be arranged for you and your people, Chief Daniel.” 

At that, Daniel’s granite-hard expression seemed to soften ever so slightly. “I thank you, Princess Disa. Come, eat with us. I am sure you are a long way from home.”

[rekhatech]

Maximizing Space: Designing a Stylish and Functional Bathroom in a Small Area

Designing abathroom with limited space requires creativity and thoughtful planning to make the most of every inch. With the right strategies, you can transform a small bathroom into a stylish and functional oasis. In this article, we will explore practical tips and design ideas to help you create a beautiful and efficient bathroom, proving that size is not the only factor that determines the appeal of a space.

Prioritize Essentials :

The first step in designing a small bathroom is to identify the essentials. Determine the key elements you cannot do without, such as a toilet, sink, and shower or bathtub. Once you have a clear understanding of the must-haves, you can focus on optimizing the layout to accommodate these elements comfortably. Consider compact fixtures and space-saving alternatives without compromising functionality.

Optimal Layout :

Careful planning of the bathroom layout is crucial in maximizing the available space. Choose a layout that minimizes wasted space and allows for efficient movement within the room. Consider installing fixtures in corners or along walls to create a more open and accessible feel. Additionally, sliding doors or pocket doors can be excellent alternatives to traditional swinging doors, saving valuable floor space.

Smart Storage Solutions

Storage is often a challenge in small bathrooms, but with creative solutions, you can make the most of every nook and cranny. Wall-mounted shelves and cabinets can free up valuable floor space, while recessed shelves in the shower or above the toilet provide additional storage without sacrificing roominess. Consider multifunctional furniture, such as a vanity with built-in storage or a mirror cabinet, to keep toiletries and essentials organized and easily accessible.

Light and Color

Strategic use of light and color can significantly impact the perception of space in a small bathroom. Opt for light, neutral colors to create an airy and open atmosphere. Maximize natural light by using sheer curtains or frosted glass for windows. Incorporate well-placed mirrors to reflect light and give the illusion of a larger space. Adequate lighting fixtures, such as wall sconces and overhead lights, can enhance the overall brightness and make the bathroom feel more welcoming.

Choose Appropriate Fixtures and Accessories

Selecting the right fixtures and accessories is key in a small bathroom design. Consider compact and streamlined fixtures that match the overall aesthetic while optimizing space. Wall-mounted sinks and floating vanities can create a sense of openness by exposing more floor area. Opt for a shower curtain instead of a bulky shower door, and choose sleek, space-saving accessories to avoid visual clutter. Cohesive design elements contribute to a more harmonious and visually spacious feel.

Conclusion:

Designing a small bathroom requires a thoughtful approach to layout, storage, and aesthetics. By prioritizing essentials, optimizing the layout, incorporating smart storage solutions, playing with light and color, and choosing appropriate fixtures and accessories, you can transform a compact space into a stylish and functional oasis. Remember, creativity and attention to detail are key in making the most of every inch. Embrace the challenge of designing a small bathroom, and enjoy the satisfaction of creating a space that combines style with efficiency

Tagged:

bathroom remodel ,

how to design a bathroom with little space,

 design of a bathroom ,

bathroom design ,

 bathroom with little space ,

bathroom accessories ,

vintage style in their bathrooms ,

bathrooms with showers ,

bathroom 

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[movetobiimos]

dance with me 

:: character/ arisu ryohei 

:: type/ fluff 

:: summery/ a night filled with comforting atmosphere, only you and arisu in the living room spending time with each other. 

Dance the night away

Baby, we could try to

Make the world spin slower

"what are you staring at?" arisu asked as he looks back to see your loving gaze as you stare at him with pure adoration.

He blushed like a schoolboy in love, madly in love, every time you sparkled with infatuation in your eyes.

"All I was doing was admiring you." "You are so handsome, I feel like this is all a dream," you chuckled as you moved closer to lay your head on his shoulder. You kept going, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck.

"It's so rare to have such a relaxing day; don't you think it's calming?" You grinned as you inhaled the warm air and listened to the radio's tiny tunes. Its calming harmony dances around the quiet chambers, adding to its attractiveness. The sound of Arisu's phone vibrating in time with the melody piece.

"i love you." you blurted out grinning at him as he stares at you kind of shocked by the sudden three words.

"i- i love you too..." he said with a small smile of comfort showing on his face.

"You shouldn't be startled when I tell you I love you, right?" You were giggling and mocking him at the same time. "Can I give it a shot?" You inquired politely, casting long glances at his phone he was engaged in.

"Sur-" before he was able to finished what he was going to say you took the opportunity to snatch his phone and start looking at the game.

"Hey this is cool!" you said with excitement lacing on your voice as you stare at the game. "Hmmmm sadly I don't know how to play this, would you mind teaching me?" You asked staring back at the phone again confused with what controls to use.

He smiled and said, "Yes," bending in close enough to view the screen. When he's that close to you, you can't help but feel terrified. butterflies in your stomach, the sensation of his warm breath tickling your neck and making you tremble. how he appeared to be completely engrossed Instead of focusing on the game, you couldn't help but look on him, his intense eyes tracking each action of the characters. His unkempt hair brushing your cheeks makes you uneasy, and he never fails to impress you, to make you feel nervous as if you've never experienced such feelings before.

You were hopelessly in love with him, thank Heavens.

"hey, are you okay?"As he stared at you, he inquired, his voice filled with concern.

you couldn't help but chuckled, "I'm fine don't worry, I was just...admiring you, y'know." this caught him up in a surprise, making him blush again. "Looks who blushing~" you teased poking him and nearly dropping his phone in the process. "Whoops sorry." You nervously laughed.

"Ya know i couldn't help but feel a bit nice, like this perfect night just staying with us. How the night sky is filled with glowing stars shining, it's just..peaceful. If only nights were like this." You sighed leaning back into his arms.

The radio was switched to a familiar melody. The familiar tune makes you want to just sway through the night as it perfectly complements the mood.

"Cmon take my hand." You smiled extending your hand for him to grab it.

"What are you planning?" He mumbled reaching your hand in the process.

You began to swing your body in sync to the rhythm of the music. You couldn't help but smile from ecstasy as you laughed with delight.

"C'mon dance with me!" you beamed

"I don't know how to dance.." He muttered rubbing his neck from embarrassment.

"Just follow me," you assured taking his hand and wrapping it around your waist. "Now follow what I'm doing alright....see you got this!" You smiled as he starts to get into the groove.

This lovely night, the starry skies as though they came straight out of a Van Gogh painting. This bright feeling of love and commitment radiating about the room makes you wish this wouldn't end. As you dance the night away, you two share a passionate glance, the picture of a beautiful couple. This magnificent entrancing night sky light is shared by two hopelessly people in love.

We could take our time and

Get to know each other

over cherry wine

:: arisu is best boy

[vrishchikawrites]

If you're still taking prompts, how about WWX becoming a god after he dies in the siege? It's hard to slander someone when you have a proof of their benevolence like this. I always loved the concept. He's strong and good enough to ascend, especially since in his last actions he chose to spare those who wronged him and destroy the seal. And now LZ needs to catch up ;)

(we'll need to hand wave some of the genre constants here. apologies!)

It happens in Qinghe. The Nie Clan hosts a Martial Arts conference and Lan Wangji accompanies Lan Xichen even though he's not inclined to. He has just come out of seclusion and socialization is the last thing on his mind.

But his brother insists and Wangji is hesitant to deny. The Unclean Realm is bustling with activity and Wangji feels the strain of it keenly. There's something off in the air.

It isn't until he meets Nie Mingjue that he realizes just what is off.

The man looks furious instead of stern and commanding. Nie Mingjue has always had a temper but Wangji has never seen him quite this unsettled. His eyes seem blood-shot and his expression is almost cruel. There's an odd, dissonant energy around him that alarms Wangji.

Xichen, Jin Guangyao, and Nie Mingjue seem to be arguing in some fashion, Wangji was too far away to understand their conversation but Nie Mingjue's voice was loud and enraged.

"Da-ge," Nie Huaisang's worried voice catches his attention and he turns to look in his direction. His expression conveys his anxiety for his brother clearly. Nie Huaisang is studying the scene before him with furrowed brows and uncharacteristically shrewd eyes, "Wangji-xiong, what do you think of this?"

At first, Wangji is hesitant to comment. This isn't his concern and he is certain Xichen will help if help is needed.

But something in Nie Huaisang's tone makes him hesitate. He is obviously seeking comfort.

Wangji studies the scene once again, noting with concern that even his brother is looking disturbed by Nie Mingjue's rage, "He is dangerously unstable. Xiongzhang's Song of Clarity isn't working?"

Nie Huaisang purses his lips and shakes his head, "San-ge plays it regularly but it doesn't seem to help." He waves his fan in agitation, "Nothing seems to help."

Wangji has nothing else to say. He's not good with casual conversations or comforting words. It is usually his brother who knows how to say the right thing at the right time.

"I wish Wei-xiong was here." Wangji stills at the soft whisper, "He would know what to do- no one knows Resentful Energy like he did."

Wangji takes a deep breath, keeping his gaze fixed on the middle distance. "Mentioning him is forbidden." He has kept Wei Ying's name close to his heart, untainted and loved instead of being tossed around and slandered.

His Wei Ying.

"You don't need to pretend to dislike him," Nie Huaisang says, eyes fixed on his brother, "Unlike everyone else, I knew his true self well enough. Almost as well as you did."

Wangji feels a curl of bitter amusement, "I did not know him."

Nie Huaisang waves his fan and remains silent for a long moment before speaking, "Believe me, Wangji-xiong, you were the only one who knew him."

Wangji has no reply.

--

Unfortunately, the situation does escalate beyond their control. Nie Mingjue has clearly lost control and is on the verge of qi deviation. He swings his sword aimlessly. Neither Wangji's guqin nor Xichen's flute do much to help.

Nie Huaisang is screaming, struggling against Jin Guangyao, trying to reach his increasingly volatile brother.

Nothing is helping. Wangji fears he may be forced to watch his brother's closest friend die.

Later, when questioned, he would say his prayer had been instinctive, coming deep from within him. He would say that he hadn't even thought when he spoke those words. That it hadn't even registered when he opened his mouth and said them out loud.

But in that moment, feeling something very close to panic at the sight of Nie Mingjue teetering close to the edge, he breaths out,

"Wei Ying, help."

The air around them stills the moment the last syllable slips past his lips. Nothing moves, no one speaks, the absence of sound was almost deafening.

Wangji feels the hair on his body stand on end the sound of swishing fabric fills the frozen atmosphere. He turns a little to see a swirl of black robes; rich, intricate, moving over the ground like smoke.

There's a fragrance of freshly dug earth and petrichor in the air, refreshing and earthy, but also strange. He's in the Unclean Realm and it hasn't rained in weeks.

Wangji takes a deep breath as the swish of fabric comes closer and then something as shockingly cold as snowmelt sweeps past him.

He already knows what he's about to see when he looks up.

Everything about him is pitch black. His hair is dark as ebony, falling down to the back of his knees. His robes seem to be made of shadows that suck in light. There are intricate lace and gold patterns on the sleeves. They look like talismans but Wangji cannot tell.

"Wei Ying," He calls softly.

Because Wangji knew it was him even before he saw him.

The air unfreezes and everyone comes to life once again, dazed and bewildered. Wangji hears Nie Huaisang draw in a sharp, shocked breath. He is the first to notice Wei Ying but others follow quickly. There are loud exclamations of surprise and many unsheathe their swords.

Wei Ying doesn't react. He lifts his hand, crooks a pale finger, and a mass of dark energy extracts itself from Nie Mingjue.

It is so quick, so unceremonious, that everyone is stunned.

Wei Ying studies it, condenses it into a small ball, and without pause, crushes it in his fist.

Nie Mingjue stumbles to his feet, clutching onto Baxia and staring at Wei Ying with wide eyes, "Wei Wuxian."

"You were destined to die today," Wei Ying says in a calm, dismissive tone, "The Nie Sect was destined to fade into obscurity." His voice is soft but there are layers to it, like a thousand individuals speaking in perfect harmony.

Nothing about Wei Ying is human. His voice is sonorous, entirely intimidating. His skin is as fair as white jade. His silver eyes are as bright as the moon. He looks regal, with an intricate hair piece holding the sweeping mass of ebony hair in place.

"You..." Xichen begins, looking just as hesitant as Wangji feels. Fortunately, his brother regains his composure quickly and bows, "Wei Wuxian, thank you for saving Nie Mingjue."

"I hold dominion over Justice." Wei Ying declares and Wangji carefully tucks his trembling hands behind his back, "Of course, I will answer the wishes of the most righteous man in Cultivation." He taps his chin with a smirk, an echo of a Wei Ying Wangji knows, loves, misses, "My affections for Lan Zhan play a part too, I suppose."

"Justice?" Nie Huaisang asks, "Because you died for a just cause?"

Wei Wuxian glances over his shoulder and Wangji meets that enchanting silver gaze with a racing heart.

"Perhaps," Wei Ying says teasingly, "I may be a deity, but even I am subject to the whims of fate."

He speaks as thought dominion over something like justice is an easy feat, like it doesn't imply immeasurable power.

"You were killed-" Nie Mingjue growls out, "For your unjust actions."

"Da-ge!" Xichen warns, glancing at Wei Ying warily.

"Don't remind me," Wei Ying says pleasantly, "For that call for justice still weighs heavy. You will all have to pay your dues, even you, Lan Zhan."

Wangji nods briefly, "I understand."

"Forgive me," Jin Guangyao interrupts, "Surely, you must understand our concern and puzzlement. Wei-gongzi, forgive me, you were-"

"You're not forgiven." Wei Ying tilts his head to the side, "I wonder, Jin Guangyao, if you think I am so easy to charm and deceive." Jin Guangyao stills, going worryingly pale, "You cannot kill me, slander me, manipulate others against me, or force me into a corner. I am Justice." Silver eyes sweep over all of them.

Wei Ying's eyes linger over Jin Guangyao's shaken expression before flickering over Xichen and Nie Mingjue.

"No one may escape me."

There's a sweeping wave of energy and everything freezes again.

Wangji remains stiff and silent as Wei Ying appears suddenly before him, leaning close enough that their breaths to mingle. Those eyes look even more otherworldly now, sparkling with the light of a thousand stars.

"Hanguang-jun," Wei Ying croons, "Don't keep your Wei Ying waiting for too long, hm?"

Wangji clenches his shaking hands, the proximity making his heart ache, "My Wei Ying?" He asks because he still remembers 'get lost' spoken in a hysterical, frenetic voice.

Wei Ying's expression softens a little, "Death gives clarity, my dear Lan Zhan. And ascension gives insight into fate and destiny. Wei Ying," He says and spins around cheekily, taking a few dancing steps away from him, "Wei Ying is always destined to be by Hanguang-jun's side." He winks, "Better hurry up! But not too soon! After our a-Yuan is old enough to stand on his own."

"Wei Ying - wait-"

The air starts moving again.

Wangji swallows and spins around, walking towards the gates of the Unclean Realm.

"Wangji-?"

"I must go ahead, xoingzhang, pray excuse me." He has no patience for Sect politics and formalities.

Wei Ying is waiting.

[jenojaemssss]

happier

synopsis: in which mark was happier with you.

pairing: mark x reader (i attempted to write the mc as gender neutral, so lmk if there are any tips on how to be more considerate! i wanna be able to write as inclusively as possible heh)

genre/category: angst, exes!au

word count: 2.4k

a/n: i have an assignment due in like 20 minutes (so i did not get a chance to proofread!!) but i got distracted thinking about mark while listening to my 2017 simp playlist :D so here's a mini-fic (that was supposed to be a drabble) based on this song!

I saw you walk inside a bar.

When Mark looked up from the almost-empty bottle sitting in front of him, he didn’t expect to be greeted by the sight of you. But what caught him even more off guard was that you were entering the bar hand in hand with someone new.

You, not yet noticing your past lover's hunched figure, walk towards a set of empty bar stools, another man's arms wrapped around your waist like possessive belt. Mark began to stare then. He stared at what used to be his reason. What used to be the one who'd wake him up in the morning, who used to be his reason for coming home when the days were too long, yet somehow eventually bled into nights. He continued to stare at what had been his true source of happiness.

In his eyes, you still were. You were his only radiating source of light that made him feel warm. You were his comfort, like a warm blanket during a rainy day, or an iced tea when the weather was too hot to do anything else but lounge around the house with all fans on full blast.

He said something to make you laugh.

Mark noticed how the one that accompanied you looked at you with a small spark in his eyes as you cover your mouth in attempts to shield your erupting laughter. That was a cute habit of yours when you laughed, and he used to stare at you the same way; he was staring at you almost identically as he's sat across the bar at that moment. The only difference now was that Mark stopped being the reason for your bright smiles and warm laughter.

I noticed how both your smiles were twice as wide as ours.

The first encounter between the two of you would forever be engraved in the mind of Mark Lee.

He was walking around a lake during a camping trip with a few of his friends, mindlessly swinging his arms around to cool off. Mid swing, though, he made contact with something he later found out was your face. He apologized so many times that you had almost busted a lung laughing at the poor boy's terrified features.

Soon, Mark joined you, laughing in harmony because apparently being smacked in the face by someone was the funniest thing to the both of you. Mark proceeded to awkwardly ask for your contact information, hoping to make up for the mishap, and you complied because the man was so darn cute.

One meet-up (he never specified it as a date) turned into two, which turned into three, and soon, you were seeing each other everyday in a small cafe hidden within the corners of your shared campus.

The two of you attended the same university, but due to being in different departments, there was never really a chance to come across one another while running to your next classes, but this cafe was the one spot you two had in common.

The cafe meetings soon turned into cafe dates (he clarified this time that they were in fact, dates), and soon enough, you were both head over heels in love, moving in together as you approached your final years of college.

Mark and your's relationship wasn't perfect, but it was always so much fun. Mark was always able to make you laugh because of how awkward he was, and one time you to left him behind on a trip to the grocery store because he was so embarrassing, making stupid puns at the poor worker just trying to stock the shelves of the cereal aisle. That day, you bought a watermelon the size of both your heads combined to make up for leaving him behind.

Mark bitterly smiled at his recollection. That was one of the last times he and you were able to smile together.

You looked happier.

The last time Mark saw you, it was on a sunny, Saturday afternoon. You were on your way back from a trip to your local convenience store, bags of chips, a tub of ice cream, and boxes of candy spilling out of the watermelon themed reusable bag he had left behind after moving out. You were still wearing his hoodie, then. He left that behind for you too.

It made him smile, knowing that you kept it.

Ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you.

You felt as though you couldn't breathe. When you entered Mark and your shared apartment, you sensed that something was wrong; that something was missing from your normally warm environment. Mark and you have been arguing more frequently recently, and the night before, it was the worst it had been in years.

Mark had been going out later into the night, sleeping on couches of friend's houses more than in his own bed. Your shared bed. You more often than not woke up to nothing, the radiating warmth missing from your side.

You'd had enough of it, and confronted the man when he walked into the apartment at 2 am. Words spewed from either side, along the lines of "I'm sick of this" and "What is there to be sick of?" Mark ended up sleeping on the couch that night while you cried yourself to sleep, clutching Mark's pillow and attempting to hold onto what used to be the warm, delightful love of your life.

The next day when you woke up, he was gone. He texted you saying he had to leave early for work and that you should go ahead and start your day without him, and you did. You began planning ways to talk things out, to fix things with Mark over a nice dinner.

You set your plan to action and made your way to the local market. When you returned home and stepped foot into the kitchen, though, your eyes landed on a small note placed right in the center of the dining table. Written on that note in Mark's sloppy handwriting were the words, "I'm sorry, but I need to clear my head."

You dropped the note and ran into your bedroom, only to see that Mark had taken almost half of his belongings from the cramped space, along with one of the suitcases the two of you placed behind the closet when you first moved in. He was gone.

But ain't nobody love you like I do.

He'd been gone for about 10 days when you receive a call from Donghyuck. The brown-haired boy informed you that Mark has been sleeping on his couch for over a week and would be stopping by within the next few days to take up all of his friend's belongings he'd left behind.

You hummed, almost numbly, and before hanging up, you mustered up the courage to ask Donghyuck if Mark was currently there with him. He hummed in response, and you mumbled a good before dropping the line completely, falling to your knees and sobbing until you no longer had tears to let fall.

You were broken, and it was all because of Mark, yet a piece of you continuously hoped and prayed that he was safe. That he was living in a proper home with a place to sleep, and that he wasn't too cold because he often got cold very easily.

Mark, on the other end of the line, was silently holding in his cries as his best friend hung up the phone, disconnecting him from his one true love. Mark never intended to hurt you the way that he did, but in his mind, because he loved you so much, too much, he had to let you go.

He was noticing how much he was holding you back, from job opportunities to your social life, he believed he was the reason. He was the reason you declined the job offer in the neighboring city because that meant you'd have to either move out or drag Mark with you, and you chose on neither and stayed. He was the reason you never left the house on weekends because only then was he ever home. He was the reason you had bags under your eyes, he soon realized.

You'd been staying up night after night, waiting for him to come home. You'd been crying because he would come home with bags darker than yours. You'd been losing sleep because you spent too much of your time worrying about him.

He was holding you back by loving you.

So he decided to let you go.

Promise that I will not take it personal, baby.

A few months have passed and Mark's finally settled down in a new place in the town you had rejected the job offer from all those months ago. A part of him wished that moving away would offer you closure, knowing that Donghyuck explained his side of the story to you. Mark wanted so badly to be the one who spoke to you that day, but he was afraid of the confrontation. He was scared he'd break and hold you into his arms and promise to never let you go, bringing himself and you back into the endless loop.

So he left. He moved away and had Donghyuck clean up the mess he'd made. Mark owes him one.

The other part of him, though, hoped that you contacted the agency that offered you the job all those months ago. The selfish part of him prayed that the agency granted your request and offered you the job you passed up on in this new city. He hoped that you and him could start over in a different setting, and maybe a few years from now, run into each other again. You'd be in better places in your lives and the two of you could start over.

He knew he was hoping for too much, but oh a man can dream.

If you're moving on with someone new.

Mark was brought back to the present when he hears a loud shattering of glass. He averted his eyes towards the source of the ruckus and landed his eyes on you. He noticed how your eyes grew into large saucers when he displayed similar shocked features.

Shit.

He quickly and clumsily packed up his belongings as he waved down one of the waiters, asking for the tab. Noticing Mark's shaken composure accompanied by the glares being sent in his direction from the other side of the bar, the waiter sympathetically printed out the bill as fast as he could and didn't let out a peep when Mark underpaid about 10 bucks.

Mark rushed out of the bar, only to be caught by the sound of your voice calling out to him.

"Don't you dare run away." The voice was cold.

"Not again, Mark." It was almost shaking.

You caught up to the man. He turned around, slowly, wishing that this was all just a messed up dream, and the alcohol was only playing tricks with his mind.

Indeed, though, this was his reality. Mark remained silent, only staring at his feet as you approached him.

"Look at me," your voice was softer now, but he noticed the stern edge laced within your words. You were never one to raise your voice, not even when Mark would spew incredulous things at you during an argument. You were always calm.

Mark shifted his gaze from the ground towards your face and noticed you looked wiser. He noticed how your soft features were now more sharp. He noticed how you wore your hair differently. He noticed how you'd ditched your casual jeans and a shirt for something more business-casual. He noticed how your aura had changed into something more serious. He noticed every little change about you.

He also noticed how, beneath all the physical changes, you were still you. You still had the same stars in your eyes. You still had his favorite scent. You still had the same quip in your lip when you spoke. You still had the same smile.

You were smiling at him.

Mark finally managed to meet your eyes, and as you opened your mouth to speak, he cut you off before you could get a sound out.

"You look happier."

Your smile dropped a bit at his observation. He was right, you were happier than you were after the breakup. But you were happier when you were with him. Using other men to distract yourself from Mark worked for a while, but it was never the same.

It's been over a year, and you still missed him. You missed everything about Mark; his smile, his laugh, his posture when he was furiously typing away at his keyboard because he had an essay due in 10 minutes. You missed the way he'd sing to you at night when you woke up from a nightmare, and the way he'd pet down your hair when the two of you wake up in each other's arms after a nap.

And although you missed him, a part of you was still angry at him. Angry that he left without an explanation, and had Donghyuck be the bearer of bad news that he wanted you to be happier. That he wanted you to have a life not revolving around him and his actions.

A part of you hated how he was so selfish, and how he never looked to you for his decision. Yet the other, wiser, part of you was thankful. Thankful that he cared about you enough to let you go, cared about you enough to put your priorities above his own feelings for once. Most importantly, you were thankful that he was your first heartbreak.

Before he was the boy who broke your heart, he was a friend.

You tilt your head a bit sideways, plastered another smile and nodded in response.

"It's a process."

He smiled back, toothy grin warming your heart. "I'm glad you're doing okay."

Maybe it was the universe finally hearing Mark's wishes of starting over, or maybe it was just a mere coincidence that you ran into each other that day. But nonetheless, the encounter made him realize one thing.

"I was happier with you."

[aro-of-artemis]

Will They Won't They

number two! this one is inspired by Jeremy Shada’s banger by the same name. it can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28626231 Julie and Luke have been dancing around each other but will they finally admit their feelings?

AKA 3 times they won't and 1 time they will. ----

(1)

The California-bright sun hangs high in the sky, casting its brilliant rays on the milling group of teenagers below. If one were to look at these teenagers - four in all - they would notice nothing amiss, each one leaving hazy shadows on the boardwalk. Their bodies seem to be moved about by the sea breeze, constantly colliding in joyful embraces with one another as they sing snatches of songs to one another.

Julie drops back from the boys a little bit, watching with a soft, almost painfully fond smile on her face. She closes her eyes a moment, lifting her face to catch the warmth of the sun.

"Hey, Julie." Luke had fallen back too, noticing her pause. The other two continue on, Reggie spinning Alex in a little twirl beneath his raised arm and Alex reciprocating with a broad grin. "You all good?"

When Julie opens her eyes, she is met with a small curling smile.

"Yeah, Luke. I'm good," she says, her smile growing toothy. "Just … appreciating my environment." She wouldn't of course mention that Luke was a key part of that environment that she was appreciating but the slightly mischievous look on Luke's face told her that he had an inkling.

"Good," Luke says, tucking his hands into his pockets and scuffing his shoes on the ground as he begins to slowly walk again. Julie joins him, matching his strides.

They walk together quietly, smiling and laughing at the other boys' antics up ahead. Julie's chest feels so incredibly warm, buoyed by contentment, making her feel as though she is merely floating. As they walk, Julie gently bumps her shoulder into Luke's and he reciprocates, causing his hands to drop from his pockets and start swinging gently by his side. Julie can feel his fingers next to hers, like an electric current. His presence next to her is so warm. Like the hearth of a fire. Comforting and homey but brimming with energy so close to being set loose.

She feels their fingers brush. Once, twice, three times. Until their pinkie fingers hook together. She feels as though the whole world is contained within that one point of contact. The Big Bang and the inevitable heat death of the universe pinned in one spot.

Neither of them look at each other or otherwise acknowledge their linked hands swinging between them but Julie can't help the broad grin forcefully tugging on the corners of her mouth.

After a while - Julie's not sure she could pinpoint the amount of time passed with any kind of accuracy - she tangles the rest of their fingers together, brushing her thumb along the back of his hand. She hears him take a sharp breath in and her own heart stutters in her chest. She can now feel the soft contours of his palm, the hard-won calluses on his fingertips now rubbing gently across her knuckles. She is filled by a sudden wish to study his hands as if they are precious artefacts detailing each moment of his life. However, that line of thinking is promptly cut off.

In their exuberance, Alex and Reggie had gotten quite far ahead. They double back, re-joining Julie and Luke, unknowingly interrupting something that felt indescribably intimate. Julie couldn't be mad at them though.

They had yet to stop singing - currently doing their best rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody possible with two voices. When Alex tugs on her free hand to pull her into some vague, chest-clutching choreography to emphasise his very serious position as just a poor boy, nobody loves me, she sings back in her best operatics, he's just a poor boy from a poor family. Reggie chimes in to add that they should spare him his life from this monstrosity.

They all dissolve into delirious giggles, hanging off one another. But Julie's hand still burns with all the energy of the Big Bang and all the potential contained within.

(2)

Julie's fingers flit along the keys of the music room piano, plucking out the notes to a song. The song, really. The one she had dreamt up in dance class. The one that wouldn't leave her head or her heart. She begins to hum along, adding lyrics as her voice rises in intensity.

By the last chorus, she is belting with the force of all the pent-up emotions pushing their corners into her ribcage. She pulls back, softening for the final lines, ending on a breathy reiteration of the words perfect harmony.

Julie lurches to her feet, whirling around when the ringing quiet is interrupted by a voice. Luke's voice.

"That was beautiful, Julie." He says her name in that way of his, softening the j, tongue curling around the l as if it's a precious thing. He's leaning against the door frame, hands bracketing his own biceps looking at her with an impossibly tender smile. Julie can feel her face heating up, her eyes widening to comic proportions.

"Luke!" she chokes out past the invisible hand that seems to be strangling her. "What are you doing here?"

Luke shrugs his shoulders, dropping his hands to his pockets and meandering towards her.

"Ah, y'know," he glances at her a little sheepishly, "Got a little bored at home." Julie feels her chest warm a couple degrees at him calling her home his home but she pushes that down, raising her eyebrow slightly instead and folding her arms.

"Is that so?" she challenges. "And what kind of entertainment do you think I could provide you?”

Luke shrugs again. He's still shuffling his feet. This boy can never stay still.

A moment of silence stretches long between them until Luke clears his throat, scratching the back of his head.

"So, what was that song you were working on?"

"Oh!" Julie feels her eyes widen again and her face feels like a hot stove, "That? Pfft nothing. It's nothing. Just- ah - just a song. Don't worry about it."

Luke quirks the corner of his mouth and looks up at her through his lashes, seeing through her terrible cover-up. "Can you play it for me again? Maybe we can work on it together."

Julie feels her mouth drop open as she desperately tries to formulate a response that gets her out of baring her soul to her crush and his boy band hair and his pink lips and those expressive fucking eyebrows that she wants to kiss just to see how they would move and she-

"It's okay if you don't wanna," Luke says, looking a little dejected but clearly sees her distress.

"No - well - I - fuck - I -," Julie forces herself to stop. Take a breath.

Luke laughed at her, loud and bright. "Julie Molina! Did you just cuss?"

Julie scowls at him, the slight irritation of being made fun of by Luke allowing her to catch her breath. "Yes," she said tersely. "I cuss!"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, still chuckling, hands up in a mock defensive gesture, "It's just that I've never heard you swear before."

Julie huffs. "I contain multitudes." She sits back down at the piano, straight-backed. But then she softens. Looking back at him, she pats next to herself on the piano stool in tacit invitation. "Do you wanna hear it or not?"

Luke scrambles over to her, settling his incandescent warmth next to her. She can feel energy radiating off his skin, causing her heart to flutter into her windpipe. Julie clears her throat, pushing it back to its rightful position, takes a deep breath and starts playing.

As she plays, she can feel each spot where their bodies touch. (The front of his leg to the back of her calf, his shoulder brushing against hers as she breaths in and out, their hips where they meet on the piano stool). She can feel as Luke leans progressively closer and closer until there's barely any breathing room between them. She feels the vibration of his chest as he begins to join in singing the lyrics. The press of his chest to her shoulder blade. The wild beating of his heart.

When the song draws to an end once more, she only needs to turn her head just slightly to be breathing the same air as him. She looks quickly between his shining eyes and his lips that are hanging open as if he'd forgotten to close them. When she glances back into his eyes, she notices him having a similar struggle. The air feels thick between them, the weight of the unsaid and the sung hanging like a veil over their heads, wrapping them within their own private world.

And then the sharp trill of the period bell rings, jolting them apart, flustered and uncertain.

"I - I've got to get to class."

"I better get back to the boys."

They say these things at the same time, both feeling the disappointment of their broken moment.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," Luke says, eyes still catching on hers like they can't bear to look anywhere else. "I'll, um, see you at home." And with that he poofs out.

(3)

The end of the movie playing on Julie's laptop gives way to the scroll of credits, softly illuminating the pile of tangled limbs on the pull-out couch. Reggie's head lays cushioned on the softness of Alex's stomach, rising and falling with each breath. Julie's legs are tangled with Reggie's, her head on Luke's chest, forming a V between Luke and Alex.

Alex and Reggie are snoring softly as the credit music quietens. Julie can feel the gentle breeze of Luke's breath shifting her curls ever so slightly. She twists slightly to look at him, careful not to disturb Reggie's legs. When she looks up at him, she is startled to find his warm eyes fixed on her face, brimming with something she couldn't put a name to.

"Did you enjoy the movie?" she asks softly.

Luke huffs out a somewhat rueful chuckle, as if sharing a private joke with himself. "Yeah, it was good." (If one were to ask Luke, he’d say he could barely remember the movie. He’d been distracted).

Julie gives him a bemused look but doesn't push. She can feel him playing with the ends of her hair, tugging on the curls and watching with fascination as they spring back. The slight tugging sensation causes a shiver to reach cool fingers down the whole length of her spine. And Luke clearly notices because his (soft, pink) mouth pulls into a mischievous grin. God, she is so gone on this boy.

"You cold?" he asks, clearly knowing the answer but unable to prevent himself from teasing her.

Julie bumps his chest lightly with the flat of her hand, intending to scold him but instead finding she doesn't want to move it from where it landed. She sucks in a sharp breath when she looks up into his eyes, feeling her pounding heartbeat in the tips of her ears, the pads of her fingers, the flesh of her lips.

She still scowls at him slightly, even as her hand traces along the slight dip and rise of his chest, warm through the thin fabric of his irritatingly (amazingly, fantastically) sleeveless shirt. "Shut up," she finally says, unable to come up with an adequate response.

Luke scoffs a little but the curl of his lip is affectionate. He jerks his chin slightly at the other boys. "I guess it's time for bed."

"I guess so," Julie returns, nestling in closer to the softness of his chest instead of getting up and taking herself to her room. She couldn't imagine being anywhere but here, encompassed by an overwhelming feeling of safety and warmth and love for her boys.

"G'night, Julie," Luke says, his voice low and a little rough around the edges.

"Night, Luke," Julie says, his name delicate and precious in her mouth.

And then. Then. He darts forward (a mere few inches) to place on peck on the end of her nose.

Julie's mouth doesn’t have to go very far to tug into a broad grin, eyebrows pulling together slightly as she looks up at Luke's reddening face. She replaces her head on his chest, right over his heart, feeling how it races against her cheek. She feels his muscles relax slightly as she does so and his hand returns to playing gently with her hair. She falls to sleep with a smile on her face.

(+1)

Luke can't sleep. It's not unusual, exactly. He's often plagued by memories or filled up with ideas, making him feel as though he'll jitter right out of his skin if he doesn't keep moving in one way or another. He prefers the latter, obviously, even if Reggie and Alex make fun of him for practically vibrating when he sings sometimes. He just can't help it.

At the moment, he is filled to the brim with snatches of songs, some his and some not. Carlos had been showing him some of those TikToks the young boy was so fond of. There was one particular song that had gotten stuck in his head, causing him to borrow Carlos' laptop to listen to the full thing.

"Oh, she's a she's a lady and I am just a boy," he mumbles under his breath as he wanders (twirls) around the kitchen looking for a snack (he can do that now, much to his delight). "She's a she's a lady and I am just a line without a - oh baby I am a wreck when I'm without you-"

He cuts himself off abruptly as he catches sight of Julie out of the corner of his eye, mid-twirl between the fridge and the pantry.

She stands in the doorway, amused expression set over folded arms. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail and she is swamped in a warm-looking jumper that Luke is 95% sure belongs to Alex.

"Julie!" he says, mouth hanging open.

"Luke!" she responds teasingly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you - I'll keep it down."

Julie shakes her head and moves towards him. "No, it's fine. I couldn't sleep. I came down to get a drink but -" she gestures vaguely at the space in which Luke had been dancing.

"Oh," Luke breathes, a little embarrassed.

"Yeah," Julie says and there's a long moment of silence that feels anything but empty as they look at one another.

Julie finally breaks it. "I like that song you were singing. Line Without a Hook, right? It's a good song."

Luke smiles at her, bright eyed. "Yeah? You know it?"

Julie nods and starts singing the chorus. "Oh, baby I am a wreck when I'm without you."

Luke joins in, "I need you here to stay, I broke all of my bones that day I found you."

He grabs her hand and pulls her into a little dance as they sing, moving with the rhythm of the song.

When they reach the bridge, they stop moving, standing chest to chest in the middle of the kitchen. Julie voice halts in her throat as she stares up into Luke's hazel blue eyes.

He sings softly once again, his voice mostly breath, "She's a she's a lady and I am just a boy, She's a she's a lady and I am just a line without a -"

He trails off, sucked into the burbling warmth of her eyes, right hand coming up to trace the gentle curve of her cheekbone, her jaw. His thumb brushes along the tail of her eyebrow, fingers curling behind her ear. He can feel both their chests heaving, not with exertion but with some unnameable something. He feels as though if he were to speak right now, everything building up inside him would come tumbling violently out. He shouldn't, he can't, he won't --

She will. She does. She presses her lips to his, her lips soft and slightly chapped, stealing every bit of breath from his lungs. He presses back, his left hand coming up to cup the other side of her face, impossibly gentle. Her hands rise to bracket the back of his neck, fingers digging into the gentle waves at the nape of his neck.

He feels euphoric. Every part of skin is alive and buzzing, trying to gather as much sensation as physically possible. Julie presses back harder, deepening the kiss for a moment and Luke feels a new thrill shoot through him.

When she pulls back to breathe, she rests her forehead against his, their panting breaths mingling between them. Luke can feel a smile curling at the edges of his mouth and Julie can't bear to look away from it.

"Hi," he says, his voice husky.

"Hi," she says, and it sounds like an entirely new word in her kiss-roughened voice. A word that belongs only to them.

Luke leans down, burying his face in the crook of her neck, still breathing heavily, causing goose bumps to raise on Julie's skin where it skates across.

"You're amazing." His words sound a whole lot like a confession. Julie's hands continue to comb through the short hair at that tickles the back of his neck.

"Luke," she says. He lifts his head to meet her intense gaze. "I --" she drops her eyes for a moment but looks up again, a fire seemingly lit behind them. "I love you."

He can't help the smile that splits his face in two, looking for all the world like the sun had taken residence upon his face.

"Julie," his tongue curling around each syllable, "I love you, too."

[samwrights]

Pining After You pt. 4 [hc]

Yall really love these?! 🥺 y’all are incredible. This one was requested by @xhanjisungiex thank you for challenging me out of my comfort zone and I hope you like it bb! 🖤

Kinda warning?: Semi is aged up so mentions of alcohol consumption!

Goshiki;

Oh this poor confused boy.

If y’all already thought he kinda acted a fool before meeting you, you can imagine how he is after he decides that his other life goal is to date you.

Obtaining that was the issue.

Shirabu lowkey thought he was pathetic that he couLDN’T TALK TO A GIRL IN HIS CLASS.

But it seemed his typical tactics of trying to be the center of attention just wasn’t working—no matter how many times he raised his hand to answer a question just to get you to look his way or trying to be lab partners.

All your friends snatched you up, proving to make the task more difficult.

So for now, he continues to just admire from afar. He paid attention to the way you interacted with your friends very closing, noticing you were a very physical person; touching people when you laughed or patting them on the head in mock comfort. Goshiki wondered how you would interact with him if ever given the chance.

He noticed little details like the way you would drum your favorite colored mechanical pencil against textbooks, drumming to an imaginary song or beat while moving your lips to sing lyrics that weren’t there.

Goshiki noticed when you weren’t your normal self. You would cross your legs at the knee from time to time, rather than resting them flat on the ground, when you were tense in your desk. There was no drumming or rapidly swinging your pencil between your fingers. Just arms folded over your chest as you stared out the window.

In second year, he noticed that the happy, touchy girl that he had found himself unabashedly staring at for a third of his day wasn’t herself anymore.

The bright shine of your hair had dulled and thinned, and your lab partner was no longer any of your friends, but a boy you had started dating at the end of first year.

Goshiki would be lying if he said he didn’t imagine punching the dude once a week.

Your smile no longer squished your cheeks towards your eyes—it was no longer genuine. Your legs were now always crossed at knee, no longer relaxing with your feet flat on the floor.

There was no more drumming or lip syncing to imaginary music, and your eyes had harrowed in more. It broke his heart to think that the girl he had initially fallen for no longer existed.

When you return from winter break, Goshiki notices that while your physical features had remained the same, you and your lab partner boyfriend no longer speak to each other if necessary. Perhaps a break up? He could only hope.

Or so he thought until he heard the venom in his voice when he spoke to you. You had miscalculated the needed elements in your current lab experiment, causing the contents in the beaker to boil over and release a foul order. “This is why I fucking dumped you.” Goshiki heard the boy snarl as he began cleaning up.

You tried not to cry.

That was it, that was all that Goshiki could take. He approached your work station, eyes locking with the boy. “Excuse me, I’m Goshiki Tsutomu. Would you like to switch lab partners?”

“Dude it’s the end of the year, little late for that.”

“I don’t care.” Goshiki snapped before turning to you, the look in his eyes softening by the slightest calibre. “My partner would like to switch places with you. Would you be okay with that?” Who was this angel swooping in time save you??

The science teacher actually approved the switch, considering your grades were not exactly where they used to be. Maybe Goshiki could help bring your grade up by the end of the year.

On the first day of the two of you being lab partners, you thanked him profusely for rescuing you from the situation, which made his swell immensely.

He still may be a ways away from succeeding in his goal to date you, but having to interact with you for the rest of the year was a step in the right direction.

But more importantly, he had come to terms with the fact that while you dating him may never happen, Goshiki finally got to see your trademark smile return to your features, your cheeks squeezing shut slightly at the genuine gesture. Your feet were planted on the ground.

He would be okay with whatever happens, as long as you never lost that smile.

Semi;

I totally should have used Semi for my Punk!AU series that I’m writing 🥴 Hindsight is 20/20

SO we’re gonna go a little left field with this one, bare with me friends.

You and Semi are in a band together—with Semi Semi as your drummer and you as the vocalist.

While you two don’t hate each other, you have a strange rivalry over trivial things. Your band HATED it because they really just wanted you two to get over the sexual tension and bang.

He had to better than you at everything else besides singing.

You shotgunned a beer? Semi’s gonna do two in a row.

You got a high score in guitar hero? He was gonna play the same song and break the record.

Y’all went out to a buffet as a band and you cleared 5 plates? He was gonna have 7.

You get the point.

He would never admit to being in love with you first—it was the one thing did he didn’t want to beat you in.

But there were nights when it took everything in him walk away from his drum set in the middle of a show or practice, grab you by the waist and just give you a big ol’ smooch for hitting that high note that you had been struggling with.

Sure, he was in absolute denial about his feelings, but he could never not watch you, especially during shows.

The way you would sway around and move on the stage, the smallest wriggle of your hips, or the way you would stand back to back with your guitarist as the two of you harmonized. Made him regret offering to be the drummer when he could play guitar just as well.

He definitely imagined fucking you on his drum set

Band practice was always at his house due to the fact that he had his drum kit there and it was a pain in the ass to transport. Some days, you’d show up to Semi’s house before everyone else just to have some peace and quiet while also having access to multiple instruments.

Today was one of those days, but you were early. Like by hours. For a minute, Semi thought someone broke into his house until he heard your voice accompanying a soft ballad he had never heard before.

Quietly, he tiptoes down the steps in hopes the stairs don’t creak and give away his position. Despite the genre in which you guys were classified, your voice was the most hypnotizing thing to Semi.

You’re still lost in song when he joins on the couch, cautious so as not to disturb you while you concentrated. When you finished playing, he reached for the guitar, already memorizing the simple chords you strummed.

“Do it like this.” Semi’s voice was soft as he nestled the body between his chest and leg as he strummed the same chords, but with a half-step difference. He nodded towards you to sing, before he joined in harmonizing. By now, you were somehow in harmony with two completely different lines overlapping, his words a product of his own creativity.

As the song ended, the two of you just stared at each other, knowing full well your feelings were intertwined with every word.

He couldn’t fucking take this anymore—he had to kiss you, had to let you know that despite the petty competitions, he was in love with you.

But you let it happen with ease, allowing Semi to set the guitar down before cupping your cheeks to pull you on top of him. “You lose.” You tease when you pulled away for a breath.

“Nah, I win. I’m not in denial anymore.”

“No, I win. I never was.”

Futakuchi;

When Futakuchi became captain, he really regretted how much of a dick he was when he was “younger”.

Included in his list of regrets was how he treated you back when you used to come watch matches for Moniwa.

As the captains best friend, Futakuchi used to treat you like the team lackey.

“[name], why don’t you go be useful instead of gawking at Moniwa and fill up our water bottles?”

“[name], instead of just standing there, you could help us clean up the gym.” Etc. Even if he was technically your kouhai, he literally could not stop himself.

But when you stopped coming around, thanks to the third year’s retirements, Futakuchi realized he missed the one sided banter.

He supposed he missed it because you never gave in to his coaxing, only fueling him to try harder to bait you to fight back. All he wanted was to see you get flustered and red because of him.

Why, he didn’t know but all he did know was that he wanted to see your perfect skin covered in warmth and embarrassment. Ofc he knows why

“Maybe she stopped coming because she didn’t want to see you anymore.” Aone had told him once when it was just the two of them cleaning up after practice.

“No, her friends aren’t here anymore. Why would she come here when she has no reason to?” Was he trying to bait Aone or himself? He was unsure.

“You’re an idiot.” Was all he said in response.

During the spring high preliminaries, you decided to join your retired third year pals to watch the tournament. “Y’all really decided to give the team to Fukatuchi?” You asked in surprise.

“As shocking as it is, he’s actually doing quite well.” Moniwa says from beside you. While you hadn’t seen Fukatuchi since your friends’ retirement, you had a tough time believing his word.

After the loss to Aoba Johsai, you joined the other third years in saying hello to the team, though you would have been fine if you could have avoided the new captain.

You take the time to introduce yourself to the first year, Koganegawa, encouraging him that he did well despite being new and made sure to congratulate Aone as well. You did always like him.

“Oh? What about me?” Fukatuchi said from behind you, for which you were grateful because you were free to roll your eyes without him seeing. With the fakest smile you could muster, you turned around to greet the new captain.

As you opened your mouth, finally ready to give him a piece of your mind since Moniwa technically no longer needed to deal with him, you stopped when you noticed the serious expression on his face. “I’m sorry.” Was all he said.

“W-what?” Fukatuchi looks to his team and they all seemed to understand what he was silently telling them: leave.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you when you used to come and watch.” What. WhaT. You.exe program not responding.

The two of you are just awkwardly standing there, alone, with the sounds of the current match running somewhere in the distance. Fukatuchi is unsure if he continue what he intiallity prepared himself to say. Biting the bullet, he caves and continues speaking. “You never took my hooks. They’re the only way I know how to pull people in.”

“Fukatuchi, that’s so stupid.”

“Wow thanks, [name].” Was all he could reply with a grimace.

“What else am I supposed to say? ‘I miss you picking on me—‘“

Fukatuchi used Kiss. It was super effective!

“Ah, so that’s how I’m supposed to get you all hot and bothered.” He smirks, noticing the blushing cascading up your neck. He may have apologized, and he may have missed throwing little quips your way.

But now that he had finally seen the way you looked when you’re embarrassed, it was his end game to see it over and over—prompting him to kiss you again. “What the hell was that even for?! You’re so confusing!”

“Aw come on, you know how the saying goes. Boys pick on the girl they like.”

Wanna see a specific character? Or a different head cannon? Want to see a whole story?

Send in requests!

[oyesmendes]

wildflower pt4 - calum hood

a/n: this is just gonna be snippets of their lives from now on. hopefully u like karla and calum as much as i do!

summary: after a nasty breakup, Karla Rivera finds herself working as one of the new producers/songwriter for 5SOS. She had no intention to fall in love right now, but one conversation struck a chord with her. In between producing a smashing album and writing hit singles, Karla finds herself entangled in the arms of a man who she never thought she’d end up with.

He stands in front of a white door, almost similar to the one at the beach house. He’s biting his bottom lip, feet bouncing as he waits in front of the door with a bouquet of dahlias - her favourite flowers, in his hand. He hears her boots hit the ground as she rushes to the door, having gotten home a few minutes before he arrived. The door swings open and hits the wall with all the excitement flowing through her and they both grin - so wide that they physically feel their cheeks hurt. Karla is in his arms before he could even comprehend and she was pulling him into her apartment by the neck. They kiss, deep and loving, sparks flying across the room. Calum doesn’t even remember the bouquet of flowers that he was holding, now pressed to her back as he holds her tight in his arms.

“I fucking missed you.”

“I fucking missed you too.” He peels her away from him, finally handing the flowers to her. She takes a whiff and then leaves it on the counter before smothering him in kisses. He basks in the attention, feeling every inch of her body mould in to his - like two perfect puzzle pieces. He then remembers the song he had waited the entire week to play to her, wanting nothing more than to see her reaction in person. He pushes her off suddenly and she’s taken aback, almost hitting her hip against the counter.

“Oh I have something to play for you!” Calum says almost too excitedly. Karla opens two beer bottles as he sets himself on the kitchen counter, pressing play on his phone.

She hears the intro with the beautiful harmony and her ears perk up, she raises her brow at Calum who had the proudest look on his face.

I hear you callin' out my name

I love the sound, I love the taste

And I can see it in your face

You've got a side you can't explain

Karla grins when she hears his voice, bopping along to the 80s style music. When they get to the chorus her face turns a bright shade of pink, knowing what the exact words mean. Sure Calum insists it was up for interpretation but anyone could tell it was about her.

“So I’m your wildflower huh?”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Maybe…” She places herself in between his legs, and when Calum leans down for a kiss, she turns to her cheek just to get him riled up.

“Oh you seriously wanna be a tease, Rivera?”

“Try me, Hood!” Karla abandons her beer and bolts to her room, Calum following closely behind.

They somehow end up on the couch dressed in comfy clothes (Calum borrows her brothers sweats, though it was a little too short but he didn’t mind), with take out boxes strewn all over the table. It reminded them of the first night they met but better, now that they were alone with each other. There’s a romcom playing on TV but the pair couldn’t be bothered, their attention only on each other. He feels so attached to her, like she’s become apart of his life and then he starts to worry. The comfortable silence between them slowly turning uncomfortable as he’s left with his thoughts. He thinks about tour and how he’s going to be apart from her for long periods of time. Then he overthinks their relationship and how she would think of leaving him when things get rough. Calum doesn’t notice his hand dropping from her waist and his brows furrowing. But of course she does, she always has and always will. Karla knows about his habit of getting inside his own head too much, hell it happened twice already and they’ve only been together for less than a month. She’s patient, so patient that the rest of the boys think she’s a god sent when she spends almost two hours on the phone with him the second day she left the beach house, just to assure him that she would stay no matter what.

“You’re in there again.” She says, poking his forehead. It makes his face scrunch up and she giggles softly at him.

“I am” He admits it this time, knowing that she was right. Karla kisses his cheek and runs her fingers along his torso. She remembers how he said her touch brings him back to reality, reminds him that she’s still there. So she makes a deliberate effort to touch him, to have that physical connection. Calum closes his eyes and focuses on the contact of their skin, and he throws those thoughts out of his mind. He pecks the crown of her head and she knows he’s trying.

“Always gonna be here.” She reminds him, and he softly thanks the heavens above for creating a blessing like Karla Rivera.

-

“You nervous, petal?” Calum squeezes Karla’s hand as they make the short walk to Ashton’s place. It was the first time she was meeting the boys since the beach house, and this time with their girlfriends as well. From what Karla knows, the girls have known each other for years and are close as fuck. So to say she was nervous stepping into their group was the biggest understatement of the year. She gives Calum a tight lipped smile and nothing else, but he knows her, the anxiety was written on her forehead.

“The girls will love you, trust me. If the boys like you, I don’t see why their girlfriends wouldn’t.” They arrived at Ashton’s and let themselves through the gates. The rest of the couples had just arrived as well, all mingling with one another. When they notice Calum and Karla, all the boys cheered and clapped, teasing Calum as much as they could. Sierra was the first to approach Karla, offering her a big warm hug.

“You must be Karla!”

“And you must be Sierra.” She returns the hug, then proceeds to introduce herself to KayKay and Crystal. They were warm and inviting, and all four of them fell into conversation easily. The girls got to know Karla better, and even asks her to join them for girls night on Friday. They talk for what must have been three hours before all their boyfriends were beginning to get needy due to the lack of attention. Calum wraps his arm around her waist protectively, and traces her skin up and down while she was talking to KayKay about skin care or some topic he was totally disinterested in. She stops his hand from squeezing her side, which only sends KayKay into a fit of giggles.

“Calum Thomas Hood, I am trying to have a conversation here.” She scolds and he pouts at her, crossing his arms and sinking back into the couch.

They call it a night at around 1AM, and Calum was quick to pull his girl out the door. She shakes her head as he practically drags her behind him, until they’re out of sight from the house and he pulls her into his arms immediately.

“You’re such a needy boy huh?” She scratches the back of his neck as they both stand in each others arms in the middle of the street.

“I’m never bringing you out again. Only want your attention on me.”

-

Calum paces the room for the hundredth time, and Karla thinks the tiles on the floor are starting to thin out. He’s nervous and rightfully so, they were releasing wildflower today, along with the music video, and he also wants to tell the world about his girlfriend. Not that the fans didn’t already suspect anything, Karla was often pictured out with the boys, but more recently she was seen having lunch alone with Calum and that sent the fandom into a frenzy. They’ve managed to avoid the questions and rumours, but Calum wants to show his girl off to the world, and he feels that wildflower was the right chance.

“Babe, that tile on the ground is going to pop off if you keep pacing.” He pauses, looks at the floor underneath his feet and back at her before he sighs. Karla gets off the love seat and approaches Calum, cupping his face in her hands. She smooches him on the lips, making a faint smile appear on his face.

“All better?” He nods, then changes his mind quickly.

“But do you think-“

“No I’m not thinking.” She looks at him with sympathy, the worry lines prominent on his forehead, “Stop thinking, gorgeous. It’ll be fine, the song is amazing, and the video even better! You have nothing to worry about.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Karla questions, she’s making him a hot tea to calm his nerves.

“Are you not afraid of the hate?”

“Baby,” she hands him the pink mug which he accepts gratefully, “I’ve been pictured with more male artists in my life, speculations flying across the room like paper aeroplanes. My ex is Jonah Marias for goodness sake! I know what I’m getting myself into - a hot mess. But you’re worth every moment of it.”

Calum feels an overwhelming sense of relief from her words and he finally sits down with his tea. They wait for the release of the song, and soon the comments started rolling in after his post on Instagram.

@calumhood: This one’s for my wildflower. I hope you like it as much as I do xx

A picture of them from the beach house, the day after they announced their relationship to the boys. Calum’s face was pressed against hers, the smile on their faces couldn’t get any wider. Karla picks another picture, where Calum was grabbing her waist and threatening to throw her into the sea. She has Ashton to thank for catching such a moment. One last look at her caption, and she’s hitting post.

@karla_rivera: I guess I’m your favourite fantasy. Glad to be a part of this one, sweet pea <3

[fuse2dx]

December ‘20

Bugsnax

Bugsnax is an odd little title, landing somewhere between Pokémon Snap and Ape Escape. There’s a bit less of a frantic pace though, instead telling a tale of a remote island where the titular part-animal, part-snack race roam about, with a series of characters each having their own relationship to them that... typically involves eating them. The disappearance of one key villager has been the catalyst to everything heading into a state of confusion though, and as the new person in town, it becomes your job to pull everything back together, all while trying to piece together a better understanding of just what Bugsnax are in the first place.

The game’s main cast are loud, colourful, and full of personality, with some decent queer representation going on too. It’s regularly quite charming, but the story runs parallel to a pretty simple gameplay loop of going out to a new area, meeting an estranged villager, getting a new tool that allows you to catch some new ‘snax in service of a given task for said villager, that inevitably fuels their return to the village. While catching a good chunk of the 100-strong Bugsnax portfolio follows a fairly repeatable mould of trap-setting and capture, some require some slightly more creative thinking, and final smattering lean more on good fortune as you try and juggle a few different elements in a way that sets up the perfect snaring. 

I’ve seen some talk of folks who found the last sections of the game a little out of character, but having gone through all of the side missions before heading for the finish line, nothing came as too much of a surprise for myself. As a PS5 launch game it might lack the flair and experimentation that one might expect, but in better handling one’s expectations and seeing ‘just’ a game with extraordinary timing, it’s a pleasant and sufficiently entertaining romp - just nothing particularly out of the ordinary.   

Demon’s Souls

I was in two minds coming into this. I’ve played the opening few hours of Demon’s Souls about 5 times now, with each attempt before this one stalling at different points for a variety of petty and frustrating reasons. So this, a fresh chance to try again, newly polished and smoothed out, with active servers, and a revitalised community? Excellent! Yet on the other hand, how much of the magic is Bluepoint likely to have been able to recreate? Even as a shot-for-shot remake, what if they had diluted the experience? 

While I can’t speak with any particular authority here, very little seems to have changed outside of the visual overhaul. Some areas might be a bit easier to navigate owing to their new lick of paint, but enemies still pose the same threat, and everything is still where it should be, as are the obtuse, woefully under-discussed karmic swings that underpin its tendency system. Let’s not pull punches; it’s most notably a mean platform to build a game upon that makes suffering players suffer more, and is likely not one that you’ll even be aware of it before near irreversible damage is already done. From have undoubtably done similar concepts much better since, and while I might bemoan it, there’s also something to be said for allowing it to still exist just as it did at the series’ outset. It’s likely a wise choice on Bluepoint’s part to have left it untouched, albeit a slightly cruel one.

While the lack of a single, interconnected world was not yet on the cards for this particular Souls outing, there’s still plenty of great level design, with each of the game’s archstones providing a theme that’s adhered to brilliantly. A few exceptions aside, boss battles are typically less about flexing combat chops too, proving more of a challenge in solving how to approach them in the first place. In doing so, it creates some truly memorable moments alongside those that are purely frantic and rewarding thereafter. The same can be said for the game at large too; while its punishment of new players might be its most infamous quality, it does do a remarkable job in having you learn its every inch, and how best to deal with everything it cares to throw at you. While the chase of 1:1 replication might mean some of its jankiness remains, its visual overhaul and silky smooth frame rate certainly do a good job in helping you overlook it all and in embracing the still best-in-class world building. One of the years’ best, and by far the most compelling reason to date for next-gen ownership. 

Grindstone

Grindstone was front and centre right as the doors opened on Apple Arcade, and it’s a pretty easy to see why it’d be pegged for such honours. It’s bright, colourful, charming, and very easy to pick up. Some of Capy’s other noteworthy titles might fall more into the realm of the arthouse, but this is them at full power, exhibiting that ultimate strength of knowing just how to capture any given audience. Most of the game is spent planning out your turn, and it looks great even in this calm stillness - but as you unleash the mighty Jorj on each of his rampages, there is a satisfying spring into action that gives the same kind of satisfactory twang you might get from an elastic band, or a coiled slinky about to bound down a flight of stairs.

Within a few short stages almost all of the base mechanics are laid bare, with each turn asking you to plot a course through colour-matched enemies, and landing you far enough away from any enraged enemies that’d seek to do you harm. Chain for long enough and you’ll spawn a grindstone that’ll let you switch colours mid-combo, and building up enough hits can then allow you to expend that strength on monsters with higher health pools. The range of enemy types grows as you progress, as does the array of new tools you can build that allow you new ways of dealing with them all, but ultimately the balance that needs addressing is knowing just when to walk away. There’s typically three goals to each level - opening the exit being just the first of these - and while in some cases you might have a handle on things when the exit does open up, it’s often not the case, and hanging around too long carries the risk of losing all of your progress on the stage if you lose a clear path to your escape.

Some of its later mechanics and the level arrangements can be quite taxing, and while never completely unfair, it can definitely... grind... on your patience. For something that could easily be taken as a casual little puzzle game, it’s quite lengthy too - the path unbroken leads you through a whopping 180 stages, but without extensive draining of resources from each of these, you’ll likely need to try some of the side dungeons to help make your way to the end too. Very likely more than your bargained for then, and yet still plenty compelling to boot.

Necrobarista

Some neatly constructed character models and a snappy trailer might attempt to tell you otherwise, but let us be clear with one another that Necrobarista is very much a visual novel. A shock to the system this may be, but anyone reading this likely knows by now this is far from a bad thing around these parts, so let us look a little closer.

It’s quite a melancholic thing, set in a less than conventional, somewhat Purgatorial coffee shop, where the newly departed stop in for a brief spell and a brew before taking the next step into the great unknown. While there’s a setup here for lots of stories to be told, it really draws in on a small cast of characters who look after the shop, and how a few key visitors change the world built up around them. Between each of the game’s chapters there’s the opportunity to unlock new side stories dependent on which of the phrases you chose to identify with from the chapter just gone, and although short, these do some good work fleshing out some characters and breaking up the main tale. As the title would suggest, the particulars of coffee do come up as a point of conversation, but there’s no drink-making side shows here - just a lot of talking, scheming about how to cheat death, and the more chin-scratching topic of a more accepting approach to this great inevitability.

It’s fairly short - comfortably under 10 hours - but crucially gets plenty of character development from each of its cast given the tight focus. Rather than the still portraits that you might come to expect of the genre, characters are given a real depth with 3D models that convey just as much as their words, which also helps this effort. Perhaps most crucially, and whether it’s in spite of all of the death, or instead because of it, there’s plenty of quite thoughtful and heartfelt sentiment hidden inside it. Comes recommended.

Tangle Tower

I picked this up for Switch based on a recommendation, not knowing that I’d unknowingly be closing out an Apple Arcade hat trick for the month. So yes, it’s another more story-driven game, not too heavy on the input requirements, but instead good for getting you thinking.

It’s immediately very easy on the eye, with each and every character drawn in large format and animated with buckets of quirk and charm that runneth over. Every single one is brilliantly voiced too, with varying degrees of charisma, bluster, dry wit, and numerous other characteristics that shine through in brilliant harmony with the art. It’s a murder mystery, see, and while you’re putting together what everyone says has happened, looking out for who’s fancying who and the like, you’re also doing so with the critical expectation that at least one person is likely spinning you some tall tales. Luckily you’ll find clues that help you get closer to the truth and help deconstruct some of these falsehoods, whether they’re in plain sight or hidden behind one of many puzzles. These are exemplary in just how well-pitched they come, each being self-contained and just tricky enough to have you pause to really think about them, but without ever being too irksome or troubling to stop you enjoying yourself. Once you do start to get to the point of unmasking some secrets, there’s also a neat little interface the game rolls out for you to drop in and then verify these revelations; pairing numerous characters, items and statements to help demonstrate to it that you’re keeping up with it all, and things are clear enough to move on. There’s subtle little prods in the right direction just when they seem to be needed, further cementing the game’s solid grasp of when it’s best to say something, and when it can let you just stumble about and get on with it.

It’s a fantastic little game. I lost a day or so to this, and had a wonderful time doing so. I hope that it’s not too far away that I forget all of the details, so that I might do it all over again.

[a-secondhand-sorrow]

one day we'll all get still

(ao3 link in the notes! title from a world alone by lorde)

The summer is quiet.

Impossibly quiet, really; it’s like the whole world decides to hold its breath and count to ten, like everyone is so used to the silence that the globe itself slows its rotations and stills, stretching out the days until everyone’s shadows are long on the sidewalks and the sky is painted in a million colors. The humidity in the air clings to everything and weighs it down until it rests on the burnt-out grass, watching, waiting.

Quiet is not quite a large enough word to encompass what the summer is.

Even in the hum of air conditioning units working overtime to provide some relief to those inside of their houses, there’s a peace that will never be felt in the autumn or the winter or the spring. That peace can’t be found unless you’re sitting with the sun hot on the back of your neck and the top of your head, full of worries, yes, but without any true care.

Zoe sits on one such day. Her converse stretches out into the street with her legs, and from where she perches on the curb, she can see only what is immediately in front of her: houses that look the same as the houses next to them, rows of minivans and gardenias and shrubbery. She hears the hum of the air conditioners and she wishes she were inside, benefiting from their overtime instead of sweating through her class t-shirt like the eggs everyone always jokes about cooking on the sidewalk, but she knows she won’t. Shouldn’t. Can’t. There is too much turmoil, too much dust settling, and she doesn’t want to choke and accidentally set off another mine.

Is this house her childhood home or a cleverly disguised game of Minesweeper? Probably both.

Someone sits next to her, and she knows it’s Evan before anything else. She’s always known when it’s him; she can sense the difference between him and everyone else with eerie clarity. Evan sits, as though there’s nowhere he’d rather be than sitting beside her on the dusty, rough curb. As though he were designed for this and nothing else. Zoe doesn’t quite look at him, but from the corner of her eye, she sees everything he does. She couldn’t stop seeing him if she tried.

He offers her his hand. In the grand scheme of things - of all the contact they’ve shared, hours they’ve clung to each other, years they’ve spent sharing beds and curling up on furniture and breathing in the same breaths - it’s nothing. But somehow it feels like something as she places her palm atop his, still not quite looking at him, and lets her fingers lock with his, trapping the heat between their sealed hands.

Because, in all the years before that, they were Zoe Murphy and Evan Hansen, all sharp elbows and gangly limbs and bare feet pounding on mid-July pavement and the faint smell of sugar that seemed to follow them everywhere. They were flickering street lamps illuminating nothing but some weeds poking through blacktop, hands covered in chalk and rainbows of drawings blooming across the crumbling sidewalks. They were the feeling of a playground ball rough under your uneven fingertips, and the sound of small hands tearing at the brittle, dried grass, and swinging so high up on a swing that the swingset groaned under the weight of it. They were handfuls of moments trickling from between their fingers like sand on a beach, a collection so bright and so mighty that it seemed inevitable it would explode.

But they were sixteen and seventeen, respectively, far from the days of running carefree without any adults to look after them. They would sometimes watch reruns of the Andy Griffiths’ Show at the Murphy’s with glasses of Cynthia’s town-famous lemonade (which was really just half a pack of Crystal Light mixed with lemon juice, though Cynthia admitted this in whispers so low and conspiratorial to both kids that they would think they were guarding a national treasure of a secret), and they joked that they were Opie - between Zoe’s huge, monument-like home with her parents and brother and Evan’s tiny, cluttered house where his mother was never home, always picking up another shift at the hospital an hour’s drive away in the city, they rarely had any adults checking their whereabouts or any home to post up in just like their 1960s idol. Their laughs are more restrained but no less bright as teenagers, their smiles just as wide but more difficult to coax out, the smatters of freckles dashed across their faces just as strong from hours spent in front of the sun.

Summer brings out the children in them, even though you have to squint to see it.

Summers also used to be spent loudly, all the kids in town creating a general hum of excitement and wonder at the warm days and short nights. But when the summer before Zoe’s junior year hits, there’s no laughter to be heard echoing down streets with the chimes of bike bells, no smacks or shattering sounds accompanying ball games on the elementary school’s playground, no fire hydrants busted open to give everyone an impromptu pool party. It’s like the town itself can sense that something bad is coming and has silenced itself preemptively, like by keeping everyone taciturn and silent nothing bad can befall them. It’s no peaceful silence, either. It’s a loud silence, one that takes up space in every crack in every road; and it leaves everything looking off-kilter. Heidi is gone almost constantly, and Larry and Cynthia’s blow-out fights have peaked at least three times a week, and Connor...well, Connor would always be a whole other story.

Despite the silence that weighs over the town like a blanket, Zoe is far from comforted by the town-wide hush. She’s filled with unbidden energy, leaving her restless and fidgety and ready to crawl out of her skin at almost every moment.

So she stands up, yanking Evan with her. He follows as though there is nothing else he’d rather do, as though she is the only force that can move him despite the fact that he stands a good 6 inches taller than her even slouched as he always is.

There’s a little cafe in the next town over. They rarely go there - there’s not exactly a reason to, since they can do just fine finding their own food, and it’s a ripoff anyway. But occasionally, when the oppressive heat (one only a small town and the height of the summer can create) forces them into their lightest clothes and has them practically tearing their hair out, they make the trek just for something to do.

That day, they take Zoe’s car - she’s technically not allowed to drive with just another teenager in the car, but no one’s enforced that for as long as Zoe can remember. So they drive in her shiny, brand-new black Audi with paint you could practically eat off of and blast Lorde with the windows firmly shut, singing along because they know every word. They’ve been living off of her two albums ever since they’ve come out, and she can’t help but smile as she thinks of all the hours spent stretched out on her back on Evan’s bedroom floor, giggling as he dramatically mimics her deep tone in Ribs or sitting on her back porch where he tries to sing Liability in a high falsetto, forcing her water come out her nose with the strength of her laughs. He’s quieter that day, but the whole summer has felt that way, not just him. Everyone seems to be pressed down but some invisible force, words poised on the tips of their tongues without ever breaking free.

Normally, she’d be clinging onto his arm or throwing some limb around him to drag him towards the café, but the temperature in her car reads a toasty 96 degrees before even factoring in the humidity. She settles for dramatically opening the door for him, hiding a wince when the smooth flesh of her palm grills against the sun-heated metal door.

At first sight, the café appears to be empty, but as they look for another moment they see patrons dotted at the tables; they’d blent so seamlessly in with the walls of the shop, as though they did nothing but sit there always, that their brains could not help but write them out of the initial picture. True to form, there is no one behind the counter, but Zoe and Evan wait in front of it all the same; there was a chime when the door opened, and they are far too used to the way businesses operate when there’s little demand to expect anything more than this.

A woman barely three years older than them emerges from the back some minutes later while looking as though she stepped out from a sepia photo. Like the customers, she blends in. When she greets them, her voice is full of false cheer even though she seems to be wilting at the edges just like the poppies in their planters on the sidewalk.

“Hi,” Zoe replies, tearing her eyes away from the small menu nailed to the wall. “Uh, could I have a small blackberry iced tea and-” she glances at Evan, who fiddles with his shirt and lets his eyes jump around the air beside the server and decides to order for him. “And a small English Breakfast tea with cream?”

When the color-void server returns with the drinks and they take them out to the car, he thanks her from the passenger seat, but she just shushes him and starts up the ignition.

Zoe glances at him a lot over their drive home. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, but she still can’t stop. She can’t help but think that he’s so wildly different and so completely the same as he’s always been, even uncharacteristically silent on a car ride. He reaches one hand to adjust the sound on “A World Alone” and Lorde’s voice swells with his fingers twisting the dial.

“Maybe people are jerks, but not you.”

He starts to hum, then. His hair starts to fall into one eye, but he doesn’t move it; he simply taps one hand against his thigh. Between sips of tea, he hums a harmony to Lorde’s main melody, and the sound soothes her heart more than anything else. His lashes flutter against his cheek as they get into the chorus.

“You’re my best friend and we’re dancing in this world alone...”

At once, Evan sputters out a “Zoe!” around a mouth of tea and she slams the break just in time to see the red light bright above them. A horn beeps one long, prolonged honking sound from the intersection immediately to their right.

Evan speaks, his voice pitching up to be high and breathless. “Could’ve been worse, I guess.”

She’s reminded, suddenly, of the time after Connor’s birthday party in middle school when they helped her parents take down the blue and white balloons taped up everywhere. Evan had untied one of the balloons, his fingers exceptionally nimble for someone so incapable of staying still, and inhaled the helium inside so he’d get a funny voice, and Zoe followed suit. His voice is almost the same in her car, albeit from fear rather than helium, but she gets a sudden urge to laugh anyway.

“I guess so,” she says at length, and before she knows it the two of them are looking at each other and laughing. “I’m - I’m sorry, I did not mean to do that-”

“Ah, really? I thought you were finally acting on your plans to get rid of me.”

She pulls a face. “For what motive?”

He grins quickly before it fades again. “Annoyance.” Evan points ahead of them towards the light, which is newly returned to green. “Speaking of which, if we don’t want to get honked at or rear-ended…”

“This town would,” she mutters darkly, resuming her driving.

Pulling into the Murphy’s driveway is achingly familiar. Her mom’s tiny silver sedan gleams in the sun, contrasting the freshly-trimmed grass nicely. The imposing white of their house seems to melt into the air around it, making all edges soft and fuzzy as though distorted through water. (“You could swim through this air,” she remarks lightly as she steps out of the car, and going by Evan’s small yuk of disgust, he agrees.) Her car slides to a stop across the uneven gravel of their driveway, and with that, their journey is over.

They practically glide past the perfectly-manicured shrubs and flowers, moving determinedly towards the door. Although Zoe’s key is warm in her hand, the condensation from her iced tea still cooling on her palm, the door is hot enough to burn and scar. It takes a moment for her to brave the temperature and open it.

The sunlight reflects harshly off of the freshly-painted white walls, nearly blinding them as they stumble in. Zoe blinks as she makes her way down the hallway, letting the sound of her sneakers against the hardwood ensure her that she moved in the right direction. Her vision starts to adjust just as she enters the kitchen, Evan just behind her.

Connor is in the kitchen, clearly intending to pass her and take the route out the front door, but when he catches sight of Zoe and Evan he stops short with his hands rested in the pockets of his black hoodie. The siblings freeze at the same time, memories of a thousand old fights in the kitchen surfacing at once.

The problem with their fights is that neither seeks them out. They don’t know a storm is coming until the wind knocks them down.

“Hey, Connor,” Evan says, his hands already jumping to his shirt hem, probably in an attempt to diffuse the sudden tension in the air.

Connor nods briefly in Evan’s direction. He might mutter a “hey” back, but if he does it’s barely audible. He watches her as though gauging her mood when she finally regains control of her limbs and crosses to the kitchen table. She’s watching him, too, even if she’s more subtle about it. The July heat still clings to her skin, and it’s all she can think of as she looks at Connor’s outfit.

“You’re going to broil to death in that, Con,” she says before she can think to do otherwise. She stiffens almost immediately, and suddenly she can look anywhere in the room except her brother. Mentally shaking her head, she forces her hand to move and drop her sunglasses to the table, an action that is too nonchalant for the sudden tense air in the room. She just lets her fingers curl around her tea and waits with unavoidable acceptance for the blow-up to happen.

But it never comes.

“You’re going to burn to a crisp in that outfit,” is all Connor mutters in reply. Zoe gets the sudden urge to grin, but she suppresses it, electing instead to glance down at her tank top and shorts combo.

“There’s, like, a 90 percent humidity rate.”

Zoe finally meets Connor’s eye, and she could swear his muscles twitch as if with the urge to smile. “You, like, burn to a crisp in two seconds of sunlight.”

“That’s true,” Evan says just as Zoe exclaims that she “doesn’t burn,” she “freckles.”

She just throws a faux glare in his direction, examining the dark, freckled skin of her forearm at the same time. Curse her brother and his ability to not burn in the sun; despite their skin being the same shade, she was infinitely more susceptible to the sun’s strength.

Connor clears his throat suddenly. “Well,” he says, with a brief nod. “I’ll just…” and, with that, he slips out the front door.

Zoe shakes her head in his wake, clutching her tea tighter. She looks at Evan. His mouth is shaped as though he’s about to say something, but she brushes past him to move towards the stairs, effectively cutting him off. Footsteps sound behind her on every stair, so she knows he follows.

He trails after her into her pastel-splashed room, shutting the door behind them. Cynthia or Larry being home is unlikely, but the illusion of privacy is nice all the same. She crosses the carpeted floor to crack a window open almost immediately, nearly spilling her drink in the process. Her room is stiflingly hot, leaving the air clinging damply to them. Evan pulls a face, falling into the desk chair while completely indifferent to the fact that it’s covered in hoodies.

“I forgot your room is actually a greenhouse,” he says, watching as she feels the slightly cooler air from outside settle on her cheeks.

“It’s like the air conditioning is actively avoiding it,” she agrees. She turns back around to face him, leaning against the window sill and readjusting her drink in hand.

The edges of Evan’s dark brows pull together, and she sees as his jaw clenches and unclenches in rapid succession. “So, with C-”

“No,” she cuts him off before he can even begin. “I don’t think I can…”

Although she’s used to how heavy her head feels in the summer, the weight of her curls feels heavier than normal, and she tugs at the ends near her shoulders uncomfortably. When she doesn’t move them, they cling to her shoulder blades and refuse to budge. Evan’s eyes, the infinite pools like aged whiskey that are almost as intoxicating that she knows so well, study her as she fidgets until he can’t take it anymore and looks away. “Of course,” is all he says in response.

She drains the last of her tea and tosses it into the trashcan in one fluid motion.

At some point she puts some music on, no longer trusting Evan’s music taste even with her continued influence on him. They shift from activity to activity as they always do, sometimes speaking and sometimes just enjoying being with another person. Dodie’s voice fades to Paramore fades to Jasmine Cephas Jones fades to Hozier and then Zoe grabs her guitar to play along while perched on the edge of her bed. Evan, with his voice of an angel, sings as best as he can, laughing at the low notes and his attempts at a falsetto.

She’s so used to this, the notes of her guitar and the timbre of his laugh and the duvet under her legs, but in a summer that has felt entirely shifted just left of what she feels it should be something feels off all the same. Evan joins her on the bed, crossing his legs under him like a little kid, and she’s so used to being close to him but like everything else it feels different. More charged. More conscious. Like if she’s not careful she’ll tilt and land directly where she knows she can never be, her hands settling at the base of his jaw and sliding over his skin and his hair until there’s even less space between them.

They fall asleep on top of the covers of her bed anyway, sometimes after they tire themselves of singing. Their bodies manage to curl just short of each other, just as they’ve been sleeping since they were little kids. Zoe drifts off without any blankets or even a pillow under her head since it’s far too hot for anything on her. Her fingertips lightly brush Evan’s and that’s the last sensation she is aware of. Similarly, she’s vaguely aware of the fact that he pulls away at some point, and she feels his absence like the weight of a necklace around her throat, but although she’s aware of it, she isn’t roused till the taps come from her window.

She mentioned, once, that she wanted to be awoken one night with someone throwing rocks at her window while she was still in high school. Zoe never thought Evan would do more than laugh it off, but she’s proven wrong that night. The clock is barely gone eleven when quick, insistent taps sound at her windowpane, and she rouses - she’s always been a light sleeper. Evan’s grinning face meets her gaze from about four feet below her, and she takes a minute-long detour to throw a flannel on and brush her teeth before coming back to the window with a bottle of red wine she knows her parents won’t notice is missing. She drops down the half-flight and lands like a cat on her feet.

Well, not quite. She feels her ankle buckle beneath her as her converse make contact with the ground, and her whole body follows it. Letting out an involuntary hiss, she reaches her free hand to Evan and he’s in front of her before she can fall at all, his hands finding her elbows and hoisting her upright. She and Evan are genuinely worried she’s hurt it for a moment, and she hops into a more-standing position while leaning on Evan and bouncing on her good foot. But the pain passes quickly, and Evan laughs once he’s sure she’s okay.

“Wow, such an adult,” he says as she brandishes the bottle for him. She lightly shoves at his shoulder and just tells him to lead the way to wherever they’re going.

Evan is in rare form; he’s never this confident, surging forward along cracked sidewalks only half-illuminated in the dim streetlights the town never decides to fix. One flickers out as they pass beneath it, and she almost stumbles before he reaches out and wraps an arm around her waist. She leans into the touch, letting out an involuntary shudder that she blames on the night chill, and they continue the walk in the same fashion.

When Zoe sees the familiar sign of Ellison Park, she just looks to him, her eyebrows furrowing, but he grabs her free hand and drags her through their normal haunts in the park - the huge oak towards the entrance, the lone statue of a kid reading a book, a bench Zoe once got stung by a bee on - and through a thick crop of trees.

“If I get triple E from a goddamn mosquito, I’m blaming you,” she grumbles, swatting at imaginary bugs.

He shrugs, still leading her to destinations unknown. “Go for it.”

She has another snarky reply posed on the top of her tongue, but it slides away as they break away onto what appears to be the side of a hill surrounded by trees. Above them, the stars shine down as though to smile at them, brighter than anywhere else in town. The whole place is bathed in a faint silver light like something out of a dream.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, but it comes out croaky and near-silent because her breath can’t find its way out around the lump that has grown in her throat. “What is this place?”

Evan shrugs as a small half-smile crops onto his face. “Found it the other day. I can’t believe we haven’t seen it before.”

Wordlessly, Zoe trails over to the slight incline, letting herself flop over until she lies sprawled on her back. “Holy shit,” she says again, beckoning him over. He’s over in an instant, lying at a slight angle to her so his head is right below hers and his feet trail away to her left. “I haven’t seen Orion since I was a kid…”

And that’s how time moves, for them. The bottle of wine passes between them like a game of hot potato and Zoe points out constellations she knows Evan can’t see, even when he tries his best. There is nothing to do but lay there with your best friend and see the universe stretched out in front of you, and Zoe is all at once breathlessly thankful for this little town and its glacial pace.

“It looks so peaceful out there,” he mumbles as the wine starts to take effect in her brain.

She turns her face away from the sky for the first time that night; she’d felt his gaze on the side of her face while she spoke, even when he pretended to be looking at the constellations, but now he really seems to just be looking at the stars. The silvery light gives his dark skin an almost pearlescent sheen, and Zoe thinks he’s never looked so beautiful as he does then, all the glow of the moon captured in his face and the shine of the stars reflected in his deep brown eyes like a long-lost galaxy.

For a moment, she wonders if she’s been wrong this whole time. Maybe she’d thought she was looking at the sky when the whole sky she’d ever need was inches from her face.

“Like everything is where it’s meant to be,” he continues, indifferent to the way her thoughts have derailed. “Balanced. Purposeful. On some...predestined track, just thousands of particles and stars and novas being drawn together so we have something to look at and know that something larger exists.”

He doesn’t turn to face her, but she wishes he would. Zoe longs to feel his breath hot against her cheek like an errant star falling from the sky, to feel the tingle of his lips so close to the skin of her face that entire galaxies bloom across her skin, to feel the star shine words he utters without any air between them. She wishes he would turn his face, let their noses brush in some pseudo kiss. She wishes he would kiss her, or she would kiss him, but they’re caught in limbo instead.

And, tipsy under the stars in Ellison Park, Zoe reckons with the fact that she might be a little in love with Evan Hansen.

[musicollage]

Benoit Pioulard. The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter, 2016. Kranky. ( Mastered By – Rafael Anton Irisarri )  ~ [ Album Review |   1) Pop Matters  +  2) Exclaim!  + 3) All Music  +  4) Impose Magazine  + 5) Echoes And Dust  ]

1) The peculiar title of Benoît Pioulard’s latest album gives the impression that it could be some kind of best-of collection. It isn’t, but The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter could stand in as a succinct summation of Thomas Meluch’s charismatic melding of dream-folk, field recordings, and sandwashed atmospheres.

The completion of The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter has been trailed by poignant timing and tragic coincidence. Meluch’s first album for Kranky, Précis, was released ten years earlier, nearly to the day. His brother, for whom the record is dedicated, passed away on the same day that it was finished. Listening Matter’s mood is not easily read. Its pleasure and melancholy are both wary. Meluch being a photographer as well, several of his Polaroids serve as the album art. There’s surely some reflection of the music to be drawn from the cover image; a fish eye mirror on a dark weathered wall, offering a detached and bent view of a beautiful day.

Starting with Sonnet in 2015, Benoît Pioulard has let loose an outpouring of ambient releases. There was Stanza, a companion to the Sonnet LP, Stanza II, the Noyaux EP put out by Morr Music, and the tour EP Thine. This past June he released the Radial EP, which featured an ‘interpretation’ of the Aphex Twin song “Stone in Focus”, to help pay for medical bills he incurred breaking his wrist while hiking in the Cascade foothills near North Bend, Washington.

Listening Matter swings back toward the singer-songwriter yin to Meluch’s structure-averse yang, a mode he hasn’t dwelled much in since Hymnal in 2013. Working again with Benoît Pioulard here is Rafael Anton Irisarri, who mastered the album at Black Knoll Studio in New York. Along with being the go-to guy for completing his own music, Irisarri is a composer with whom Meluch collaborates as Orcas. The duo’s stunning, underappreciated second album, Yearling, is a standout in both of their bodies of work.

Opening euphoric gust “Initials B.P.” is both a clearing of the throat and a girding of the loins. Outside the door lay a progression of perils to face down. “Narcologue” wastes no time, cutting into time and distance’s grip on love: "But this freezing of the heart / Is a shameful shuttering born of being apart / With numbness but in command / My senescence proves we hold together like sand”. Addiction lurks in “Layette”, which begins with the admission, “In a matter of time / I’ll slowly burn through my vices / Cos when I level with them / They still put me through my paces”.

The elated melody of the brief but voluble “Anchor as the Muse” belies its sense of futility. Nearly halfway in and there’s still no resolution in sight on “I Walked Into the Blackness and Built a Fire”: “So I will give chase / The back roads are clearer than before / But mist is in pace / And I can’t see the paths anymore”. Not to overstate the point, but after going practically speechless since Sonnet, Meluch has a lot to get off his chest here. He also gives himself a narrow window in which to do it; a baker’s dozen of future-past pop songs etched onto water-warped tape that average in length somewhere in the two-minute range.

Contradictions being key to the album’s balance, it is only natural that Listening Matter’s greatest moment of levity comes wrapped in cataclysm. On “The Sun Is Going to Explode But Whatever It’s OK”, each successive verse is an eloquent capture of a different thought or perspective in the context of the end of it all; a couple of the sentimental kind, but most of the ‘oh well’ variety. “Oh in the great conflagration of the universe / The sun is going to fucking explode/It doesn’t help to block it with your hand / So just tremble with the ruptures in the land”. It’s the “Take It Easy” this generation deserves.

2) Over the past decade-and-a-half, Thomas Meluch (aka Benoît Pioulard) has covered a lot of musical ground. The Washington-via-Michigan producer has averaged a release per year, tackling electronic, ambient, electroacoustic and even shoegaze and folk along the way but on his latest LP, the aptly titled The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter, Meluch has focused on a subject that has seemed to elude him over the years: himself.

According to Pioulard, the album was recorded during a rough period in his life; the 13-track LP tackles such subjects as grief ("I Walked Into a Blackness and Built a Fire"), turmoil ("In-the-Vapor") and self-medication ("Narcologue"). Opening the record off with the bleary and antonymous electronics of "Initials B.P.," Pioulard goes on to fill the album with guitar strums and vulnerable vocal sighs, while distancing himself from his most recent work. Despite the themes covered throughout, tracks like "Defect" and "A Mantle for Charon" sound honourably optimistic and cheery as Pioulard's voice comes off clean, clear and often chatty, akin to the warbling vocals of the Beta Band's Steve Mason.

Surrounded by ambient hiss and faint female backing vocals, The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter shows Pioulard expressing emotion through simple but intensely personal songwriting.

3) Over a decade's worth of albums, Thomas Meluch took Benoît Pioulard's music in such wide-ranging directions that, by the time of Sonnet's expansive ambient instrumentals, it seemed unlikely he'd return to the project's folktronic beginnings. However, he does exactly that with The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter, an album title that hints at coming full circle: if Precis was a concise introduction, then these songs are a poignant summary. Benoît Pioulard's music feels lighter and freer than ever, even as it touches on heavy subject matter. Within half an hour, Meluch reflects on life's impermanence ("Narcologue"), the fleeting comforts of vice ("Layette"), and mortality ("A Mantle for Charon") in ways that give Precis' affecting simplicity a greater depth. On songs such as "Perennial Comforts" and the gorgeous "I Walked into the Blackness and Built a Fire," he couples his flair for atmosphere with lyrical storytelling that paints a more complete picture of his world than ever before. Meluch surrounds these deep dives with ambient pieces that are the mainstay of Benoît Pioulard's work -- the breezy album opener is even called "Initials B.P." -- and the interplay of space and texture is lovely as always on "In-the-Vapor" and the velvety final track, "Ruth." Nevertheless, a voice as expressive as Meluch's should be used as much as possible, and his singing is especially welcome after Sonnet; on the lilting "Like There's Nothing Under You," he says as much with his circling harmonies as he does with his poetic words. Indeed, The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter features some of his catchiest songs in some time, from the shimmering "Anchor as the Muse" to "The Sun Is Going to Explode But Whatever It's OK," a brisk singalong for an end-of-the-world campfire. A tenth anniversary is as good a time as any to take stock, but to Meluch's credit, it doesn't feel like he's revisiting the past merely for nostalgia's sake. Instead, adding the clarity of experience to his early work's atmospheric conciseness only makes The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter all the richer.

4) Musicians often need to assume a persona, giving an alter-identity to better create and perform. Thomas Meluch has been working under such a pseudonym for his solo efforts since 2005, moving deliberately toward his current intersection of folk and ambient electronica. His previous output under his Benoît Pioulard name has often been nebulous and, as with the case of last year’s album Sonnet, voiceless. With the release of The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter, Meluch opens up his expressions both lyrically and via acoustic guitar. With this new effort, he shades his atmospheric music with a humanity that also works as a curative measure for his grief and emotional state.

Listening Matter begins with one of Meluch’s signature drone-based expressions, reminding of the ethereal and isolating moods of Brian Eno. Throughout the album, he uses these quick interims as a respite between vocal sets, seemingly giving himself a breather from his realizations and confessionals. When he does open up, his voice has a calming lilt reminding of many heartfelt troubadours like Nick Drake and Elliot Smith, recalling moments while looking forward. “Narcologue” has a flamenco flair but soothes like a opiate, emulating that painless relief from reality. With the bright outset of single “Anchor and The Muse”, Meluch reaches for balance and awareness in the aftermath of his struggles. Meluch states poignantly that “If you still resent me after everything I’ve done/ Well, then I can’t really blame you, can I?”, owning his faults with a weary finality.

The tracks on The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter rarely last beyond the three minute mark, but the impressions made are distinct and indelible. His production is stark yet sprightly, finding the right moments to add a layer of anodic ambience or environmental hum. The harpsichord produced on “I Walked Into the Blackness and Built a Fire” matches well with an understated gallop as rhythm track, echoing with rich history and a tangible sound. The album’s best track “A Match for Charon” features an uplifting chord progression and swells that creep out gradually bursts through the mix like sunlight. The listener acts almost as an audience member in a theatre, where Meluch’s songs are vignettes to be experienced as well as heard.

That hazy, memorable ambience is a trademark of the music from Chicago-based label Kranky and its impact is easily recognized on the Benoît Pioulard signature. What makes the efforts of Meluch distinct on this LP is his representation of the ebb and flow of life, acting both as the cause and effect of his music. One can perceive Meluch lift the weight off of his shoulders as his songs resonate with individual pain and resilience. This feeling becomes clearer with the knowledge that he lost his brother tragically upon completing this album. With this, Listening Matter is an unmistakable release from a record label committed to a singular sound and an individual effort from a musician still coming to terms with his own art and station in life.

5) Following an excursion of a wholly ambient release, one that truly enveloped the listener into a world that offered intrigue and mystery, composer Thomas Meluch offers his latest work under the Benoît Pioulard moniker. Returning now to his roots of experimental ambient folk, The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter features Meluch taking a step back from his 2015 album of Sonnet, utilizing his incredible range of ambient composition to further push and extenuate his own acoustic-folk musings. The result of it all is an album that that feels strangely familiar and comforting, whilst managing to express many ideas and notions that are certainly different.

Whilst Sonnet emphasized ambient techniques greatly and featured very sparse vocals, The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter instead focuses around Meluch’s own folk notions, all accompanied, pushed, moved and broken up by his own ambient techniques. At the heart of every musical technique, is Meluch himself who examines himself and his own experiences and understanding of troubling times with great examination, using the recording process of The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter as a growing and healing process. Vices, virtues, life and death are all mused upon and expressed by Meluch, all blurred and obscured by ambient washes, as though there’s only so much we’re supposed to see.

There’s a great intrigue following this album and its release. Meluch seems to have spent much of the past two years really turning his gaze into himself, looking at how he views the world and understands it, before turning at introspection outward through the medium of his songs. There’s an incredible fragility to much of the work on the album, whilst also being incredibly headstrong and confident. As a body of work, much of the album seems to jump further ahead than much of Meluch’s work, sounding more concise and direct than the 2015 ambient work of Sonnet or even the more folk-directed 2013 album of Hymnal.

Meluch’s works may sometimes feel a little hard to really tap into at times, especially much of his earlier work which really felt experimental at times. It seems now Meluch has really honed in his incredible range and talents, creating an album that is no doubt experimental, but is also much easier to digest and understand, whilst still being a wonderful album experience that simply achieves everything it has set out to do. It’s arguable that Meluch has created a perfect entry point into his music for those who may be unfamiliar to his unique style, whilst also releasing a work that will really inspire his many lifelong fans.

[random-esfp]

FACING INTUITIVE BIAS AND MBTI STEREOTYPES: ESFP EDITION

Hello, some already know my blog since it attracted attention for being one of the few MBTI blogs run by a sensor, especially an ESFP. I have always claimed to be pretty different from ESFP stereotypes, though I enjoy MBTI stereotyped memes and shitty posts. But there is one thing I can’t cope with: ignorance towards our type. 

I am a strong Se (extraverted sensing) function defender, and I keep finding shallow and over stereotyped descriptions on how we use it and how do ESxPs portray and represent it. This originates a blurred vision of ESxPs in particular (all sensors are badly perceived in general) which affect us, especially because the most common believing among the MBIT community it’s that we are the dumbest.

First thing you have to learn about MBTI: IT CAN’T determine the IQ or cleverness of ANYBODY. 

Fine, with that being clear, let’s continue.

I have been posting little call outs and statements about ESFPs being wronged as other types when being perfectionistic and having leadership skills etcetera but I think the time has come for making an appropriate post of how a non-stereotypical ESFP can be. I know my case it’s not common, since I am an ambivert and that affects my behavior but I’ll try to be objective. 

Usually, ESFPs in fiction are portrayed as the flamboyant hero or the funny sidekick. Anyway, we are always seen as the bright, carefree, funny, attractive and badass characters, but in real life, we are more complex than that. 

HOW ARE HEALTHY AND NON-STEREOTYPICAL ESFPs IN REAL LIFE: 

Because of Dominant Se: 

The first thing you have to think regarding Extraverted Sensing is experience and engagement. Sure you have already heard about this but it doesn’t mean we crave every day to be high or to hit all the parties. Life is beyond physical pleasures. Even for us, who feel comfortable with sensorial stimuli the most because we need them to create our safe and accurate visión of the world around us. 

An ESFP will most likely say yes to everything. That’s, in part, because many of us are insecure and indulgent or pleasant with people. ESFPs can struggle a lot with assertiveness, swinging between being extremely obliging or aggressive-reactive (usually ESFP enneagram 2  o 3 are the first ones, while enneagram 6-7-8 are the last ones). But a     healthy ESFP will eventually address this tendency to “say yes because of  FOMO” (we have A LOT of FOMO) and will start seeking out what’s more convenient for them.

Se encourages us to live in the moment and take any opportunity or experience we can, but let’s remember we have another three functions. So a balanced ESFP knows when to engage with the flow and when to keep away from it. Of course, we are more willing to take risks but that doesn’t make us reckless in any way.

Instead, we use Se to manage our time and energy efficiently, and this is very important. You know how it is said that INxx types are the most likely to procrastinate while Te types are the ones who “get the shit done”? Well, ESFPs are somewhat in the middle. That’s because ESFPs are impatient. Our Se hurries us to take the task and finish it as soon as possible to engage with something else sooner than later. That’s also why it is said we “only care” about the present. It’s not that we don’t care about the rest. It’s that we are ENGAGED with the present.

ESFPs like to economize time. We’d rather lose money than time. Because time means experience. But we don’t concentrate that easily. Stimuli chase us and beg us to pay attention to them, not to the task. Still, we want to maximize that time, so manly this tension reflects on us as being very capable of working under pressure. When we are given little time to do something, we somewhat get more relaxed because that means maximizing time to the fullest. And THAT is also Se.

Of course, we are also all that beautiful descriptions we find over here: aesthetically selective and sensitive, very observant, can notice when the mood changes in a room, we are very sensitive to the lighting and the sounds etcetera. I’ll drop over here some Se posts very accurate and flattering because trust me, Se is not about jumping off a cliff or fly off from a bullet. That’s fiction (or you have mistaken us for ISTPs lol)

https://random-esfp.tumblr.com/post/140982329002/se-is-not-a-shallow-function

https://random-esfp.tumblr.com/post/141091312137/building-blocks-of-personality-type-extraverted

https://random-esfp.tumblr.com/post/142229288882/entj-girl-personalityplop-what-stereotypes

Because of Auxiliar Fi: 

Fi can be a very upsetting function especially when Dominant. We aren’t “that idealist bitch” but we usually have a full sense of what is wrong and what is right for us (well, that is literally Fi). This means we can be reactive and susceptible when feeling     attacked (and trust me, we DO feel attacked easily). We come across as social butterflies but being with insensitive or negative people can use up our energies. However, healthy ESFPs are usually more realists than optimistic rays of sunshine. Let’s not forget we are truly sensors, we crave for outer stimuli and although we can have our mystical believings, usually we trust what we see, touch and hear. What we can prove. The tangible. 

We are people-oriented so these observations lean mostly on those who surround us. Making us empathic and, somewhat, INTUITIVE. Yes! ESFPs are very intuitive when it comes to interpersonal     intelligence. In my group, I am the most likely to realize or notice when someone is a little more upset than usual, or when someone has changed anything on their image. 

We engage the moment, the action, and that includes voice tones and gestures of people, which we use to complete our vision of the world, make conclusions basing on those observations and take action on it as sociable beings. (Gosh this point it’s the most confusing. We can come across as ENFJs). 

INTERESTING REMARK: Why Se+Fi sometimes seems like Fe?

I have been struggling with this for months. I was so sure I use Se and Fi. I am individualistic and I don’t care if my opinions go against the crowd. I always say what I think. Sometimes I’m brutally honest. I don’t personally seek harmony. I’d rather be honest with myself. So… why do I sometimes feel extremely empathic to the point to think I am using Fe? 

I think it’s basically because of what I have said earlier. The vivid observation makes us both sensitive and intuitive about people’s emotions, moods, and thoughts. ESFP’s minds can be very quick analyzing external stimuli to get to a conclusion. Basically, that is Se, and when it gets in touch with our emotional patterns, we spot the change, we comprehend it, and then we decide how to act based on our mental outline. Sometimes we won’t feel anything for them; sometimes we will feel exactly as them, and THEN is when Se+Fi looks like Fe, but we are just empathizing with people. And Fe isn’t exactly that. Fe users are known for their empathy BUT they also project other people’s emotions, suffering with them even with no clue that people may be actually feeling that. This post (by an xxFJ type) explains if perfectly, it made me realize I have mistaken my empathy with Fe for so long.

Because of Tertiary Te

Healthy ESFPs are real pragmatists, down to Earth people. They are those who in a brainstorm may not participate the most but will show support and excitement for those ideas that seem feasible.     But with those who don’t… well. Let’s say we have already reached a decent assertiveness point… we’ll tell you when your thoughts or ideas are unviable, out of context or unnecessary. Sorry but that’s it. 

As I said,  we value time, we value DOING, not eternal thinking (Se again). So, why do I  have to waste 3 hours of my time discussing this fifteen surreal ideas for our project if we don’t have even put into action at least ONE of the plausible ones, Brenda??? (Brenda is ENxP sorry)

Oh, gosh, I REALLY love Se+Te healthily used. It’s!!! So!!!! Useful!!!

Let’s say it straight: we can be very efficient CEOs. I’m kinda into that at the moment actually. The difference between ENTJs and ESFPs (there are A LOT of differences but I mean in the CEO context since they share all 4 functions) is that ESFPs aren’t used to Te as primary function, and Se will always take the lead, so ESFPs may think less of the consequences of their decisions because they lack that Ni “vision”. Also they have a more “soft” leadership style that can lead them to stressful situations who may end up in loops or grips that aren’t funny at all.

Anyway. Realists. We put things into action. We are quick at decision making and enjoy dynamic jobs where we can train this trait. ESFPs may not have 100 ideas per minute but they will have 2 o 3 that actually are possible and they will just get the shit done. 

BONUS POINTS If they have overcome their insecurities and reached     assertiveness. 

Oh, does it seem like an ENTJ to you? We don’t have that “vision” because Ni is our frenemy, but what is real is that a healthy Te use, especially in mature stages of life, distance ESFPs from that     “dumb party animal look-who-just-broke-the-table-dancing to-Beyonce” type of persona and it makes them effective leaders. Real doers. (Without losing their flamboyant temperament!)

Because of Inferior Ni

I can only think about shitty Ni grips at the moment but I’ll try to be objective.

Healthy inferior functions. This is a very good post about it. It says that inferior Ni: “May display delusional and grandiose thinking” and “Can turn gloomy when life circumstances don’t go their way”. Well, yes, that’s me. That’s ESFPs. Inferior functions aren’t funny. And because of that, the not-so-funny side of ESFPs relays here.

ESFPs can be pretty gloomy even when healthy. As very emotional types, ESFPs project their dark thoughts about the future on Ni. As I said, they naturally engage with the moment and like to take action, but Ni is that subtle but insistent voice in their head that goes like: you should think about this… and that… and what are we gonna do about this thing? Where are you gonna live in ten years? Who are you gonna name your baby after? 

We refuse to think about the long term but when we are forced to do so because of #adulting ESFPs can take two ways:

Keep refusing thinking long term. Which can lead them to immaturity, dissociation of reality, avoidance and some other mental disorders.

Keep it serious and do it. We will complain about it. We will refuse to talk about what we haven’t made up yet, but we’ll try. 

A healthy ESFP who decides to confront Ni and try to use it becomes more focused, serious and driven. Of course, we will have our mental breakdowns because we aren’t comfortable with it, but that is part of life. 

ESFPs who are private about their lives, who are hesitant and reflective… are struggling with Ni. Because we know we need it. And it makes us feel uneasy because Ni requires depth and details and we prefer to improvise and get-by-doing. Ni also demands using all the time Se don’t wanna “waste”. But it’s not time wasted, it’s invested (although too dilated in time for us to appreciate it). However, when we see our goals reached we appreciate the effort we’ve made. 

TO SUM UP:

How are ESFPs usually defined: dumb, reckless, shallow, overly-sensitive, can’t think in detail, bubbly, too much sociable.

How are ESFPs non-stereotypically: observant, doers, quick-minded, leading to action, perfectionist, efficient.

Well, that was almost 2k words about ESFPs in depth. And I could say much more, but for now, I think it’s enough. 

I invite any underrated or extremely stereotyped MBTI type to do their Edition. Or to make some feedback. 

Hope this was useful and/or revealing for you. 

Thank you! 

[saveonesouls]

The Gods Aren’t Dead

A/N: So thanks to @flairfatale​ I now have to write this little thing up, which is gonna be on AO3 too with their gifset here . I couldn’t help it because my creative mindset is back full swing and I’ve been writing and drawing nonstop for a while lol so here we are! I might make this a chapter thing? It will be interesting. For music for the feel I was getting-ish for each of them, here’s Athena and Ares’ songs! I’m finding good ones for Nemesis and Adonis for next chapter! ENJOY!

Prologue:

“Adonis.”

“Ares.”

“I see you’ve taken on a nicer form than last time.” Ares’ lips curl into an amused smile.

“You’re one to talk. Now at least you can be called the Goddess of War and go toe to toe with Athena.”

Ares moved forward with her blonde hair swaying with the light wind that Adonis carried with her. “Like I would want to go and have a talk with her. She stared her blue eyes back into the brown ones that fell before her as her boots moved forward more and pressed against the rocks more into the dirt as they stood on a cliff, looking out to a town, a city. The sun was slowly falling from the sky and the moon slowly rising, the clouds were moving at it’s own pace, it’s own way as the two women stood their.

“So why did you choose this form this time around?”

“Huh?” Adonis turned her head to look at the blonde.

“What made you be female now? I’m curious.”

Adonis paused in thought. She never gave it much thought. She actually didn’t think she needed to answer something like that, if she was honest. In reality, she didn’t even know if a response was needed. Maybe Ares was teasing her, making her hesitate to insult her. After all, Ares was the one that attacked her, or him rather, a long while ago. Back in the old days.

“Adonis, it doesn’t have to have much thought. I’m just--”

“I felt better this way to give the idea of rebirth. Though I know my... beauty and desire role is still needed in some capacity.”

“To Aphrodite, you mean.”

Adonis sighed heavily. “I told you before, Ares. You won.” She turned her head as she pointed to Ares, revealing her hands from her dark cloak. “You can have her if she wishes to have you. She knows my eyes are for another and knows that this time around it is best she and I just... remain not romantically involved after the incident.”

“Which I apologized for.” Ares shrugged and they both fell into silence. It wasn’t until the feeling of a strong wind chill and a smell of what Adonis would only say as “olive” and Ares had turned and rolled her eyes. “Athena. So glad you could join us.”

The other grinned as she walked closer and hugged her the War Goddess. “Ares.” She then hugged Adonis and her grin grew. “Adonis. I see you’re fairing well.”

Adonis nodded. “Yes, I am. Living in this world has taught me a lot” Her eyes moved back towards the city below. “It’s why I called you two and one other.”

“Who?” Ares and Athena asked in unison.

“Me.”

The three looked over and there she was. Her red hair and all, the eyes dark like the many souls she’s taken, the many people she served justice, the souls the intimidated, put fear in, the ones that put fear in others of the evil deeds the brought about on the mortals.

“Nemesis...” Athena breathed.

“Lovely to see you all.” Nemesis walked closer and looked at Adonis and Ares with an almost shock but a new look took on her face. It was a mix of amusement and approval. “I see you two have changed. Trying a new look or something?”

“In a way.”

“Yes.”

Ares and Adonis looked at each other and Nemesis just shrugged.

“Right, well. I’m here. What is this meeting about?”

“It’s not about dad is it? Because I swear--”

“No, Athena. It isn’t.” Adonis said and she let out a little huff. She was building courage to tell them, Athena could see it. Adonis wasn’t good at really telling things to others, especially to the likes of Athena and Ares, who to Adonis was more powerful than she was. Adonis looked up at the 3 sets of eyes looking at her and she spoke. “I think we should spend more time with the mortals.”

“What? Hell no!” Ares crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow. “Why in Our Names would we do that? They are not ones we should meddle with. We have them bending to us, Adonis. We are their Gods, or... Goddess’ in our case. They barely deserve us being down here to help them.”

“Ares, you’re being a bit unreasonable.” Athena said with a little sigh. “Let Adonis explain.”

“Explain?! Explain that we should live among the people who are savages? Who are the ones who are just as helpless as their animals to us? They are at our feet. We shouldn’t have to stoop to their level!”

“Ares.” Ares looked at Nemesis, who was staring back. “They are not like the animals. They are smarter, intelligent. It’s why we do help them because they seek guidance to become better than what they originally are. Without them, there is no us.” Ares scoffed and turned away from them. “Typical as always, Ares: Short temper, quick to assume, full of rage and anger, and always want to cause violence and bring chaos with the mortals.”

“I do NOT--” Ares turned but then stopped herself. She took a deep breath and clenched her jaw, her blond hair moving out of her face.

“Going to prove my point, Rage Prince? Or shall I call you Princess now?” Ares felt a fire in his belly as Nemesis spoke with a smirk. But Nemesis continued speak but now towards Adonis. “Adonis, if we are to live among them my question is also of curiosity: Why?”

“Simple. It’s something Ares made a point of.” Adonis gulped and looked at Ares before her eyes moved to Athena and Nemesis. “They rely too much on us and the times are changing. In the end, there might be a point where we will have to disappear, have them think--”

“--We are dead.” Athena stated, accidentally finishing Adonis’ statement. Adonis gave an almost hesitant nod before Athena stood straight more and nodded. “I understand now. But what of Zeus? Does he agree with this move? Have you told him yet?”

“I have and he agrees.”

That was a shocker to all of them, Ares especially. Their Father, Zeus, the God of the Thunder, Sky, and Lightning, and the Ruler of Gods, actually agreed to something like this. Their father took being the Ruler of the Gods very seriously. He even took it as a way to try to sleep with anything, which Ares wish he lowkey didn’t but at the same time? They had a gut feeling Zeus wouldn’t have minded other than the fact of ruling in “secret”. Then again, Adonis knew more than what she was letting on, but she wouldn’t say. Ares almost wanted to shake it out of her, but knew best not to with Nemesis and Athena there. Anything Ares would do, they’d defend Adonis. She was the most unloved God after all, her own Father said it to her in battle when she was in her original male form. It struck deep with her, but never said a word. Now, it came a time that even the most unloved had someone telling her she needed to hide out to make the people not rely on them.

Adonis knew this and that was what to happen. They couldn’t abandon the post completely, but they needed a way to “hide”.

���Adonis?”

Adonis turned to look at Nemesis. “Yes, Nemesis?”

“If we do this” Nemesis started, biting her bottom lip in thought a moment before speaking again. “We should do it the right way in the most logical way possible.” Then she looked at Athena.

Athena blinked and then looked at Ares. “War.” Athena said simply and that caused the blonde woman that was her now known sister to smirk heavily. Athena could see even the bright blue eyes go dark.

“Oh... this is going to be fun.”

Many years passed since that moment. Many years where they changed their name thousands of times. Yet now in this timeline they knew exactly what to call themselves.

Bayley. The lovely Adonis who was loved by all, was kind, gentle, and beautiful. The God of Rebirth, The God of Beauty and Desire who gave a change to being a Goddess, but still knew they all referred her as a God, which she didn’t mind. it’s who she was before and now she was reborn in a new way, a comfortable way.

Sasha. The War Strategist, the Goddess of Wisdom, Athena. The one who plans before doing everything and anything she puts her mind to. That included protecting those who were in need.

Becky. The Goddess of Revenge, Justice, Divine Retribution, Nemesis. The one who plots after being beat, who plots when evil deeds are had. The one who would go to bat for anyone despite getting a hard hit to the face and their nose being broken.

And last but not least, Charlotte. The God of War, the God who turned to being a Goddess for his own reasons, the God who was unloved by all, who was ruthless, who was violent, blood-driven, angry... Was destructive, full of chaos. The first to punch first and ask questions later. The other half of Athena, many would say, in times of war and battle.

The four stayed close, for their own reasons. One might say because in reality, they blended oddly well together. One might say because Ares couldn’t live without Athena being around to bail him out and Athena couldn’t live without Ares to fight her battles with people who treat her badly. They both couldn’t live without Nemesis swearing up a storm at other people telling them they better “watch out before justice gets to them and gives them what for” and they all couldn’t live without Adonis.

No.

Adonis’ light in her was infectious. The light in her was warm, was needed, was kind. Athena was used to some kindness, but with Adonis they all felt kindness for once. For once, Ares felt a sort of love with friendship, with a relation with family. Despite Adonis and Ares’ past together with Aphrodite, Adonis moved passed that. And Nemesis? When Nemesis was boiling in anger over someone hurting her and being down on herself, Adonis was there with strawberries she grew in the garden and talking with Nemesis about her problems and helping her.

So, they lived in somewhat harmony and that...

That was enough for now.